#because merlin will just as easily insult him to his face as tell him that he has faith in his abilities

[vi-visected]

projecting on arthur pendragon time!!

i’ve had a lot of conversations with people about my father over the years and it’s resulted in me heavily relating to arthur in the relationship that he has with uther. arthur is constantly trying to prove himself to uther by aiming for goals that he can’t see. his father has set these markers in arbitrary places and told arthur he needs to meet them to earn his respect but won’t tell arthur where they are in even the vaguest sense. and then in these moments arthur is exhausted from trying to hit a bar that is constantly and continuously moving out of his reach, when he’s begging for leeway or for guidance, uther gives him a backhanded compliment or a “you know i’ve always cared about you” and fuck him but it’s enough to keep arthur aiming and throwing over and over again. and it’s not just the goals that he hides from arthur, it’s the rewards too. uther talks of his son in the third person and away from where arthur might hear. he uses him as a measuring point to morgana (and vice versa). he tells anyone and everyone what his son is worth EXCEPT arthur. uther sometimes acts as if arthur should just intrinsically know that he has his love and care, that he should just be able to sense it or something. he treats arthur coldly and makes him earn his love only to never ever show it to him.

arthur pendragon spends his whole life wanting someone to just love him to his face.

#bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #uther pendragon #i hate him so much #this is also where i think merlin’s (and gwen’s!!!) honesty really hits home for arthur #because merlin will just as easily insult him to his face as tell him that he has faith in his abilities #because merlin never ever reserves his opinions for others #he’s outright and maybe sometimes tactless but arthur craves that #arthur craves being loved tactlessly #gwen too was unafraid to tell him off #and equally as unafraid to praise his efforts #they were both so genuinely good to him #i’m laying on the floor

[remedialpotions]

Happily Impervious

It’s still May 10 in my part of the world, so here’s my humble offering to @clarensjoy ‘s Hinny Ficfest! Many thanks to Clare for arranging all of this and encouraging me to write. This fic is for prompt #52 - “People are talking about us.”

***

Ginny has just closed herself inside the stall when the door to the bathroom creaks open again, then slams shut with a thud.

“I just can’t understand what he even sees in her,” comes a loud, haughty voice that echoes off the stone walls. “She’s not even that pretty, really.”

“A lot of boys think she’s fit,” comes a second, more timid voice - one that sounds a bit nervous to disagree with the first. “I heard Jimmy Peakes and Jack Sloper saying how-“

“They’re just third years,” interrupts the first voice with irritation, “they don’t know what they’re talking about.”

Ginny’s stomach flips, because she knows this voice. She’s heard it carrying easily over the din of the Great Hall and disrupting the peaceful calm of the Gryffindor dormitories at night. It’s Romilda Vane - attempted poisoner of Ginny’s brand-new boyfriend and actual poisoner of Ginny’s brother - and just the thought of being near her makes her blood boil.

So she’s not sure why she does it. She should just wee and get the hell out of there. But instead, she climbs silently up on the closed toilet seat so that her feet won’t be seen through the gap between the stall door and the floor. Crouching low, barely breathing lest she give herself away, she listens.

“And anyway,” Romilda goes on as a knob turns and water gushes into the sink, “I’d rather die than have all that red hair.”

Oh. It doesn’t exactly come as a surprise, being the subject of Romilda’s vitriol, but Ginny expected something a bit more original than insults about her hair.

“Your hair is way prettier,” the second girl hurries to add, desperation from approval dripping from her words. “I’m sure he’ll come to his senses soon.”

“I hope so,” says Romilda. There is a pause as the water shuts off, and Ginny’s sure they can hear her heart pounding in her chest. “That, or she’ll end up chucking him. She goes through boys pretty quickly, doesn’t she?”

Ginny knows she should probably want to leap out of the stall and tackle Romilda to the ground, but instead she just rolls her eyes. If finally being with Harry means she’s had too many boyfriends - whatever that means - then so be it.

“Maybe when she chucks him for someone else, you can make your move,” adds the second girl, who Ginny now suspects is Romilda’s eternal shadow, Vicky Frobisher. “You could try the love potion again-“

“So I can spend my Saturdays cleaning the owlery with a toothbrush again?” interjects Romilda with such disdain that Ginny can clearly picture the sneer on her face. “It’s not worth it. But you know...” Her voice has dropped low, conspiratorial. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Ginny’s slipped him a love potion of her own.”

Vicky gasps, far too dramatically than the situation warrants, and Ginny’s body shakes with silent laughter. “You really think so?”

“It would explain everything,” says Romilda. “Why else do you think they’re suddenly snogging all over the place?”

At this, Ginny bristles. Sure, there was that first kiss in the common room, and there have been a few corridor greetings that perhaps got out of hand, but for Merlin’s sake, it’s not like they’re Ron and Lavender.

“Plus, she’s got easy access,” adds Romilda. “Her brothers are the ones sending out the love potions, aren’t they? I bet she’s got an unlimited supply.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” replies Vicky, sounding awestruck. “If only you could prove it, then she’d get detention too-“

Romilda laughs - a harsh, mean cackle. “I’d pay good money to see her sweeping up owl droppings.”

It’s not exactly comfortable, perching atop a closed toilet seat, and this foray into espionage is eating into Ginny’s lunch hour. As she peers through the narrow gap between the stall door and the wall, she sees that Romilda and Vicky are quite caught up in applying shiny pink gloss to their lips.

She simply doesn’t have time for this. It’s taking too much time away from Harry, and they’ve got so little time together anyway. And so - even though she still has to wee - she climbs down off the seat, flushes the toilet, and unlocks the door.

The girls are frozen with shock as Ginny strides over to the sink right next to Romilda and turns the tap on full blast.

“Oh, hi there,” Ginny chirps, beaming at Romilda’s stunned reflection in the mirror. “Love that lip gloss on you. It’s very - erm-“ Clearing her throat, she runs a bar of soap over her palms. “Sparkly. Boys like that, do they?”

As she lathers her hands with soap - and she really scrubs, too, just to drag out the moment - a deliciously heavy silence descends upon them. Ginny goes about her business as though nothing’s out of the ordinary, rinsing the suds from her hands and drying them off, but inwardly she delights at the panicked glances between Romilda and Vicky.

“Well, I’d better be off,” says Ginny brightly, tossing her hair over one shoulder and making for the door. “Those love potions aren’t going to brew themselves, are they?”

When she gets to the Great Hall, she finds Harry seated alone at the Gryffindor table. It’s still surreal that she can do the things she does - place a hand on his shoulder as she approaches, lean in for a kiss that he eagerly reciprocates, seat herself right next to him on the bench - and yet somehow it’s natural too, easy, like they should have been doing this for months now already.

“Sorry I took so long,” says Ginny as she pours herself a glass of pumpkin juice. “I got held up a bit. Where’re these two?” She gestures across the table to the empty seats usually occupied by Ron and Hermione.

“The library, apparently,” replies Harry.

“Ron’s spending his lunch break in the library?”

“More like spending it wherever Hermione wants him to.”

“Right,” Ginny chuckles.

Harry’s hand finds her thigh under the table, the warmth of his fingertips burning through the fabric of her robes. “Did something happen?”

“Hmm?”

“You said you got held up, is everything all right?”

“Oh, that.” Ginny takes a sip of pumpkin juice to stall for time. “It’s nothing really, just - people are talking about us. And I happened to... overhear.”

She quickly summarizes the highlights of Romilda and Vicky’s conversation, and by the end, Harry’s shaking his head in disbelief... but he’s also on the verge of laughter.

And it is so good to see him laugh. It’s so good to see this lightness come over him, to see him relieved of the life he has to live. In the face of a truly happy Harry Potter, what’s a bit of gossip, really?

“I’m so sorry,” he says, shifting in his seat to face her as her hand covers his. “I’m sorry people talk about us, that they say those things about you-“

“I’m not bothered,” she tells him plainly, and she’s really not. It’s annoying, but it’s so trivial that it’s not worth the space in her brain. “Not if you’re not.”

His face draws closer to hers, so close that their foreheads nearly touch. “I’m not either.”

Their lips meet - and maybe, Ginny thinks, maybe she will go snogging him all over the place, because if that’s the reputation she’s got then she may as well embrace it - until her recollection of how all this came about triggers something in her brain.

“I’ll be right back,” she says as she clambers off the bench.

Harry puzzles up at her. “You just got here.”

“Weren’t you listening? I never actually got to wee, and now I really have to-“

And she hurries toward the door with the sound of Harry’s laughter flooding her ears.

#hinny ficfest #harry potter #ginny weasley #hinny fanfic #HBP missing moment

[astralis01]

Rivalry (Isn’t it Bitter Sweet): Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Your feud with Bakugou Katsuki only escalated throughout your years at Hogwarts; whether it was on the quidditch field or who would be the first to sit down in class, there always seemed to be some sort of raging competition between you two.

Read it here on AO3

You could feel his presence from across the dining hall, immediately dowsing you in a raging hatred that you only reserved for him. His arrogance mocked you as he basically danced into the Great Hall bathed in compliments.

The Slytherin quidditch team won against Ravenclaw the night before. You didn’t know why he had all of the glory… he wasn’t even the captain. Being a keeper had its perks, you guessed. You rolled your eyes and focused your attention on your food. You tried not to stab the plate as you heard the varying praises to the boy in green and silver.

And what annoyed you the most was the herd that he always seemed to have around the place he sat. Varying from girls to boys, from Slytherin itself to the other houses too.

Stab, you picked up a piece of broccoli from your plate as you heard, "Wow, Tsuki, the last save was so cool."

Pierce, “That last block was brilliant!”

And that was the last straw for you. Who had even given the very, obviously bright idea of making the Gryffindors and Slytherins almost sit together?

Katsuki Bakugou was simply not someone who deserved such compliments. He was vile, annoying, and did everything in his limited power to poke and prod at every single one of your nerves. You used to ignore the burning hatred that you harboured for him; but late in your second year, you had let it all out.

And, as it turned out, he wasn’t quite fond of you either.

It had been years since then, yet the feeling remained the same. It was just the start of your sixth year and you already wanted to gouge his eyes out with the pointy end of your fork.

Hanta Sero caught your eye from across the tables and gave you a cheeky smile in return and the rage which had simmered down a bit rose again with a vengeance. He was the captain of the other team and you wished you could hate him as much as him. But he was quite fun to be around when he wasn't hanging out with that loser.

Though before you could get up from your place in the hall, Shouto Todoroki stopped you, holding your hands and preventing you from getting off your seat.

You turned to look at him, with the most terrible glare you could offer but he just gave you the most unimpressed look and pulled you down to sit beside him again, still holding your hand and preventing you from charging at the Slytherin table.

Then a young Slytherin, probably a first-year piped out, "Next week at the Gryffindor versus Slytherin match, you guys are sure to win."

Shouto's grip faltered and you grinned. One thing that annoyed Shouto the most, perhaps, after his father was the fact when someone insulted the Gryffindor Quidditch team that he was a proud member of.

And that was the moment you needed to charge towards the Slytherin table before any of your other friends tried to put an intervention to your actions.

"I wouldn't be too sure, you know, we have a pretty good team this year," you said, casually leaning on the table.

"And why would that stop us from winning, Captain? We have a pretty good team this year, perhaps the best," Sero drawled out, almost stretching onto the table like a tabby cat and you just wanted to slap the smirk off his face.

And before you could put that thought into action, Izuku Midoriya, came and dragged you away back to the table, so you yelled back, "Next week, we'll surely be the winners.”

"We'll see," Bakugou said.

Perhaps five years ago, you wanted to be friends with Katsuki, but now Katsuki and you were bitter enemies.

It started in the first year when you met with Katsuki and Izuku on the train.

As soon as Katsuki entered the train cart you sat in, he dozed off and Izuku came rushing in, apologizing for 'Kachaan's' manners. You laughed it off and invited him to sit with you and you two spent the train ride talking to each other, making friends when suddenly the announcement to be ready to get off at the station sounded off.

"Kachaan, wake up. We're here. We're here at Hogwarts."

"Shut up Deku."

You frowned at the interaction but you forwarded a hand towards him and said, "Hello, I am-"

"No need to tell me you shitty extra," and he walked out on the both of you.

Izuku tried to apologize for his actions but you shushed him and dragged him out with you to climb aboard the boats.

And perhaps, that was the start of your bitter rivalry.

The ending of the second year was when you finally cracked the nut in the middle of Charms class and told him off in the middle of class, in front of everyone. This is why you were put in Gryffindor, a small part of your mind thought.

(another part of your mind had thought that you shouldn't have done that and perhaps you might be at the very least allies today.)

"For Merlin's sake, can you stop shouting for a moment? This," gesturing towards his mouth, "is getting super annoying. Don't you ever get tired of shouting so much, all the time?"

And an awkward silence blanketed the class as everyone quieted down to watch the fight between you two.

Bakugou slowly turned red and then shouted, "This is getting annoying? Well, your presence is getting annoying but do you see me screaming at you to fuck off all the time, you prissy prick?"

You turned at him with the vilest look and said, "If you are going to be an idiot, you should actually try to be subtle about it."

Katsuki froze and said, "Funny you should say it."

“You’re so ridiculous.” You rolled your eyes. “Oh, I’m Katsuki Bakugou and I am a perfect student that can’t even properly pronounce a simple spell! But that doesn’t matter because guess who’s a keeper for the quidditch team when I’m only a second-year!! I am perfect!! Literally, no one likes you.”

“Trust me, no one likes you either.”

No one meaning, and translating to, I don’t.

Just to show off, you easily cast the charm that he had failed. Charms were your strong subject, so you only needed to say the spell and flick your wand before turning your attention back to him.

He was nearly smoking from his ears, he was both embarrassed and livid.

And you felt a satisfied smirk curl up on your face as you turned to Ochako to help her complete the spell.

You waved to Momo Yaoyorozu as you walked down the hallway to meet up with Shouto and Izuku. Even though she was a Ravenclaw, she was a close friend of yours through Shouto.

And you kinda owed it to your housemates for stopping you from embarrassing yourself multiple times to be nice to their friends.

“Hey, Yao-momo.” You said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until classes tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, I’m waiting for Kyouka.” She turned his body to lean against the wall. “We’re going to Hogsmeade today.”

“No invitation?”

She smiled at you and asked, “Would you like to join us, Captain?”

“I was joking, no need to sound so enthusiastic.” You chuckled. As you started to speak again, Kyouka Jirou left the classroom the two of you stood outside of. She smiled at you, her violet eyes gleaming at you, reflecting the sun rays.

“Captain!” Kyouka greeted, putting an arm around your shoulder. “Are you coming to Hogsmeade with us?”

“Be careful, your mortal enemies are coming.” Momo interrupted and warned, motioning over your shoulder.

You turned around to find Sero and Bakugou walking next to each other, laughing about something only the two of them knew. You had to hold back from commenting.

“Yoohoo!” Hanta Sero caught your eye. You sighed and turned back to your friends, sharing a look.

“Hello, Hanta.” You felt him beside you before you looked.

You purposely didn’t look at Bakugou.

“We’re celebrating our win tonight, you guys should join!” Sero invited. You heard Bakugou’s exhale of frustration, but you only rolled your eyes in an attempt to ignore his presence.

“You want a group of your rivals, plus one from the team that you beat today hanging out with you, celebrating your win, when Gryffindor go against you in less than a week?” Momo spoke up. Shee moved off of the wall. “No thanks. Come, Kyouka. Let’s go.”

Kyouka waved goodbye and followed her best friend down the hall. You pivoted to fully face the two Slytherins.

"What about the mighty Lion's Captain?" Sero asked.

"No, thanks, I have better stuff to do," you said, turning on your heels and waving at Sero.

Bakugou glared at your retreating figure.

It was the time of year just before winter, where the air starts to cool but the sun still warms your skin. You took a breath and held your broom at your side.

It was near minutes before the anticipated game against Slytherin, the two fated rivals, and you could hear the crowds already. The rivalry between your houses was something that everyone enjoyed; the rivalry between you and their keeper was all you.

“Alright team.” You pivoted to the team behind you. “We’re playing Lion first; and if we don’t get any points within the first two minutes, I’ll hold up the signal for Golden. Got it?”

“Got it.”

You had pretty much the best team between all of the houses in your honest opinion.  was perfect as your keeper, he was never one to let anything get past him. Your chasers included you, Shouto, and Eijirou Kirishima. You had Leon and Leo for beaters. Two-third years that showed a huge amount of potential. And, rather recently, you gained a new seeker named Izuku Midoriya. And Izuku being one of your old friends made your teamwork with him, flawless in games

The Slytherin team was not one to mess with, they had a nice team too. Bakugou as the keeper, the Idiots Monoma and Tetsutetsu as beaters, their new seeker Aoyoma… but the problem was their chasers: Sero, Kyouka, Mina. They were so quick on their brooms, it was like working against the wind.

But your team was faster than theirs.

Today was no day to lose.

“It’s our first official match of the year.” You encouraged. “Let’s show them who not to mess with.”

“Let’s absolutely destroy them,” Leon added.

You grinned.

As you headed towards the field, you could feel the adrenaline creeping into your bones. Quidditch had become routine, simple muscle memory as you moved to your starting positions.

The Slytherin team appeared, and you felt the excitement enter you in a rush of air.

And as soon as the whistle sounded, you all flew off in the air, fully intent on kicking Slytherin's butts.

In the air, Bakugou Katsuki felt at peace. He was very good at what he did, and he knew that, and the game was something he was passionate about.

He was also passionate about beating you.

You were the bane of his existence. You had never once sent him anything other than something bitter or sarcastic. You were an annoying pest that he simply couldn’t get rid of.

And as you threw the Quaffle into the goal just above his head, Katsuki felt his eye twitch.

And what even irritated him, even more, was the small smile that you shot at him as you rushed back for a high-five at Todoroki.

Slytherin won, Izuku Midoriya’s hand high with the Snitch inside.

You watched in triumph as the teams descended on the brooms. From the skies down, you cheered.

“Congrats, Gryffindor,” Sero said, though his tone was bitter and sour.

And it did not feel as the statement was supposed to be at all but you ignored it in favour of the elation.

You knew that he hated losing, so you didn’t push it. He was a friend, after all. Sending him just a small “I’m sorry you didn’t win” smile, you headed to your team. You gathered them into a hug, or rather– a huddle, and ruffled the hair on Izuku’s head.

You peeked over your shoulder to catch sight of Bakugou. He was standing, hands at his sides, red face and eyes blank of any expression other than anger.

You smirked at him.

And he snarled back at you.

Katsuki Bakugou was on the other side of the victory this time, silently brooding as he picked at his food in the Great Hall. The Slytherin table emitted zero volume.

He was pissed off the second you entered the hall, Deku and Todoroki walking beside you. The gold and red seemed to glow, mocking him in the worst way imaginable.

Sero tried to bring his attention back to the food, but Bakugou was focused primarily on you. You were gloating, relishing in his loss, taking delight in the compliments from your house. A Hufflepuff appeared at your side, and you smiled as you thanked them for their congratulations.

He felt sick.

And a small part of him felt angry. But that was well deserved by you, he supposes.

You could not help but drown yourself in the triumph. You walked on air, the feeling of superiority tickling every inch of skin it could touch.

You waved goodbye to a couple of friends, heading directly to the Slytherin table. You placed your hands on Sero and Katsuki’s shoulders, leaning to place your head right between theirs.

“I suppose we beat you as I told you.” You sent a wink to Bakugou, knowing full well how it would provoke him.

“Fuck off.” Bakugou shoved your hand off of his shoulder.

“To receive your praise at the Gryffindor table.” Mina shooed, fork in hand. “You won’t find it here.”

“Sore losers.” You mocked just for fun. You stood straight. “I imagine that I would be the same, given it was the other way.”

You basically skipped back to your table for breakfast.

You were absolutely elated for the rest of the day. It was quite similar to being on cloud 9, winning your first game of the year against your rivals. The look on Katsuki Bakugou’s face only added to the feeling.

You were walking down the hall, talking to Denki who had his arm wrapped in yours. He was going on and on about how he wished he could have imprinted Izuku's snitch catch to his memory. Or made it into shirts so he could sell it to his fan club and you laughed at that idea.

That was when your shoulder collided directly into a firm body.

Your arm was ripped away from your classmates, along with your bag that fell onto the hard ground with a loud thud and wisp of parchment and ink. Everything in your bag is now scattered on the ground, covered in dark ink and dirt.

Your mood was too high to get too angry. It was an accident; you would bite your tongue and clean up the mess.

Until you realized just who’s the shoulder you ran into Bakugou Katsuki. Your greatest enemy and now the destruction of your contents.

“Watch where you’re going next time, Bakugou.” You grunted, kneeling to save some of your parchment before the ink could reach it.

“Perhaps if you had your head out of your ass, you wouldn’t have run into me,” Bakugou responded. He had turned to face you midway through your fall.

“As if you didn’t feel this way a week ago.” You told him, standing up. Nearly everything that was in your bag was soaked, including the bag itself. You inhaled deeply. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Now, why would I run my shoulder into you on purpose hoping to ruin your mood?” He asked. “You must be very arrogant to think that everything must be about you.”

You clenched your jaw and closed your eyes. “I will not let a piece of shit such as yourself bring my mood down today. Today is a good day.”

You knelt once again to find the essay that you had written for Aizawa, searching your documents. Only to find it one of the few that were directly under the ink, completely doused in black.

“Actually, fuck you.” You lifted the paper. Ink dripped off and onto the ground. “Do you know how long I worked on this?”

“I don’t know, a couple of minutes?” Bakugou shrugged. “You aren’t exactly the best at your schoolwork.”

“You wish you knew me well, but you don’t at all.” You felt anger boil in your chest. “I worked very hard on this essay. Days, even. And you destroyed it in less than five seconds..”

“There’s the Gryffindor in you.” He let out a humourless laugh. “You think everything has to be about you, and if it doesn’t then someone is out to get you. Your ego is so fucking enormous that you can’t even muster the idea that maybe something isn’t about you. And then you shout at me for that. You didn’t even win, Deku won the game for you. God, why don’t you go make a friend instead of standing here arguing with me about an accident?”

"Fuck you, I actually have friends, unlike you, who only has followers," you answered back to him.

"Well, you have everyone hanging over you. You're just a slut aren't you?"

Denki's eyes widened and the small groups of people who were conversing around you stopped and for a moment you thought that the whole school had heard with the silence that spread.

You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes. Yes, both of you fought in front of each other. Both of you told each other to fuck off or even curse out a few times but none of you ever shouted such vulgar words at each other.

It was one thing to make comments, to be bitter and roll your eyes at each other’s presence. It was one thing to bicker, to fight, to joke to friends about the other’s incompetence and purposely pull on each other’s strings.

It was something else completely to call you a slut in front of everyone in the middle of a hallway after a thread of insults.

The overwhelming force to cry was still there but you would not allow yourself to cry in front of him.

Right after he called you that.

You would not let him have that satisfaction.

So, you turned on your heels and said, "You're more than an asshole Katsuki Bakugou."

And your prompts hurried away.

Denki, who was still frozen on the spot after the volley of insults had to be shot and the worse had been done, shoved Bakugou aside and said, "You shouldn't have said that Bakugou," and rushed behind you, calling out your name.

"You shouldn't call anyone a slut, Katsuki. Those words are not meant to be uttered in a civil society. It's like calling you a pussy publicly," Mitsuki Bakugou uttered, with the most strict voice she could offer while Masuru Bakugou spluttered at the usage of curse words in front of their son.

Katsuki Bakugou did not think often before speaking. He was just so used to people either bowing down and agreeing to his demands or just ignoring them that when he meet you, someone he could neither affect with both of his options, he always blew up.

Perhaps it was the fact that you had such a kind heart that you shook the Giant Squid's tentacle when it came on your boat during your first year because you thought it was lonely.

Or perhaps it was how easily you made friends with people. Just collecting the lonely bits of a big puzzle and joining it together, seemed to be your speciality.

But perhaps the most infuriating thing about you was the fact that you just refused to bow down to his screams and shouts and temper. You rose to receive the challenge he posed.

That is why his heart tore and clawed its way in his chest when you had turned around and run away from him.

He supposes you had stuck beside him long enough.

And he could not ignore the way that your friends glared at him while sitting in the Great Hall, Todoroki being the most vocal about it.

Or the way, Mina made excuses whenever he tried to talk to her.

Or, how Kirishima had stopped trying to drag his butt to Hogsmead for a friendly meet during the weekends.

Yes, he could not ignore all that.

"Maybe you should apologize," Sero suggested one day after catching the solemn look on his face.

"Do what now?" he screamed at him.

"You know, apologize to them," he repeated, slowly.

"Why should I apologize to them?"

"Because you know that you went too far. I know you still have feelings and stuff that you seem to everyone else for it."

For several days Katsuki Bakugou did not see you anywhere. Not in the classes, not in the Great Hall and the weight of his deed was still there.

So he did the next best thing.

He found out when you had booked the Quidditch pitch for practise of your team because he knew you wouldn't abandon them even in your worse days and planned to apologise to you there.

He had even practised it a few times in front of the mirror, "I'm sorry that I hurt your feelings by calling you a slut."  It was a small apology but he was hopeful that you would forgive him.

Yes. And you two could go back to the regular hating and biting remarks instead of the new empty kind of feeling that settled in his chest.

But the second he stepped onto the Quidditch, he was stopped by Shouto Todoroki and Izuku Midoriya from going any further.

"Kachaan, you should not be here," Izuku said with more force than he had ever talked to with Katsuki and he wondered, what had you done that so many people were standing in defence of you.

"I know. I just came to apologize to them. Just move out of my way Deku."

Todoroki stepped in front of Izuku and said as bluntly as ever, "They don't want to see you. And I don't think your apology will mean anything to them except for sending them into a bad mood."

Before he could say anything, you came and said, "Zuku, Shou, the break is over. Get your butts moving."

Katsuki felt himself freeze in surprise. You had been at the practice for about two hours yet your voice was not hoarse from shouting. Even your energy levels seemed to be at the ever high.

Though before he could unfreeze and say his apology, you had already flown into the sky with Izuku and Shouto behind, in tow, leaving him behind in the dust.

The loneliness that you left behind with ignoring him was cold.

And his heart broke a little.

And he finally understood, all those years he thought he had the vilest hatred for you was just his stupid emotions trying to tell him that he liked you.

But he was too late now, he supposed.

How could he be such an idiot, to believe that you, out of all people, could ever love him?

Hanta Sero took a place beside you. It would have been normal if it were not for your avid avoidance of anyone with a Slytherin robe on.

“Hello, Hanta.” You said without sparing him a glance.

The thing was, you weren’t angry with him. You didn’t hate him, you hated his closest friend. And by association, you didn’t want to talk to him just as much. Sero had always been the middle ground between the doom and gloom that was the sandy-haired boy you hated.

“I think you should talk to Kats,” Sero said. Plain and simple, to the point.

“I think you should mind your business.” You retorted. “I never talked to him to begin with, what’s different now?”

“Because now is different.” He grabbed his book as the professor walked in. “Now, you won’t even say your smart ass remarks or tell him how fucked up his hair looks. Now he is just… boring and sad. And he mopes all the time. He isn't even playing his best on the field”

“So you want me to talk to the guy I hate in order for him to not be sad?” You scoffed and collected your things. “No, thank you. I've been keeping my distance, just like he wanted and I am happy to keep it this way.”

You stood up from your seat and sat beside Izuku just as the professor started talking, receiving a few stares in the process. It wasn’t as if you weren’t used to that.

You were walking with Ochako, laughing about the attempts everyone had tried to do to make Todoroki laugh when you committed the most horrific mistake of your life.

You caught the eye of Bakugou across the street who just had to look at you at the same moment.

You quickly averted your eyes but not before it caught his attention

It had been snowing, so most of the students were in their winter gear and warm clothes. You yourself had a hat and scarf on, gloves to cover your hands despite the hot to-go mug of cocoa in them.

Hogsmeade was quite busy with everyone getting last-minute holiday gifts and hurrying to hang out before the break. Yet, somehow, your eyes found the reds of Bakugou's.

You turned around, forcing Ochako to follow. The girl didn’t even have to ask about your change in demeanour, easily falling into place beside you.

You felt a hand on your wrist and heard your name being called. “Hey. Can I talk to you? I’ve been trying to apologize…”

You stopped dead in your tracks as if you were pulled on a leash. As if his bare hand touching your empty gloved one had scolded you. Bakugou stood before you, red cheeks from either the cold or from rushing after you. Either way, you wanted nothing to do with it.

He had spun you in his grasp, his jaw tight and eyes searching yours before falling to his hand around yours. His grip on your wrist was tight, and he swallowed as his eyes found yours again.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” You snatched your arm away. “Have you ever considered that? I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t want to see you, and I don’t want to hear your half-ass apology! What gives you the right to just waltz back into my life after all the pain you’ve caused."

“I have been trying to talk to you.” He said. “I…” His eyes scanned yours. His tongue rolled in his mouth. “You mean to tell me that you don’t want my apologies?”

“You’ve made it very clear what you think of me, so I hope that I can make this very clear for you,” You took a deep breath. “I hate you. I don’t like you, I have never liked you, and I hope that whatever it is that is eating you up inside continues to do so.”

Katsuki Bakugou’s eyes twitched. He started to take a step towards you, but decided against it, falling back into the same step. “I don’t…” His voice was nothing as you had ever heard it. “You…” His eyes clouded with the emotions you were familiar with. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

Bakugou faltered for a moment, his eyes held remorse and you almost wanted to forgive him but you remembered what he called you.

He quickly shoved a box of chocolates into your hands and said, "I brought this for you as an apology gift but you didn't want my words. I hope my actions will speak louder. And I hope that someday you will find it in your heart to forgive me," and he promptly left, leaving you flabbergasted in the middle of the streets of Hogsmead, with Ochako by your side.

It was a sudden realization. It was not something you had even considered before, not something planned or reasoned. It was much like a tsunami, a build-up of unrelated activity that brought something else entirely.

Emotions were unfortunate things. If you feel extreme emotions for someone, no matter what… they are still very strong feelings.

Hate to love, what a strange concept.

You held the potion below your nose, inhaling the scent.

“What does it smell like?” Aizawa asked.

“It smells like… caramel.” You distinguished the varying smells. “Apple. And… burning wood?”

You stepped back and hoped no one could see you connecting the dots through your eyes.

Hanta Sero was an observant person. He was known to be the person who knew the best for his team, easily finding the perfect techniques for each on the field and as encouragement. He was one for connections and relationships. He was the one who handled the emotional part.

This is why he knew that you were masking feelings of something else with this burning hatred. This is why he knew why you felt so bad after Kats called you a terrible name in front of an audience. This is why he knew who it was when you listed your amortentia scents.

He tried to send you a look from his seat across from you, classes later. He wanted to tell you that he knew; that he knew there was something more to what’s going on, and that something was Katsuki.

You just sent him a middle finger, knowing full well what he was getting at.

Your feelings didn’t just suddenly arrive. And you were full of confusion, disorientation, and most of all… anger.

For as long as you could remember, Katsuki Bakugou was supposed to be your arch enemy. He was your nemesis on a daily basis. He was the reason for your annoyance. He was the reason for your hatred for the colours green and silver. He was the reason you became the quidditch captain. He was the reason for the breath leaving your lungs.

And he was the reason for the breath entering.

You were pissed. You were pissed that you had unrealized feelings for the man you were supposed to hate, have hated for years. You were pissed that your love had been in a game of chess, where the only outcome is to win or forfeit. You were pissed that the entire time you had spent a vast majority of your time hating, loathing, rolling your eyes at… the entire time you had reserved space for hate when it should have been quite the opposite.

The luck must have been exclusively for someone else because it seemed as though whoever created you had decided to have a fun game.

You had punched Bakugou Katsuki once.

It was something you thought of a lot, and it was the main reason Bakugou chose not to test you too close to that day.

He was rolling his eyes at something Denki was saying when you walked by. You were heading to your quidditch practice, the captain not one for latecomers. And he caught sight of you. He quickly jumped from his spot and stopped you from passing.

“Out of the way, Katsuki, I have practice.”

“Oh, right, because you’re on the quidditch team now.”

“I am, thank you very much.” It was the beginning of the third year, and you were not only annoyed but you were also a Growing Person going through puberty. You did not have time to deal with a teenage boy pissing you off. “You forget that not everyone got on the team their first year of trying out.”

“Because we’re better than the entire Gryffindor team.”

“Talk to me when you win a house cup.” You tried to push past him, but he stood directly in front of you in one step. “Move, or be moved.”

“What are you going to do? Punch me?”

So, you did. Your fist collided with his cheek before you could even register that it had happened. Denki gasped out loud, it quickly turned into a laugh.

“They punched you! That was superb.” Denki laughed, grasping at his sides. “Ah, man!”

While Bakugou touched his cheek to check that— ah yes, you really did punch him— you were already walking away to the practice field.

Katsuki started t missed you if he were being fully and completely honest with himself.

It was right, you only miss something that is completely removed from your life.

He found himself searching for you in classes or in common areas, prepared for your snide remarks and bitter taunts. He found himself waiting for you to roll your eyes at his presence; looking for you to quip about the next quidditch game.

But when none of it came, he felt out of place.

He actually missed your annoying banter. He missed you shoving your middle finger in his direction. He missed the redness on your cheeks when you would try to calm yourself down. He missed the silence that would escape you if he entered a room and you were anything other than angry.

He missed catching you smiling at someone and watching your face change. He missed the arguments in class. He missed the little comments during eating.

Confused, he pushed those feelings down as he watched you eat with some Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff that he had never talked to before.

And the empty space in his heart only grew larger in size.

It had been several weeks of silence from your end. You had thrown yourself back into quidditch before the break, happy to have a distraction from whatever the fuck you were feeling. You weren’t going home for the holidays, so you spent some time planning for the spring and classes.

You found yourself outside, sitting in the snow and writing a makeup essay for Aizawa. You had found a nice spot under a roofed area, so nothing smudged your writing (or, you know, covered it completely).

“Oh.” A voice said from above you.

You looked up to find Bakugou, hands in pockets and staring at you as if you had never existed and he was discovering you for the first time.

“I wasn’t expecting to find anyone here.” He said.

“Yeah, obviously neither was I.” You started to put your things away.

“No… no comment?”

“Hm?”

“No… snarky comment? No, you look terrible to me?”

You shook your head. Mainly because you didn’t have the energy. You were content, bored, and just overall exhausted. You had exhausted yourself in thinking of every possible outcome to your love for the boy in front of you, none of which made any sense.

None of it made any sense.

It was as if one moment, you were standing on the ground. And the next, you were swept away by a giant wave that you thought was only an earthquake. You hated to love.

“Then, can I finally say what I have been meaning to?”

“No.” You finally got the last of your things into your bag.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why can’t you just hear me out?” He stood in front of you, hoping to stall your leaving. “I’ve been trying to tell you that I shouldn’t have called you a slut, and I should have…”

“And I don’t want to hear it.”

You started to leave, but he jogged to jump in front of you again. Through the years, he had gained height compared to you. You weren’t necessarily kids anymore, you weren’t at eye level to just punch him in his cheek without reaching for it.

“God, you’re fucking annoying.” You shifted your bag on your shoulders. “You want me to call you a name so it can be even? Do you want me to tell you that everything is fine and we can go back to our constant fighting? What do you fucking want from me? Did it mean anything to you? Did I mean anything to you?”

“What do I want from you?” He asked, voice rising to match yours. “What do you want from me? I’ve been trying to get your attention for over a fucking month and you have given me every reason to just stop.”

“Then why don’t you!” You dropped your hands. “Why don’t you just leave me the fuck alone?”

“Why?”

“Why what, Katsuki?”

“Why?” Katsuki let out a small breath, the grey cloud leaving his lungs. “Why won’t you just let me talk to you for five minutes?”

“Because I don’t want to! Because I don’t want to hear you make up excuses. Because I cannot listen to your voice for too long.”

Before you could stop yourself, before you could recognize your own voice, before any thoughts arrived, you said, “Because for some fucked up god awful reason, I’m in love with you!”

Everything froze all at once. The oxygen left your lungs, the snow stopped falling, and everything became so unbearably silent.

You stared at him, regret drenching you in an instant as if the tides of the ocean had risen and fell in one single motion. You couldn’t breathe, your heart seized in your chest and against your ribs. You couldn’t bring yourself to look into his face, fearing to find yourself lost and never found.

He let out a single breath. And you held yours.

He froze and then he leaned forward.

He remembered the last time he was too late to act.

His lips touched yours, gently and then suddenly was full of the fireworks that everyone had said about their first kisses. The fervent feelings that ran through your bodies, the anger and the misplaced love, all tumbling out in the biggest mess he'd ever seen.

But he continued. And then you broke apart.

Both of you had a lot of talking to do with each other but hopefully it would all turn out to be well.

"And so, we both are kinda dating now," you finished with an awkward look on your face, rubbing your neck.

A silence overtook your friends and Izuku whispered, "What the fuck?"

Shouto screamed at the both of you, "I fucking knew it." And then his voice slipped into his conspiracy theorist voice, "There was sexual tension between the two of you."

You facepalmed.

Katsuki turned red.

#bnha #mha #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #x gn reader #bakugou x y/n #mha bakugou #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou x reader #boku no hero acadamia oc #bnha fanfic

[mysticpetals]

When we were young (1)

Pairing — Jake × f!mc (Syianne Langford)

Genre — Hogwarts!au, (reluctant) friends to lovers, humor, fluff

Word count — 1.5k

Summary — Jake and Syianne had known each other since their first year, but growing up has changed their relationship and not for the better. While one of them tries to save it, the other doesn't want anything to do with it. Whatever will they do?

Notes — so! I'm back with a Jake fic after 7372862 years lol this is honestly not my best work and I hope you guys can ignore any discrepancies in there. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it 💖 p.s I'm a Slytherin myself ;)

It was a well known fact in Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry that every Slytherin needed a Hufflepuff.

The mostly brooding house members get a bad reputation because of the work of previous students in Slytherin and that's why, it was an unspoken rule amongst the Hufflepuffs that they'd all befriend at least one Slytherin so that no one feels alone at the magical school. Because no matter which house they belonged to, no one deserves to feel as if they're not wanted.

And while the houses were much more comfortable and united with each other after the defeat of Voldemort, some stigmas ran too deep to be ignored so easily.

Jake knew this. Had known it ever since he sat down at the Slytherin table after his sorting and the older students mentioned that they'd be greeted enthusiastically by the Hufflepuffs and not to be put out by this. They'd be getting a friend for life after all, one that won't discriminate against them because of the colors they wore.

He just didn't expect his Hufflepuff to be a cheerful, bubbly and overly optimistic girl, Syianne Langford.

Don't get him wrong, he really appreciated having a friend right from the beginning of his journey at Hogwarts. It had seemed like a godsend at first, considering how shy and antisocial he tended to be. And Syianne was nice, she really was. It was just…..she was too nice. He couldn't understand how a person could be so happy at all times and as much as he appreciated her, he also didn't like spending a lot of time with her. It was confusing in the beginning, to say the least, how he could hold a civil conversation with her one day and then didn't speak to her again for two.

Now in his fifth year, he wished he had gotten anyone else other than her as he watched her enter the Potions classroom and scan the room for him. His attempts to hide himself by ducking his head seemed to not have worked as he heard her quick steps come towards him, sliding on the stool next to him.

"Hello, Jake!"

Merlin, how was she so loud? And why? It was only 11 am, and he just wanted to go to sleep. But of course, his Hufflepuff was the human embodiment of sunshine and he sighed, lifting his head and giving Syianne a strained smile.

"Hello, Syianne. How are you doing?"

"I'm doing good! I'm so excited for herbology today, I heard Professor Sprout is going to let us handle the venomous tentacula!" She chirped, practically bouncing on her stool, which teetered uncertainty. She had a wide smile on her face and Jake almost felt bad for what he was about to say.

"Why are you happy about coming in contact with a poisonous plant? One that could kill you?" He scrunched his face, not liking Herbology or the hazardous greenhouses they had to study in. They were too bright and colorful for his taste.

Syianne's eyes dimmed a little and she pouted, narrowing her eyes.

"You could at least pretend to be excited. The plant is actually very sweet once you get to know her," she grumbled and Jake looked at her in disbelief and something akin to horror.

"Her? Are you—"

"Good morning class! Let's begin today's lesson shall we?"

The Professor entered the classroom and they began the lesson. Jake would have thought that Syianne would be cross with him after he insulted her precious plants but to his chagrin, she was back to her usual self and talked to him all throughout the lesson, with him giving less than enthusiastic responses to her rapid questions. By the end of the lesson, Jake's hands were tired from stirring the potion and his ears were about to fall off.

He finally heaved a sigh of relief when the Professor said that they could leave and continue making it in the next class. He practically tossed his books in the bag and got up from his seat when a hand caught his wrist. He swivelled around to frown at Syianne who only smiled in return.

"We have Herbology next, let's go walk together?" She asked and he thought of various reasons he could use to get out of it but in the end, nodded wearily, getting a blinding smile from the girl in return.

"Great, let's go!"

The walk to Herbology greenhouses was rather pleasant. Syianne didn't speak as much, taking in the sight of the large grounds and Jake had a minute to himself. He was thinking that if it was like this all the time, he could get used to Syianne's company, before his thoughts were interrupted by Syianne grabbing his arm and yanking him towards herself.

He stumbled and almost fell onto her but at the last minute, held onto her shoulders to avoid the both of them tumbling to the ground. He raised his head to angrily berate her but froze realising how close they were to each other. Jake, never being one for close physical contact, blushed furiously, his cheeks turning the color of Griffindor's flag and sputtered, releasing her shoulders and stepping aside.

"Wh-why did you do that?" He cleared his throat but didn't have to wait for an answer as Richy Rogers, a Ravenclaw, swooshed past them on his broom, laughter ringing behind his wake and Professor McGonagall's angry voice telling him to 'come back here at once!'.

Jake turned to Syianne, awkwardly trying to thank her for saving him but she just shook her head with a smile.

"Come on, we're friends. It's what we do for each other," she said and then continued on towards the greenhouses.

Jake felt a little silly afterwards. Since growing up, he had even less interest in talking to anyone and usually remained by himself or occasionally with his half sister Lilly. He began to distance himself from Syianne, who he used to spend some time with earlier but now it was only when they had classes together. He decided that he'd try to be a little more civil with the girl who was still trying to save their friendship. He didn't have to constantly be around her but he'll try not to give dry answers in response to her never-ending questions.

The Herbology classroom was filled with nervous students with a few excited exceptions and Jake found himself stepping back when Professor Sprout placed a writhing tentacula on their table. Syianne looked like Christmas had come early as she watched the plants arms slither around the table, trying to find something to latch onto.

"Today you'll be collecting three leaves from your respective plants for your Potions inventory. These plants are still babies but that doesn't mean they can't hurt you. Be careful not to let them sting you, you'll be out for days if it happens. You can use a stunning charm to stun them and collect the leaves. Now please begin!"

Jake had even less of a desire to do anything after hearing Professor Sprout's words but Syianne was all for it, wearing her dragon hide gloves and looking at him.

Jake sighed and wore his gloves, carefully stepping towards the plant. He took out his wand to perform the stunning spell when Syianne came between him and the plant, cooing and stroking it's vines. He faltered, looking at her in disbelief as she baby talked the plant and to his surprise, the plant calmed down and stopped moving.

"How are you doing that?" He couldn't help but ask and she turned to him with a grin.

"They're babies, aren't they? So I'm just calming them down. We won't have to stun them that way. Here, you try!" She stepped aside to allow him to tackle the plant but he immediately shook his head.

"No, I'm good."

"Nonsense, it won't bite."

But alas, Jake's luck for the day seemed to have run out because as soon as Syianne stopped touching the plant, it started writhing like before and one of it's vines immediately wrapped around Jake's arm, tightening around it. Before Jake could stun him, the vines yanked him forward and his stomach collided with the corner of the table, knocking all breath out of him. He fell to his knees, wincing as the thorns cut his arm.

Just as suddenly as it had happened, Jake felt the vines release his arm and Professor Sprout leaning over him, with Syianne at his side, looking at him worriedly.

Efforts to reconcile be damned, he didn't even want to see her face right now.

"I'm afraid we might have to go to the hospital wing, dear. And don't worry about your assignment, I'm sure Syianne will manage by herself," Professor Sprout said, lifting him up and Syianne nodded rapidly at her words.

Gritting his teeth, he sent her a sharp look, making clear his dislike and took grim satisfaction in the fact that her face fell and she wasn't smiling anymore.

#duskwood #duskwood jake #everbyte duskwood #duskwood game #everbyte #jake × mc #duskwood jake × mc #jake × player #duskwood fanfic #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood hogwarts au #jake fanfic #duskwood player

[saveourskinship]

Truth and Lies

There are some lies we tell ourselves so often they become the truth. We revisit the memory of the truth and lie again and again until eventually all we are left with is the lie and the truth is buried in a sea of grey cells.

“Merlin but I hate Granger,” Draco said. Blaise wondered with how often he’d heard this, if he could coerce Draco giving him a Galleon every time it was uttered. 

Though even with the vast Malfoy vaults Blaise thought he’d be able to bankrupt them by graduation.

“Did you SEE what she did today?” his friend vibrated with rage. More mirage than man.

“When it comes to Granger I employ the monkey principle,” Blaise drawled.

“The what? Say something sensible, Zabini!” Draco spat. Blaise desperately wanted to point out Draco’s lack of that particular virtue, but his beleaguered and tattered soul could not be, in a word, arsed.

Instead, he placed his hands reverently first over his eyes, then his ears, then his mouth. 

When Draco sputtered at him for further explanation like a fish trying to give a lecture, he rolled his eyes and explained with all the weary put-uponness of Snape attempting to teach Longbottom something.

“See no, hear no, speak no evil,” he stoically blinked.

Draco’s eyes widened and he looked shocked, “She’s not... well, she’s not evil.”

“Isn’t she though?” Blaise sighed. 

How often the witch was mentioned with insults traipsing after her name from his pale, annoying friend it seemed like she should be. She was certainly a nuisance but only because her presence rendered Draco a convulsing, frothing mess. 

And she didn’t even seem to notice which was rather unsporting of her.

Blaise contemplated Granger outside the realm of Draco’s vitriol while his friend paced around flailing about the witch granting him a favour for Prefect rounds so he could still attend his Quidditch practices. 

“She’s making me a target for everyone else, it’s like some sort of performative art piece on my so-called exceptionalism,” he was raving nonsensically.

“Actually, she’s quite pretty,” Blaise concluded.

Draco made a sound like the wind had been knocked out of him. It was deeply unattractive.

“Blaise, that’s - that’s disgusting,” Draco recoiled and shuddered the words out like he was gagging on the thought.

“She is, though. I might ask her to hang out, she’s not with Weasley anymore right?”

“But Blaise, her hair and her teeth and just - ugh!” Draco screwed up his nose. 

“I admit, when we were younger her hair did tend to swamp her, but it suits her face now she’s grown. And thanks to you her teeth got fixed in fourth year,” he listed his head contemplatively towards the ceiling. “I’d go as far to say that Granger is hot now.”

“You did not just say that. Gross, Blaise, gross.”

Blaise just shrugged and let Draco flop into an armchair now that he’d tired himself out letting out the occasional repulsed scoff and glare in Blaise’s general direction.

The next morning Blaise sat next to Granger in Charms. He spoke to her and watched Draco nearly break out into a rash which was worth the perfunctory ‘Hello’ alone.

Turned out Granger had often summered in Florence, and they had a few of the same favourite spots in the city, including a particular gelateria near his palazzo. She was a fan of his mother’s music and all in all wasn’t horrible to talk to.

“I know about you and Ginny,” she whispered as they practiced wandless summoning charms.

He smirked at her, “Oh, yes? You must be terribly disappointed in her.”

She shook her head, “No, she seems very happy actually,” she gave him a genuine smile. “You should come to Hogsmeade with us next weekend. I think she’d like us to be friends.”

“Only if you convince her to come to Italy in July, she doesn’t think her family will approve. You can come, too, if you like,” he offered.

“I’m sure I can do that,” she winked at him, and Draco smacked himself in the face across the room when he failed to catch the book he was summoning.

Draco was feverish at lunch that day.

“What was with that perverted display in Charms, Zabini? It was utterly vile the way you two were looking at each other.”

“She asked me to go with her on the next Hogsmeade trip,” he replied easily. Casually. Like Draco wasn’t about to have a heart attack.

Sure enough, Draco slumped and paled like he’d lost all feeling down his left side.

“Oh, and she said she’d come to Italy with me in July,” he added, just to see if two sentences were enough to be the cause of death of his friend.

Almost. Draco went grey like he’d been embalmed and stiff with supposed rigor mortis. Sadly, he could still speak so it wasn’t the devastating mortal blow Blaise had hoped for.

“But Blaise, July is when I’m going to be in Italy with you, too,” his voice dead and hollow.

“Mm, well, I’ll need someone to entertain Granger while I spend time with my girlfriend so do you think once you’re away from school and Slytherin and your family you can be civil to her?” Blaise blandly asked, buttering a bread roll and briefly catching Ginny’s eye while Granger spoke to her. 

His witch gave him an adorable smile and blushed.

“Girlfriend?” Draco gaped. “You don’t have a girlfriend.”

“No, you don’t have a girlfriend,” Blaise corrected him. “I always have a girlfriend but I’m quite serious about this one.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at him, “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

Blaise shrugged, “With a terribly unorthodox method, but it seems to be working.”

“And what would that be?” Draco scornfully retorted.

Blaise fixed him with a stare, one that went deep into his friend and tried to coax out that so very buried truth in him, “With kindness, obviously.”

Draco darted his eyes around trying to figure it out.

“The palazzo has a lovely pool,” Blaise mused. “I wonder how much Granger likes swimming.”

Draco attempted to drown himself in his pumpkin juice. Blaise pulled him back from the brink with a firm hand on his shoulder and a low word in his ear.

“Do you really hate her, mate?” directing a nod towards where Granger was prettily talking to Ginny and prettily blowing on a spoonful of soup and prettily tucking a curl behind her ear.

“Oh,” Draco said with a spasm of surprise. “Ohh.”

Blaise clapped him once and went back to eating. Things were silent for a bit.

“So, Italy in July, right?” Draco queried with an excited tremor.

See that’s the thing about truths, they’ll always be stronger than a lie. It just takes the right set of circumstances to have them bob right up to the surface again.

Blaise smiled, “Yeah,” he said watching his friend light up. “Maybe even August, too.”

#dramione #draco x hermione #blinny #blaise x ginny #ficlet #"the 'oh' factor

[willowbleedsonpaper]

Play Dumb

Draco Malfoy x Ravenclaw Female Reader

W.C. 3500

A/N: Hello! So this is my first time posting something I wrote. I’m a little nervous but also very proud of this. I apologize in advance if there is any mistake, English is not my first language.  

I would love to know what you think! Thank you and happy reading.

Summary: One day visiting your friend Myrtle, you found that she already had company. Learning some things you shouldn’t about Draco Malfoy you become really nervous around him and see yourself in the need to face him.

*Not my GIF. Credits to the creator*

 You knew you shouldn’t be out so late, the corridors were completely empty and the echo of your hurried footsteps were so loud you wouldn’t be surprised if some prefect caught you just because of the sound. 

But you weren’t the only one out past curfew. The sound of laughter and chase reached your ears from the end of the hallway and there was only one escape. You waited until whoever was having worse luck than you ran past so you could turn and head to your destination. Just as your back rested flat against the stone wall a group of Gryffindors ran the opposite direction from where you were followed close by Mr. Filch who limped as fast as he could after them.

You counted to ten on your head, letting out a breath and resuming your way. The second floor girl’s bathroom was rarely visited by anyone, but you found comfort in the friendly chat you could have with the fellow Ravenclaw, even is she was dead. Not many took the time to get to know Myrtle and she didn’t give chances easily after being called names and thrown things her way, you on the other hand, gathered the patience and tried your best to be an enjoyable company to the girl. You argued, many times ending in an exchange of shouts and petty insults but you always came back and Myrtle always welcomed you with open arms. 

So to say that you were shocked to hear a different voice from Myrtle’s as you walked through the door was an understatement. You tiptoed your way in, curious as to who would be there that late at night, you never encountered anyone else there on your visits. 

“Myrtle?” you called, taking the last steps to where Myrtle usually. There on the floor sat a boy, he rested his body against the wall, hugging his knees and looking up to nowhere in particular. He didn’t seemed to have heard you until his head snapped at you, your shoe stepping in a puddle of water.

“What are you doing here?” he grumbled, clearly annoyed as his wide eyes changed into a glare. It was Draco Malfoy. You could see him now more clearly, his hair was little wild and his eyes looked tormented, but otherwise it was just the Slytherin Prince in the flesh.

“I came here to see Myrtle.” you answered him, opting to not say a thing about his puffy eyes of the fact that his hands shaked at his sides “I can go,” you offered pointing at the door “She’s not here anyway” and with that you turned on your heel, leaving without another word.

********************************************************************

Your days at Hogwarts were peaceful and full of joy. You adored each and every single one of your classes even if you weren't the best at them, the fact that you tried was enough for you, spending time at the library to research the subjects you didn’t fully understand and just for the sake of being there. If someone was looking for you that would be the first place to look. 

You were rarely alone. You were always by your housemate and best friend side, Luna Lovegood, and so it wasn’t a surprise to find her alongside her friends from Gryffindor, Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom. Ginny was the only Weasley you ever considered talking to, the others were too involved in the drama of  Harry Potter’s life, and even if you caught on the looks Ginny would give the boy who lived, she didn’t drag the problems with her. 

You were happy.

The biggest problem you’ve had in all your years at Hogwarts involved failing a test. That was it. You weren’t a brilliant witch like Granger but you weren’t stupid either. You learned even if that didn’t reflect on your grades all the time. 

And yet, lately you found yourself nervous all the time. You felt watched, every place you turned a certain Slytherin was looking your way. Sometimes his eyes would drift away from you and pretend he wasn’t staring but in more than one occasion you’ve locked eyes with him and he shamelessly would keep on looking at you. 

Did you do something to anger him? No, you would remember something like that. You’ve barely crossed paths with him, much less talked to him. Then why the sudden interest in you? 

“Y/N?” you turned your eyes to Luna next to you, giving her a shy smile “Are you alright?” she asked you with a little smile of her own.

You nodded your head, and took a sip of your juice in front of you “Sorry Luna,” you said “I’m just distracted, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” she sighed happily “I can see that. I’ve also noticed how Draco has been staring at you the entire week” she said, you choked a little on your juice at the casual tone with which she spoke.  She handed you a napkin, muttering a Thank you you took it from her hand. Luna tilted her head in your direction “Haven’t you noticed?”

“Actually, yes.” you answered nervously “I don’t why, though.”

Luna hummed softly under her breath, turning gracefully to the table and getting a piece of fruit “Maybe it has to do with your encounter with him” she said.

“Why is that? We barely spoke” you frowned at her, the idea never crossing your mind

“Well, if I was Draco and someone had seen me potentially crying I would be scared of that someone gossiping” Luna smiled, grabbing her bag and holding her hand out for you to take “You coming?” she asked.

You mirrored her actions, taking her hand and walking to your first class of the day. You found it difficult to concentrate the entire day, Luna’s words ringing inside your head at all times. You couldn’t grasp your head around the idea of Draco Malfoy being scared of you telling everyone that you saw him crying. Why would anyone do that? Everybody cries, it’s human. 

You pushed the thoughts aside, or as much as you could, and carried on with your day as normally as you could. The back of your head burning at all times with glares and stares from the blonde boy.

********************************************************************

“What’s gotten into you?” Blaise Zabini took his usual spot next to Draco on the common room, the fire burning as he started intently into the flames.

“What do you mean?” Draco asked back, never lifting his eyes to look at him.

Blaise laughed softly, pointing his hands at him “That’s what I mean.” he exclaimed “You’ve been inside your head the past week, barely putting any attention to any of us or the classes. How many times have you asked for my notes?” he asked with a raised eyebrow “Pansy’s? Theo’s? Merlin! Next thing we know we’ll have to give the class ourselves” 

Draco’s glare made Blaise slump a little in his seat, but he didn’t walk away or apologized like many did. Years of practice being around Draco did that to you.

“It’s called thinking, Zabini” he growled standing from his seat “You should try it some time”

“Where are you going?” he asked Draco who stopped at door of the common room. Draco only flashed his prefect badge at him, turning and leaving without uttering a word.

No one had said anything to him, not a comment making fun of him nor a funny look, nothing. He was on edge every time he stepped on his common room and heard his friends laughing. The first thought coming to his head being They're laughing at me. But it was never the case. Why was he so scared of you saying something? Did you even notice he was crying? He didn’t even knew your name until two days back when Longbottom shouted for you on the middle of the courtyard, you ran towards him and didn't even spare a glance his way. 

Y/N Y/L/N. A Half-blood Ravenclaw. 

He would have never acknowledged your existence if it wasn’t for those miserable ten seconds he talked to you, and know you were his every waking thought. Why did he had to breakdown that night? Why did you have to go there at the same time as him?

Why was he walking to the exact same place where yet another problem was thrown over his shoulders?

He opened the door, finding it empty. Maybe it was just a coincidence you were there that night. He made his way to one of the windows, sitting down so the moonlight would shine over his face. He closed his eyes, shaky breaths leaving his lips as he tried to even his breathing. Then the door burst open.

“Myrtle!” It was you again, he rolled his eyes standing and crossing his arms over his chest, you halted and squinting your eyes at him “Hello” you said, recuperating quickly from the shock and walking past him “Have you seen Myrtle?” you asked him so casually his entire unbothered look faltered.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in annoyance, his face hardened as you pulled several things from your bag without a care in the world.

“I could ask you the same thing?” you said back, not bothering to look at him.

“I’m a prefect” he said matter of factly and your entire body stiffened, standing up straight with your eyes scrunched closed.   

You cursed under your breath, but then you came to the realization that you were in the girl’s bathroom, your body relaxing as you asked him “Are you patrolling the bathroom?”

He was about to answer but no words left his mouth, he stared at you in anger and pointed to the door “I have to report you” 

You turned your entire body to him, he had to admit you were intimidating with the look of determination in your eyes, your straight posture that make you look taller than you were but still, you had to tilt your head upwards to stare into his eyes “Right, let’s go to professor Flitwick. I bet he’ll love to hear how you find me in your patrol through the girl's bathroom.” the words left your mouth so fast you didn't even had control over your voice, sounding like a complete bitch.

“Sorry,” you sighed, still accommodating your place “But I’m not going with you” you shrugged, giving him a side glance to see his reaction.

He scoffed loudly, the bitterness in his face almost making you uncomfortable but you were more taken aback at his reaction, turning completely to him with a frown. “You’re trying to blackmail me, aren’t you?” he laughed humorlessly missing your face contort in one of utter confusion.

“Excuse me?” you said, letting your body fall to the ground sitting there as you looked at him pace.

“You are going to tell the entire school that you saw me crying the other night unless I let you get away with this.” he said, his pacing increasing as he started to rant “I knew there was a reason you didn’t tell anyone…”

“Malfoy”

“...I knew Ravenclaw’s were clever…”

“Malfoy!” 

“...this is infuriating!”

“DRACO!” you finally shouted, grabbing his shoulders to hold him in place “Who was crying?” you asked and watched his face fell.

“What?” he whispered, you gave him a concerned look and he shook himself from your grasp “You mean you didn’t  see me?” he asked relieved, a relief that quickly was replaced with anger. How could he had been so stupid?

“Draco” you called softly, keeping your distance as you noticed how he had tensed at your touch “Are you alright?”

He shoot you a glare, practically fuming “Stay away from me” he growled and stormed away, leaving a very bad energy in the air.

You sighed, picking up your bag and getting all your supplies inside. Your painting session would have to wait. You stayed a few more minutes chatting with Myrtle, the only thing she could talk about being Draco and how he visited her too from time to time. 

 That night you stay up until late, wandering what other things did Draco do that you didn’t know of. You wondered why was he so scared of you and the information you learned of him.

********************************************************************

Weeks passed by and you had managed to avoid Draco at all costs, dominating the art of ignoring stares you tried to never be alone, you also cut short your visits to Myrtle, her telling you specifically which day to go. You didn't question her, you even managed to convince Luna to tag along a few times. 

Everything was going great. You changed spots and instead of visiting Myrtle you found a windowsill covered by a thick curtain where you could sit and read, sometimes even paint.

So when someone cleared his throat from beside you, you jumped in your place, heart beating hard as you turned to face whoever interrupted your reading. Coming face to face with stern grey eyes.

“Merlin,” you breathed out, catching your breath as you picked your book from the floor “Next time announce yourself or something.” you said. 

“Go to your common room” he said, walking past you. You stayed frozen in place and he seemed to notice, his head turning to look at you in disbelief “Now!” he hissed but you still couldn’t take a step.

“Aren’t you going to report me?” you asked him.

He began to lose his patience, marching towards you and you stumbled back as you caught sight of his sleeves rolled up his arms, bracing yourself against the wall “Do you,” he said eyeing your entire body “want me to report you?”

Saying your heart rate was normal would be a lie, that your arms were not shaking would also be a lie. You swallowed the gulp in your throat, shaking your head fast you avoided to look at him and what you just saw, ducking your head down “Goodnight Draco” you said making a beeline to your dorm. Who knew Draco had a tattoo?

********************************************************************

   You were officially paranoid. Everywhere you go your eyes scanned the room at least three times for the Slytherin Prefect, and if you even saw a glimpse of him you would run the opposite direction like your life depended on it. You would collapse on other people walking, drop their books or leave your friends abandoned in the middle of a hallway with confused looks, by now they didn’t question you, they just sighed and waited for you to return on your own or for them to find you again.

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell them that Draco Malfoy had you walking on eggshells, that you couldn’t be in the same room as him out of fear of him snapping at you. 

You were terrified. 

And Draco had caught up in your odd behaviour, he never paid attention to you but now it was hard not to.  As soon as your professors said the class was over you jumped to your feet and ran; he went several times to the second floor bathroom in the hopes that he would found you there, he even tried the same windowsill where scared you so bad you dropped your book. He thought of going to your friends but not one time did he gathered the courage to do so. He was lost. 

“Draco?” he lifted his head from the book spread over the library table, his eyes falling back to the pages as he met Pansy Parkinson’s eyes “We looked all over the castle for you” she said, a little upset but said nothing more as she took the chair next to him. She frowned at the papers he worked on, not recognizing the subject “What is that?” 

He was quick to cover the pages with his arms, gathering all of it so he could put it away in his bag. He muttered a Nothing, getting to his feet, Pansy following close “We’re going to the three Broomsticks“ she said “You want to come with us?” 

“I have homework to do” he answered coldly, and she sighed knowing it was lie. They all had finished their homework the day before so they could go out without any worry. 

Pansy glanced at him, a smirk tugging to her lips as she leaned into his ear “I heard certain Ravenclaw girl would be there” she whispered, making him stop leaving him a few steps behind her.

“What?” he asked, glaring at his friend when her smirk widened “You’re  mental.” he established resuming his walk. She catched up with him, holding his wrist so he would turn and face her.

“I didn’t say who,” she said triumphantly “and you didn’t deny it.” he scoffed moving his eyes away from her, crossing his arms over his chest “Oh, c’mon Draco. We all saw it, you’re not as discrete as you think”

If only you knew, he thought. With a shake of his head he turned to their common room muttering the password and stepping inside. “Leave it, Pansy.” he asked in defeat “This has nothing to do with her, she’s just a problem I’ll have to deal with”

Pansy Parkinson made her fame around being a gossiper, annoying, nosey and manipulative. But she treasure her friends . She knew they all had their boundaries and problems of their own. She knew when to step back.

One of her hands came to his shoulder, giving it a squeeze “We’ll be at the three broomsticks for a while.” she said as an invitation, her hand fell and she left him be. 

Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair he looked at his reflection in one vase over the table, he was thinner and looked untidy. He hated looking as he felt. But right now wasn’t time for looks, he had a job to do. 

He changed into a more comfortable choice of clothes, making his way to the Room of Requirement. He paced outside the wall a few times before the door appeared before him. 

“In the name of Rowena Ravenclaw!” he heard you yell as soon as he crossed the door, closing it slowly behind him “Are you following me?” you asked shutting your book with such a force a thin coat of dust flew from it. 

He stood there in shock, that wasn’t the room of requirement. It was a library, but a more comfortable one. Soft couches were lined alongside the bookshelves full of every book you would want to read, the floor was scattered with rugs and cushions, many of them accomodated in a makeshift bed where you had been reading previous his arrival.

“What?” he whispered, looking at you for answers. But you were having no more of it.  You jumped to your feet and stormed to his side “Y/N…”

“No” you said pointing a finger at him “Don’t Y/N me” you shut him, and he stood there listening to your every word “You know how much I have suffered because you told me to stay away from you? I don’t even know why I listened to you, but I was terrified. You are intimidating, did you you knew that?”

“Terrified?” he gasped. Never would he have thought that you would use that word to describe him but here you were, ranting on and on about how scared you were, tripping over your own feet as you unconsciously took a few steps back.

 You stopped all the gibberish pouring out of your mouth at his question, your eyes were wide but something told you that he was hurt by your words. Your eyes stole glance at his left forearm, quickly realizing your mistake as his own eyes followed your movement.

“You saw it?” he asked, moving a hand to his forearm, running his thumb softly over his sleeve.

You nodded, still shaky that after all your attempts at hiding from him he managed to find you. “I haven’t told anyone” you practically yelled and he now understood your fear towards him. 

You knew he was a Death Eater.

“It’s alright” he whispered “I know you haven’t”

You let a breath out, fidgeting with your hands “Look, I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m worried about you.” you admitted, a blush creeping over your face “No one deserves to be alone” you muttered, not daring to look up in fear you just made a fool out of yourself in front of the person you were scared of not  more than an hour ago. 

But when he did not answer the curiosity killed you and you rose your head. His eyes glistened and he had a soft smile on his lips, he looked sad and vulnerable. You couldn’t resist and took the short steps separating the two of you. You engulfed him in a tight embrace, resting your head in his chest as you waited for his body to relax. Just when you thought about letting go of him, he let out a shaky laugh and wrapped his arms around you with the same intensity you did.

 You stayed like that for a short while, him pulling you away and looking down at you “Does that mean you didn’t see me cry?” he asked.

You laughed loudly, a look of adoration in his face as your laugh died down “Oh, I did” you said with a chuckle “I just played dumb”

#Draco Malfoy #draco x reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy x reader #hp fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #pansy parkinson #blaise zabini #luna lovegood #ravenclaw reader #draco x ravenclaw!reader #ginny weasley #neville longbottom #Harry Potter #first fic

[charliedawn]

Imagine being an old classmate of Lucius and him stumbling upon your shop

As soon as the blond boy enters your shop, you know that trouble is not far behind. The boy is touching an item when another man comes in and warns the child by hitting his hand that was handling said item with his cane, sending him a stern look.

" Come on, Scorpius. Stop acting like a child. You shouldn't touch things that aren't yours. Your father would be ashamed.."

The voice, the look, the hair..Oh no..You would have recognized that condescending tone anywhere. You are about to back away slowly and hide in the back shop when the man coughs from behind you to get your attention.

" Shopkeeper, I am searching for a crystal ball for my grandson's class of Divination. Do you have any of those ?"

The hair at the back of your neck stand on edge at the pompous voice dripping with disdain, but you force yourself to smile and turn around to greet the client.

" For sure, sir. Please, follow me."

He doesn't seem to have recognized you yet and you thank Merlin for that miracle. You show him the different crystal balls and he inspects each one of them with the minutiae of a true expert, but you know that deep down, he is absolutely clueless. You almost let out a snort when he chooses the most useless of the crystal balls to buy, surely because it is the most expensive one and that the Malfoys ever had only one motto : Higher is the price Better quality it must be. You still cash it in and try to contain your laughter at the bad deal the man had just bestowed upon himself. However, you fail to see his brat outside, practicing the Alohomora spell on your front door and before you could truly comprehend what had happened, your door shuts close and traps you both inside. Lucius pales at his grandson's action and immediately withdraws his wand to open the door, but the spell doesn't work and he groans in annoyance.

" What is this ?! Why don't my spells work ?!"

You sigh before looking at your watch..6 o'clock. Of course.

" It won't work. Because of the many thieves roaming the street at night, I spelled this door to not succumb to any spell after 6 o'clock at night..It won't open until 6 o'clock tomorrow morning."

He turns towards you, obviously unnerved and is about to yell at your incompetence when a sudden glimmer of recognition lits up his eyes.

" Wait..I know you..You were in my house. Your name is Y/N, isn't it ?"

You scoff before mockingly clapping.

" Bravo ! Took you long enough.."

He growls at your mocking gesture before looking at the door with a scowl.

" Were you always that irresponsible ?"

You rise an eyebrow before rebutting.

" And you, were you always that annoying ? On second thoughts, don't answer that..this is why nobody invited you to the Yule Ball !"

He blushes in embarrassment and mumbles angrily.

" Why you little..Because I had Narcissa !"

You roll your eyes before replying with a jeering tone.

" Thanks Merlin, you had her ! Or you would still be a virgin !"

You would have never thought to see such passionate hatred in Lucius' eyes, him who usually remained so calm and who always had the perfect comeback. But, as you are both trapped, you sigh before getting two chairs and placing them next to each other while he stands still. You sit down and cross your arms before sighing exasperatedly at him.

" Are you going to stay up all night ? Come on, I don't bite..often."

He humphs at that last part before looking at the chair, maybe trying to decipher if there are any traps under the cushion. But, he finally indulges. You both sit next to each other in silence until Lucius sighs and admits.

" You're wrong, you know ? Someone did invite me..I never knew who it was though ? However, what I do remember, is the effort they had put inside the letter..The silver lines moving like snakes around the paper and the green velvet envelope..They even used perfume: a rich fragrance of mint, leather and a hint of fresh nightingale. No name had been written though and this is why I thought it was Narcissa, since she had been trying to find a way to invite me for a while..But then, I asked her about it and she never dared to admit that it was her who wrote it, I found it cute at the time..But now that the divorce is in motion, I really doubt that it was her."

He sighs loudly before pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers, exhausted. You had noticed the heavy eyebags and could only imagine what a single grandfather Lucius could be like. No wonder his grandkid locked him inside. But, since he had been nice enough to share his worries with you, it's only normal that you do the same.

" My shop is on the verge of collapsing, nobody is interested in buying quills and papers now that they have those damn muggle phones..It must be me ? I live in the past and now, reality is hitting me hard in the face.."

He listens to you without interrupting and smiles nearly compassionately at you.

" Guess muggles aren't that great anymore, huh ? I knew that, at some point, our worlds would merge, I just didn't want the Wizarding World to be lost forever..It's sad really."

You can't help but laugh bitterly at his comment.

" A Malfoy will remain a Malfoy ! Always with your ideas of purity and against any kind of change ! If you had just been a little more open-minded, maybe you wouldn't be the most hated family in all the Wizarding World ?"

He only scoffs dismissively at your comment.

" What is the point of being liked when you have power ?"

You look at him and smirk.

" Power ? True power doesn't come from money, Lucius..If you had been paying a little bit more attention, you would have known that power comes in many different shapes and forms..Everybody could have power over anybody, if they only know how to play their assets.. "

He arks an eyebrow at you before smirking as well and asks almost daringly.

" Really ? And what power do you have over me then ?"

The both of you ferociously stare at each other for a while and then, you finally decide to jump on him and tackle him to the ground, to his greatest astonishment. Before he can do anything, you take his cane and throw it away. You then take some nearby rope and, in a few minutes, Lucius is defenseless. When he tries to speak, you put your hand around his throat and squeeze. He grits his teeths and you smile victoriously.

" What was that you were saying about true power ? See how easy it was for me to take the upper hand ? You Malfoy men, always playing the same dangerous game..Over and over again. Never learning that it takes a woman to truly feel powerful..Now that Narcissa is gone, it would be a shame if I were to bite your head off ? Who is going to save you ? Your son ? I doubt it..He hates you. Your wife was your best protection, people always underestimate the power of a mother..But, dear Lucius, you should have known better than treat everyone you come across as pathetic worthless worms..Now, you can either tell me that you were wrong, or I'll tell everyone that a mere half-blood has put the great Lucius Malfoy on his back.."

His eyes widen at the revelation before remembering that he had never seen your mother..Your father was a metamorphmagus and many respected him and that had always been enough..He should have definitely digged deeper. He groans, trying to free himself, but to no avail. He finally glares up at you with everything he feels: disgust being a very distinctive look on him.

" Let me go this instant, you filthy mud..!"

But before he could finish his sentence, you bit his shoulder so profoundly that he finds himself on the verge of screaming..He only hisses instead and you then whisper in his ear.

" Ask nicely..and I may consider it."

He sighs, how could he have been so stupid ? And now, he is pretty sure the memory of submitting to the halfblood would stay in his mind forever..

" Could you please let me go ?"

He finally asks politely but, he is surprised when you start kissing up the side of his neck.

" See ? You can be nice when you want to.."

He groans, still frustrated, but also strangely aroused by all this..But, of course that, he would never admit it to you. He only closes his eyes and hopes that you will stop when you notice that he isn't paying attention to you anymore. However, you aren't going to let him go so easily. You take him suddenly by the chin to force him to look back at your flashing yellow eyes and, to his surprise, you growl.

" Eyes on me, pretty boy..You wanted to see real power ? I'll show you what real power looks like.."

Again, you attack his neck and grind against him until he sees stars.

" You..You will never.."

He tries to speak, but his words get lost when you get him out of his coat and throw it to the ground carelessly.

" Hey ! That coat costs more than your whole damn muggle shop !"

You bite him again, a little less hard on his clavicle, only to shut him up again and roll your eyes playfully at him.

" Me who always thought that you were an ice king, you are just a snow princess.."

He opens his eyes wide at the nickname before glaring at you.

" What did you call me, parasite ?"

You dramatically put your hand at the level of your chest, as if the insult had hurt you before smirking down at him.

" What ? Is that the best you got ? Parasite ? Well, don't forget that said parasite is the one who is making you harder than rock right now..Must hurt, isn't it baby ?"

He clenches his jaw hard at your taunting tone before suddenly raising his pelvis to hit yours, making you moan loudly. When you open your eyes again, he is grinning up at you and asks mockingly.

" What was that ? I thought you said you were going to show me power, but all I hear are the purrs of a pitiful kitten who thinks she is a predator.."

You growl and put your hands around his throat. You aren't playing anymore and want to kill him..To kill him for everything he had done, everything he was..

" Die, you piece of trash !"

But, far from being affected by your sudden death sentence, Lucius only smiles weakly at you and takes your wrists that are shaking around his throat. He takes your moment of inattention to flip you under him, your wrists pinned to the floor.

" It isn't fair.."

You mumble almost in tears as he frowns in incomprehension at you. Why are you crying ? You are the one who had attacked him first, and now you are the one saying that it isn't fair ? As if you could read minds, you try to explain.

" I tried so hard to escape..To escape from you Malfoys and the misery that you seem to surround those who try to get close to you..But even years later, I still end up crossing your damned path !"

He tilts his head to the side, surprised by your sudden outburst and stares at you while you start sobbing and wiggle to set yourself free. When he is sure that you aren't going to attack him again, he slowly shifts his hands from around your wrists to gently wrap them around your waist. He then cradles you in his arms and puts his chin on the top of your head before closing his eyes, calmly stroking your back with his hand to soothe you. It takes a few moments for the both of you to calm down and get back to a normal regular breathing rhythm.

" Soon, I'll be out of your shop and you will never see me again.."

You know that he is trying to reassure you, but the realization makes your heart skip a beat in fear. You would not see him again..He would never know who wrote him that letter all those years ago..He would forget about you. Narcissa had been clear on what would happen to you if you ever dared tell him who was the true writer of the letter..But, would it really matter now ? Narcissa was gone and Lucius was there, his arms wrapped around you. Also, surprisingly, had not make a move to get his wand back to Avada Kedavra you yet. It was a good sign, right ? You look up at him and as soon as your eyes meet, you know that he isn't going to hurt you. You then look at the crystal bowl that he had bought, broken and splattered on the floor. You sigh before reluctantly standing up and getting your most precious crystal ball out of the shelf and giving it to him. He frowns in confusion at your gift.

" What are you doing ? I haven't paid for that one.."

You smile genuinely up at Lucius before silently picking his coat up and running your hand on the soft material before giving it back to him as well.

" I think it should be better if you would take a moment to rest, Mr Malfoy..My behavior was inappropriate and I shouldn't have acted the way I did. It was foolish of me and I humbly ask that you do not sue the shop for my mistake. It is already in a very bad condition and I do not have the money to pay you back for what I did to you.."

He opens his eyes wide in shock before looking at the items in his hands, and finally lays them on a nearby table.

" I do not care about all that now. I don't even understand you. At first, you say that you hate me and try to kill me, then you bite me and try to seduce me in a very odd and savage way, and now this ? What are you trying to tell me, Y/N ?"

You bawl your hands into fists and bite your inner cheek in order not to say anything and turn around to leave. He is to never know who you are or why you are angry at him..You thought he was smart, but you had to admit that he was not the one you thought he was.

" This is where we part ways, my ice prince. Tomorrow, you will come back to your kingdom of paper people and fake happiness and I'll be just another insignificant person that you will forget..Until then, I suggest we both sleep our separate ways. The sofa on your right will be just enough comfort for you and I'll be sleeping in the back with the best company one can have: books."

He stares at you for a few seconds, dumbfounded, before following you and locking the door behind him. You squint your eyes suspiciously as he flashes you a dark grin.

" After all this time, I finally found you.."

The dangerous vibe he is giving you makes you quiver in fear and you step back until you hit the wall. He chuckles at you poor attempt to escape and when he looks up at you again, you can see that his icy blue eyes are nearly glowing in the dark. He gets out his cane that you regret not having taken and slowly makes his way to you, running the tip of his wand on the many books kept on the shelves. You suddenly feel cold sweat running down your back, is he going to kill you ? You wonder as he stops just in front of you and his eyes brighten as he slowly makes a mental map of your body with his eyes that give away a certain appreciation..Is he planning on disposing of your body piece by piece ? Suddenly, he take you by the jaw and forces you to look directly in his eyes as he runs the tip of his wand on your cheek, neck and collarbone. He then leans forward and whispers in his low baritone voice.

" I hope you had fun teasing me..Because it will be the last time I'll ever allow you to make a fool out of me..What ? You thought I wouldn't recognize the perfume ? You stink of the same thing you sprayed that letter ages ago..And, if it wasn't for that, there is only one person that I've ever heard call me ice prince."

He knew. He knows. Oh no..You feel your eyes sprinkle with tears in front of the truth. When you think things couldn't get any worse, he summons said letter with his magic and smirks at your horrified expression.

" I kept it. Want me to refresh your memory ?"

He doesn't wait for an answer before starting reading out loud the subject of your embarrassment.

" My ice prince, I have been considering over the past few months to ask you humbly to accompany me to the Yule Ball. My dreams are filled with your scent and marvelous blue eyes that seem to light up a path to Heaven. When I close my eyes, my thoughts are filled with images of your delicate..Oh my !"

He stops abruptly and glances at you with a sinful smile.

" I had forgotten how detailed the letter was..I remember making Narcissa very happy the following day. To think that it could have been you..You must be feeling so disappointed.."

You blush vividly and try to get out of his grip by scratching his face, but he takes both of wrists and pins them above your head with one hand before continuing reading, not the least bothered.

"Oh no, my darling..You'll stay right there and listen to every word you wrote me..You'll listen and I'll make sure that you remember all of them by heart by the end of the night.. That way, you can shout all you want about how you've put the great Malfoy on his back, but I'll have the immense pleasure to tell everyone who I've succeeded in bringing to her knees."

Your heartbeat quickens at his words and you try to get back up, but Lucius doesn't let you. He pins you down to the table while motioning you to stay quiet.

" You..You're evil.."

You manage to gasp out and he chuckles, as if the insult in itself was some kind of hilarious joke.

" Coming from you ? It's a compliment, my dear..You bit me and tried to kill me. Now, where was I ? Ah, yes..Your delicate hands around my throat and your tongue against the crook of my neck.."

He leans in and slowly and sensually licks your neck from your collarbone to that place behind your ear. He then proceeds to whisper in the shell of your ear.

" I must admit, you are far more responsive than Narcissa at the time.."

His hand lowers itself agonizingly slow down your waist until he reaches your waist and suddenly uses it as leverage to drag you towards him brutally, as if to make you realize that it is happening, that he is here, that it isn't all just a dream..

" Your lips look irresistibly pleasing, my dear..Mind if I get a taste ?"

Before you can say anything, his lips are upon yours and his tongue is invading every crevice of your mouth. You roll your hips against him as a response and he slowly drags his other hand from your wrist to your throat. He squeezes lightly and with your free hands, you cradle his face for him to stay still.

"..I've never seen such beautiful sapphire eyes and only the thought of you makes me want to sing and dance.."

The letter falls from his hand as he understands that he doesn't have to remind you..as you've never truly forgotten. He kisses you again, but sweetly this time. Before you can continue however, he stands up and gets out of the room, leaving you hot and bothered.

" What are you doing ?!"

You yell, almost in despair and he only chuckles before closing the door behind him.

" I did what I said. You won't forget that letter any time soon..However, I can't allow myself to be seen with an half-blood..It would be improper."

" Im..Improper..?"

You repeat, as if dumbstruck by the fact that you may have been played with..You look at the door with a glare before getting up and walking determinedly towards the door. You try to open it, but find it locked.

" Lucius ! Open this door right now !"

But you are only met with a laugh from the other side.

" Good night."

You try to open it by force, but it doesn't work and you can't do anything but declare defeat. You get back to the table and sit on it before burying your face in your arms, trying to muffle your tears as Lucius had, once again, tricked you. But, to your surprise, you hear the door opening and see Lucius standing there, guilt written all over his features.

" I..I didn't think that you would actually cry.."

You don't know what angers you the most : his genuine shock or the fact that he is now staring at you, completely lost ? You try to get past him, but he doesn't let you and cages you in his arms.

" Come on..You know I was only playing. I was going to open it soon enough.."

You try to get out of his grip, but the man is not ready to let you go any time soon. He even tightens his hold on you and you finally lean back, inhaling his very expensive cologne.

" Am I just a game to you, Lucius ?"

You ask with a heavy heart and he decides to answer truthfully.

" At first..you were. But, now ? I don't think so. After the war, I understood that I may have acted wrong. I'm still trying to get better. I may have had very bad ideas over this concept of pure-blood supremacy and other..But, I know now thanks to my son and my grandson that I acted out and I wish to make amends. I truly do. This is why, I think I want to give it a try..Will you help me ? Please ?"

You are taken aback by such honesty in Lucius, but still nod in agreement.

" I have had many phases in my life, some when I hated you and some when I lov..liked you. I don't think that you are a bad man, Lucius. I just think that you are a very ambitious and very proud person. If you could just spend some time with people like me..You would see that we aren't so different..This is why I'm willing to make the first step."

He looks at your outstretched hand for a moment before finally taking it with a small smile.

" I'm looking forward to working with you, Miss Y/N."

The next day, Lucius is finally free from the shop and remains courteous. He even apologizes on behalf of his grandson and Draco seems surprised by his sudden change in behavior.

" Did you use magic on him or what ?"

He asks you in a whisper, but you only laugh heartily and shake your head.

" No. I just talked to him..and he listened."

Lucius smiles, his eyes creasing a bit and you glance at each other with a knowing look. Lucius would be back. He had still much to learn afterall..

#lucius malfoy x you #harry potter #lucius malfoy #lucius malfoy x reader #scorpius malfoy #draco malfoy #fandoms #imagine

[henqtic]

"𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘏𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘚𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 ”

Summary: Draco making you feel better about your hair insecurities throughout your years at Hogwarts.

Word Count: 3.7k+

A/N-hey well this is the first fic I’ve ever written and I don’t think it’s too good but please leave some feedback I would really appreciate it :) just looking forward to improving, this story includes a black/POC reader I just feel that there’s not a lot of stories that actually include us yk ? Because I don’t think I’m able to just put my hair up in a messy bun and go out lol.//ALSO there's no Voldemort and some of the years/dates will be off but I don’t think that matters much in this story:)

masterlist //  taglist form.

“It’s a toner” “for your hair”,she concluded in a way that was almost innocent but didn’t cover up the obvious amusement in her tone. Her box braids were flowing behind her, the two different colors blending together in a way to almost resemble Narcissa Malfoys. It was more of a Draco decision, he went on for months saying how if you got white hair you would look like an honorary Malfoy. Which he was already planning on making you sooner or later. 

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“Darling your fascination with these muggle products is getting out of hand. Are you ill? Oh merlin, maybe it’s that muggle flu,”he said as he put a hand on your forehead.

In his defense he was actually worried about you.You owled him with a note that read

Dear Draco,

I think I’ve just found the best bloody gift ever,I was just walking around one of those muggle stores and found i! I don’t want to ruin the surprise but the I just thought of you when I saw it.

love, y/n.

He honestly expected a bag of green apples that you two shared a liking of but never in a million years did he expect you to show up with purple bottle labeled as “Purple Shampoo”.And what hurt most is that he was the first person you thought of when you looked at it.Of course he was the only platinum blonde you had seen with such bright hair, other than Luna Lovegood. But he was still deciding on if he should take offense or not.

“No Draco, I’m perfectly fine” You stated as you stated his hand away like a fly.“I just think that your hair may need a bit of toning to it.” You said as you looked at your boyfriend, he really did look beautiful in the sun.

The way the sun would bounce off of his skin and hair giving him this sort of glow.The way he ever so slightly had his eyes squinted because he could barely see when it was this bright outside.He was really a sight to see.He wore a faint smile that made your stomach erupt with butterflies every time you saw him, even now.

You told him that if he continued to bully Harry on how his glasses made him look like Dumbledore without a beard would come back to him.And of course it did.

You were sitting beside Draco under a tree at his family's manor.The sky had a few clouds but nonetheless it was sunny there were butterflies flying around and  variations of colors of flowers all around you.You had helped Narcissa plant some of the flowers and it was nice to see how it all came out.

 “I think my hair looks perfectly fine, why would I want to “tone it” He looked at you as if you had personally insulted his mother.

“Draco, darling, your hair is almost brighter than the sun” you said and you were so close to bursting out in laughter.

He looked at you faking an offended expression.

“Most likely stiffer than the grass we’re sitting on at this moment” 

“oh that’s enough” at that moment he shifted his weight over to you and started to tickle you non stop.

“Please I’m sorry I take back all of my words” you said in out of breath tone.Your laugh was probably the best sound to him.

He continued with his antics, “say my hair is the most beautiful this world” it wasn't even a second thought to him to follow up with a,“other than yours of course” he always had a way of making you feel appreciated for the multiple ways you did your hair through out your school years and even now.

Fourth Year

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In the summer before your fourth year at hogwarts,you had decided that you wanted to try something new and get locs. It was something you always thought of but never really got the courage to do.

You always would just tell yourself “I think I’d miss my hair, even if doing it is a pain I’ll never stop loving it.”

That changed.Of course you’d missed your hair but getting locs, something you've been anticipating for a long time sounded a bit more exciting than doing your hair everyday.

It was finally the Gryffindor vs Slytherin quidditch game.Everyone had been looking forward to this.Every Slytherin, Gryffindor game always involved some sort of drama and it was the best.That day was nice up until it was completely and utterly ruined.

When the game was over Pansy Parkinson had shouted out to you and Angelina Johnson that your hair looked of worms.Angelina Johnson was probably the only Gryffindor you could put up with.Maybe it was because of the fact that she was an older black girl with her natural hair out and you desperately wanted tips on how to make yours look like hers.You and Angelina had quickly became friends in your first and her third year.She was more of a sister figure for you and when she went on about how nice Fred looked this year and the next you went on about how annoyingly hot Draco got third year She had teased you endlessly for it but you really couldn’t help it.

You didn’t know why it hurt so much coming from her but when that happened you were so close to crying.You were going to say something until Ginny Weasley said some very choice words to Pansy that left her as red as a tomato and she ran of the pitch.For someone with so much bark she absolutely no bight after that, you thanked Ginny and she responded with saying “There’s no reason to thank me Parkinson needed someone to finally give it to her” She then went up to Harry Potter and said he did good in the game.

“I don’t know if she knows her crush on him is obvious” You thought as you and Angelia walked back to the castle together planning on how to get Pansy back.

You heard the girl beside you try to stop a laugh from coming out so you just assumed you said that out loud.as always.

”Do you know what she has against you?”Angelina asked 

Even though Pansy was in your house she never much liked you for some reason.

“I think it’s from first year when I slapped her hand off of my hair.” You laughed “She was playing with the beads as if they were some kind of toy”

“She absolutely deserved it!” Angelia responded with a laugh.

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Much to you and Angelina’s dismay someone had gotten to Pansy before you.She ran into the great hall shrieking and when you looked the first thing that came to mind was low quality Medusa.Her long thin black hair now replaced with black worms.Everyone in the great hall was laughing at her condition.Even many of the Slytherins you were surrounded by, it was almost sad how her own house didn’t like her. almost.

Why would she even come into the great hall looking like that? You thought out loud on accident.You really needed to work on that.It wasn’t much of a problem though, because many of your pupils next to you nodded mindlessly at your statement in agreement.

You had guessed Angelina had told Fred about the incident, he told McGonagall, or as he said Minnie (you didn’t know how he even got to that level),and she must have informed the other teachers.

She ran out of the great hall when she noticed no one not even a teacher was going to help her.Not even her own head of house, it was nice to know that Snape was on your side on this you felt pretty bad now when in class all you thought about was how greasy his hair was and how you should probably anonymously drop off some shampoo for him.

“Hey maybe I should tell the twins about that one.Nope y/n you are a nice person who does nice things you thought as you tried to remove the voice that told you that’s Snape would mostly likely like some Muggle Brand “Head and Shoulders Shampoo” Although you’d never be caught dead using it, it could never hurt to try it on someone else.y/n stop.Nice thoughts.”Oh but imagine him trying to put his hair up and the hair tie is too greasy to ho-” You decided to turn your attention to something more valuable at that point.

The real question was who had done it.You turned over to the Gryffindor table.Your back had been facing Angelina’s.You two always did this seeing as many students at school didn’t know that touching someone’s hair randomly without even asking was weird.Angelina had found a solution saying “We should sit with our backs facing each other,Then no one from the other table can random tug at our hair.” You agreed to the idea saying that it was brilliant.

You asked with a giddy expression asking her “did you do it without me?” 

She shook her head and said “no maybe it was Fred or George”.

You would’ve thought that the girl was drugged up on love potion seeing how  easily she forgot what she was about to ask and looked at Fred with heart eyes going on about a completely different topic.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and looked around the great hall and your eyes landed on him.He was already looking at you.Your hair.You made the decision of adding gold accessories to it today. Angelina had had a long talk with you saying how “Parkinson was only jealous because the last remotely good hairstyle she had was the bob in your third year” You decided that you still wanted to add something to your hair to make yourself feel better.Not for the acceptance of the others and how they think your hair “should look”.

When he finally looked into your eyes you raised your eyebrows in expectance.You were almost waiting for him to say some sort of mean comment about you.

The truth was Draco was absolutely enthralled by you.He liked how when in first year you came into school with your hair in braids and beads of light brown, dark brown, and white beads.He liked when in second year you started to wear your hair out more often.The way it would always smell of Shea or Coconut.

But who was he to go up to a random person who barely knew him and say “oh your hair smells really nice”

He noticed how other kids would sometimes touch your hair and you obviously didn’t like that.You noticed that Draco wasn’t going to make some sort of mean comment you realized it was him who did it.You mouthed a “thank you” with a grateful smile and Draco nodded and smiled warmly.

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Weird thing is Draco probably gained his crush on you when he said saw that you two had both used an excessive amount of gel in your hair.

It was a dark time, second year, for you, and your hair, where slick backs were the only real things you knew how to do to style your hair.You wanted so badly to be like the other girls in your house who don’t even have to try with getting their hair up in the morning.Draco didn't mind though.

He liked when in third year you decided to wear your hair in an afro. He hated when he found you in a corner crying because some slytherin boys had said how your hair was “Worse than poor mudblood Grangers”.

Third Year

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He liked when he made up a story to his father and got the boys detention in the forbidden forest with Hagrid.He liked when he charmed a butterfly hair clip that he had charmed to flutter it's wings and left it on the outside of your dorm door.He had hoped none of your roommates would get to it before you did.

As he walked down the stairs and said in almost incoherent tone “They better not bloody get to it before her. What idiot would possibly think a flat golden butterfly clip y/n’s favorite animal was theirs? Merlin and who in their right mind would think that a baby blue box with the name y/n on it in golden letters was theirs?”

“Honestly” he scoffed as he continued down the steps he was met with Blaise Zambini’s wide grin.They walked side by side in silence until Blaise spoke up.

“Mate you’re absolutely whipped, sneaking to her dorm before she wakes up to drop off a clip?” He turned over to Draco and was met with a scowl that looked like it could kill.It didn’t phase him though and he continued with a wide grin.

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Blaise had known his friend had some infatuation with the girl ever since their second year when y/n passed by them and Draco leaned over and asked in an anxious tone,”Hey Blaise do ya think it'd be weird to tell someone their hair smells good”.

They had been working on finishing their potions essay and when he looked up he was met with a sight of his friends head in his hand as he admired you from across the common room.

Blaise obviously didn't want him to ruin his chance before he even got one, he smirked and answered with,”Mate.Yes.Don’t do that.” He looked over at Draco in a side eye way.Of course Draco didn’t notice he was too busy staring at you as you talked with Daphne Greengrass about with boy you think is the cutest at Hogwarts.He was trying to get closer to hear your response, in the process almost tipping over his ink. Blaise grabbed the ink swiftly and said in a stern tone ”I’m not kidding, that’d be bloody weird.”

“Right, it would be” he said in an almost dazed tone as he shook his head and went back to writing his potions essay.

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He liked you when you walked into the great hall ten minutes late with your group of friends.You had a slicked back ponytail with the clip right on the right side of it.

He liked you when he heard you say to your friends “Godric I’m telling you guys I love the person who gave me this clip” You said as you took the clip out your hair with a bright smile that in Draco’s opinion could make guy swoon “and get this the wings move, isn’t that brilliant?”

He was overjoyed that you seemed to enjoy the new presence of the butterfly clip.Blaise nudged him and widened his eyes.Draco finally got out of his daze and noticed you gave him a smile he quickly smiled back and looked down trying to hide the blush on his face as he looked down at his plate.

He could hear Blaise snickering on the side of him muttering something about “its sad you can’t just tell her already”

Fifth Year

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Draco was never the guy on the other end of the bullying but when Profferer Moody had transformed him into a ferret he was completely humiliated.He quickly responded with a harsh “My father will hear about this!”

That’s when he noticed you at the front of the crowd with almost tears in your eyes as you told McGonogall what happened.You really did always look perfect in his eyes.Your melanated skin was shining in the sun practically counting off the sun and that shimmering butterfly clip halfway flying around on your hair.Something about you just couldn’t stop Draco from looking admiring you.He decided to run and probably go hide somewhere from all of the humiliation.He was running so fast probably crying at this point over what happened that he couldn’t even hear some footsteps following him and few minutes later.

He was sitting down in some old nook in the castle crying of humiliation. Muttering words of “How dare he stick me down of all people bloody Crabbe’s pants” and “Godric in front of her too”.

He could barely hear the small and careful “Hi” you gave to him.

He quickly looked up with a harsh glare and when he noticed it was you his eyes softened and he responded with a small “Hey”.He then put his face back into his hands hoping that you would just go away. Even if he wanted you to stay.

“Merlin, she really is seeing me like this,” He thought.

He felt her sit by him and their legs practically touching.When she touched he flinched a bit at the contact.His father and mother did love him but his dad Lucius didn’t exactly show it through physical touch and he obviously couldn’t get his mum to come to the school and give him some kind of goodnight hug could he?

“Oh I’m sorry,I probably shouldn’t have done that,” She spoke in a rushed and apologetic tone as she started to move over to give him space.

“No you’re fine just not used to it is all” y/n felt herself saddened at those words and took it as an invitation to grab one of his hands and lace their fingers together.

At this point Draco felt like he was going to explode and even if his hands were wet from his tears he wasn’t about to pull his hand away.”Um, Draco, I just wanted to say that Moody had no right doing that” “Teachers aren’t even aloud to that here, even though you were coming after potter no one deserves that.

“Thanks for coming to comfort me, it really erm, means a lot from you” He said as he looked down at your hands the paleness of his and the brown tones of your contrasting against each other. The sight really did make his stomach erupt with butterflies but all Draco could come up with was he felt sick but a good sick.The girl he liked didn’t laugh at him when he got turned into a bloody ferret and she actually took the time to check up on him. That was enough for him.

“I’m happy it does” you said as you looked foward with a small content smile.They sat in a comfortable silence for a few seconds before y/n spoke “If it means anything,I think you make an adorable ferret” y/n said with a small laugh.Draco let out a breathy laugh and before he could even think he blurted out “Your hair smells really nice” 

Really Draco he thought you get her to sit next. to you, hold your hand, and you told her hair smells good?? Why can’t we just listen to Blaise Godric wha-” His racing thoughts were interrupted by y/n.

“Oh-Um well thank you” She responded with a small nod and a content smile and she knew this was the time.She turned to the boy beside her and said “you were the ones to get those boys detention for me right”

Draco looked up at her for the first time since she sat down eyes red and wide.He became a rambling mess and started to awkwardly state, “Well erm y-you know I just thought they deserved it b-becau-”

“And I’m also assuming you’re the one to give this clip?” She interrupted with the brightest smile her and Draco now looking at each other.

“Well erm-yes” he said meekly. He was still holding your hand resisting the urge to look down at them forever.

“How’d you know?” You said eagerly. Draco looked at you a bit confused until you said “How’d you know that a butterfly is my favorite animal?” 

Draco started to gain some confidence and said “Well I had been having a bloody crush on you since first year so I thought it was only appropriate to know your favorite animal at least ” He hadn’t noticed what he had just revealed as he continued to tell y/n things.“I’m really sorry about the hair comment too” He rambled “It's just that I've been waiting to get that compliment in since second year.” He mumbled in a way that was almost too low to hear then spoke up,“Blaise told me it was rather odd and that I shouldn’t tell you th-” 

That’s when he noticed her face.As if he hadn’t been admiring her for the past five years of his school life.She wore a look that was giving off all different kinds of emotions but the one that was mainly seen was happiness and appreciation.

“Godric no” y/n breathed out “I think that’s the best sort of compliment I could get” Draco looked at her brightly then she continued “and well” She started looking down at their entangled hands “I’ve liked you for a long time too” “If you wanted to know” She looked up at him and he was in a sort of shock? It was like he was waiting for her to say “only joking” and run away like one of the weasels.but she didn’t.

“Draco” She said in a singsong tone as she waved a hand in front of his now almost red face.

“Merlin” he breathed out with the brightest smile he could make “Well in that case IwaswonderingifyouwouldliketgotoHogsmeadewithme” He said in the fasted way he could ready to repeat it before she chirped back a quick, “Yes! Of Course!”

“I-” Draco started to repeat, “Wait you understood that?” He spoke back with an inquisitive look.

“I mean if you don’t want me to say yes-” She teased with a sly grin.

“No,I mean yes,I like that you like me and that you’re going to go to Hogsmeade with me,” he affirmed in a rushed manner. 

“Perfect!” She responded “How about we go clean you up then yea?”

“Right, that’ll be for the best,” he said with a small smile.

They shyly held hands the rest of the way walking to the prefects bathrooms and y/n helped clean up Draco. They finally talked with one another and Draco finally got the girl he was going after for five years.

Present Time

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“Fine fine alright” You sighed in defeat.

“Draco Malfoy your hair is THE most beautiful thing in this world.”

He had stop attacking you at this point and you two were in a criss cross position in front of each other, you were holding his face in both of your hands and the both of you were smiling like absolute idiots.

He looked at your with a grin that he was failing at trying to hide with a pointed expression.

You rolled your eyes and said “except for mine of course”

Draco Malfoy was by far the most dramatic person you’ve ever met in your life.

One day you were in a bookshop and told him that if he went to a muggle school he would be an spectacular theatre kid.Draco for some reason had taken that to great offense and went on saying how “his own bloody girlfriend doesn’t love him” and how “she thinks I’d be in some sort of theatrical arts like Pottah and his unruly ballet”

You honestly didn’t know if Draco was trying to be funny on purpose sometimes or if the things he said just flowed out like silk unlike his hair.

Now you sat under the big tree in the Malfoy Manor garden with Draco’s head on your lap, taking about how just because the conditioner is apple scented it doesn't make it any less bad for your hair.

A/N- hey lol, Anyways this is my first fic. I would really like any constructive criticism, anything you noticed off, or anything that you think needs improvements.I really haven't written anything non school related in a long time and I really want to get back into it :) 

Also it might just be me but if any one gave a comment on my hair and it included “your hair smells good” I would just dies on spot.maybe that's just me lol.Lastly, if you didn’t know I based using a bunch of gel in your in a second year off of myself lol so let’s just say my hair was not the best.Anyways have a good night or day <3

#draco fluff #draco malfoy x poc #draco malfoy #angelina johnson #pansy parkinson #slytherin reader #blaise #blaise zambini #harry potter #draco x yn #draco x slytherin!reader #draco x you #draco imagine #narcissa malfoy #draco imagines #harry potter fluff #draco x poc reader #malfoy

[cardansriddle]

Draco Malfoy x Granger!Reader- Forbidden Fruit

A/N: This was requested. I am trying to write all of your requests, thank you for sending them in! Some are taking longer to write because of the difficult context, so my apologies for those who are waiting.

Warnings: Torture, sad, semi-happy ending.

Summary: The reader is on a run with the Golden Trio when they stumble upon Snatchers who take them to the Malfoy Manor. Things get heated when Lucious recognizes the girl who has been on Draco’s mind while the Dark Lord was performing Lgeilimency on him. 

Being on a run with the Golden Trio was probably not the brightest idea. But being Hermione Granger's little sister put me in danger, so after an emotional debate, we came to the conclusion that I would join her and the boys in the quest of defeating Voldemort. I knew going back to Hogwarts was not an option, since I was a muggleborn, but the reality of accepting the truth terrified me. All of this brought me to the situation I am in right now, arguing with the trio.

"I'm telling you this is a stupid idea! We will get caught as soon as we step a foot in there!" I yell, waving my hands around angrily. Hermione sides with me on this one, understanding the risk and the disadvantages of Harry Potter's ridiculously stupid plan.

"Do you have any other ideas? I saw this in my dream, we need to go there!" He shouts back at me and I try to refrain myself from punching his face.

"Merlin, you're dafter than Crabbe and Goyle! You-know-who will expect you to be there." I chuckle bitterly. Hermione puts a hand on my shoulder to calm me down, but I brush it off.

"Harry, she has a point, it's extremely risky..." Hermione trails off and I sense a 'but' coming, "But I can't lie, I was also thinking about going to the Godric's hollow," She says and I feel my blood boil once again. Harry's eyes light up and he looks at me hopefully. I shake my head in disapproval and he groans, running his hand through his hair. He looks at Ron, but he avoids his eyes, making it obvious he agrees with me rather than with his best friend.

I grin triumphantly. For the first time in his life, Ron made a sensible decision.

"Then Hermione and I will go, you two can stay here." He huffs before climbing in his bed.

"Absolutely not!" Both Ron and I object. Harry grins and I roll my eyes once I realize he knew we would not stay here.

Fuck him and his stupid scar that got us in this mess in the first place.

"Ok, off to bed all of you. Tomorrow we'll discuss this." Hermione sighs tiredly before kissing my forehead affectionately. I pull back and glare at her disappointedly, before laying down on my bed and facing away from her. I try not to overthink about the possibilities of tomorrow's events and drift off into a deep slumber.

I leave the Slytherin common room in a hurry, checking my wristwatch only to groan at the time. I am late to the D.A. meeting. Again.

Lost in my thoughts, I bump into a hard chest causing me to lose my balance. Before I can hit the ground, a hand wraps around my waist and pulls me back up. Once I regain my balance I look up to thank my saviour, but the words die on my tongue once my eyes land on the familiar face of Draco Malfoy. He pulls his hands away immediately once he realizes he caught me, and sneers.

"Watch where you're going, Granger." He spits and I roll my eyes in annoyance.

"Just move before I lose my patience and hex you, git," I reply and try to push past him, but he blocks my way. I look up at him in expectance, hoping he would get it over with so I could go. "Yes, Malfoy? I already know what you're going to say. That I am a stupid mudblood who doesn't deserve to be in Slytherin, bla bla bla. Let's not waste our time here." I put my hand on his chest and push him back harshly. He doesn't budge.

"Are you going to Potty's secret meeting?" He asks suspiciously. I furrow my eyebrows in fake confusion.

"I think you had too many Butterbeers." I say with an overly sweet smile and move past him successfully. I turn around to make sure he is not following me and grin triumphantly once I realize he left me alone. I slip into the Room of Requirements and am immediately greeted by the friendly faces of my friends. I avoid their questions about my whereabouts and start training.

As I fire a spell at Hermione, who dodges it easily, the room starts shaking. I glance at her in confusion and her face mirrors my expression. We all gather around the whall which is where the sound is coming from. Harry steps closer to the wall in order to peek at the other side.

I realize what is happening and immediately slip out of the room and make sure no one sees me. Dumbledore's Army is getting caught. If Umbridge would see me, a Slytherin there, things would get ugly, so I start sprinting towards my common room.

Before I can round around a corner, a hand reaches out and grips my arm before pulling me into an abandoned classroom. I try to scream but the other hand covers my mouth so my scream would be muffled.

"Be quiet, Granger, or do you want Umbridge to find you?" A familiar voice whispers in my ear and I turn around to see Malfoy standing in front of me with his signature sneer. "If you would turn around that corner, Parkinson would happily greet you with a hex." He drawls.

"So what? Am I supposed to thank you? Why did you pull me in here?" I ask and his muscles tens visibly. He clears his throat and avoids my eyes.

"I did not want your stupidity making us lose house points." He says and I scoff. Of course. Why else would he save my arse from Parkinson? I cursed the hopeful part of my brain which thought he did it for me. How naive of me.

I wake up to the voice of Hermione trying to wake me up. I assure her I am now wide awake and sit up groggily. I try to push the dream (which was actually a memory) I just had back.

While changing I cannot help but let my mind drift away to Draco. I know that he is on the side of Death Eaters, fighting amongst them against us, but a part of me keeps telling that it is involuntarily. The state that he was in the sixth year made it obvious. I remember how he isolated himself from everyone and barely threw insults my way. His mind was always somewhere else and he would constantly skip meals and disappear for hours. Hell, he even missed classes, which was unusual, since he was one of the best students. I remember my urge to approach him, comfort him, offer a shoulder to lean upon, but the status of my blood and the surname I was born with would always come in the way. I knew he would never let me close to him. He was the forbidden fruit I could never have.

After we pack everything we leave the tent. However, we stop in our tracks once we notice a group of men dressed in filthy clothes moving past us. I silently hope that they wouldn't notice us, but the leader does and raises his hands so the others would halt, and glances at us curiously.

"Run," Hermione whispers loud enough for us to hear, and we do not hesitate before breaking into a sprint. I dodge branches and the spells the men are casting my way while running, glancing back once in a while to check if any of them were close enough to catch me. I run like my life depends on it because it actually does. I realise I cannot see the trio and I start panicking slightly. I look around frantically trying to locate one of my friends, but my distraction causes me to stumble upon a fallen tree and I crash face-first into the ground. Before I can get up, the man behind me fires a spell and I feel ropes tightening around my ankles causing me to scream in frustration.

Two of the men pull me into a standing position as the leader approaches me, and only then I notice my friends being dragged behind him. I try to squirm out of their hold but they only tighten their grip. I kick one of the man's knee as hard as I can, and a small smile makes its way onto my lips when I hear his yelp as he falls on one knee.

"Fiesty." The leader who is now too close for my liking chuckles as his eyes dance over my features. His fingers trace over my cheekbones and I turn my face away from him.

"Go to hell." I hiss, but he only smiles in return.

"We're taking them back to Malfoy Manor. Who knows, maybe they'll be worth some galleons." He says and the others nod in agreement. I try not to let panic show on my face as my eyes connect with Hermione's and she seems to be thinking the same thing as I am.

Without a warning, they apparate us, and we are in front of the dark Manor which is enormous. A crazed looking woman with dishevelled hair opens the gate and I recognize her from the posters all around the place. Bellatrix Lestrange. Goosebumps rise on my skin as I recall the story of Neville's parents and try to shove the fear down. The man whispers something to her and her eyes fall upon us, observing each individual. Her eyes seem to linger on me for a moment too long before she smirks and lets us inside.

We are brought to the living room, where I see Lucius Malfoy and her wife standing in the corner, observing the situation. Then my eyes fall upon the familiar figure and my breath catches in my throat.

Draco.

His eyes find mine and I see an emotion flicker behind his cold eyes before he masks it and it's back to looking indifferent. I block the argument between the adults out as I stare at him. His eyes never leave mine as he grips his wand tighter, causing his knuckles to whiten.

"Isn't this the girl...the Dark Lord was talking about? The girl that was distracting Draco's thoughts?" Lucious asks, causing my head to snap in his direction. His eyes stay on me as he observes me with a sneer.

"The mudblood?" Bellatrix chuckles. "Is it true Draco? Did the Dark Lord see her in your thoughts?" His aunt asks him while her gaze stays glued to me. He gulps nervously before responding.

"Why would I care about a filthy mudblood?" He replies, venom dripping from his every word and I try not to flinch at his words.

"Are you quite sure, Draco?" His aunt taunts, "Let's put that to the test, shall we?" She smiles evilly before raising her wand. "Crucio!"

I drop to the ground in a second, excruciating pain spreading over my body like wildfire. I do not register the screams of my friends as I myself scream in agony. I shut my eyes close and pray to whatever higher power there is to end this nightmare. I feel like my bones are cracking everywhere, and at that moment, I wish for death to come and envelope me, for it would be better to die rather than go through this torture for another second.

"Enough." I hear a female voice say who I assume it's Narcissa. Bellatrix looks back in surprise at whoever dared to interrupt her and I physically do not have the strength to open my eyes or listen to the commotion around me. Before I know it, someone scoops into their arms and I'm being carried away. I cannot control the tears staining my cheeks, and try to muffle a sob.

"It's okay, I've got you." A familiar voice whispers and I lean my head on his chest, clutching my hand around his black suit. He gently places me on the hard ground, and I open my eyes to make sure I am not imagining it. "I'm sorry." He whispers as he starts muttering healing charms under his breath.

Suddenly an ear-deafening scream echoes through the Manor, and it takes me a second to realize it's my sister. I sit up quickly, immediately regretting doing so as I feel my ribs hurt from the sudden movement. My sister is being tortured...and I have no power to stop it. The thought burdens my mind and I force back the tears threatening to spill from my eyes.

I hear the metal bars opening before they close shut, and I look to see Harry and Ron laying on the ground. They both look very angry and upset as they look around helplessly before their eyes settle on me and the hunched figure next to me. Draco looks back at them and points his wand towards my friends.

"Move and I'll hex you." He threatens. Harry looks at me worriedly but I shake my head, silently begging him to not intervene. After all, Draco was healing me. They do not step towards me but stay put and continue watching as Draco turns back and focuses on me.

"Thank you," I whisper but he shakes his head.

"Don't thank me. This happened to you because of me." He snaps back and I can tell he is frustrated with himself.

"What did they mean when they said I was in your thoughts when Voldemort was invading your head?" I ask after a moment of silence. He sighs and runs his hand through his platinum blonde hair.

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to, Granger," Draco says and I scoff. He smiles at the action before running his fingers through my hair and my eyes closed involuntarily at the gentle and soothing action.

"Will she be ok?" Harry's soft voice echoes in the large basement and Draco looks up in surprise. He nods before resting his gaze on me and smiles. It feels like Harry and Draco form an unspoken truce after this brief interaction and Harry pulls a hesitant Ron away from us and they sit down and start whispering amongst themselves, undoubtedly planning an escape.

I raise my hand hesitantly and trace Draco's defined jawline and sculptured cheekbones as he leans into my touch. My palm cups his cheek and he hesitates before leaning in and capturing my lips in a gentle kiss. I kiss back immediately and despite being tortured moments ago, I feel like I'm on cloud nine as he embraces me.

"Draco!" Someone calls and he pulls back. He sighs tiredly and releases his hold on me.

"I'll see you soon, I promise. Try to stay alive, yeah?" He smiles sadly and pecks my lips one more time before standing up. He casts a lingering look my way before disappearing from my sight. I sigh at the emptiness I feel after he leaves and pray to Merlin that this would not be the last time I see him.

I just got my hands on the forbidden fruit, I could not bear losing him after years of hiding my love for the boy who had no choice.

#draco malfoy #dracoxreader #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagine #harry potter #slytherin #malfoy #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy sad #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy one shot #hogwarts #slytherin!reader #hufflepuff #ravenclaw #gryffindor #voldemort #imagine #harry potter imagine #hermione granger #ron weasley

[12tardis]

In My Defence, I Have None (Newt Scamander x Reader)

Warnings: brief panic attack mentions  Requested: yes @cyborgfromthesupermarket asked for ‘they are in a battle or something and reader gets hurt trying to protect Newt?’ Thanks for the prompt! I hope you like it, I know it’s probably not what you had in mind… Pairing: Newt Scamander x Reader  Summary: You get hurt in battle when you throw yourself in front of Newt to save him. Will he finally tell you how he feels or will he lose you for good? Can he fix what he’s done? Features Angry/scared Newt!  A/N: I stalled on this for so long because I had so many ideas to drag out the angst and change the ending I hope you guys like it! I know the timeline of the fbawtft book is off don’t @ me  Title: the 1 - Taylor Swift - SO PROUD of my bby Aaron Dessner for helping me to see Taylor’s prowess as a song writer. Just imagine the reader singing this all angsty like  Words: 4,138  Taglist: @moonkissk7

You were doing your best to fend off bits off falling debris as the building around you collapsed in collateral damage from the heated duel going on between Newt and Grindelwald. You and Tina deflected some falling rubble that was headed for Jacob while Queenie was also busy trying to help Newt. 

Time seemed to drag on as you all battled it out for what felt like hours, the duel coming to a head when you flung a pile of bricks at Grindelwald, the man becoming enraged and fighting back at Newt with even more resolve. 

You watched on in horror as Newt briefly wiped the sweat that was forming in his brow and Grindelwald took the opportunity to cast one of the unforgivable curses at him. 

You saw the whole thing in slow motion as you watched your best friend, the man you had loved for as long as you could remember, push his hair back from his face completely oblivious to the curse that hurtling towards him. Your heart was in your throat and you didn’t even hesitate to throw yourself in front of Newt, screaming his name as you pushed him out of harm’s way. 

“NEWT!” his eyes snapped to you immediately when he heard your scream and he felt his entire body run cold as he saw the unmistakable plume of green coming out of Grindelwald’s wand, heading straight for your back. 

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion for him too as he instinctively cast the knock back jinx at you, sending you back with too much force, causing you to fall into a pile of rubble roughly. He winced at your cry of pain, but he was relieved that the spell had missed you completely, instead dissipating into the ruins around you. 

He turned away from you focusing his full energy on fighting Grindelwald, firing a round of rapid spells at the man in his fury. His newfound adrenaline seemed to stun the other man just long enough for Tina to disarm the man and just moments later a flock Auror’s arrived in the station. 

Newt didn’t look back at you once as the MACUSA President and the Auror’s arrested Grindelwald, staring the man down until he was out of sight and it was just the five of you left in the ruined station.

Newt turned to face you, seeing Tina and Queenie on either side of you. Tina was dusting the dirt off  you while Queenie cast a simple healing charm over the few cuts and scrapes you had. 

You were shaking and wanted nothing more than to feel Newt’s safe arms around you after that close call but as you looked back at him you noticed the harsh line of his jaw and the way he was clenching his fists at his sides. 

You pushed the Goldstein sisters away from you gently and stepped towards Newt with your hand outstretched only to recoil when he began to shout at you.

“Y/N, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR DAMN MIND!?” 

You could have heard a pin drop in the ruined station as you all just stood there staring a Newt in complete shock. He had only ever treated you with the utmost care and respect, not once raising his voice at you.

You had never even heard him curse before and had only seen him angry once before in your entire life. That had been when you’d broken your arm helping Theseus with one of his mother’s Hippogriffs but that time his anger had been directed at his brother, not at you. Plus, it had been fairly easy to calm him down then. With one doe eyed look and a carefully timed hug you had the younger Scamander pacified. 

This time though his entire body was tense, looking about ready to snap in two and you could practically hear him grinding his teeth together as an angry flush spread up his neck and to his ears. He looked the complete opposite of the sweet and gentle Newt that you’d fallen for. He was absolutely livid, and you found yourself shrinking under his gaze. 

“I-I was...he was,” you stuttered as you stared back at Newt, feeling like a scorned child but then you remembered that Grindelwald had very nearly killed him “I was protecting you!” you said firmly, finding your voice once more as you tried to reach for Newt again.

But that seemed to be the worst possible thing you could have said as he somehow grew even more enraged. “I CAN LOOK AFTER MYSELF!”, he shouted, his voice booming in the crumbling tunnel and then he cut you off before you could even speak again.

“That was completely IDIOTIC! Did you even stop to think for a second?!” 

You stared back at him as tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill. Being one of the more spritely and eccentric Hufflepuff’s at Hogwarts had meant that you were no stranger to being called an idiot or stupid by your peers. You had been taunted with the words for years and Newt had been one of the only people in your life to never throw them in your face. 

He was usually the one defending you when people hurled those insults at you. You could always depend on him to cheer you up by sneaking you your favourite snacks from the kitchens and spending his time assuring you that you were clever and incredible. So, to hear him call you an idiot so easily now deeply upset you.

“Hey hey...Newt, come on buddy”, Jacob intervened, touching his friend on the shoulder when he saw your bottom lip start to tremble and the way Newt didn’t appear to be backing down any time soon.

And as you watched Newt’s chest rise and fall rapidly while he continued to stare at you furiously you felt your own anger bubbling to the surface.

“I’m going home!”, you snapped, shaking your head at him as you snatched your wand up from where it had fallen. You weren’t standing for this. How dare he shout at you in such a way when you were only trying to help!

“Good! I don’t want to travel with a liability anyway!” He snapped back at you and your eyes widened because you had just meant home as in back to the Goldstein’s apartment. But he was clearly talking about your home London. It was like an ice dagger through your heart.

Was he really done with you just like that?

You couldn’t hold back your sob as you ran from the train station, too upset to apparate anywhere and Tina and Jacob followed after you immediately. Queenie stayed behind though because she was the only person that could hear how distressed Newt was.

 The second you and the others were gone he sunk to his knees, burying his face in his hands and letting out a shuddering breath.

 Queenie blinked back her own tears as she heard his thoughts louder and clearer than she ever had before. She could feel the overwhelming sense of fear and self loathing the was practically pouring from him.

 She nearly died because of me.

I can’t protect her

I’m not even worth it

“Sweetheart don’t think like that. You are absolutely worth saving”, she said softly, laying her hand on his back and sighing sadly when she only heard another round of self-deprecating thoughts flood her mind.

“Queenie please. Leave me be”, Newt pleaded, digging his nails into his palms as he tried to block her out of his thoughts though he knew it was no use.

Queenie frowned down at him when his thoughts became more centred around the fear he’d just felt seeing Y/N so nearly taken from him. “She loves you you know?”, she whispered, kneeling down beside him carefully and gently hugging him.Newt continued to sit there tensely, not allowing himself the comfort of Queenie’s hug, so she squeezed his shoulder as she got back to her feet.

“She’s loves you and you need to tell her how you feel soon or else she’s never going to understand why you just hurt her the way you did,” she said softly before she too left him there to think on his own.

Newt walked around the city for about an hour after Queenie had left, trying to calm himself down so that he could go to you and salvage whatever was left of your relationship but he kept replaying the image of you throwing yourself in front of him to take the hit of a killing curse. 

He knew he probably should have been touched that you cared for him so much, but all he felt was a crippling sense of dread and guilt. He couldn’t live with himself if you died because of him. Heaven knows he hadn’t even stopped beating himself up over you getting bitten by one of the Doxies and that was weeks ago.

His love for you was so profound that he had considered cutting you out of his life in order to keep you safe several times before, but you simply never listened to him. You always sensed when he was closing himself off and you just wouldn’t allow it. 

As he wandered through the streets of New York it was the realisation of what he’d really just said to you that calmed him down immediately. The anger made way for complete remorse.

“Merlin, what have I done?”, he whispered out loud, earning himself a few odd looks from passers-by. He’d screamed at you. He’d called you idiotic. He’d let you believe that he didn’t want you by his side in his travels. How far from the truth that all was. 

He found himself standing in the Goldstein’s apartment not a minute later, looking away in shame at the looks Tina and Jacob both shot him. He looked back at Queenie desperately and the other woman simply gestured to the guest room, offering him the tiniest smile of encouragement. 

Tina appeared in front of him though before he made it even half way down the hallway, jabbing a finger into his chest “If you make her cry again I will break your fingers one by one and feed them to your creatures, Mr Scamander”, she practically growled at him. And Newt couldn’t help but shudder because he knew it wasn’t just an empty threat coming from the older Goldstein. 

Tina absolutely adored you. You were the only person other than Queenie that saw through her cold exterior and never complained about her uptight ways. You two had hit it off from the moment you’d met, and you brought out a softness in her that Newt recognised in himself. So, he didn’t begrudge Tina for threatening him one bit but he just wanted to see you and fix what he’d done. 

“Tina, I promise I’m going to fix this, just please let me go to her”, he pleaded, willing himself to look the woman in the eye so he could prove he was being genuine. She stared at him with a cold and calculating stare for a few moments before she eventually nodded, stepping out of his way and returning to the dining room.

Newt sighed and continued to the guest room, sucking in a breath before he pushed the door open and stepped into the room, his heart clenching painfully in his chest when he saw you curled up on the bed clutching a pillow to your chest with obvious tear tracks running down your face.

“Go away”, you said weakly, turning away from him on the bed, and closing your eyes tightly. You recognised the look of concern on his face and you knew you didn’t have to worry about him shouting at you again, but you just didn’t have the energy to face him. 

He continued towards you and crouched down by the bed so he could be at the same height as you “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” he murmured. He was itching to reach out for you and hold you like he usually would, but he knew he’d lost the right to even think about touching you now. 

“I don’t want to hear it, Newton” you said starting off strong, but he heard your voice crack clear as day and he felt his own heart crack simultaneously. He’d seen you cry plenty of times before and each time had made his chest ache but to know that he was the cause of your tears this time brought him deep sorrow and despair. 

How could he have hurt you so badly? You were the person he loved more than life itself and here you were crying at his own doing. 

“Y/N please I- I have no excuses for how I spoke to you but Y/N I need you to know that I didn’t mean a single word I said,” Newt gushed out, still itching to reach for you and sucking in a breath when you suddenly turned to face him, not even attempting to hold your tears back. 

“You called me an idiot”, you cried, letting out a shuddering breath “you were the only person that never called me that!” you chocked out and Newt had his own tears in his eyes now, absolutely loathing himself as he watched you. 

“And now you don’t even- you don’t even want me around anymore!”, you gasped out and Newt frowned in concern when he realised you were starting to hyperventilate. Usually he would already be holding you close and talking you down. 

“You don’t want to be my friend anymore, I didn’t- didn’t mean to make you mad” your stuttering got worse and Newt got to his feet, throwing caution to the wind as he climbed into the bed and pulled you into his arms. 

“Sweetheart no,” he said firmly, holding you close in his arms and soothing one up and down your back while he used the other to tuck your head into the crook of his neck. He’d held you just like this numerous times over your many years of friendship, usually when you would wake up in tears from a nightmare. He would sit up with you, murmuring sweet words into your ear for as long as it took for you to relax again and he was just praying it would work in this case too. 

“I didn’t mean a single word I said, and I am so so sorry, love. You are so incredibly witty and clever; I have never thought you to be anything less. How many times have you gotten me out of strife with your quick thinking?” He murmured, letting out a breath of relief when you didn’t push him away.

You were clutching at his shirt, you fingers curled tightly into the fabric as if he was going to leave you at any moment. “T-then why were you so mad? Why don’t you want to travel with me anymore?”, you managed to croak out, closing your eyes tightly as you sucked in an unsteady breath. 

Newt let out a quiet sigh, pressing the softest kiss to the top of your head “I do want to travel with you. I don’t want to see the world with anyone else. But I was terrified Y/N. I was scared when I saw you fall from that Hippogriff in 6th year and I was scared when I watched you take on that Ridgeback last year, or the time you concussed yourself in Ireland but this was...this was different Y/N.” 

Newt let out a long breath, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to gather his thoughts, still holding you close. Your body was unwittingly relaxing and reacting to the way Newt had you cradled in his arms because you subconsciously knew his embrace meant safety and love after the many time’s he’d held you in the same way. Touching you with the utmost care like he would a wounded creature. 

“Y/N...I’ve never felt more terrified than I did today”, Newt murmured seriously as he slowly pulled back from you, gripping your forearms as you gazed back at him. “Watching you, throw your body between myself and that killing curse”, he tensed up slightly at the memory “I couldn’t breathe. For a second there I really thought I was going to lose you having never told you how I really felt...”

He glanced down nervously, and you listened to him closely, your eyebrows pulling together “I don’t understand. I couldn’t just stand there and watch it happen, sure I acted on impulse, but I’d do it again. And I think you’d do the same for me.” you murmured, frowning back at your best friend. 

Newt sighed, rubbing a hand down his face as he nodded “Merlin, I know and of course I would. I would do it in a heartbeat. I just...you...I need you to understand what you mean to me.” 

He hopped to his feet when you continued to look at him in confusion and he rummaged around his luggage until he found what he was looking for. He sat back down across from you, holding a plain looking book out to you.

“It’s the first draft of my book.” Newt murmured nervously and you gasped in response, wondering why he hadn’t told you about it and why he was showing you now of all times. But as you flicked past the fly leaf the questions died in your throat, because there printed in the middle of the dedication page was your name.

 To Y/N,

The love of my life, my soul mate.

You are by far, the most exquisite creature I’ve ever met.

I owe you my happiness and I offer my heart.

Eternally yours, (If you’ll have me and even if not)

N.S. 

Newt watched you read it in silence, starting to fidget nervously when you showed no response whatsoever. “I um...obviously if you don’t feel the same way that’s a-absolutely fine! We can forget about this. I just- I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you for months now because I love you , I truly do and the thought of you n-not being around anymore terrifies me and I took my anger towards myself and Grindelwald out on you and-“

“Newt. Stop talking.” You said quietly, still not looking up at him as you continued to stare down at the book in your hands, gripping it in a vice like grip now just to make sure you weren’t dreaming. And Newt shut his mouth quickly, watching you in concern. 

He wrung his hands in his lap, wondering if your silence was revenge for how he’d spoken to you today. Maybe you were angry with him and you were trying not to snap. Or maybe you were disgusted, and you were trying to find the nicest way to let him down. That seemed the most likely, since you were the kindest person he knew. Of course, you were just trying to let him down without hurting his feelings too much. 

Newt looked back up at you when he heard the quietest sniffle come from you, a few stray tears falling onto the paper of the book in your lap. “Oh, and now I’ve just made you cry again,” Newt sighed, shaking his head at himself clenching his hands into fists “Y/N I’m so sorry. I’m such a fool” but you clapped your hand over his mouth before he had the chance to stammer out any more apologies.

“Merlin Newt just be quiet for a minute,” you sighed and Newt looked back at you with big eyes, trying to talk against your hand to which you raised an eyebrow at him and he promptly stopped. 

You let go of him when he was finally silent and you looked back at him wordlessly, making him squirm because he had so much more to say to you. He wanted to ask you if you were okay or if you wanted him to go but as you climbed over to him and sat yourself down sideways in his lap, he found his answer. 

You looped an arm around his shoulders, holding the book in your other hand as you read over the dedication again and Newt watched you in wonder, his heart starting to race when he saw a smile grace your features and he slowly lifted his arm to wrap around your waist, holding you securely.

You held a finger to his lips when you sensed he was about to start talking again, fixing him with a warning look. Newt let out a small huff of exasperation against your finger but couldn’t help but smile slightly as he settled back against the bed head, looking up at you in awe. 

You sat in silence for what felt like hours to Newt, just taking in the moment. “So...I’m the most exquisite creature you’ve ever met huh?”, you said eventually, smiling down at Newt teasingly, unprepared for the look of absolute adoration he gave in return. 

Newt nodded quickly, cupping your cheek tenderly “yes exquisite, enthralling, magnificent”, he murmured seriously, looking you in the eyes with such intensity you forgot how to breathe “kind, compassionate and so excruciatingly beautiful.”

You stared back into his eyes, feeling your cheeks heat as you sucked in a deep breath, leaning into his gentle touch “and I’m...the love of your life?” you asked, peering back at him shyly.

“Yes”, he whispered, his face inching closer to yours “I am entirely lost without you. You are my best friend and the love of my life”, he repeated, smiling adoringly at the smile that broke across your face “being with you feels like coming home and I am utterly enamoured with you.” 

You felt tears welling in your eyes again but this time Newt didn’t fret because he knew they weren’t tears of sorrow. You shifted yourself in his lap until you were straddling him, facing him properly as you lay your hand over his heart, “and this is mine?”, you whispered, your lips only inches away from his now. 

Newt flushed a deep pink as he lay his hand over yours, knowing you must have been able to feel the way his heart was trying to beat out of his chest, and nodding again “always,” he whispered, brushing your tears away delicately. 

You kept your hand on his chest, letting him brush your tears away before you pressed your forehead to his “kiss me?” 

Newt closed the gap between you quickly, pressing his lips to yours in the softest most tender kiss imaginable, letting out a breath through his nose as he cupped your face in his palm. You sighed quietly against his lips, completely melting against him as you reached up, tangling your fingers in his hair. 

You only pulled back for air, looking back at him with pure joy shining in your eyes “I love you too you know?” You pressed another sweet kiss to his lips, taking his hands in your own and threading your fingers together “my soulmate,” you whispered, glad to see the happiness reflected in Newt’s eyes. 

Newt stroked your hair back gently from your face some time later when you were both laying down tangled up together, “Can you ever forgive me for being so awful today?” He murmured, looking back at you and you could see the guilt flash in his eyes again.

“Mmm I’ll consider it if you take me to the markets tomorrow,” you teased before you pressed a kiss to his jaw “in all seriousness though I already have. I know you didn’t mean what you said, you only said it out of fear.”

You snuggled in closer to him, laying your head on his chest and looking up at him as you held a finger up “BUT. If you EVER talk to me like that again I will not hesitate to hex you into next year”

Newt smiled thankfully back at you, lifting your hand and pressing a loving kiss to your skin “I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

You and Newt continued to share sweet kisses and words of adoration for the rest of the evening and Tina headed to fetch you both when dinner was served. She also just wanted to make sure Newt was staying true to his promise, but her sister grabbed her by the arm before she could leave the dining room. 

“Leave them be, Teenie it’s okay.” The Legilimens murmured with a faraway look in her eyes and a soft smile on her lips, “They’re happy.”

  -Masterlist Here-

let me know what you think!

#newt scamander x reader #newt scamander x you #newt scamander x y/n #newt x reader #newt scamander #Newton Artemis Fido Scamander

[official-weasley]

Meant to Be (Charlie Weasley x OC)

What happens when Bill brings home a girl and Charlie is completely awestruck by her?

WARNINGS: curse words, minor angst

Chapter 16

Charlie

“Charlie, mate.” I took my eyes off Ren for a split second to let Andrew know I acknowledged his voice. “What’s going on with you and Rhylee?”

“What do you mean?” My eyes still on the dragon, my wand in the air, levitating his dinner towards him.

“She seems…distracted.” Andrew chose the last word carefully. “And as if she’s avoiding you.”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Haven’t noticed.”

“Don’t give me that. What’s going on?” He persisted.

“I noticed it too. She’s a little off lately.” John joined the conversation. “What’s up with her?”

“As I said, I don’t know.” I said through my teeth as Ren started paying more attention to us than his meal.

“Has something happen between the two of you?” John didn’t stop.

Ren finally jumped for his piece of meat and I turned to them.

“Look, I am not having this conversation for the third time this week.” I rubbed my fingers against my temples. “Peter asked me the same thing yesterday. And Evan and Theo the day before and I am sorry to disappoint you but I don’t have an answer for you.” I went to grab the box with food and walked past him to go feed the next dragon.

I wasn’t lying and they weren’t wrong. Something was going on with her. She missed work twice in the past two weeks and she has been avoiding me to the point that it was obvious to the rest of our team.

I gave her two days off so she could go to London as she insisted on talking to Nick. I don’t know if she actually did it because I haven’t seen her until the second she had to show up for work again.

She doesn’t talk to me and if I say something at work, she simply nods her head and follows my order. She never makes eye contact and eats at a separate table from ours. She hasn’t been out on a Friday or Saturday ever since that party and she doesn’t really talk to anyone if she absolutely doesn’t have to.

All and all, she looks completely miserable.

I don’t know what to do about it. Peter tried talking to her, being her boss, but she said she was fine. I knew he wouldn’t get a word out of her, at this point, I don’t think even I could.

I miss her.

Her energy at work and her playfulness. The way her laughter fills the room and how she ignites something in my chest when she smiles at me.

I haven’t seen any of that since her two days off. I don’t know what happened between her and Nick, if she ever made it to London. It was frustrating because, for the first time, I felt as if I couldn’t read her. The look in her eyes was foreign to me. She didn’t feel guilty like that morning when she woke up at my place. She wasn’t happy either. She looked tired, to be honest, and full of regret.

I just wish I would know what for. I tried talking to her a few times but she always made some dumb excuse and hurried off to Merlin knows where. I was concerned for her. As her co-worker and as her friend. I miss talking to her and going for a run and I hate that she completely isolated herself from everybody and I hate it even more that I am struggling to get through to her.

“Don’t you think you should talk to her? Ask her what’s wrong?” John disturbed my train of thoughts.

“You think I didn’t try that?” I chortled.

“She looks miserable. We have to do something.” Andrew scratched his head, thinking.

“I’ll try talking to her again. Perhaps I can get through to her this time.” I sighed.

If my co-workers were concerned for her, I had to do something about it. They know I still have feelings for her and they are not going to stop pressuring me until she is back to normal.

The thing is, I’m afraid that that might not happen. What if I ruined everything by sleeping with her after that party? What if she completely shut down because of it?

I wish I could somehow stop my feelings. The whole thing was getting out of control and I was powerless over it. I was hoping that by her not talking to me, my feelings for her would go away but they didn’t and I hated it. I just wanted to be there for her. Help her with whatever she is dealing with.

She has been avoiding me to the point that I can’t even help her with the dragon case. I don’t even know if she made any progress or if she got the trial date yet. I felt horrible about the whole thing and it was making me sick. It also made me desperate and it was time for me to do something about it.

The next morning I woke up and saw that the sky was cloudless. I dressed up quickly and without making myself some coffee like I usually did, I hiked to my sunrise gazing spot. I hoped she would be there so I can catch her alone. It might just be the only time she would be willing to talk to me.

I stopped right before reaching the peak. I was getting nervous. I couldn’t help to shake the feeling that this all had to do with me and I wanted to be the last person to make her sad. I wanted to be the guy to put a smile on her face not make her cry herself to sleep.

I inhaled sharply and let the fresh morning air fill my lungs and made my way to the top. I was right. She was there, at our usual spot.

Ever since we became friends and I learned how to control my feelings and got over my guilt, we have been coming here to watch the sunrise together. It was the best way for us to bond and it was private. Even though it hurt thinking that we were nothing more than friends, I longed for those moments again.

I wanted her to be able to talk to me. I, out of all people, know how it’s like when you bottle something up and not talk to anybody about it. I wanted to be her friend if I can’t be more.

“Thought I might find you here.” I said in a soft voice, careful not to startle her.

“I was just leaving.” She started to get on her feet.

“Don’t.” I tried grabbing her wrist to stop her but she stepped away from me.

“Rhy, you have to tell me what is going on.” I looked at her but her eyes were looking at everything around me.

“Just…leave me alone, Charlie.” She dusted her pants and started walking away.

“I can’t do that.” I tried snatching her hand one more time and this time I succeeded.

“Yes…you…can.” She said through clenched teeth. “Now let go of my hand.” I loosened the grip and she took a step backward.

“Okay, that’s enough!” I raised my voice.

I didn’t like it but it made her look at me. She was on the verge of tears and I could sense she was looking for a way to escape. I will not let her get out of this so easily. She can’t go on like this.

“What in the bloody hell happened to you in those two days that you said you will visit Nick?” She flinched when I mentioned his name.

“It doesn’t matter, Charlie.” She spoke after a few seconds of thinking about what to say. Probably to feed me another lie. “It doesn’t concern you.”

“The hell it doesn’t.” I took a step closer to her and she instantly took one backward. “I’m your friend and I’m concerned for you. Our whole team is. You have to let us help you.”

“Help me?” She let out an incredulous laugh. “The last time I checked I can take care of myself just fine!” “You don’t look fine to me.” I bit my tongue after saying that but it was the truth.

She looked paler than usual. Her hair was all over the place and she constantly looked tired.

“Thanks for the compliment.” She scoffed and started walking downhill.

I ran after her. I can’t let her get away like this. She might be done talking but I wasn’t even halfway through. I don’t care if we both miss work, I am getting to the bottom of this. I put my hand on her shoulder and turned her around. She was skinnier too as if she hasn’t been eating for days.

“You will tell me what is wrong or I’m firing you.” I had no idea where that came from but I was getting desperate.

I didn’t know how else to convince her to tell me what was making her not talk to me, be late to work, and destroy herself like this.

“Look…” She sighed and bowed her head. “I can’t repeat what happened between us, Charlie.”

“I didn’t know I was coming on to you.” I blinked at her. “I just want to talk to you, friend to friend.”

“As I said…” She swallowed hard. “I can’t.”

“You are trying to throw that night in my face and it’s honestly insulting.” She looked up at my words. “You know I know you better than that so stop lying to me.”

“I’m not lying.” She rolled her eyes.

“Yes, Rhylee. You are.” I tightened the grip on her shoulders. “I want the truth, Rhy.” I lowered my tone and lifted her chin for her to look at me but she was avoiding my gaze.

“I went to see Nick.” She finally said after a long pause, still looking away. “I told him everything.”

“Okay.” I said slowly.

I wanted her to continue.

“He took it pretty hard.” Her eyes started to water as she reminisced on it.

“Did you…”

“Break up?” Her eyes finally locked with mine and the wish of it being true sparked in her eyes. “No.”

That made my heart stop.

She was staying with him?

Or should I rephrase it.

He was willing to forgive her?

I mean, good for him, perhaps Bill underestimated him but I can’t deny I was hoping that this would be her escape ticket. Somehow, I still thought that we might end up together.

This is a fucking nightmare, isn’t it? I can’t believe that she was going to stay with him after everything that happened between us. It might only have been one night but I know that neither of us saw it that way.

“He…” She bit her lip.

“What?” I encouraged her to speak.

“He told me that he’ll stay with me if I stop talking to you.” She blurted out.

I let go of her. She was joking, right? I was in complete shock. He gave her an ultimatum and she took it? She actually obeyed him. She chose him over me?

She chose him over me…

If the information that they didn’t break up broke my heart, then this fucking shattered it.

“What?” I breathed.

I didn’t know how to respond to such bullshit.

“You wanted the truth and here it is, Charlie.” She cried.

“Oh, yes! I see how happy your choice makes you!” I pointed at her face which was beginning to be soaked by her tears again.

“What do you want me to say?” She barked at me.

“Oh, I don’t know…” I put my hands on my head. I wanted to scream, I was so angry. “How about you admit to yourself that you are not happy with him and move on with your fucking life!”

“You’re the one that needs to move on, Charles!” She shouted at my face.

I started breathing faster and I felt as if I couldn’t move, as if someone stupefied me. What was going through her head? Why would she want to torture herself so much?

“You’re going to say that you’re happy with him?” I knew I should stop talking but if we were going to shout in each other’s face we are going all the way.

“Don’t do this, Charlie.” She begged.

“Are you happy with him?” I repeated the question. “Because it sure doesn’t look like it.”

“You don’t understand.” She shook her head.

“Then fucking enlighten me, why don’t you!” I was the one who raised my voice now.

“How would you feel if your partner told you they slept with someone else? It’s only natural in the way he reacted. He loves me and he is willing to forgive me if I do one simple thing for him.”

Was she seriously defending him?

“One simple thing.” I laughed sarcastically. “Tell me, Rhylee…” I scratched my chin, bowing my head. “Who’s your closest friend here?”

There was a moment of silence. Another tear ran down her face. She didn’t answer.

“That’s what I thought.” I bobbed my head. “He asked you to stop talking to me and just like that…” I snapped my fingers. “You obliged. Not even telling me. Not even warning me.”

I pressed my lips together. I was so furious.

“Were you ever planning on telling me this? Or did you think I would simply let it go? Ignore the fact that you are late for work. That we are all worried about you. That you lock yourself in your hut the second we are done with work? That’s not life, Rhy.”

I stepped closer to her again. She was just standing there like a child being scolded by their mother, looking at the ground. She knew I was right. She knew she was making a mistake but she blinded herself, trying to convince herself that she made the right choice.

“When was the last time you were in a relationship?” She asked calmly. “In a serious relationship, with real problems not just a one-night stand with some bimbo from the neighboring village?”

“6 years ago.” I bit my cheek.

“Then don’t pretend you know what I am going through.” She turned around and started walking away.

“You deserve better.” She stopped at my words and looked at me over her shoulder.

“Excuse me?” She asked, pretending she didn’t hear me.

“I said that you deserve better.” I repeated myself.

“Life isn’t a fairytale, Charlie. Sometimes we simply can’t get what we want.” She wiped a tear off her face, her gaze on me just for a second longer before she turned her head and ran down the hill.

I didn’t stop her this time. I knew it was meaningless. I knew she made up her mind. But there it was again. The silence that was supposed to be filled with words. Her eyes that were saying she wanted to tell me more but couldn’t. What was stopping her? Why was she so determined to stay with him?

I don’t know what hurt more; the fact that she gave up our friendship to stay with the guy she cheated on or the fact that I now know I lost her forever.

Probably both.

I turned around and sat where she was sitting before and stared into the distance. I wasn’t observing the sunrise. To be honest I didn’t even notice it. I was distracted by the pain in my chest.

By my broken heart.

By the fact that I will never be with her and I was beating myself with the question…why?

Why did she choose him?

#harry potter fanfiction #charlie weasley #charlie weasley fanfiction #the weasleys #weasley family #hp imagine #charlie weasley x oc #charlie weasley imagine #the burrow #harry potter imagine #weasley fanfiction #charlie weasley x mc #bill weasley #harry potter #wizarding world

[malereader-inserts]

broken crown | xi.

Jumping over some fallen tree as you landed, the ground beneath you started to spontaneously grow roots, latching onto the feet of some snatchers - the roots growing quickly and ultimately wrapping around their necks, you were glad you did not have to watch how the life drained from their eyes.

Word Count:  2,691 ((it’s a long one))

< Previous | Next >

“I don’t blame him,” You mumbled, barely escaping the attack at Lovegood’s house, “We can’t out him and his action, he’s just desperate.”

Ron was annoyed though, but, he had reconsidered only because everyone had seemed to silently agree to you. There was no lead to the next horcrux which left Harry frustrated. As Ron went to do enchantments and Hermione the tent, you pat Harry on the shoulder.

“It’ll be a new year soon, H,” You hummed, throwing your arm over his shoulder, “We’ll be facing new beginnings, I can already tell.”

Harry looked at you, and clashed his shoulder to your chest as you pretended to be wounded with his actions. Hermione, finishing putting the tent up, watches her two best friend just being them. She smiled to herself, noticing how Harry reaches out for you, holding your hand and squeezing it. 

She watches how your other hand rest upon Harry’s cheek, your thumb rubbing against his skin. Hermione’s shoulder deflate as she sees both her best friend madly in love with each other, melting in each other’s touch. She, then, looks at Ron, who was slowly finishing with the enchantments.

She adored the love you and Harry shared between each other. It was natural, soft yet fiery. It seem to be a love that was sublet but yet so powerful. Often times, many cannot believe that Harry could snag such a charming man like you. You had boy and girls fawning over your smirks and the twinkle in your eyes. Whilst you were similar to your dad, often at times, your friends see a Lupin who is wilder than your dad. But, behind your mysterious personality, your friends truly saw you for what you were. 

Mad, in a sense, curious about everything and most definitely ambitious. Hermione smiles to herself as words you often uttered had escaped into her mind: “You need a little bit of insanity to do great things.”

“What’s got you smiling there, Hermione Granger?” You asked, sitting by her, “Thinking about a certain someone?” You had teased, bumping shoulders.

“Shut up!”

You laughed, throwing your head back. Harry, sometimes loses faith and hope, but when he sees you - there’s just that little hope you give him to hang on a little bit more.

“You’re an IDIOT!”

You have had a quiet few months, with dead ends to where the next Horcrux could be. You had time to evaluate yourself and you were at the final stretch, in fact you’ve been doing extra magic around camp. Even started to make a healing spell but the only downside was the fact that some cuts would turn into scars instantly. 

Harry had been wondering what offensive magic you had under your arsenal, after all, he had heard tales that Merlin was vicious in battle, fury within him whenever harm had touched his friends and it was no different to you.

But, currently, the four of you were running because your idiotic boyfriend had accidentally said Voldemort name, triggering the taboo. So, you were running from the snatcher and Fenrir Greyback, who had it in for you.

Jumping over some fallen tree as you landed, the ground beneath you started to spontaneously grow roots, latching onto the feet of some snatchers - the roots growing quickly and ultimately wrapping around their necks, you were glad you did not have to watch how the life drained from their eyes. 

“Oh, you’ve got to teach me that!” Ron says, very impressed as you were unimpressed with his comment.

“Absolutely not!”

Truth be told, Fenrir wanted you, the moment he had noticed you were there he wanted blood. After Lyall Lupin, your grandfather had insulted werewolves it seemed like Fenrir had a grudge against your family. He didn’t even want to sink his teeth in you, in fact, he wanted to scar you - to remind you that you were forever be on his list to torment. 

As you get cornered in the forest, Fenrir was quick to incapacitate you, two of his claws scratches your face, making your fall to the floor, stomach against the floor. You could hear voices around you, drowned out as you try to heal yourself. Cringing as you touch the scratch, which you were thankful it wasn’t deep as Bill’s or your dad. There was one scratch from your eyebrow over your left eye to your nose, the second scratch was just your upper lip. Then another scratch had come out of nowhere, three cuts down the back of your neck.

You were lucky, Fenrir had terrible aim. 

“This one’s a Lupin-” You heard over the muzziness, “I get to keep this one.”

“SHUT HIM UP!” Bellatrix voice had echoed through the manor.

Draco gulping as he watched Hermione get tortured by his aunt and the werewolf having fun with you. Hermione was screaming, but you were begging. Draco couldn’t look at you because you were just bloody. Both your arms full with long cuts wrapping around your forearm, Draco was convinced the werewolf was trying to make his torture like a work of art.

But, Draco could see the frustration in the werewolf, as your wounds would start to heal by itself. Draco couldn’t believe his eyes, no one had ever pulled magic like that.  Fenrir was smart enough not to bite you, he didn’t want you to have the cravings of a werewolf, he wanted to damage you, with scars that barely fade to remind you that you were the grandson who insulted the werewolves. 

“Expellliarmus!” You heard Harry’s voice, you could see from the bright lights over you there was a battle going on. 

You had mustered as much magic as you can to knock Fenrir off you, as you slowly sat up. Feeling weak in yourself as you see Bellatrix pick Hermione off the floor whilst holding a knife to her neck.

“Stop! Drop your wands,” Bellatrix had commanded, looking over to them, “I said, drop them!” There were thuds of Ron and Harry dropping their wands, as Bellatrix looked at her nephew, “Pick them up, Draco, now.”

Draco slowly picks up Harry’s and Ron’s wand, standing off to the side. She smirked as the stinging jinx had started to fade from Harry’s face, revealing him. There was a triumph in her that her family could impress the dark lord in bringing Harry to him

“Well, well, well, look what we have here. It's Harry Potter! He's all bright and shiny and new again, just in time for the Dark Lord,” There was a sinister glee to her tone as you lean against a table to pick yourself up, “Call him.”

Her order was directed to Draco, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. These were people in his year, people who did good. When Draco hesitated, his father stepped up, flashing his mark to the group, as he was to call the dark lord, everyone stopped as they heard squeaking.

Everyone looked up to see Dobby unscrewing the chandelier, as it drops. Bellatrix lets go of Hermione, who lunges forward to Ron’s arms. Harry quickly grabs the wands from Draco’s hand.

“Stupefy!” Harry cast the spell, aiming to Lucius, before grabbing you in his arms.

He allowed you to lean over him as he groups you up with Dobby, Hermione, Ron and Griphook. 

“Stupid elf,” Bellatrix hisses before exclaiming loudly, “You could've killed me.”

“Dobby never meant to kill,” Dobby proclaimed, “Dobby only meant to maim or seriously injure.”

As Narcissa waves her wand to cast a spell, Dobby snaps his fingers. The wand flying straight into his hands as his old master looked dumbfounded.

“How dare you take a witch's wand?” Bellatrix screamed in fury, “How dare you defy your masters?”

Dobby straightens his back and looked at Bellatrix’s in the eye with no fear,  “Dobby has no master. Dobby is a free elf. And Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends.”

You all grip onto Dobby, who starts to apparate out of the Malfoy Manor. Landing on a beach. Landing on your knees as Hermione had held onto you, who was being held by Ron. 

“(Y/n)!” Harry exclaimed as he got up from lying down, “Hermione!”

He had approached the two of you, clearly shaken. He placed a comforting arm around you, his eyes flickering to the closed cuts on your arms, noticing they were line vines, wrapping around your arms. You had swallowed as you gripped your boyfriend.

“You're all right. We're safe,” Harry reassured you, then looking at Hermione and Ron, “We're all safe.” 

“Harry Potter...” A little voice had spoken, everyone had turned to see Dobby, impaled with Bellatrix’s knife.

In a hurry, Harry quickly goes to Dobby’s aid and Ron took noticed of Bill and Luna coming down towards the hill. As Bill ushered everyone, you see Luna and Harry talking and seeing Dobby, limp in his arms. Harry buries him with Ron and Hermione, but you stayed indoors with Bill who was examining your scars.

“Scars from Fenrir don’t heal that quickly or easily,” He says, tenderly holding your arm as you sat down in the kitchen as Fleur comes downstairs and takes over from her husband, they weren’t scars but closed wounds slowly healing. But, Fleur took initiation to clean the blood from your arms.

“It’s beautiful here,” Luna compliments

“It was our Aunt’s. We used to come here as kids. The Order uses it now as a safe house -- what’s left of us, at least...”

Bill and Fleur allowed everyone to stay, you had healed over quite nicely and you got out lucky with werewolf scratches to fade. They still were very prominent but your friends, especially Harry had noticed that you kept your sleeves down mostly. Harry mustered up a plan for once, breaking into Gringotts whilst Hermione transformed into Bellatrix from plucking her hair back at the manor. 

“You think it’ll work?” Hermione asked, everyone had often found you sitting outside, just close to the back door, Bill and Fleur hadn’t understood why.

But, your best friends had understood that during that night at Malfoy Manor, it was the first time you had used a lot of powerful magic beyond your years. You were recharging, but you were stubborn, believing if you continue to use it, you’ll get used to it. 

“I like to believe so,” You say as Hermione sits by you, watching you grow flowers in the sand before promptly killing them, “Can you believe it’s Easter now?”

“Time flies, it seemed like yesterday we were in Xenophilius house asking about the deathly hallows.”

“I do wonder if I could pull off his dress sense, you think I could, Hermione?” 

She cracks a smile, “Absolutely, I think you’ll be in your truest form, Merlin.”

You give her a narrowed look, rolling your eyes promptly, “I’m not Merlin.”

Hermione sighs, “No,” watching you play with your magic, seeing how you’ve gathered a lot of strength with your magic. Not even her could believe that you show such great power with ease, “But you’re (Y/n) Lupin. And that’s even better.”

By mid-April, with preparation half-way to being done for the heist, everyone was eating in the Cottage. You had lost appetite, going out to the garden, leaning against the fencing. 

“What’s wrong with (Y/n)?” Bill has asked looking at the three.

“He’s preoccupied that’s all.”

Your back to the cottage, you got caught up messing about with your compass. Mumbling Latin words under your breath, trying to think what purpose it should hold to you. Not hearing the commotion inside the cottage.

“It is I, Remus John Lupin!” called a voice over the howling wind. “I am a werewolf, married to Nymphadora Tonks, and you, the Secret Keeper of Shell Cottage, told me the address and bade me come in an emergency!”

“Lupin,” muttered Bill, and he ran to the door and wrenched it open. 

Remus fell over the threshold. He was white-faced, wrapped in a travelling cloak, his greying hair windswept. He straightened up, looked around the room, making sure of who was there, then cried aloud, “It’s a boy! We’ve named him Ted, after Dora’s father!”

Hermione shrieked. “Wha—? Tonks – Tonks has had the baby?”

 “Yes, yes, she’s had the baby!” shouted Remus.

All around the table came cries of delight, sighs of relief: Hermione and Fleur both squealed, "Congratulations!” and Ron said, “Blimey, a baby!” as if he had never heard of such a thing before. 

“Yes – yes – a boy,” said Remus again, who seemed dazed by his own happiness. He strode around the table and hugged Harry.

He had let go of Harry, once again examining everyone indoors. His eyes flicker to Hermione then Ron then to Harry. His happiness seemed to wear off for a second as Harry looked confused.

“Remus-?” He question.

“Where’s my boy, Harry?” Remus asked, trying to conceal the urge of hurry within his voice, desperately wanting a hug from you.

Harry’s eyes flicker to the back door, “He’s outside.”

Remus looks at the others, “Go, we’ll celebrate in a bit, go see him,” Bill shoos him off as he exited through the back door.

He hears you humming and looking down. Noticing your eyebrows furrowed and you watch the pointer spin rapidly.

“What is your heart desiring?” You jumped at his voice, “Still Harry?”

You pointer had stopped in the direction of your dad’s voice, you slam it shut. Turning around to look at him, he takes a good look at you, hoping to burn it in his mind. He hopes that you have forgiven him, he doesn’t know if you remember what happened months ago.

“Dad!” You exclaimed, a smile beaming upon your face, lunging to hug him as he catches you effortlessly, “What are you doing here? How’s Dora? How’s Sirius?”

Remus chuckles, “And to think, you missed me,” He leans you out of the hug, “Sirius is alright, Dora is great, she’s given birth to a baby boy.”

“A baby?” You responded dumbfounded as Remus’ smile reaches his ears.

“You’re a big brother, (Y/n), you have a little brother!”

As you snap out of your shock, “What’s his name?”

“Named after Dora’s dad, after-” You nodded, knowing he didn’t need to vocalise the death of Ted Tonks, “Teddy Remus Lupin.”

“Seems fitting,” You chuckled, as Remus’ smile drop as he noticed something.

You looked at him with knitted eyebrows as he placed a gentle hand on your cheek, delicately tilting your head to see the scar from the snake attack. He felt you shift uncomfortably as his eyes flickered down to your arms.

“What happened-?”

“Freak accident,” You responded almost immediately that you cringed as Remus raised an eyebrow, “Well, this one,” pointing to the front of your neck, “Was a snake attack and these,” motioning to your arms, “Fenrir Greyback.”

“Who?” Venom had dripped from your father’s words, as you stiffen.

“Never mind that, that’s a story for another time, but for now we have to celebrate, Teddy!” You changed the subject tugging your dad to the indoors, “Come along.”

“Wait, (Y/n),” He stops, as you looked at him with a tilted head, “I’m sorry about the-”

“Don’t apologise, it’s worth it,” You responded, shrugging your shoulders, “You went back to Dora and that’s the forgiveness you needed the most.”

“You took your time, Moony!” Sirius greeted his best friend’s arrival.

Tonks came downstairs, “How’s Bill and Fleur?”

“They’re doing well,” Remus answered, removing his cloak, the Black relatives noticed there was a spring in Remus’ step and was a little bit more overjoyed than usual, “Of course, as well as Harry, Hermione, Ron and (Y/n).”

Sirius and Tonks’ got excited with the mention of Harry’s and your’s name, beckoning Remus to the living room to talk about the interaction. Sirius shoulders relaxing upon hearing the state of Harry, he was alive. Tonks, caring for Harry obviously was more concerned with you. But, by the looks of Remus, Tonks could relax thinking you were alright.

“I’ve had a few drinks so bear with me-”

Tagged

@carefulthatsharassment-sir​​ @lanlanlan020202​ @hanniejji​ @dumbssbtch​ @lea-the-foxe​ @stan-joonies​ @littertortilla @purpleshusbandd

#Remus Lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus x reader #remus lupin x male reader #Harry Potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter x male reader #x male reader #broken crown

[5lazarus]

Do you think snape like sour candy? Does he avoid it? Or burn his tongue cause he loves the sour sugar coating on the outside?

I turned this into a prompt, I hope you don’t mind! thank you for sending this! without further ado: Honeydukes Horror: Remus Lupin genially humiliates Severus Snape as he attempts to order chocolates. Some schoolboy grudges never get better, and nothing Severus can say will let him seem the better man. CW: bullying, gaslighting, remus playing it so severus seems rude read on AO3 here

Severus often wished that Dumbledore would choke on those Merlin-be-damned lemon drops. Still, because he asks, he trudges out to Hogsmeade in the snow, even though it is a student weekend, even though the dementors are afoot. Occluding turns the snow starkly white and the naked trees black as the starlit night, and Severus finds himself enjoying the walk as he wicks away any thought of the dementors, the escaped prisoner, the Shrieking Shack. The emptiness of his mind is as full as a film still. He walks, and does not think, and lets himself perceive. Color leaks into the frame as he reaches Hogsmeade, but he is prepared for that, and slowly loosens his control to let the giddier meanings seep through. Despite the chill, people throng the streets, enjoying the window displays, and he looks at the gold and the red and the holly-green of what-can-be-bought proudly, because he can buy things. Severus meanders into Scrivenshaft’s first and sucks in the wonderful wooden smell of parchment, high quality vellum, clean papyrus, and that wet ink. He acquires a silver nib with a death’s head delicately etched upon it, and though the shopkeep raises an eyebrow, he smirks. He has a reputation to protect, after all--reformed Death Eater or no, he likes skulls. And perhaps he will get to stab Lupin one day: he can only hope.

He slips the nib in its black velvet box into his pocket and fingers it as he heads to Honeydukes. He likes things and he likes having things. He likes touching things and acquiring them and arranging them aesthetically amongst his endlessly heavy shelves of books, so when he scans them eagerly, looking for a volume whose placement he has forgotten, he is always surprised at the plenty. Charity teases him for his “knick-knacks,” Kingsley for his “tchotkes,” but Severus ignores them rather than snapping back, not because he loves them--he doesn’t--but because he loves his things. This silver nib reminds me of something Lucius had, when they were young--didn’t he let him write with some ridiculous peacock quill with a silver nib inscribed with the Dark Mark? Youth: Severus smiles thinly, perusing the chocolate display. He does enjoy a certain level of confident flamboyance, he must admit, though he wouldn’t be caught dead with a peacock quill--or in a fucking vulture hat. Angry, he grips the box a little too tight in his pocket. Occlude, man, he thinks: and he lets the browns of the chocolate display leech away into blacks and grays. Austerity becomes him. “May I help you, Professor Snape?” The shop assistant approaches. Severus turns, face carved into its natural scowl. The assistant, a chocolatier-in-training, class of ‘88, Ravenclaw, does not blink. “I know you dislike white chocolate, but we have a new bonbon with an aged balsamic vinegar that counteracts the sweetness nicely.” He is intrigued, though he vehemently dislikes white chocolate, and the assistant hides a smile as they produce a sample. Severus tastes it and it is sublime. The acid taste of the balsamic cuts right through the cloying sweetness of the white chocolate, and he closes his eyes for a moment to enjoy it properly. The bell over the door chimes as another patron enters the shop. Severus ignores it and tells the chocolatier he will add the balsamic to his usual order. “And the Headmaster’s lemon drops, if you would,” he says. A man chuckles--Lupin, the wolf. Severus freezes. “This month’s errand boy, I see,” Lupin grins faux-amicably. There is a hard light in his yellow eyes. Severus bristles. He resents the appellation. “Stocking up on your palliative, Lupin?” he sneers. “Such a shame it negates the effects of your usual medicine.” It is not fair that chocolate, which is so poisonous to dogs, is anodyne to werewolves. Furtively Severus checks to see where Lupin is looking. Most tranquilizers contradict the effects of Wolfsbane, but he can surely slip something in, just in case. Honeydukes owes him a favor. Honeydukes does not need to know. Lupin smiles without showing his teeth. The assistant chocolatier looks at them curiously, and backs away to assemble his order. The wolf says mildly, “I never knew you had such a sweet tooth, Severus.” Severus’ fists clench, he has no right to call him by his name, not when he would so happily call him by that other name. He is confronted with the perennial issue: engage with the wolf, and open himself to mockery, or ignore him, and have to listen to him rambling. Lupin grins. “Your time at Hogwarts has sweetened you!” The assistant coughs suddenly, clearly covering up a laugh. Suddenly Lupin is all concern. “Do you need a lozenge?” he asks. He pats his pockets absentmindedly. “Though I suppose Severus can brew you up a Pepper-Up quick!” “Indeed,” Severus manages. He is seething. “My order, Montgomery.” That is their name, isn’t it: if he forgot it, he hopes the chocolatier takes it as the insult that it is meant. “Do watch where you spit. We wouldn’t want the flu to start with Honeydukes at its center, would we.” He means it as a threat. He does not know how he would enforce it, but he can come up with a few viral curses easily. “Terrible for business,” Lupin agrees, smiling. “Just terrible.” He reaches for the assistant and pats them on the back kindly. “Are you alright?” Fully within Severus’ view, he winks at them, and the assistant covers up a smile. “Oh, fine, sorry, Professor Lupin.” Then they catch sight of Severus’ face and flinch. “I’ll just be getting your order then, Professor Snape.” Severus is afraid to speak. He is afraid of whatever Lupin will twist his words into, and to his horror, he can feel a sneeze building. He is afraid to sniff--to snivel, as Snivellus always did. He holds his breath and restrains it. Lupin watches him with undisguised amusement. “Do you need a handkerchief?” Lupin asks. “You look like you’re about to sneeze.” Fuck off, Severus thinks. He sniffs imperiously, and Lupin again exchanges an amused glance with the assistant. Severus snatches the package out of the assistant’s hands, who is taken aback. He is not like this, he is not, he likes Honeydukes, when it is empty of students at least, but he is too rattled and angry and ashamed and humiliated as he beats his way back onto the cold streets like a bat out of hell, cloak billowing imperiously behind him, and what makes it all worse is that he knows Lupin is staring back at him, faux-concerned, and then turning to the assistant as he always did, and checking to see what effect he has made, and he hears him as the door shuts: “I suppose he hasn’t sweetened as much as I hoped.”

#snapefic #snape #pro-snape #severus snape #harry potter fanfic #harry potter #remus lupin #severus snape & remus lupin #tw: gaslighting #snapescapades

[fuckyeahharryhart]

KINGSMAN: THE GOLDEN CIRCLE, IN MY AU, HARRY HART WOULD STILL BE A BADASS WHEN THEY FIND OUT HE’S ALIVE. HE’S JUST A BAD ASS WITH NO MEMORY

IN MY ALTERNATE UNIVERSE - this is what happened when they found Harry. And Roxy is alive, cause “what the hell?” And basically is an excuse for me to thirst on Colin Firth as Harry Hart, who will always be a badass gentleman spy, memory or no.

Merlin, Eggsy and Roxy survived the explosions that destroyed Kingsman. Following the clues from their doomsday protocol, the three of them traveled to Kentucky to Statesman HQ.

They are confronted by Agent Tequila where they try to explain what they are doing there. Tequila does not believe them. He disarms and disables them. The scene begins in Statesman underground holding room. Roxy, Eggsy and Merlin wake up to find that they are bound and restrained.

(apologies in advance for grammar, spelling, format. First draft, secondish draft. Just did one quick read-through and fixed most of the glaring errors.

PS I kinda nerded out with the amnesia and weapons research) 

-----------------

The room remained vague and shadowy. Eggsy fought against a heaviness that kept his eyes closed. He tried again to blink them open. No such luck. They were uncooperative. Moving on. Assessing what little he could, he tested the restraints that bound him to a cold metal chair both at the wrists and ankles. Zip ties. Cheap and easy, but harder to release from than traditional handcuffs. He tried anyway. And then a second time, only with more force. Nothing. He willed himself to relax. If he couldn’t get free with brute force, it was time to get creative. Switch to strategy and problem solving. At least try to figure out what the hell was going on and why a souped up cowboy was holding them hostage. 

His training, his instincts wanted to kick in regardless of the fact that he was restrained. He ran through his checklist anyway. Scan and clear the room. Assess the threat. Spot entrances and exits. Locate the nearest weapon. It didn’t necessarily need to be a gun. Any object that could possibly disable an enemy would suffice.

It was infuriating that he was unable to proceed with his training. Like an itch he couldn’t scratch. It was a moot point anyway, nothing of him seemed to be responding to his commands. His surroundings remained a bleary haze. His brain still foggy, was trying to catch up.

The renegade cowboy that had disarmed and disabled Eggsy, Roxy and Merlin, was waiting rather patiently for them to wake up. That is, until the point he was no longer patient and decided to empty a bottle of perfectly good whiskey on Eggsy and Merlin. As he considered himself a gentleman, he spared Roxy.

 It was unsettling how he took the three of them down so easily. Eggsy reasoned that they certainly weren’t at their best. Shit had gone down in the last 24 hours and they were damn tired.

Eggsy and Merlin sputtered in protest. 

“So good of you to join us.” The cowboy’s tone was relaxed and untroubled.

He took a casual stance and leaned up against the wall like he was just waiting for something interesting to happen.

His head cocked to the right. “Now where was I?”

 Nodding to himself, “Oh yeah”, he said, as if he just remembered something fascinating. His fingers snapped together with a sharp click. “You were just about to tell me who ya’ll were and how the hell you found us.” He mentioned this as if he were waiting for them to describe what they ate for breakfast and whether or not they had enjoyed it.

The disparity between his gregarious tone, his friendly manner, and the slightly hostile glint in his eyes was disconcerting.

He crossed his legs on the other side and tipped his head to the left.

“Anytime ya’ll are ready to start talkin’, Im all ears.”

They had already tried to explain what happened to their headquarters. Well, their tailor shop backstop. How likely was it that generations of tailors had passed down a secret doomsday protocol for survivors in case of complete destruction? Of their tailor shop? Eggsy had to admit, as a story, it positively wreaked implausibility. But it was true, aside from replacing their secret intelligence agency with a bespoke suit business. 

From the cowboys perspective, it would seem kind of insulting that they expected the him to buy their story. Actually, It would seem pretty insulting to expect anyone with the most basic cognitive skills believe it. The problem was that, as ridiculous as story was, it was, in fact, the truth.

Eggsy didn’t have any more to say. Roxy, who would probably take him down if given half the chance, wisely remained quiet. Merlin’s furrowed brow meant that he most likely had a bloody lot to say, but nothing that would improve their situation. 

They had reached an impasse. 

The cowboy regarded them thoughtfully from under his Stetson, wide brimmed hat. 

“We don’t have folks from your neck of the woods in these parts that often.” His lips pursed in thought.

“I would reckon once every year or so, some might pass through here that sound like y’all. Why,” nodding his head confirming his own information. “I think it was just about a year ago, we had someone drop in unexpectedly.” 

He gazed up and to the right, as if recalling a memory. Maybe y’ll know him.” He said, his eyes falling back on them.

Merlin. “I highly doubt that.”

The cowboy drew back slightly, irked by their obstinance. These brits were stubborn as all get out. Did they seriously expect him to believe their doomsday protocol story? What was this? Were they on some kind of scavenger hunt?

“I just find it awfully convenient that you just “happened” to find this bottle of whiskey with our name on it. Right after your entire “shop” exploded with ALL it’s employees and everyone who worked there. Every single person who knows you, gone with it. That would be mighty upsettin’ if I was in ya’lls shoes.” He tried on a little sympathy for size. Nope, didn’t fit. He continued with his slight undertone of sarcasm. 

 “Can’t even make a call to see if anyone can vouch for y’alls.” Such a shame, he thought. Alrightly, he’d just keep talkin’ at ‘em until one of them slipped up or said something interesting.

He could talk into the night for all he cared. “Not even anythin’ left to take with you. Except a couple of watches that can unlock a biometric security system.” Now this was legitimately irritating. 

“Why would some little ole tailors shop need to have a biometric security system? I mean, ya’ll look mighty fine in them suits and spectacles, but sorry to say, not that fine.”

He used this opportunity to break out one of his favourite southern idioms. “You see, that dog don’t hunt.” He amused himself.

“Look.” Said the Scotsman. “We have no idea what you are talking about. The only reason we are here is because we found one of your bottles.” 

He nodded his head in understanding, before pressing his lips together, this time doubtfully twisting them to the side.

“See, here’s the thing. Lots and lots of folks have our bottles. Ain’t none of them ever broken into our maximum security “warehouse” before.”

“You’re looking for the Brit, ain’t ya? “His eyes narrowed. “And now why would that be?”

Merlin’s brow furrowed even deeper. “We still don’t know what you’re talking about.” He was reaching the far ends of his exasperation. “We do not know anyone here. Quite sorry to say, but we have never heard of Statesmen before. In our part of the world, we prefer a single malt scotch. No offence.”

“None taken.” He said pleasantly.

The cowboy pushed himself off the wall.

“Well,” he huffed, “It seems we’re at a stalemate.”

The cowboy continued to study them as he spoke.

“Ya’ll telling’ me a story you say is the truth.”

He shook his head in disappointment, feigning sadness. “And I just don’t believe ya. Now we could go round n round like this until we’re all blue in the face. But that sounds like a waste of time to me.”

“If we ain’t getting anywhere like this, might be time to switch things up a bit?”

“Ya’ll say you don’t know the Brit. But I’m thinkin’ y’all should talk to him. Might be able to make some sense out of what’s comin’ out of your mouth ‘cause I just don’t get it.”

Silence from the three of them. Well, weren’t they a stubborn bunch. 

The man sighed dramatically and shrugged his wide shoulders. 

“Well, it appears you wont be cooperatin’ with me. I think it’s about time ya’ll talk to someone else cause I sure aint getting’ nowhere with ya. But I don’t know if you’re gonna wanna talk to him.”  

He regarded them sympathetically. “I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be on the other side of that table when he’s the one asking questions. Ya’ll might be wish’n to see my pretty face again.”

Three almost identically frustrated faces looked back at him.

“Word is round here, don’t matter what you won’t say to me.” 

He started ambling across in front of them, from wall to wall in slow, measured steps. 

“What matters is what y’all gonna to say to HIM.” He stopped mid-stride, turned toward them. 

“Now, I’ve seen him doin’ his thing, right?  Believe me, he’ll have ya talkin’ in ways you can’t even imagine.” He continued along his thoughtful line, turning away from them.

He began to let the heel of his boots scuff the floor with every step. “You wont even be able to shut up, ya’ll talk so much.” He spoke over his shoulder. “ Tellin’ him things you ain’t even tell your mama.”

No response from the three Kingsman.

He turned toward Roxy. “My apologies little lady, but here at Statesman?  Guys and gals? We’re all on equal footing.” He had the gall to wink at her. “No matter what our name says.” 

He hooked his thumbs under this belt and hitched the whole get up, flask holster and all, up his non existent hips. 

“I hate to see a pretty miss like you have to go down with the likes of them.” He tilted his head in the direction of Merlin and Eggsy. “But, at Statesman, no special treatment for the fillies.”

Roxy proceeded to murder him with her eyes.

Absurdly, he decided it was a good and proper time to dial up the charm.  “Say, you don’t wanna tell me what you and your boys were up to here? I’m pretty sure you’re the one keeping these fellas in line.”

Her eyes were wide and fierce. It turned out that Roxy no longer needed to blink. 

“That’s quite a look you’re thrown’ at me.” The cowboy smirked.

“Well, I’m really sorry. I apologise for this, but ya’ll don’t give me no other choice.” 

He turned toward the side and pulled out a pair of aviator sunglasses from his shirt pocket. The lenses were shaded to a dusky gold. He unfolded them, put them on and tapped the side of the lens. 

“Ya there?” He spoke into the air.

Evidently the glasses were a communications device and he received an answer in return. He nodded to himself. “Yep, affirmative.” 

There was another brief pause as he listened to the person on the other side. “Roger that.” He turned off the communication by tapping the side of the lens a second time. 

He looked at them almost sympathetically. “It looks we ARE gonna find out what happens when we change things up a bit.”

He walked over to the frosted panel window and flipped a switch.

Roxy, Merlin and Eggsy were momentary blinded by a brilliant white light. So bright and unexpected that they had to turn away. They squinted against the flare as coloured spots tripped behind their eyelids. They continued to blink until their eyes adjusted to the intensity of the new light. 

What they saw as the opacity of the glass dissolved… Well, to say they were ill prepared would be the understatement to understate all statements.

It couldn’t be.

It was utterly impossible.

But there he was. 

Outlined by a dazzling white light. 

Unmistakable.

It was Harry Hart.

—

The agents tried to gather their collective wits like they were trying to herd cats. It was nearly impossible. Harry disappeared from view. Sharp, tell tale footsteps could be heard walking down the short distance from the viewing area to their holding room. 

Between the three of them, none had taken a single breath from the moment Harry Hart appeared behind the glass.

For Eggsy, a white hot wave surged through his body and seared him from his finger tips to his toes. He could even hear the heat ringing in his ears. It was a high pitched whine that reverberated from one side of his head to the other. He had no control over his physical response. Any authority that he may have had, dissipated with the frosted glass. Apparently, his body knew exactly what to do, because it was doing its own thing, without any input from him. He set his thoughts aside and let his body do whatever it felt the need to. He was fairly certain he was exhibiting the physical signs of shock. He felt pale, his hands were damp and clammy. He felt weirdly mortified. He might as well be naked, for he felt exposed to the deepest, most secret recesses of his soul. Places that had no business being brought to light. 

He felt laughter bubble up through watery eyes he didn’t even know if he could call tears. For joy? Sheer bewilderment? Whatever the reason, his eyes were leaking. The buzzing in his ears wouldn’t stop and he felt sure he was about to pass out. He wanted to drop his head between his legs, but he didn’t dare pull his gaze away from the door he knew Harry Hart would enter from. He didn’t dare blink. Let alone look away. 

His ears burned, his cheeks flamed red and splotchy. It was as if he was caught off guard doing the most embarrassing thing he could think of, just times a billion and witnessed by everyone from his mum to his kindergarten teacher, not to mention every famous person that he had a crush on or looked up to and the whole mortifying episode was being televised live around the world. 

Whatever he was experiencing, it was nearly unbearable. Like suffocating and hyperventilating at the same time. Was that even possible? His heart had either stopped or was beating so rapidly that it felt as if it was hardly beating at all. Which seemed feasible as most of his blood had pooled in his cheeks and the tops of his ears. Surely, there was none flowing to his brain. It had signed out for the moment. It certainly wasn’t sticking around to see what was coming next. 

 He tried to arrange his face into the shape he thought would be appropriate for when his mentor, who he saw get shot point blank in the face, a man who died over a year ago, who he had spent what felt like a lifetime grieving, materialise as an interrogator for a covert cowboy secret agency in Kentucky. He couldn’t imagine what an acceptable face would look like in that situation, so he assumed that his face had no expression at all. It was the best he could do. 

He didn’t even posses the wherewithal to see how his partners where faring. He hoped that they were in a more presentable state. He moved his mouth to form words, but nothing came out. He tried clearing his throat, but it was dry and papery. Apparently, whatever autonomous system that controlled his salivary glands also decided that this whole situation was bullshit and decided to check out, too.

The track of the footsteps, even now so familiar, paused at the door. The handle turned with a weighty click. 

He didn’t have the brain capacity to even imagine what would happen next.

The only thing in his head were three letters. And they weren’t  ABC. 

They were W. T. F.

The door opened. 

They saw the man who had once been the foundation of their agency. 

The man who had once been its living and breathing heart and soul. 

How long had it been since he last thought of Harry Hart? After the initial grief, the denial, the anger, and finally, the acceptance, the loss became a dull ache.  Though tolerable, it never went away. They never found his body, but he didn’t have hope that Harry would ever return. He saw the shot that took his life. Even the best agent had no way of possibly surviving a point blank shot to the face. Harry fell where he had once stood. He didn’t get back up. And like that, Harry Hart was gone.

In the aftermath of V-day, Eggsy and the others didn’t have a chance to even stop and think about what happened to Harry, let alone process the loss. That came after. In the moments when time slowed down, things got quiet, and they no longer had the urgency of missions to distract them from the loss or to use as a vehicle for their anger and rage at the unfairness of it all.  

Eggy’s pain was not only due to the loss of his mentor, but also from the fact that he never got to tell the man just how important he was to him. Their final conversation repeated in his head, over and over, on endless loop. The last words that he had exchanged with Harry were harsh and accusatory. How much he wished that that conversation had not been their last. What wouldn’t he give to say the rest of the words that were caught in his throat. To finally release them. To say he was sorry. But the chance never came and the words clung to him, never to be spoken.

A tall man in a dark pinstripe suit entered the room.

At first glimpse, he was their Harry Hart. As perfect as they imagined and just as they all remembered him. Only on closer inspection did they notice small, but significant details that would indicate otherwise.

He was wearing what looked like the exact same suit he “died” in. But this one didn’t show any of the wear and damage that was sure to have happened in that final, brutal rampage. Either Statesman had an excellent tailor repair the original suit, or more likely, Harry had his suit replicated. 

The details were exacting as they had always been. The tie with the Windsor knot. The pristine white spread collar and crisp pocket square. French cuffs that were still held by the Kingsman cuff links. 

His standard horn rimmed communication glasses had been modified. The left lens was now shaded a solid black. There was an additional piece that covered his peripheral vision from the edge of the lens to the end of the arm on his left side.

How was it possible that he stood before them, as handsome and regal as ever? Hell, the man could even make a blacked out eye look distinguished. It added to his air of gravitas.

A curious pair of black cowboy boots with elaborate stitching, stood out from below the mid-break of his trousers. The footsteps they heard in the hallway didn’t come from his standard oxfords.

Neither did they see the familiar Kingsman standard issue pistol he would always pack without fail. In his right hand, held down by his side, he toted a nickel plated Colt Single Action Army revolver modified with a double barrel. He carried it by its smooth, wooden grip.

But he did walk with the same measured strides, familiar in pace and sound. Harry took his place in front of them as the cowboy found a space off to the side. 

They wore their incredulity in silence.  Words were insignificant compared to this impossible occasion. Words that would adequately express their turmoil did not exist. Merlin looked like he was trying to deconstruct a complex algorithm in his head. Roxy looked, he imagined bizarrely, like she had just been denied an orgasm. Where the hell did that come from? Eggsy fairly certain he looked like a bloody idiot.

And so they waited. 

Familiar, golden brown eyes, well, eye now, gazed over them. Making and then holding eye contact with each of them in the way they had always remembered he would when he required their full attention.

They searched his eyes and face for recognition. To see any kind of dawning realization that he knew who they were. Merely seeing Harry, alive and mostly whole, was something that was unfathomable to them. 

Finally, Harry spoke.

The vibration of his voice was able to resonate through their shocked and dampened senses. It was a deep and calming sound. Smooth, measured tones with an aristocratic accent that clipped his words. Vibrant. It was a voice that was warm, safe and familiar. It was a voice that sounded like home.

What was completely baffling were the words that beautiful voice said. 

“Please excuse my dreadful manners. But I don’t believe we have properly met.”

They turned and glanced at each other in confusion. What the hell? Surely there had to be some part of Harry that recognized them. At least Merlin, with whom he shared a history going back over twenty years. 

“Harry. It’s us.” Merlin implored. “We’re not undercover. Right now, we’re not anything. That’s why we came here.” 

“Harry.” Merlin’s voice was touched with sorrow. “Kingsman is gone.”

Harry’s face remained impassive. The spark of recognition remained unfired. There was no hint of softening, no warmth, no glint that told them, “Not to worry. Everything is under control.”  

Harry confirmed. “Yes, I had the pleasure of hearing your story.” He leaned back against the wall and took a casual stance. Crossing his legs in front of him much like Tequila did.  He placed a hand in a pocket. The other gripped the Colt lightly.

“It’s quite interesting.” He looked thoughtful. “And particularly unfortunate that this Kingsman Tailoring “Agency” that you speak of, was completely and utterly destroyed. How unfortunate that the three of you happen to be the only survivors.” 

Time paused with him as he contemplated this thought for awhile.

“It would seem rather convenient, on the other hand, for that gives us absolutely no way to possibly verify your doomsday scenario.” 

The disappointment on his face hit them with a guilt that was worse than his impassivity. 

“And why, all of a sudden, after a year, would not only one, but three mysterious Brits arrive here at Statesman, of all the places in the world, for no other reason than a bottle telling them to.” 

Beseechingly, Eggsy replied. “Harry, we don’t understand what’s happening. We thought that you had died when Valentine shot you outside the church.”

Harry’s face suddenly hardened. Slowly he pulled himself up to his full height.

“How could you possibly know that?” The air around them became sharp with tension. 

How did they end up on the wrong side of the interrogation table? They had never seen Harry from this perspective. But they had witnessed him work targets before. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.

As Harry continued, his voice remained very calm and very steady. 

“No one. Pardon me. I should clarify. No one alive except Statesman has that knowledge. Not even I had that knowledge in the beginning.”

Instantly, it was crucial that no one speak out of turn. Harry’s voice had taken on a tone that was flat and affectless.  They had rarely heard it before, but they knew it was dangerous to be on the receiving end of that dull and indifferent voice. 

Harry was walking his edge. And Harry on the edge was not someone you wanted to push. To anyone else, he would have appeared unchanged. But he had the sharp glint in his eye, the set to his jaw, and the steely note to his voice that betrayed he was very, very angry. They only knew this because of their history with him. It was critical to tread very lightly. 

Eggsy words were dressed with caution. 

“Harry, you were at the church, “he emphasised, “on behalf of Kingsman.” He carefully walked through a minefield of words, wary of any misstep that would trigger Harry’s anger in their direction.

“We knew that Richmond Valentine was up to no good. You were assigned the mission to find out exactly what he was planning. You flew to Kentucky. Valentine was testing his SIM card transmitter on the people in the church. You were there as well. Even though you didn’t have a SIM card, the transmission was strong enough to affect everyone, whether they had a SIM card or not.”

 “Merlin and I were on the communication feed. We saw everything…. You were affected by the sound waves, too… You had no control…” He wasn’t sure how to continue, but he definitely didn’t want to mention the number of people Harry had killed.

Merlin spoke on his behalf. “Eggsy’s right. We saw you confront Valentine. We saw him shoot you in the head. We thought that you had died. The bullet destroyed the communication feed or else it would have transmitted…” he paused. “Proof of life, or confirmation of death.” 

Harry reflected. “Yes, I did almost die on that day.”

Eggsy and Merlin flinched.

“It was only through, whatever would like to call it, luck, perhaps fate. Regardless, it was Statesman that located me. They were able to save my life. I owe them. I am a man who honors his debts.”

The room prickled with silence. They dared not say more until they were able to see more of the landscape they were trying to traverse. It was littered with threats.

Harry, now pacing in slow, steady strides, continued. “With all the resources you say this Kingsman agency had, how surprising that it had to be strangers that came to my aid. Otherwise,” he recalled, “I would be, quite dead.” 

The three of them realised they were on eggshells atop a minefield. Never before had they been confronted by Harry in this manner. Never before had they even witnessed Harry in this state. They were uncertain of what to do when faced with this degree of suspicion and mistrust from a man, who in the past, would have given his life to save any of theirs.

When no one spoke, he began to ruminate. “At Statesman, we knew that it was Richmond Valentine who shot me. Confirmed by two of their agents.” He turned back toward them. “Though the question of why still remained unsolved.”

Coming closer. “But you three, now, are here with that answer,” He paused in-between his points for effect. 

“But you are here, completely by chance.” pause 

“Only because of a doomsday protocol scenario.” pause 

“A scenario that led you to Statesman.” pause 

“And I just happen to be here as well.” pause  

“Do you know what the odds are of that happening?” pause  

“Rather extraordinary, don’t you think?” pause  

“I must say, you are quite the interesting trio. Unassuming.  Not quite what one would expect for this sort of operation.  Perhaps that is the point. Disarm me with your improbability, with your accents, so familiar to my own. Here to deliver stories of how I was part of an organization that no longer exists. And you are the only other individuals who know what occurred the day I was shot.” He stopped in front on them. He turned to face them and drew tall once more.

Looking at each other was a dare none of them were willing to take. They knew that the most important thing at that moment was to maintain eye contact with Harry anytime he looked in their direction. If they couldn’t offer him any answers, at least they could show him that they had nothing to hide. Now was not the time to look or act guilty.

No matter how many tactics he used, regardless of how hard he pushed them, their story would be the same because they had no other story. Was there no memory of Kingsman at all? What about Harry’s moral code, that Kingsman only risked a life to save a life. Was that a credo he still followed? The did not know what to expect.

“Regardless. Questions for another time I suppose.” He waved his hand as if brushing them away.

“The pressing issue still remains.” He was firm and unyielding. “Who are you and how did you find us.”

 What could they possibly say at this point? They remained silent.

“We welcome our visitors and our guests. However, we do not take kindly to trespassers. You say you have nothing to protect, but your honor. If the three of you are the only survivors of your organization and you are as close as you say, I would assume that you would, at the very least, protect a third of what remains of your agency.

Eggsy suddenly found himself on the business end of a Colt Single Action Army revolver. 

Staring down the barrel of the gun, he felt drunk, off balance, like he had fallen into an alternate universe. Where the laws of physics no longer applied. 

“Harry, it’s me.”  The only thing he could think of that could reach Harry was the guilt he had carried with him for over 17 years. The guilt that made him reach out to Eggsy in the first place. 

With self-possession he did not have, he composed himself as well as he could while being threatened by the mentor he once thought was dead.   

“My father saved your life.” He spoke quietly and deliberately and without hesitation.  “But you had made a mistake that cost him his. You were trying to repay him by helping me find purpose, to do something good with my life. You recruited me to Kingsman. You changed everything for me.” 

The look Harry returned for these words was almost kindly. 

“I’ll give you the following three seconds to prove that to me.”

Fuck. Eggsy was drawing a blank.

He could hear Roxy and Merlin, as if they were underwater yelling to Harry anything they could to make him stop.  

What felt like a lifetime later, the door burst open. Apparently, he had lost the ability to count, because that brief passage of time felt like much longer than three seconds. 

“Stop!” a woman yelled urgently. She tossed Harry a black umbrella. He caught it deftly with one hand.

“Their story checks out.” She held her palms out toward Harry. Please stop.

“I checked our doomsday scenario locker.” She explained. “Only to be opened in the case of a catastrophic event that cripples the agency to the point where we cannot rebuild on our own. It was established by a network of international intelligence agencies, forged when they first began. Since autonomy was the goal for each agency, once the protocol was put into place, no agency was to uncover it unless absolutely necessary.” 

“Take a look.” She nodded to the umbrella in his hand. “Kingsman. It has our logo on it.”

Harry paused to inspect the handle. Sure enough, the Statesman logo replaced the “s” in Kingsman.

He handled the umbrella in a way that seemed familiar to him. It almost seemed like he was looking for other recognisable features. Eggsy has seen plenty of Harry handling the umbrella like it was an extension of himself. He had saved Eggy’s life with it. It looked so natural in his hands. Like it completed the final picture of their Harry Hart and he was hopeful that this might be the final piece of the puzzle.  

Harry looked at the umbrella thoughtfully. It was difficult to read his face if he didn’t want it to be read. After a pause, he tossed it lightly back to Ginger. 

“Not good enough.” The gun swung back toward Eggsy.

They froze, unable to move, speak or even breathe. They were at a loss, nothing in their training prepared them for this. Roxy and Merlin could only watch helplessly as Harry cocked the revolver at Eggsy. Was it a live round? Or was it blank?

What kind of FU world would allow something like this to happen? Eggsy thought. He grasped for any hope, any last play that he could make, but the only thing within his reach was empty space. It simply slid through his fingers, without purchase, without substance. There was nothing that he could hold on to.

BUT… his eyes darted towards Harry’s right hand. The gun in his face was blocking his view… Fuck it. He squeezed eyes shut as he opened his mouth. The words ran together and toppled over each other as they spilled out without pause. 

“you wear a gold signet ring on your right little finger gentleman are traditionally supposed to wear the ring on the left hand but you wear yours on your right because a Kingsman always wears it on whatever hand happens to be dominant and you are right handed”

Nothing happened. And it was quiet.

Cautiously, Eggy peered from one eye. He wasn’t dead. He opened the other eye.

Harry regarded him from along the barrel of the revolver. Eggsy flinched away from its deadly mouth.

Harry deliberated. His mind took a step back and a step to the side. He looked at the situation from a different perspective. Because he was wearing a signet ring on his right hand, not on his left, as was the gentlemen’s  tradition. He was wearing it when he was shot. He could not recall where the ring came from, or its significance. Researching the insignia came up with no leads. But he continued to wear the ring, for no other reason than it felt right to him. Like he insisted on wearing his suit, rather than Statesman’s tie and jacket. 

His eyes let go of some of the hardness. Eggsy hoped that he saw a little softening at the edges. 

Harry’s voice, so familiar it made his heart hurt. Not accusatory, but with interest, he asked, “How do you know that?” 

Eggsy, with great effort willed his gaze to leave the barrel of the gun and meet the face that had once meant so much to him. He caught Harry’s eyes and didn’t flinch.

He took a deep breath. “I know,” he said with a calmness and a clarity he did not feel, “because I’m wearing one, too.”

Harry, without breaking eye contact, nodded to Ginger. She hurried to Eggsy’s side. After a quick glance, she confirmed, indeed, he was wearing a signet ring exactly like Harry’s.

Harry lowered his gun. There were three consecutive sighs of relief.

“My apologies.” He said as he holstered his weapon.

“It seems as if we have much to discuss.”

———

They found themselves in a massive great room at Statesman HQ, the top floor of a huge structure the shape of the Statesman signature whiskey bottle. Floor to ceiling windows circled the entire room, providing a 360 degree view of the rolling hills of Kentucky from every vantage point.

The centrepiece of the space was a leviathan of a conference table. Elaborately carved, solid hard wood. The trees that created that table must have had lived for years to grow to such a substantial size.  It had space to sit 12, but only few of the spots were occupied.

One of which by a larger than life, genial, vintage cowboy of a man. A little flashy, a little ostentatious, more than a little gregarious, he was the head of the Statesman outfit. With a place at the head of the table, he leaned back in his plush armchair with aplomb. He introduced himself as “Champagne” or Champ as he was known affectionately by his agents.

Roxy wasn’t surprised that, aside from Ginger Ale, she was the only female present. Hell, Ginger was the only other female that she had seen since they had entered Statesman HQ. Well, technically ‘broke in’, but still. They had an invitation, even if it was only in the shape of a whiskey bottle. A bottle that they had emptied while wallowing in self pity. Even Merlin was a bit maudlin, at one point, sobbing into his whiskey and singing Country Roads a little off key. Roxy had side-eyed him until Eggsy spotted the secret message hidden behind the label. She wondered they they had made the clue unnoticeable until the bottle was emptied. They could have quite possibly missed the hint. Being under the influence of, admittedly, very smooth whiskey did not enhance ones ability to spot decades old subtext on the back of whiskey labels. Whose clever idea had that been? 

Once again, she found herself in the odd situation where she wanted to be taken seriously as an agent, but Agent Tequila’s insistence on calling her sweetheart, miss, darling, filly of all things didn’t give her much confidence that Statesman would be any different from the old boys club that was Kingsman.

Even back at HQ, she was often, dear, dearest, or darling. The only person that she tolerated those endearments from where Eggsy, who used them in jest, and surprisingly Harry Hart. But Galahad, and Galahad Sr. calling her dear was much different than a two-bit, over the top, slick cowboy secret agent she had just met calling her something as intimate as “darling”. 

Would it kill him to call her Lancelot? It miffed her that he used Eggsy’s handle and not hers. Looking at the head of their organisation, she didn’t expect him to be much different. 

She took a seat the near end of the table, between Eggsy and Merlin. Agent Tequila walked in with Ginger, followed by Harry. She was surprised when he continued past them and walked around the head of the table to the other side, the Statesman side, and took a seat next to Ginger. He pulled out his chair, as smooth and as graceful as he sat thousands of times at the head of the Kingsman table. Even unbuttoning the last button of his suit so it wouldn’t crease and smoothing the back of his jacket before he leaned into his chair. The crossed legs, the hands folded on the knee. The authoritative, yet relaxed posture. It was all so familiar. What she couldn’t reconcile was the inscrutable, impenetrable expression that fell over his face every time he glanced in their direction. There was no warmth, no familiarity, no flicker of understanding. It made his face look unfamiliar and she did not like it one bit. 

To add insult to injury, Ginger had leaned over and whispered something in his direction. The small hint of a ‘not quite smile’ that pressed his lips together, his mouth just barely turned up at the corners, meant that she had shared an observation that confirmed something in his mind in a bemused sort of way. It was the look Harry had once made, when inquired about Eggsy’s tardiness, she revealed that he was running late because it was JB’s birthday party later and he wanted to get the dog “pupcakes” to celebrate. The memory tugged at her heart.

She didn’t turn her head to see how Eggsy was faring, but she could almost feel his dejection. She hoped it wasn’t so obvious on his face. Sometimes he was a little too earnest for his own good. Not that her other side was an improvement. Merlin was seated directly across from Harry. Only a distance of several feet, but it might as well have been lengths of the world for as distant Harry was from them. The furrow between the Scotsman’s brows had appeared the moment they discovered Harry alive. It took up residence on his face. Harry Hart, the man who was the only person close enough for Merlin to consider a friend, was now a mystery to him. 

The loss, between Eggsy and Merlin, was a cold empty space that Roxy had the unfortunate pleasure to be seated between. She was determined to warm up whatever mood vacuum that had sucked her in. Or at least not make it any worse.             

 And why did she always have to be the mediator? The men had elected Roxy as their spokesperson as neither of them thought that they would be able to speak without laughing, crying, shouting or hitting something. Predictably, she found herself the voice of reason. To be fair, she WAS the one with the least emotional involvement. Not that she hadn’t adored and respected Harry Hart, like everyone that worked under his guidance, but she had to admit, Merlin and Eggsy must be twice as confused and devastated by the recent turn of events. She mentally steeled herself against any additional revelations that might be thrown their way. But at this point, if there was something that could top this most recent turn of events, they might as well just blow up this joint and let it all burn down, too.

After everyone had settled in, and to her amusement, a pour of whiskey was set in front of each of them. She decided to get this “rodeo” started. She nodded in Champs direction. He tipped his chin, tapped his glass with his pen to get everyone’s attention and announced the opening of the meeting. All the Statesman and Harry, emptied their glasses. From her peripheral she saw Merlin and Eggsy follow suit without hesitation. Did all agencies revolve around the consumption of alcohol? She had already developed quite a tolerance from her brief stint at Kingsman so far. Well, if it brought these two agencies on familiar ground, who was she to argue? She tipped her glass back. And the welcomed the warmth after the initial burn, though still much smoother than could be expected. She appreciated the added touch of liquid courage. She cleared her throat. 

“We find ourselves here, under what we,” she gestured to herself and her colleagues, “believed to be the most difficult of circumstances. Only to be faced with another impossible situation. As you can imagine, the revelation that Harry Hart, our Sr. Agent Galahad,” she nodded in his direction, “who we believed had been killed over a year ago by Richmond Valentine, that he is still alive, has been shocking for us.”

In Harry’s direction, she continued, addressing him directly. “Harry. If we had believed there to be even the most infinitesimal chance that you could have survived Valentine’s bullet, we would have not hesitated to garner all the forces of Kingsman to find you and bring you back.”

Harry, respectfully listened to Lancelot, attentive, but without revealing anything aside from simple interest.

She faltered a little under his gaze. And she, too, wished for that little wink, the small tilt of his chin that would encourage her to continue. Just as he first did when she joined Kingsman, nervous over her first debriefing. There was no comfort to be found in his direction. She took a deep breath and continued. 

“Both Eggsy - our current Galahad - and Merlin witnessed the events of what we thought was your death.” She forced herself to face him, eye to eye, without hesitation. After all that he had sacrificed for them, it was the least she could offer him.

Her voice was clear and firm, her words meticulously thought out. “They saw you get shot, point blank, in the face, by no more than a distance of 10 feet, by a 9mm semi-automatic Heckler and Koch P30. The bullet destroyed the communication transmission via the left lens.”

Both Eggsy and Merlin were looking down. Both remembering all too clearly the events from that day. The details were painful for them to hear, especially when the man who they thought had died, was in fact, sitting across the table. Even though they had every right to call time of death, they couldn’t help but feel they had left him behind. 

Roxy continued. “Merlin, our communications and technology strategist and Galahad, who was at the time, your protege, had witnessed all the events up to the point the bullet severed the transmission. We could only deduce, at that point, that a bullet of that caliber, from that distance, would have shattered the lens.” She took a deep breath, “and continued through the left eye and exited the back of the head. Resulting in immediate death.” 

She could sense Eggsy flinch by her side. He had seen the whole thing far too clearly. 

“As much as we wanted to, we were unable to collect the body at the time of death. Due to unforeseen circumstances regarding treachery within the highest ranks of our agency, Merlin, Eggsy and I, had to straight away address both the source of our internal corruption and abort the plans initiated by Richmond Valentine. We were successful in both, but not in time to prevent casualties, both enemy and civilian.”

In speaking so intimately regarding what they thought was his death, she decided to switch identifiers from “the” to “your”. The man was sitting right in front of her. She spoke with a new earnest note in her voice. Rather than distancing herself from her words, she decided to speak from the place that had felt the same grief and loss as Eggsy and Merlin.

Harry’s eyes took on a different note as he heard the emotion in Roxy’s voice. 

“In the immediate aftermath of V-day, after the initial threat was neutralised, we flew to the States in an attempt to find you, identify you, and bring you home for proper internment, but we were unable to locate your body. We tried over weeks, through every channel, every resource, we followed every lead, with no success. We didn’t hope to find you alive.” 

She fought against the wave of emotion that threatened her composure.

“But we hoped that we would be able to properly commemorate your bravery, your integrity, your sacrifice, with the honour, dignity and grace worthy of your life and your legacy.” 

Roxy had stop for a moment, but she did not look away. A small tear rolled down her cheek without her noticing or bothering to wipe it away. It was as if the loss was new again. This pain was fresh. For all of them.

Harry’s eyes finally softened and they caught a glimpse of the man they remembered. But whether it was empathy for Roxy, clearly struggling to continue as her emotions caught in her throat, or understanding how they felt and what they had to do in the most difficult of situations, they did not know. 

And whatever amnesia he was experiencing had to be temporary, right? Surely Melin could devise a plan to help jump start his memory. Now that the were there, they could help him remember.

—

Roxy was determined to continue until the end. 

“After the events of V-Day, we had to recenter and regroup. Our agency had clearly been compromised. We needed to locate and close the leaks and tie up any loose ends.  Our losses were felt across the board. We had to rebuild what we could from the ground up. To recapture the integrity of our organisation. The immediate need to clean up the aftermath was one of the few things that we could focus on to help us come to terms with your loss. We knew, that if you had survived, you would have taken the mantle of Arthur. And that it would be your highest priority to rebuild the agency beyond reproach.”

“After several weeks, in which we continued our search for you, we felt that it would be best for us personally and professionally to move on. We held a private memorial for you, and honoured you as best as we could. After that, we could only move forward. It was a difficult time for all of us.” 

“We found ourselves here, after our organisation was levelled again. This time with only the three of us as survivors. Our HQ, our foundry, our storefront.” Her eyes flared with anger at this point. “And all of our agents worldwide aside from Galahad and I, were all taken down as targets.”

“Merlin was the only surviving handler and tech strategist and the only one of us that had been with the agency long enough know that a Doomsday protocol existed. With all of our resources destroyed, we had no way of protecting ourselves, to find out who had organised and carried out such a coordinated attack. Our last and only option was to see if this protocol existed.”

“We found the Statesman logo. Located your distillery here in Kentucky. At this point, we really had no plan beyond finding your organisation and hoping that you would be able to assist us.”

“We still had some tech in our possession, which I admit, looked suspicious for a group of tailors to have, let alone know how to use. That’s when your agent found us. We meant no ill will, but we had no other way to get into contact with your organization.  We didn’t even know if you existed. We had nothing to lose but to continue to follow any clues that we might come across. We had no protocol for a circumstance like this.”

“You can only imagine our bewilderment to be taken as adversaries when we were looking for help. And then our shock of finding Harry Hart. Finding him, not only alive, but with no memory of the agency he was devoted to over 30 years. It still is an unthinkable situation that we were not prepared for and obviously, are still trying to process.”

She had been speaking for a long time. She paused, took a sip of water, swallowed, before continuing.

She addressed the table. “Everything that we have said is the truth. We were also an independent intelligence agency with headquarters in London.” 

She turned again to Harry. “You were an integral member of this agency for most of your adult life. You know each of us well. Merlin has been your colleague for over 20 years. You knew Eggsy’s father, he saved your life in a mission that had gone sideways. That was seventeen years ago. You had recruited him as a way to repay his fathers sacrifice. My uncle was also a long time colleague of yours and our families go back many years.”

“We are so grateful that you are alive. We are sorry that we left you behind. That would never be our intention. We are forever indebted to Statesman for saving your life and taking care of you. But as you can imagine, we have questions of our own. How did you get here? How did you survive? Do you have no memory of Kingsman at all? What can you remember? Obviously, you have retained your skills, but to what extent? If you honestly don’t remember, then we can see how unbelievable our story is. But I think if you are still a man of honour and integrity, then you have to feel that we are not hostiles or adversaries. We pose no threat to you. Your instincts must tell you we are offering you the truth.”

She could tell that Harry was processing the information, she just couldn’t tell whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Roxy concluded. “And that brings us here to the present. I think our most pressing question is “how did you survive?”

Harry nodded to Ginger to answer the question. He seemed to want to observe the conversation. His attention had never wavered from Roxy while she spoke, only widened at times to include Eggsy or Merlin. If he had come to a conclusion, there was nothing that they could see.

Roxy gladly handed off the meeting to Ginger. Harry’s unwavering gaze was getting a little unnerving. Without the added scrutiny, she could get collect her own thoughts and feelings. Kingsman recruitment training had been brutal, but nothing could have prepared them for the last 48hrs. Nothing in the Gentleman’s Guide had a blueprint on how to behave when your agency gets blown up and your dead mentor, comes back to life, has amnesia, and then almost shoots you.

——

Ginger spoke up.

“I would like to confirm that we now have proof that your story is legitimate Which means, Harry, what they are saying about your history with Kingsman is most likely the truth.”

Harry tilted his chin slightly in her direction in acknowledgement. 

She spoke in the direction of the three Kingsman. “We have just received corroboration from several independent sources that the events did occur as described and that your agency was the target of a massive strike against organisations such as ours. We are sorry for your loss. You will have full access to our resources to investigate this adversary and we will provide you with support. This is a threat that affects all of us.”

Merlin spoke up. His voice was rough with concern. 

“Harry, what happened?” 

Harry’s voice, deep and a with familiar, crisp authority, suddenly filled the space.

“At this point, I believe Ginger will be able to recall the events much more clearly than I. I have no recollection of events immediately following the shooting.” He turned to her. “Please, continue.”

Merlin gaze remained fixed on Harry and worried there for several moments, before he turned his attention to Ginger.

“The day prior to V-Day, we detected the transmission of a very low frequency sound wave. Much lower than what is normally used for any legitimate communication. This frequency, for the time and location, was suspicious to say the least and it was imperative that we investigate. Agent Tequila and I helicoptered to the spot, about 10 miles away.”

“The frequency stopped right about the time we were closing in on the location. We had already pinpointed the source so we knew where it originated from. Even though the transmission had stopped, we could still find clues to its origin.” 

“We were just flying into the zone when we witnessed the shooting. We saw Valentine and his accomplices depart. They didn’t confirm death. I expect they thought that shooting someone in the face.. well, there are not many outcomes. Our timing couldn’t have been better planned. We had developed what we call “alpha gel” to use on our own agents in the case of a head shot. Previously, a head shot meant immediate death. Body armour can only protect so much. We’ve lost very good agents.’ 

But depending on where the bullet entered the skull and if there was minimal damage to the actual brain and spinal cord, the gel could potentially save an agents life. 

Harry was still alive when I checked his vitals. I applied the alpha gel immediately. It’s crucial to activate the gel to prevent tissue damage and accelerate the nannites that are used to repair neural pathways. I won’t go further in depth at this point. The main issue at that moment was to preserve life. 

Of course, because of his glasses, we knew that he was intelligence, we just didn’t know whose and we had no way of finding out without compromising Harry’s safety and our anonymity.  

Harry suffers from retrograde amnesia, which could be from the injury. But it can also be a side effect of the alpha gel. However, when life it at risk, the benefits outweigh the possible negative outcomes. This kind of memory loss, you lose existing, previously made memories. This type of amnesia tends to affect recently formed memories first. Older memories, such as memories from childhood, are usually affected more slowly. 

She motioned to Harry, while he listened closely to her explanation.

“So while Harry was whole as a person, personality wise, function wise, cognitive and behavioural skills in place, he had no memory of who he was aside from what could be observed. He had no memory of his past, people, places, events. This was an interesting case because usually with retrograde amnesia, there can be the regression to the younger self. The skill set and knowledge and the growth that occurred during the time of memory loss can also be lost as well. Such as, if you learned French while you were in college, but you lost the memories of this timeframe, in most cases, you would no longer be able to speak French. In fact, the whole memory that you learned it to begin with would be gone. In these cases, the knowledge and skill learned during this time would also be forgotten. However, in some rare cases, the ability to remember the skill remains, while the memory of the past when it was learned is lost. 

“In Harry’s case, it was obviously the later.” 

The slightest shift in the landscape of Harry’s face indicated that we was thoughtful and reflective. How must it be to wake up and not know who you are.

Harry, while still maintaining full concentration on Ginger, set a small part of him free to revisit the day he regained consciousness. Which technically, would not be regaining consciousness, since he had no recollection of losing consciousness to begin with.

——

POV HARRY HART

“My name is Harry Hart.”  It was the first thought that went through his head.

Secondly, “Caucasion male, 6’2”, brown hair, brown eyes, 58 years of age. 13.5 stone” That all sounded perfectly reasonable to him.

Thirdly, wasn’t a thought, it was a feeling of emptiness. Not as if he was missing something. It did not feel like loss. It did not feel as if he was lacking. That would imply that there was something present to begin with.  It was not a feeling he could identify or that felt familiar or could find a word that was representative. It was unusual for him. He never found his vocabulary lacking. Perhaps if it could be called a non-feeling. He was a vessel. Neither empty, nor full. And no desire to be either or. An interesting sensation. 

When he first woke up, he had not realised that he was suffering from amnesia. Due to the amnesia there were no memories that insisted he should be a certain person. That he had to exist in a certain place. Doing something specific. A curious circumstance. There was no sense of surprise waking up in the condition he found himself to be. He did whatever he would do in a circumstance like this. Assess the situation. 

As he entered a conscious state, his mind automatically shifted into overdrive. But without moving. Without betraying any kind of change. He felt the need to remain unnoticed. He did this from where he rested. He first determined if he had sustained any injury or damage that had caused permanent physical disability or bodily harm. He had full function of all of his appendages. He did not know how long he had been in this state, but he did not notice any signs of muscle atrophy or joint stiffness. They must have a system that stimulated muscle tissue and nerves to prevent deterioration or he had not been in an immobile state for any length of time. Blinking his eyes was like scrapping sandpaper and his throat was a desert of sand. He attempted to make any kind of noise and found it difficult. That meant he had to have been out for at least some meaningful period of time. His head did ache something awful, and he noted a bandage or some other type of patch over his left eye. The use of only one eye would change his perception of depth, and the range of his peripheral vision, but he did not doubt that he would be able to adjust accordingly.

He had no reason to question his cognitive function. He processed information unhesitatingly and with ease. Without a sense of doubt, without faltering, he scanned the room and began to examine his surroundings. He was being held in some kind of hospital or medical ward. Not civilian. It was either private or for research. Maybe military. Hi tech, advanced equipment. Everything was in pristine condition. Two exits on opposing sides. No windows. A complex ventilation and filtration system suggested an underground location. No immediate threat that he could ascertain, but that could change at any moment. No apparent weapons. Some medical instruments that could possibly work. He was not restrained so he was not being held against his will. Or there was no need if he was unconscious the entire time. He did not feel any urgency or sense of immediate danger, but he did not question his need to assess the situation .

He heard two people approach the door to the left. Judging from the echoing quality and the gradual volume and clarity of their foot steps, from a fairly long corridor. 

His eyes remained closed, his breathing shallow and steady, his heartbeat was slow and rhythmic. He concentrated on the sound. One set of footsteps was clearly male. The stride was longer, more pronounced, in heavy shoes, presumably boots. But an easy pace. Most likely 6’, 13 stone, physically fit. His gait was even, balanced and light. Not the walk of someone that led a sedentary life. The second set of footsteps he concluded were female. Lighter, but not timid. A confident woman. Just a smaller stature. Medium height. Slight frame. Like her partner, fit, alert, competent. 

He did not know why or how he came up with these deductions, but he did not question them. He held the information in his mind so it was easily accessible. The voices, once they became decipherable, were relaxed and easy. Their tone was jovial and non-threatening. Younger than he was. American accent, with a southern drawl. He could be in the US, but anywhere was possible. While he did not expect danger, he still prepared himself for the risk. Mostly, his need was to understand the where he was, how he got there and have leverage over the situation.

The door opened with a heavy swooshing sound. He did not hear the click of a lock being turned, so he was not being held in high security setting.

The two individuals were still conversing, and he could just almost decipher what they were discussing. The man remained on his right hand side while the woman walked around the foot of the bed to inspect the instruments and diagnostics panels to the left. Her back was turned away from him. The man remained at his side. A quick glance in his direction. A holster was slung around his waist, it held a nickelplated SIG-Sauer P226 with wooden grips. A quality weapon. To his advantage, the strap securing the weapon was not snapped in. That would have been a trickier maneuver.

He guessed the woman was in medical, the man, based on the weapon and the fact that he was not actively participating in the tasks, that he was a guard or protection of some sort. With their relaxed tones, and familiar interactions, possibly a friend or colleague. 

Not one to overthink a situation, he decided now was as good a time as any. No use in waiting, expecting a better scenario. Best to address the situation you know rather than wait for one you don’t. Never a guarantee for a better set of circumstances. Only guarantee is time lost.

He waited patiently for the moment to proceed. Just a small distraction was all he needed. It arrived sooner than he anticipated and under better circumstances that he had the right to expect.

“Tequila, would you be able to hand me the print outs right behind you?” 

Harry saw him turn away from the bed, his hips rotated in his direction, the angle ideal for him to grab, cock and point. He only hoped that his deductions regarding his physical state were correct, or it would be a moot point. He might not even be able to sit up, let alone hold a weapon.  Take the out, the told himself. 

These thoughts occurred within fractions of a second. Without hesitation, in one fell swoop, he grabbed the gun, pulled back the slide to load the chamber. Thankfully his body responded without any resistance or weakness and he slid himself back into an upright position. 

He judged the distance between the three of them. The man called Tequila, was close enough by his side to possibly disarm him, so he swung the weapon in the woman’s direction. She was far enough away that the gun was not within her reach. He centered the sight at her chest. It was not the aim of a stop shot. It was the aim for a kill shot. Might as well show them he was not a man to underestimate. He did not want to shoot her, but he did want to make it very clear to them that he was a man to take very seriously. 

Once he guaranteed that he had their attention. Though he had many questions he wanted answers to, he asked them the two questions that were the most urgent.

His voice was gravelly, but still clear enough to understand. 

“Who are you?”

“What am I doing here?”

For having a gun aimed at her chest, the woman was surprisingly relaxed. She held up her palm towards the other man. She would handle this. The man shifted his weight back to a holding posture rather than the offensive stance that prepared him to take action. 

“You have a British accent. That’s helpful to know. How are you feeling?”

“My first two questions still stand.” He regarded them impassively, but kept any notes of aggression from his tone.

—— 

Gingers POV

“My name is Ginger Ale, I’m Head Strategy Executive and Director of Medical here at our outfit.  This is Agent Tequila. Welcome to Statesman, our whiskey distillery. You’re at our HQ in Kentucky.” 

She handed him a cup of water. “Sip. Don’t guzzle.”

She was succinct. “As for what you are doing here, we were waiting for you to wake up so you could tell us. We found you outside of a church about 10 miles from here. You had been shot in the head. You were still alive, so we did everything we could to keep you that way. You’ve been unconscious the entire time here. Your vitals were strong. We were just waiting for you to wake up. We have some questions for you as well.” 

Her voice was gentle, but firm. He did not catch any inflections or hesitations that would indicate she was lying, or with holding information. Her tone was honest, forthright and it put him slightly more at ease. 

“I answered both of yours. Would you be so kind to answer mine?” She asked politely.

He did not refuse, but he didn’t say yes.

“How are you feeling.” she asked again.

“Would you care to clarify?” He asked in return. “There are multiple ways I can respond to your question.”

So he was witty.

“Pick one.”

“At the present moment, tolerable. Though this persistent ache in my head leaves something to be desired” He equivocated. 

“That’s to be expected with a headshot. You did lose your left eye. There will be residual pain/discomfort until the injury is completely healed.”

“What is your name? 

“My name is Harry Hart.”

“Do you feel comfortable enough at the moment to answer some questions for us? Is there anything that you require immediately? 

“More water would be appreciated. Otherwise, feel free. Fire away.” He looked amused. He reached over to return Tequila’s gun. “Perhaps a poor choice of words in my case.” He revised his response. “Very well then, proceed.”

She refilled his water and pulled a chair next to his bed. Tequila found a place strategically viable to intervene if things went sideways. He wasn’t one to get caught off guard twice.

“Now, since we are on a first name basis, can you tell us why you were at the church that day? Why would someone would want to kill you?”

“No.”

“No?” 

“I simply do not know.”

“Why you were there? Or why someone wanted you dead?”

“Neither.”

“Where are you from?”

His face remained blank.

“That may be a little vague.” Ginger specified. “Where do you live? Where is your home?”

No response.

How old are you?

“58” 

“Do you know what you do for a living? Where do you work?”

An almost imperceptible turn of the head.

“Can you remember where you went to school? Secondary or university.”

He squinted his eyes. But no answer.

“Do you know who the current world leader is? President? Prime Minister?”

Her regarded her impassively. She started to form her own understanding of how he was communicating. She could play along. Any form of communication was good for her. It didn’t have to be words. There was more than one way to impart information. It would all get her to the same place. Plus, she would have the chance to read his non-verbal cues. That would be a challenge. His expression was nearly inscrutable.

A slight turn of the head meant I don’t know. His impassive face meant maybe, but he can’t know for sure. The blank disinterested stare meant that he had no idea what she was referring to. She was already intrigued by her patient. She was becoming more fascinated by the moment. 

Changing tactics, she asked. “Can you play the piano?”

A slight tilt of the head. This was new. That meant the question sparked something in his mind. It was a possibility, but he couldn’t know for sure. Interesting. She went further down her tangent.

“What’s pi to the tenth decimal?”

Without hesitation, he rattled off. “3.1415926535”

“Parle vous français?”

“Oui”

How many languages can you speak?

“Six ”

“What are they?”

English, French, Spanish, German, Italian, Arabic.

Hmmm. Arabic was interesting. She filed that away to look at more closely at a later time.

“Do you know were you learned Arabic or why?”

He was taciturn.

“Are you right or left handed?”

“Right.”

“What kind of car do you drive?”

Impassive.

“Do you own a car?”

Impassive.

“Do you know how to drive.”

“Yes.”

Now they were getting somewhere, she thought to herself.

“What was your favourite game as a child?”

He furrowed his brow but answered.

“Chess.”

Were you good?

“Yes.”

“Did you compete?

No answer.

Hmm. Retrograde amnesia, she pondered.

“Can you shoot a gun?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever killed someone?”

A tilt of the head. Possible, but can’t confirm.

“Do you think you’re a good person?”

“I have no reason to doubt that.”

“Do you know what orange means?”

“The color or the fruit?”

Good. “The fruit, what does it remind you of? 

“Winter. Christmas.”

Excellent. “Do you remember a Christmas from your past?”

Blank stare.

“Do you think you’re attractive? Good looking.”

He huffed, amused. 

“It’s not a trick question.”

“Not to seem chuffed, but I’ve never had any complaints in that regard.”

“Can you remember any specific compliments that you’ve received in the past?”

Thwarted.

Good. “So you know that other people think you are attractive and desirable. But is that how you see yourself?”

 “I was attempting to be modest.” 

She waited for his response.

Reluctantly, “Yes.” He admitted. “I know that I am attractive, handsome, good looking. However you would like to call it.” 

He continued even though he had already answered the question. It was his first moment of revealing information on his own.

“I would go out with myself if I were able, but unfortunately, that is not an option. I am not a narcissist. However, I would say that I regard myself with a healthy and acceptable amount of vanity. “ 

Did Ginger just discern a bit of sarcasm?

His good looks have been a point of contention in the past. Not that she could blame him. She was curious to know how his appearance either hindered him or helped him. She did note that there was no wedding ring when they found him. She couldn’t complain. It didn’t hurt her daily check ups that he was extremely easy on the eyes. Even his hospital issue gown made him look handsome.

Ok. Time to move on. She switched her line of questioning. 

“Where are you right now?” She asked.

His expression was doubtful. Of her, not of his answer. His face asked the question. “Didn’t we just discuss this?” Nevertheless, he answered her with a bemused sigh.

“Kentucky, United States. Apparently 10 miles away from a church where I was shot in the head.”

Ginger nodded. She was encouraged. 

He didn’t see why. It wasn’t difficult to recall. She had only just told him.

“Do you remember our names and what we do?”

He found the helpfulness of these questions debatable, but if it would accelerate his process, he was willing to comply. And participate, if it made this whole interaction a tad more interesting.

“Your name is Ginger Ale. After the beverage, I can only assume. Your colleague, here, is called Tequilla, after the alcohol. I am under the the impression that these are code names that are assigned by the intelligence agency that employs you. Statesman. With a distillery as a backstop. Hence the libation themed code names. 

“Ginger Ale, I gather from your code name’s slight variation, you are in an essential, but supportive role. Whereas Tequila, a right tipple, would be classified as an agent. Of your independent organisation. I would believe, comparable to the CIA, but without the restrictions that often hinder government run spy organisations. And with more interesting code names.”

There was just the slightest hint of cockiness in his tone and in his expression. She found it equally amusing and charming at the same time. Now they were making progress. More than she could have hoped for.

He was obviously intelligent, well mannered, well spoken, though taciturn. Understandable upon waking up with no memory of where he was and why he was there. It was a very promising discovery. He seemed to accept his situation without resistance. He was alert. No hint of confusion. Just a desire to understand the circumstances he found himself in. 

He was emotionally stable, if not a little irritated, by his current state. He took the loss of his eye as a matter of fact. Overall, his ability to acclimate was nothing short of remarkable. 

He folded his hands on his lap, one over the other, tilted his chin in her direction. His posture said. “I’m waiting patiently..” He was throwing shades of a personality she was already warming toward. 

There was a momentary pause. They regarded each other with interest. 

 Finally Harry spoke. “I have amnesia.” He wasn’t asking a question. He was stating it as a fact.

She confirmed. Nodding. 

“I would like to perform some additional CT and MRI scans, and EEG, but judging from the traumatic brain injury you’ve suffered, you most likely have retrograde amnesia. Just based on this conversation alone. To be more specific. Focal retrograde amnesia. 

She continued to explain. “Focal retrograde amnesia, also known as isolated or pure retrograde amnesia, is when someone only experiences the loss of memories that have already been made. Anterograde amnesia, on the other hand, is being unable to form new memories.

He listened to her with a new interest. 

She continued. “So, it appears you have retrograde amnesia, but no anterograde. This means that the ability to form new memories is left intact. You easily recalled information from a short time ago. That is very good news.” She paused, looking for his understanding.

“Please, go on.” He said.

“This kind of isolated memory loss doesn’t affect a person’s intelligence or ability to learn new skills, like playing the piano or affect previously learned skills, like driving a car, speaking different languages. Most likely, if we sat you at a piano, you would be able to play, based on your response to my question.”

“What is the prognosis?”

Ginger, equivocated, a little hesitant “With amnesia, it’s difficult to predict. Retrograde amnesia can result from damage to different parts of the brain responsible for controlling emotions and memories. These include the thalamus, which is deep in the center of the brain, and the hippocampus, which is in the temporal lobe and the cerebellum. There are many variables involved.”

“Thats is all very interesting, but doesn’t quite give me any predictions for my future.” 

“To be completely honest, for the injury you sustained, the amnesia is surprisingly less severe than I would have predicted. Most traumatic brain injuries are mild, resulting in concussion. But a severe injury, like a serious blow to the head, or a bullet for that matter, can damage the memory-storing areas of the brain and lead to anterograde amnesia as well. Depending on the level of damage, the amnesia could be temporary or permanent. I know that’s not very helpful.”

“Ginger, there is no need to “hedge your bets” as they would say. I am quite prepared to accept any answer you provide.”

“The fact that you can remember new information is promising. Your cognitive and behavioural skills are, as far as I can tell, excellent. I would be interested to test your knowledge further. You may have skills that you don’t know you have until you have a need for them.”

“If I were to summarise… “ Ginger concluded. “And please let me know if I go too far off the beaten path as I find this area of research very intriguing.”

She stole a glance at Tequila. “Many would find it boring.” 

Tequila gestured with a shrug of his shoulders..”So what? I think it’s boring.”

Ginger turned back toward Harry.

“Are you comfortable?”

“As much as one could hope.”

“Please understand that I’m generalising here. Just the fact that you are interested in this subject and can process information is extremely promising. The questions I asked you, though random, I asked for very specific reasons.” 

“Our memories” she explained, “can be separated into two groups: Explicit and Implicit. Each of these categories can then be further broken down. If I can use your case as an example?”

Harry nodded.

In the clear and assured tones of a professor, she explained. 

“Explicit memories, or declarative memories, are those we consciously try to remember and recall. When I ask you a question, such as, “Where were you born?” to answer, you would navigate through your explicit memory.

“Explicit memory stores events and facts. This is your conscious memory. You know that you have them and can remember them when you need to. In your case, I asked you to recall a derivative of Pi. You did that easily. That would be an explicit memory. Your knowledge of different languages also taps into your explicit memory.” 

Harry was still, but receptive.

Encouraged by his attentiveness, she broke the concept down further.

“Of these explicit memories, there are three different types. The first two are episodic and semantic memories. Do you know what semantic means?” She asked him.

“Of course. That which is related to language.”  replied Harry.

Ginger was pleased.

“Exactly. Our semantic memory stores knowledge about words, concepts and language-based knowledge and facts. Knowing the definition of “Semantic” is, in fact, a semantic memory. So is your knowledge of Pi in relation to the numerical expression, and the ability to speak different languages. This part of your memory seems to be unaffected.”

She checked in with Harry. She had the tendency to explain way beyond the interest of the listener. He confirmed. Go on.

“The second kind of explicit memory is called episodic memory. This is information about events that you have personally experienced. For example, if something looks or feels familiar, you’re probably trying to pull from your episodic memory. Times in your life, people, places, emotions and context that make up the events in your life. The what, when, where, how and why of your memory.”

“This seems to be a large part of your memory that has been affected and it seems to go back for a very long time. Typically, when you see lapses in episodic memory, it’s usually the more recent memories that can’t be accessed. Memories of childhood are still there.  In your case, your entire past seems to be wiped.

He asked his first question. Well, other than the first two, but that was at gunpoint, so they didn’t really count.“Then how is it that I still have all of this knowledge.”

“Yes, just getting to that. Now we move over to your implicit memories. These memories are not part of your consciousness.”

She took a breath. “These memories are based on behaviours and movements. Memories that are retained through practice and repetition. A learned skill would be part of this memory.”

She had vast knowledge of memory loss due to brain trauma and she welcomed the opportunity to share. “There are two types of implicit memories. Procedural and emotional conditioning.”

“Procedural stores information about how to do things. Why you are able to perform actions without consciously monitoring the sub procedures that need to be pieced together in order to perform the task. Or, more simply, it’s the reason you can brush your teeth without a second thought. It is the memory for skilled actions.”

“This part of the memory is why you can do things without thinking about them. You know how to drive a car. But you don’t know if you own one. You can play chess, but you don’t know if you played competitively. Same with the piano. You can shoot a gun, but you don’t know if you’ve ever killed someone. Even something as simple as brushing your teeth is part of this. You don’t have to consciously think about every sub action you have to make, or the motor skills involved. Probably the same way with a gun. If I asked to take apart and reassemble Tequila’s gun, you could probably do so without knowing how or why you possess that skill.”

“Lastly is Emotional Conditioning.  This can be a little trickier to identify. I would have to ask you more questions to see how this part of your memory was affected. These memories are made through classical conditioning, associations made through stimuli. You know what an orange is. You know what they smell like. It reminds you of Christmas. This is emotional conditioning. But you can’t remember any Christmas that you’ve had. That is your episodic memory.”

Harry looked openly thoughtful. He was no longer guarding his expression. The softness took years off his face. It was hard not to just stare at him. 

“There’s one more category of explicit memories that is important. Autobiographical. This memory system is made up of both episodic and semantic aspects of your memory. It’s a collection of memories specifically related to the self. This could be how you look, your height, specific meaningful points in your life, or the general idea of your concept of self. Which is why I asked you questions not just on how you look, but how you, yourself, viewed your looks.”  

“You know what a gun is. Semantic. You know how to shoot a gun. Procedural. You don’t know if you’ve ever killed anyone. Episodic. Killing someone is only acceptable under certain circumstances. Emotional conditioning. But without knowing whether or not you’ve ever killed anyone, you believe you are a good person. Autobiographical.”

“In regards to the actual landscape of your brain, your cerebellum and prefrontal cortex seem to be the least affected.  In addition to contributions to implicit memory, conditioned responses, fine motor movements, posture and coordination, the cerebellum also maintains internal representations of the external world, which allow you to move in darkness as long as the room or space is familiar to you, and how you would need to position your self to aim a gun and hit a moving target.”

Harry was still engaged, so she went on. 

“It seems the hippocampus was the most affected by your injury. This would make sense based on the entry point of the bullet. This part of the brain processes declarative and episodic memory, people, places, and things as well as recognition memory.” 

“I know that’s a lot to take in. I’d like you to rest in the meantime. You’ve only just woken up, in well, less than ideal circumstances. Even though you say you feel “acceptable” you are still recovering from a major injury.  We’ll follow up with you more frequently, now that you are awake.” She wasn’t asking.

Harry, for the first time, addressed Tequila. “I take it that she is always the voice of reason.”

“Without fail.”

“And I assume there is no sense in arguing.”

“None at all.”

——

For simplicity’s sake, they assumed that he was from the UK as many of his mannerism and idiosyncrasies were quintessentially British. Tequila had gotten into the habit of calling him Hart, or The Brit for short. Harry, who was not one for such informalities, was amused. He did, however, recognise that Americans, as well as Statesman, were more easy going and relaxed in their word, dress and interactions with each other, overall. 

——

“Was there anything, physically, or possessions that I had on my body when you found me, that would offer any clues to my identity.”

Ginger paused. “Well, Harry, we found you in quite a unique state.”

They had already been over the event numerous times. But Harry knew that little details were often overlooked the first time around and could surface after a spell.  Ironic, since his own memory wouldn’t be surfacing in any amount of time. He would have rather used a more elegant metaphor, but he was like a top notch computer with nothing to process. All of his files were wiped. Who knew if they were recoverable. No use in wondering. 

When Ginger Ale and Agent Tequila found Harry, he had made quite the impression. As the helicopter descended, Ginger and Tequila saw him closely for the first time. He was splayed out, flat on his back, unconscious, with a bullet through his eye, wearing of all things, an impeccably tailored, navy pinstripe double breasted suit. He was fully decked out with all the details. Spread collar, tie with a Windsor knot, suspenders, oxfords, even a tie pin, cufflinks, a pocket square, and a signet ring. It was a sight not often seen in their part of Kentucky.

While Ginger attended to the man, Tequila checked the church. It was the site of a bloodbath. This was no mass shooting. A mass shooting would be clean and simple compared to what he found inside.  These people had been slaughtered. Creatively. Luckily, whatever or whoever the threat was that had massacred the congregation, had departed. 

Harry had definitely been involved in the bloodshed, but to what extent, they did not know. The tell tale signs were on his suit. It hard to see the bloodstains against the dark wool, but there were unmistakable splashes of red on the crisp whiteness of his cuffs and collar. It was torn in places, whether from a weapon or some other object, one couldn’t tell. But mostly, the proof was on his hands. They were stained with blood and gunpowder residue up to his wrists. He did not have any weapons on his person when they found him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have one inside. Nevertheless, a person doesn’t get that much blood on themselves from using a gun. Even at close range, the blood spatter would spray backward. 

Whatever he had been involved in, it was up close and personal. Rage sound waves plus the expert skill and killer instinct of a veteran assassin could definitely equal the carnage that was left behind. He was fitted with a shoulder holster, but no weapon. They didn’t have enough time to search for identifying evidence in the church. The object that they found the most interesting were his glasses. Handsome, squared off, dark tortoiseshell horn rimmed frames. But it was the lenses that revealed the most about him. The glasses told them he was intelligence. They just didn’t know whose.

Intelligence agents, as a rule, never carry anything that can identify them. Harry was no exception. His clothing, even his shoes, though exceptionally well made and no doubt very expensive, bore no labels. It was all bespoke, custom made to fit him, and him alone and as a result, no identifying markers.

They tried to reverse engineer the communications transmitter from the remaining lens. They also attempted to disassemble his watch, but both were designed to withstand and prevent external tampering. Whoever designed them was talented and had the foresight to put anti-tampering mechanisms in place. 

Of course, they had run a facial recognition and prints through their international database, but as they expected, there were no matches to be found. They couldn’t investigate thoroughly without compromising his safety. Obviously someone wanted him dead. It could even be his own agency. More than once, had an agent been removed by their own employer. The threat might still exist. Nor could they risk the anonymity of their own agency. 

They scanned news for anything surrounding the Kentucky event, who was involved, any unusual occurrences that happened at the same time, but they only found information on Valentine and his cohorts. They even kept their ears open on the secret spy wire, to see if a fellow agency was looking for an operative, or had an agent who had gone rogue, or had one go dark. They didn’t have any luck. It’s not like they could put out an “if missing an agent, please call” flyer. While Harry was recovering, they also put out feelers for possible missing persons that matched his description in the civilian world. Even if he was an intelligence agent, that didn’t mean he didn’t have a cover in place, a backstop that could possible lead to his identity.

His accent immediately suggested he was from the UK. However, his lack of a specific regional dialect, made it difficult to narrow their search criteria. Harry’s accent was that of the Queens English, or RP Received Pronunciation. Which might mean he was from Great Britain, or any of the commonwealth countries. Their contacts at MI6 and MI5 received a little exchange of information to see if they had any leads, of which there were none. Whatever agency that he was with, was not government funded. Of course there was the brotherhood of clandestine intelligence agencies across the globe. But in this circumstance, they did not want to broadcast that they were potentially sheltering an agent that could have possibly blown his cover, been burned, or been compromised in any fashion. The safest avenue for both Statesman and Harry was to remain inconspicuous until a tangible lead was discovered.

Because, at the very least, he was intelligence, and so were they, they were curious as to his specialty, his area of expertise. Handling a gun was part of every agents training, no matter where their loyalties lie. It was no surprise that he was comfortable shooting a weapon. All agents were. It was possible that he could be a clandestine officer, or focus on espionage, recruiting assets. He could be an interrogator. He was intelligent, well spoken, articulate. Psych-ops, psychological warfare or diplomacy could be just as likely.  His fastidious appearance, polite manner and gentlemanly demeanour would certainly lend itself to international relations. Certainly a man with his physical attributes wouldn’t be secluded to a desk in analysis. With his charming personality he could possibly be a raven, a male agent employed to seduce people for intelligence purposes. That would be effortless on his part. He would just have to show up. There were many ladies that had taken notice of the handsome figure who was a mysterious presence at Statesman’s HQ.

 It was also feasible that he had cross specialties. Some of the specialties would be more challenging than others to assess. Weapons were straightforward. You were either good or you weren’t. Once he felt both physically and mentally up to task, they brought him to their version of Hogan’s Ally or the Farm, the FBI and the CIA’s, respectively, tactical training facilities. 

When Harry’s health improved, they discovered the true extent of his abilities. They were far greater than Statesman expected.  As Harry’s strength and coordination returned, complex tasks became second nature again. His body began to respond to the stimulus and he gravitated toward the physical challenges that Statesman tested him with. What they learned on the shooting range, then in the Statesman tactical training facility and Special Operations Division, they did not expect and were not prepared for.

Harry found the whole process amusing. If not outright entertaining. Losing ones memory had its advantages. One need not worry about expectations, preconceived notions or judgement. He would either be good, or he would not be. Either outcome would be acceptable to him. No one, not even he, would know the outcome until after the fact. And he knew how useless it was to wish for one scenario or the other when anything was possible.

What did happen, was that the challenges of their tactical installation were not capable of quantifying his ability. His skills far surpassed the most advanced exercise they had.

He proceeded to excel at every exercise, drill, and challenge they placed in front of him. He performed without thought, without hesitation, with the grace and composure they had come to equate him with. First, on the shooting range and then finally on their full scale replicated “warehouse” where they would simulate real life combat situations, including the use of live rounds.

The first test was for speed and accuracy and his knowledge of different firearms.  At the shooting range, they laid out a variety of weapons in front of him. The guns were unloaded. He was tasked with loading the ammunition in to the proper clip or magazine and then loading the weapon. He was to discharge the all the rounds at the target at the end of the range. Aiming for a kill shot either at the head or chest, release the clip and return the weapon and then move onto the next weapon he was familiar with. 

Statesman didn’t know what to expect, but the certainly didn’t anticipate what they witnessed. 

Harry had insisted on wearing his full suit as he did every day. The Brit was calm, cool and composed. He was neither excited nor concerned regarding the proceedings. More than anything, he seemed relaxed, but slightly more interested in the tactical challenges than the cognitive behavioural tests that they had him perform. They explained to him what the task was. One by one, load the clip, load the matching weapon, discharge all the rounds, release and repeat. 

Without any visible effort on his part, Harry loaded the first clip, loaded the weapon, and then seemingly without aiming, pulled the trigger.  The first several shots landed off mark. He adjusted and then fired the entire clip, alternating between two chest shots, followed by one round to the head of the target at the end of the range, chambering each bullet between shots if there was a slide. It did not go unnoticed that his method was the one used by assassins. They all knew, when eliminating a target, it was without fail, two to the chest, one to the head. He was still completing his follow through on the previous round, while reaching for the next clip, before releasing the clip of the weapon in his hand and switching to the next. He did this smoothly, with ease, dexterity and without hesitation with the entire set of weapons. One after the other, shot after shot, hitting mark after mark without effort. No fancy moves, no showy stance, just incredibly efficient, accurate, skill and technique. With the reverb of gunshots echoing through their ears, Harry laid down the last gun in line with the rest, turned toward the observing Statesman. His precision was astounding. 

 There was no perceptible change in his demeanour. He could have been doing a crossword puzzle for all the exertion that was evident on his face. 

“Does this suffice?” His face was pleasant. There could have also been the tiniest hint of amusement. 

It was Ginger that spoke up first. “I do believe, yes, that will suffice.”

Tequila regarded him not only like he was from a different country, but a different species of man all together.

 “How the hell ’dya do that?”

Harry gave him a good natured smile. 

“Knowledge of the weapons.” He continued plainly while smoothing out the front of his suit and adjusting his cuffs to their proper length.

“One must possess an understanding of the moving variables involved when discharging handguns, especially for a significant number of rounds. One must focus on accuracy, which involves trigger pull pressure and control, proper stance, a secure but consistent grip, taking in to account grip tension and fatigue. Excessive trigger pull weight will cause muscle fatigue of the index finger and can ultimately lead to task failure during pistol marksmanship.”  

While opening and closing his shooting hand, he massaged the base of his trigger finger. 

“With the variety of weapons that were included in this drill, one must locate the front site alignment based on the make and model and identify the site picture, either combat, center, 6 o’clock hold, if adopting a classic stance. However, front site becomes irrelevant in situations where the target is not in front of you.”

The Statesman were surreptitiously glancing at one anther. Was this man for real?

“And then one must consider breath control, trigger press and reset, and naturally, follow through.  Of course, one must account for situational awareness. Needless to say, it is far less complicated aiming at a static bullseye in a controlled environment,” He gestured to the range. “rather than at a moving target under enemy fire.”       

He spoke with an easy nonchalance, as if he were describing how to serve tea. Incidentally, last week, Harry had already instructed them on the official rules of how to prepare a proper cup of tea. He had looked vaguely insulted when he inquired about tea and Tequila handed him a cold bottle of sweet tea from a nearby cooler. Following this incident he educated them on the finer points of afternoon tea.

“First and most importantly,” he informed them.” Select the appropriate English tea.”

Harry recommended Earl Grey, Breakfast Blend, or Traditional 100’s black teas. Slightly more bitter than American teas, he informed them.

“Always use freshwater for individual steeping. Boil water between 180-200 degrees.”

Harry stated that it was imperative that the water is at boiling point to properly release the flavours of the tea.

“Slowly pour into a teapot over a single tea bag or loose leaf diffuser. Let it steep for six minutes. Remove the tea bag. Do not squeeze the tea bag. Pour the tea into a proper tea cup, not a coffee mug. At this time, one can add milk, not sugar, unless you want to disrupt the flavour of the tea.” 

He was firm on the following point. “Only milk, if you are looking to make a proper cup. The color of the tea with milk should have a dark orange-brown hue, similar to American coffee. Once the milk is stirred, the tea should be at the perfect temperature to enjoy. If feeling especially British, one can pair with scones and clotted cream.” 

With the same casual, relaxed ease, he continued. “Naturally, it helps if one is familiar with muzzle velocity, air resistance, barometric pressure, humidity, air temperature and wind speed. The quantity and quality of propellant used in the firearm as well as projectile mass and length of the barrel.”

He saw the blank stares of the Statesman agents. He equivocated, “Or in more simple terms, front site, trigger press, and follow through.”

If he was this level on the shooting range, they were eager to see what surprises he had in store for the simulation. If his performance on the shooting rage was any indication of his abilities, his proficiency on the full scale replica could very possibly be stupefying. 

Word traveled with the wind on Statesman grounds. The following day, allowing his shooting hand appropriate time to recover, Harry prepared for the real life simulation.  A variety of curious onlookers, from fellow agents, handlers and operations support began to gather in small, inconspicuous groups at the control center where anyone watching would have full audio and visual of Harry the entire time. 

The immersive course was situated in two enormous warehouses with an open courtyard area in between.  It was devised to test Harry’s technical and tactical skill. So far, he had shown exemplary marksmanship. But like he had mentioned, it was much less complicated to shoot with accuracy in a range under a controlled environment. The ability to perform with the same accuracy and precision under pressure is what separated a good agent from an exceptional one. They were going to find out which category Harry fell into.

Harry, as an operator, would have to perform under the following conditions; unknown target distances that vary from close to extended ranges, identifying threats and non-threats prior to engagement, making decisions under pressure, speed vs. precision shots, tactical movements, utilising different types of cover and tactical shooting positions to accomplish the mission, which was to come out clean on the other side. Firearms ranged from pistol, rifle, shotgun, carbine rifle, AK -47, as well as improvised munitions. There could be an active shooter scenario. A hostage situation. Anything was possible.

The Statesman insisted that he didn’t have to wear his suit during the engagement and offered him combat gear. His suit was certain to interfere with his maneuverability. He showed up to the course, fully attired in his classic pinstripes, down to the cuff links. He couldn’t explain why, but it felt completely natural and at ease. 

“One should always be able to engage in life threatening situations while properly attired.”  He explained. 

 Call it vanity, call it pride, but he only felt comfortable in suits when he was in a professional role. Wearing anything else seemed sacrilegious. He wasn’t going to wear any less for an evaluation, no matter what the evaluation entailed. And he was very particular. About his suit specifically. He had several suits tailor made by a firm of Statesman’s recommendation. 

The one concession that he did make regarding his attire was to replace his Oxfords with the Statesman issue cowboy boots. Cowboy boots, of all things. But he had to confess, they felt good on his feet. It was easier to cover the unfamiliar terrain of the Statesman property, which included dirt, gravel, hay, barns, and stables and various other interesting outbuildings. At least the boots still made a familiar sound on hard surfaces. He particularly enjoyed the hollow, rounded quality his footsteps made when he crossed Statesman’s many hardwood floors. Particularly in the large storage areas the housed the enormous barrels of whiskey while they aged. 

He was also pragmatic. The boots were definitely more appropriate on the occasions they went horse riding, or other “outdoor activities” that his new keepers might engage in. While he might be fastidious in regards to his appearance, he still valued practicality.  For the landscape of Kentucky, the boots were more appropriate. And they did indeed, have a satisfying click that was comfortingly familiar. 

While the course was being finalised, he tested his right hand by creating a fist and then opening his palm wide. He repeated this several times. There was residual soreness from the prior days drill, but nothing that caused him concern. In the simulation, there would be a wide variety of firearms and weapons available in the course. Not every weapon would be a handgun. A shotgun or a riffle could be braced on the shoulder. Different weapons would require a different set of muscle and therefore prevent repetitive fatigue.

His shooting hand didn’t concern him, he was fairly certain he could fire from his weak hand as well. He was curious to find out. He decided to try even if the opportunity didn’t present itself. 

As he entered the course, the Statesman gathered around the monitors.

Even in a suit, he manoeuvred like an elite operator. His movement was refined, graceful, efficient. He held himself tall when he needed to check and clear areas, keeping his spine in alignment. His footing was sure and stable as he maintained a mid-foot drive with every step he took, balancing his weight between the ball of his foot and the heel.

He was not one to peacock. His skills and technique always had a specific goal and end result in mind. Ego had no place in life and death scenarios. But on the course, after he completed a task successfully, he could’t help but push the level of his abilities. Explore his edge. He began following up his kill shots with a second maneuver from a trickier vantage point, or with a more demanding technique, adopting more and more challenging strategies and unlikely scenarios. Each time, giving a little bit more than was necessary. He wanted to discover the full capacity of his skill. 

On the course, he felt a new vitality. Whether it be due to the physical exertion of being in the field, or the mental challenges that sharpened the edges of his mind, he did not question. He simply allowed it to flow.

He attempted to fire from his non-dominant hand when the weapon and the cover required it. He adopted a canted shooting stance, firing the gun from a 45 degree angle, aiming for a target that would be impossible in his position with a right hand grip. Well, that was confirmation he could shoot with both hands. When he needed to reload, he also did so with one hand, just to see if he could. He could. With the slide locked to the rear, he placed the gun between his knees with the grip facing upwards. He slid the magazine and then locked it into place and removed the gun from between his knees. His hand hit the slide release and he got back into the fight in a matter of seconds. Some of those watching hadn’t been noticed. His technique and execution was flawless.

He fired on the run at a moving target who was using a “civilian” as cover and hit his mark.

He shot two weapons at a time.

He shot from behind his back. 

He could shoot through things and still hit his target on the other side. 

He could shoot away from a target, knowing that the force and angle of the ricochet would hit its intended target.

He used bullets as a tool, shooting items into place, to remove barriers, open doors.

He used bullets to adjust a reflective surface so he could see around a blind corner.

It was as if he was mapping the entire course and picturing it in his head while he moved. Once he scanned an area, he was immediately able to place the location in relation to his position and the rest of the course. 

Not only was he expert at weaponry, a top notch marksman, his physical capabilities far exceeded their expectations. He was physically fit, but it was beyond that. He was evolved. He had a body awareness, not only in control of his physical actions, but the awareness of his own body moving through space. (He would be one hell of a lover) At times his movements were economical, not wasting a single iota of energy on a motion that was unnecessary.

But the movements that he did come up with were impressive. One motion would seamlessly flow into the next like a dance. A dance with bullets and weapons, but a dance nonetheless. 

He could shoulder roll while aiming and discharging a weapon.

He could knee slide to dodge obstacles.

He could position himself to make a defensive position into an offensive one. 

He could use a target as a cover, while taking out the target at the same time.

He could practice hand to hand combat for close quarter contact, simultaneously hit targets on the periphery with his weapon. 

At one point he threw his gun forward in the air, while on the move, used both hands to catapult himself over a low wall while the gun was still traveling through space. He caught the gun, landed and then swung it around in his hand and used it as a cudgel to incapacitate a target before he had a chance to reload. 

Agent Tequila leaned in.

“Holy shit.”

“Mmm Hmm.” Ginger replied.

If they hadn’t witnessed it on the monitors, they would not have believed it. 

It seemed like the further he got into the course, the better he performed.

He moved faster, with more precision, solved problems more quickly, took out more targets.

His most valuable asset, even more than his marksmanship and his physical and tactical expertise, would be his sheer creativity and his ability to improvise on the fly. It was as if, when faced with a problem, there was always a solution. You could almost hear him say, “Well, let’s find out.” The methodology that he used could be seen as unorthodox. It often purposely put him in harms way, but that same method enabled him to open a door to a solution that previously had not been possible. It wasn’t that the proposed solution was not feasible. The solution did not even exist until he created it.  He was confident enough to trust his own judgement and took risks in only the most challenging situations.

Agent Tequila, “If there was a soundtrack to go with this, that would be some kickass music”. 

Ginger nodded. She had to agree. Watching Harry move the way he did in his suit? It might seem silly or old fashioned or traditional to think what she did. He looked noble, gallant, honourable even.

Harry Hart was never one to disappoint. When he was expected to deliver, he delivered and then some. He completed the course while beating Statesman’s record time. To the observers, it felt like he had been in the warehouse for a lifetime. Hadn’t he been moving in slow motion? Some of them even forgot to breathe. 

He burst through the exit on the other side. The doors opened to the sound of cheers and applause. The breeze was cool on his skin, while the sun provided an inviting warmth. The air was fresh and crisp. It was a beautiful day to feel accomplished. He left any residual stress or tension behind. He felt light.

This was not a sight that Statesman was accustomed to seeing after a course was completed. More often than not, the agent would appear dazed, distressed, a little shell-shocked, a little traumatised, perhaps even rethinking his chosen career. Not many were cut out for this kind of work. Rarely did you ever see one, not just capable of the work, but made for it, thrive on it. Harry Hart was the latter.

Harry was exhilarated in a way that he hadn’t felt since he regained consciousness. The calm, cool, collected, focused, deadly Harry Hart from the warehouse gave way and a new man took his place. His expression opened up with a vibrant laugh that changed the very structure of his face. Hell, it changed him into a different person. Whatever, walls, barriers he built had fallen aside, revealing his true authentic nature. He was a man who enjoyed being alive. When he grinned, it was easy to imagine that he would have no problem winning hearts. Certainly most of the females that had watched him take the course were left a little breathless, a little enchanted. And actually, the men didn’t look that much different. 

Why did he seem so attractive at that moment?  

Why did he look so charismatic as he stood, tall and confident in his pinstripe suit, outside the warehouse with an easy smile and warm brown eyes? What had changed from the time he entered the course on the other side? 

The man who started the course had been handsome. The man that came out at the end? It would be easy to fall in love with him. That man was beautiful.

They were seeing a man in his element.  

They were witnessing a man finding his identity.

He seemed more present, more there, more alive. 

He finally felt like he had a place and a purpose. 

When he woke up in the medical ward, his first thought had been:  “My name is Harry Hart.” 

It was different now. There was a connection, a new realization. 

Now he was awakening outside the warehouse.

This time around, he thought to himself.

“I am Harry Hart.”

His brown eyes appeared even more golden in the sunlight. They were warm and inviting. No longer cold. No longer closed off. The light wind tossed a lock over his forehead. In a rare gesture he ran his hand through his hair.

He slung the communication headset around his neck, but not before jesting.

“All right.” He said definitively.   He paused for a moment.

He grinned. “Would you like to see that again?” 

——

What they discovered when Harry completed the course. …Whatever past Harry had come from, he had advanced tactical and technical skills that had muscle memory and strategy so ingrained into every fiber of his being that he didn’t need to think–he simply acted. In the face of immediate life threatening danger, he didn’t merely react to a situation. He took charge. He didn’t make decisions to survive. He made decisions to win.

They had to assume an agent of his caliber would be missed by his organisation. His talent, skill and expertise, if found in an agent, you very well make sure that agent stays in your employ. It was even likely that he was a senior agent or a director. They could certainly imagine him in a leadership role. A complicating factor could be that he was presumed deceased, and therefore, there was no chatter on the wire where you could find information, if only you knew what to look for. 

——

After Harry had literally triumphed over the course, there was a new aura about him. Before the trials, though he was always the perfect gentleman, he was reticent, distant, not quite aloof, but definitely keeping himself an arms length away. Both physically and metaphorically.

He wasn’t one to participate in any activities that weren’t directly related to him. He certainly didn’t spend time in the lounge, conversing with the others or stopping in for a cocktail. He didn’t socialise with any of the others. He would politely participate in conversations that happened around him. Could be quite engaging when immersed in a topic he was intrigued with. There was an unspoken invitation that he was always welcome. In addition, one of the Statesman usually asked him to join directly. Harry would always politely decline. Not offering a reason or excuse, but simply turning down the offer in his quiet, but firm way.

He answered questions that were directed to him, but when the conversation took a turn away from work and into more personal areas, he would offer his apologies and depart for a quiet location. He could often be seen a little aways from campus, sitting in the sun, an open book in one hand, a cup of tea in the other. 

He never spoke of his past unless he was questioning Ginger or Tequila for any information that they may have overlooked when they initially found him. By all appearances, he seemed to be handling himself well. Especially under the circumstances. But since they didn’t have a frame of reference, they didn’t know if he was usually so reserved, or if this was a result of the situation he found himself in. 

They found that he could horse ride. Once he brushed up on tacking and the most basic fundamentals of horsemanship, he was able to recall the rest on his own. He only rode alone. He never left the campus unless it was required by Statesman. He wouldn’t have anywhere to go besides. The only time he was away, was when he was on horseback. 

He did make an exception regarding his attire when it came to this activity. The Statesman all rode western style. A suit wasn’t the most appropriate. If they rode English, he would have requested a riding habit. His compromise? A pair of trousers, and a button down shirt. No suit, no jacket, no tie. Regardless, he did make a striking figure on horseback. Once he was, quite literally, back in the saddle, he handled himself gracefully. He was both firm and gentle with the animals and they responded to him in turn. He seemed more at ease and communicate more with the horses than with people. It was auspicious, though, seeing a cowboy hat perched on this head. 

They kept an eye on him, at least from a distance. Making sure that they caught any signs of undue stress, mental or emotional problems, disassociation, anhedonia, or displacement. The side effects of amnesia were hard to predict. If a person is unable to reclaim their lost memories, they would have to start rebuilding their history from scratch. This was easier for some than others. The older the person was when they suffered memory loss, the more difficult it became to let go of a past they no longer remembered.

With Harry being older than most of the Statesman, he may be having a harder time assimilating. Even though upon waking, he was coherent, intelligent, adaptive, accepting of his situation, once the realisation sets in that their condition is permanent, there may be a later period of denial that was similar to grief. Suffering the loss of their identity. 

Looking at the person that he was before the physical trials was like looking through a window that was covered with a thick film of dust. You might be able to discern that there was something significant, meaningful, worthwhile on other side of the glass, but it would always be a shadowy, vague, dim suggestion of what it actually was.

The tests had cleared away the dust and debris until the glass was clear, crystalline, perfectly see-through. And what had been behind the glass suddenly shone through. That person was the real Harry. Not the shadow form that you would occasionally see, always crossing from one place to the next. Hardly ever still. Never comfortable to remain in one place for long.

After the trials, he was more open, quicker to smile and engage in conversation. Though he would still refuse invitations on occasion, he would be more willing to accept with equal frequency. They discovered he could be quite the conversationalist. His dry wit and biting sense of humour was a welcome change to the often crass or juvenile comments from the male agents. 

If he wanted to, he could easily hold court. His accent and his deep voice were as captivating as his words. But never did he dominate a conversation. He always made a conscious effort to include everyone’s remarks and would even ask the opinion of those who looked like they wanted to say something, but were hesitant for one reason or another. He was more than willing to have someone else take the lead in a conversation, but if the conversation veered in an uncomfortable or inappropriate direction, he always managed to guide it back to civility. Not that he was opposed to a healthy debate, but he did believe that some words should be either said in private or not at all.

He was just as expert at navigating social situations as he was the field. This was a surprise to them since he was so withdrawn at first. They discovered that he was just someone who never wasted words. 

Not only did he become an increasing part of the fabric of Statesman’s front, he also participated more in the intelligence side of the agency. His insight was valuable, his strategies were sometimes unexpected but always effective, and his analysis sharp and concise. He didn’t go out into the field on operations, but he often assisted handlers and their agents with more demanding, complicated missions. Many times he was able to foresee an obstacle that they could avoid, or lead them out of an operation that had gone sideways. At first, the teams were hesitant to request his assistance, whether they were averse, intimidated or just nervous to approach him. But as he led teams into more successful missions, with less loss, less injury, less risk, he was often sought out, his time claimed in advance.

If he missed the field, it didn’t show. They still didn’t feel comfortable sending Harry out on assignment and he never requested a mission. They feared that the lack of direct action, the kind that he had participated in during his test course, would revert him back to the state where he was listless, closed off, removed. But he did not regress. If anything, he become more. It was difficult to explain to someone who didn’t know him during his transition. But with every passing day, with every new interaction, with every mission that he assisted, with every training session he held for advanced weapon and tactical skills, which he did have to admit, he particularly enjoyed, he just become more himself. 

By the end of the year, he was The Brit. Everyone knew him. Everyone adored him. He was free with his smile, his laughter, with a kind or encouraging word. His pinstripe suit was now a common site on campus. He had his own group of women that would pine after him, though he remained firmly unattached. His opinion was respected, his advice valued, his critiques, though sometimes harsh, were always considered constructive. 

He was not exactly gregarious, but he was a very skilled conversationalist. He could exchange witty repartee, as well as engage in topics with depth and you could trust that there was always something interesting on his mind. When he excused himself for any reason, you were left knowing more, feeling more, thinking more. However, by nature, they learned, he was a reserved and private person. But whatever walls or fences that he had constructed at the beginning of his stay, had slowly but consistently been deconstructed. On that bedrock, he wasn’t rebuilding his history. Without even thinking about it, he was fashioning a completely new one. 

The last year had been spent laying down the foundation for his new life, accumulating building blocks, each experience a new row of brick and mortar. He had let go, completely, of who he might have been in the past. The exercises that he and Ginger went through to try to recover his memory, from hypnosis, light therapy, trauma induced memory retrieval, did not work. After not even a modicum of success, felt that he spent an appropriate amount of time trying to regain his memory. He accepted the fact that his memory was gone. That he would be best to move forward. Not to look back. It was simple really. There wasn’t anything to look back on. So he began his life at Statesman.

—-

His awareness circled back to Statesman HQ, to their stateroom and fully to the present moment.  Ginger was explaining the last of the progress he had made during his year at Statesman.  He had finally reached a point of satisfaction with what was his life. Was he looking for more? Perhaps. Contentment wasn’t a natural state for him. There was always room for growth, for learning new things, and having new experiences.

However, ironically, not just because of the amnesia, he was not one for looking back. He felt that he had always been this way. Now, here were three individuals who were asking him to do just that. Asking him very earnestly, sincerely, and genuinely. 

Like the girl had said, his instincts would be triggered if they were being dishonest or withholding information.  He believed they were telling the truth and had nothing to hide. But for once, he was at a loss.  What was he to do with this information?  Was it even possible to be the person they wanted him to be? He was looking for an answer, but could find none.

He tested the weight of his questions. Was this a burden that he wanted to carry? Does a past that you can’t remember even matter? Should it even? Perhaps the only reason would be to recognise the relationships with those who still remembered you. Where was the honesty in that situation? Wouldn’t faking a past that you can’t remember be just as bad as pretending that you are the person that you used to be. While organising these questions in the folders of his mind, he kept his face calm and neutral. He didn’t have to decide anything at this moment. But he did need to establish boundaries.

He couldn’t give an answer to these three individuals. But what he could do was help them in their current situation. Help them find out who had destroyed their agency, what they were planning and how to stop them. At least, that he could offer. That, he could do. The rest would still be there. Problems, if ignored, only became more vexing. He would look at them later. Perhaps the answer would come to him.

“My sincere apologies.” He started. 

“Ginger is correct. I suffer from amnesia and I recall nothing about my history. Nothing prior to my time recovering here at Statesman. While I retain the skills and knowledge that I possessed in the past, I do not have any memory as to how or why I have them.

“We have tried every means available to recover my memories, with no success.” 

“But we are here now.” Merlin interrupted, encouraged. “We can remind you. Perhaps trigger something that makes you remember.”

“We can help. He’s right. “ Eggsy added. “Who knows more about you, than Merlin?”

Roxy nodded in agreement.

It was probably the first time the group looked somewhat enthusiastic.

Ginger interrupted. She was worried about this. She would have to be the one to grab their hopes and tether them back to reality. 

“Not to discredit your suggestion. If this were a different case, then yes, there is the possibility that it would work. But when someone is suffering from retrograde amnesia, unfortunately, their memory cannot be recovered by simply being informed about their personal experiences and their identity. What you are referring to is called the reminder effect. This would consist of re-exposing the patient to past personal information. This can work for other types of amnesia, but simply giving Harry details of his life won’t help him retrieve memories.”

Eggsy eyes narrowed. He was dubious. He was convinced something they said or told him could surely open up the gates to Harry’s memory. They just needed to try.  They just needed a chance. They hadn’t even had the opportunity to say anything to him at all. They looked toward Harry, imploringly.

Harry was his usual respectful, attentive self. But his expression was guarded and he was quiet.

Their frustration limped across the table in his direction. Ginger needed to redirect.

These people had been through hell and back. But Harry was her patient. And he was Statesman now, regardless of his pinstripe suit, his accent, or his British mannerisms. As much as she sympathised with their situation, there was the risk that Harry’s progress would stall or that he could relapse. The worst thing they could do would be to insist Harry be someone he no longer was under the misguided notion that they were helping him. Harry would be trapped, defeated and they would only face disappointment.  Ginger arranged the words carefully before she spoke.

“Memories are exceedingly intricate. But to simplify, making a memory involves storing information in the brain as a specific pattern of electrical activity.” she explained.

While avoiding excess jargon, she wanted to emphasise the complexity of Harry’s memory loss. If only it were as simple as forgetting something and not being able to remember.

“When we recall a memory, we recreate the pattern of electrical activity that formed it in the first place. This information is then distributed across different regions in the brain to retrieve the memory.  Injury in any part of this circuit can fracture memory function.  It’s not that the synapses, the path, necessary to make these connections, is blocked. It’s much more than that. There’s nothing at the end of the path. There’s nothing to retrieve. It is as if the memory was never made. It’s not hidden. It’s not in the subconscious. It’s not filed somewhere deep in his psyche. It simply does not exist.”

Disheartened. Dejected. Depressed. The three of them were the dictionary definitions. Ginger sighed. Being the bearer of bad news was never a party, but this was less than enjoyable.  However, she wanted to explain as much as she could so Harry wouldn’t have to. He had made so much progress in the past year. It had to be unsettling to face an unknown past, when you had made so much effort to be in the present.

Getting to her point. “Unfortunately, there is no established cure for retrograde amnesia memory loss. There’s no magic drug or deep-brain stimulation that jolts memories back into the mind. I wish there were. If recovery does happen, it largely occurs on its own.  With amnesia as a result of brain trauma, If you're really lucky, new pathways form among the remaining brain cells, like in stroke victims, or other parts of the brain take over from the damaged areas in what we call neural plasticity. But that is very rare.”

“Sometimes, the reminder treatment is more than ineffective, it can also be harmful. Too often, the stories people tell amnesiacs sound like someone else's life and it can be unsettling to them. Witnessing the disappointment of past friends, colleagues, and family when they can’t remember, or be the person who they used to to be, can be emotionally damaging. Having people tell you how to think and feel, or that you’re not who you are supposed to be can be distressing.”  

 “I don’t mean to be discouraging or unsympathetic. It’s crucial for us, for our own sakes, but most of all, for Harry’s,” she placed her hand on his forearm for emphasis, “ that we are realistic.” She wanted to be very clear as she drew her hand back and made her final, essential point “Do not make expectations that can only result in disappointment.”

As Eggsy, Merlin and Roxy discussed Harry’s future with the other Statesmen, Harry claimed this time to examine the three faces across the table. He set aside any of their mannerisms, agitations, conflicts that were due to the current circumstance and concentrated on what he believed to be their true and natural state. He didn’t try to analyse them, judge them or question what he saw. He tried to feel them. To feel the look in their eyes, to feel the expressions on their faces, to feel the quality of their movements.

He closed his eyes for a moment and just listened, not to their words, but to hear the sound of their voices. He felt their vibration.  Not only to see if anything sparked in his mind, but viscerally. A reflex, an intuition, a sensation that stirred something deep rooted in his bones. 

But his mind and his body were quiet and still.

It was time for him to speak up. Before he addressed them directly, sat up even straighter. Tall and silent. He did not make any of the usual gestures he did when preparing to take over a conversation. Familiar movements of brushing something non-existent off his suit, adjusting his cuffs, running his hand along the back of his hair, adjusting his glasses. He was still. His hands were clasped and rested on the table. 

Only seconds ticked by until everyone quieted along with him. Their heads all turned in the same direction. Harry could always pull attention to him without saying a word. 

He was also not one to hold back words that needed to be said. Time would be lost and nothing would be gained.  He did not want them to get their hopes up. He did not want to them to expect something from him that he could not deliver. 

For the second time, he opened with an apology. “I’m very sorry.” His eyes were sympathetic. 

They had the feeling he was preparing them for bad news.

His words were sure and resolute. There was no hesitation. No wavering. When Harry made a decision, he was firm.

“I do not remember Kingsman.” 

He shifted his weight forward in his chair, resting his elbows and forearms on the table and folded his hands together. It was a gesture of familiarity. He spoke directly to them, as if they were having a conversation. It wasn’t just reciting a statement. He knew, full well, they would be affected by his words. He knew that they would not be the words they wanted to hear. He knew it would be painful for them to be on the receiving end of his words, not matter how gently and honestly he delivered them. He would serve them by being unguarded, unreserved and up front.

He paused so they could process what he was telling them. 

“Prior to your arrival, I was not even aware of its existence.” He added frankly.

“I do not recall any relationships I may have had currently or in the past.” He spoke plainly.

“As much as you may want me to, and I recognise that you do, and I understand where that need comes from, I cannot say, in all honesty, that I know you.” 

Harry was nothing if not direct. 

His eyes held each of theirs. He saw the dejection in their faces. He could not help but feel empathetic. It was obvious that, whoever he was in the past, these people cared for him very deeply. Perhaps even loved. But for Harry, he was never this person and he was never one to fake an emotion he didn’t feel. 

He was compassionate, but firm. "I’m unable to say I even recognise you. I want to make it abundantly clear that I am not the man you used to know. I may look like him, I may sound like him, at times I may even act like him. But I am not him.” His voice was kind now. His face was gentle. His expression no longer guarded. 

“However meaningful your relationship was, no matter how strong the connection, I am unable to reciprocate in a way that would honor that bond.”

With an honesty and an openheartedness that touched all their raw wounds, he offered.

“It’s not that I can’t remember the Harry I used to be. Or that I do not care. It’s obvious that your relationship with this man was very important, very meaningful, to all of you.” 

He softened both his voice and his manner.  

“It is, that this person you used to know, in my eyes, he never existed.” His face gentled. Became grave and solemn, almost tender. 

“Do you understand?” 

And for Roxy, Eggsy and Merlin, that perhaps was the most painful moment of all. Because with the kindness they heard in his voice, and the softness they saw in his eyes, the way he held his concern for them, on his sleeve where they could see it, he was in that moment, everything that they knew and loved. He was their Harry Hart. He was their Galahad. 

-----

Whew! If you got this far thanks for reading. Let me know what you think, good, bad, funny, dumb, sad, WTF? Whatever.  

Always feel free to reblog, share with someone else who thought TGC had sooo much more potential. Or was pissed that they killed off Roxy. And don’t even get me started on Merlin....

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