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im-a-wonderling · 5 days

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Speaking in Tongues, Part 2 ~ Harry Potter

Summary: Harry teaches Y/N, the wild Ravenclaw, how to speak Parseltongue.

Warnings: none

Word count: 3.1k

Here’s part 1 if you missed it!

Native to Southeast Asia, Large-eyed Pit Vipers, also known as Green Pit Vipers, are unique for several reasons. When the viper’s fangs aren’t in use, they fold back into the roof of the viper’s mouth. The viper doesn’t use its venom every time it bites, as venom cannot be regenerated quickly and is usually reserved for prey. Even if they regulate their venom, these rare snakes are highly venomous and endangered due to their popularity in the exotic pet trade. Ironically, Large-eyed Pit Vipers are known to be moody and strike if–

“Oi, Harry!”

Harry jerked his head up. “What?” he said breathlessly, adrenaline shooting through his body, making his heart pound. “What’s wrong?”

Ron and Hermione, sitting across the table from him, shared looks. “You’re muttering to yourself,” Hermione said.

Harry blinked, reorienting himself away from the world of words.

Lunch in the Great Hall was in full swing.

Professor Sprout was trying to stop a food-fight over at the end of the Gryffindor table, and from the looks of it, she wasn’t being successful. An avid debate was taking place between one bench from the Slytherin table and one from the Ravenclaw table, about what Harry couldn’t surmise, while a pair of Slytherins were eating their food as fast as they could, perhaps racing each other. A group of Hufflepuffs were rowdily playing what looked like Go Fish in the corner while another group laughed hysterically.

Now that Harry was aware of his surroundings, the noise was nearly deafening.

The threads of life were all around him, and yet nowhere in this tumultuous tapestry could Harry find Y/N. He’d looked for her during dinner last night, this morning, and again now, but she wasn’t seated at any of the tables. Did she ever eat? Or in all her curiosity, had she discovered a way to bypass the need for sustenance?

A young Hufflepuff girl looked up, made eye contact with Harry, and immediately ducked her head, her cheeks flushed.

Harry rolled his eyes. Apparently, nothing said ‘eligible bachelor’ like saving the world, and the world never let him rest. Every magazine and newspaper ran stories about his love life (which was quiet), ads for glasses that were supposedly the kind he wore (when clearly they weren’t), or pictures of Harry shirtless (he still didn’t know how they got ahold of those). The only magazine that didn’t was The Quibbler, because Xenophilius Lovegood preferred to share musings about whether Harry’s cologne was derived from Bundimun secretions.

Harry turned back to his friends to see both of their heads cranked to the side like their left ears were made of lead.

“All You Need to Know About Snakes?” Ron read off. “What are you reading that for, you haven’t had enough of snakes?”

“A class.” Harry returned to the book.

–strike if antagonized. Another distinctive trait of these vipers are the ridges on the edge of their scales, making them rough to the touch.

“Harry.”

Harry sighed, holding his finger to the page to mark his place. “What?”

“It’s lunchtime, mate,” Ron said slowly. “Not study hall.”

“I’m not hungry.” Harry looked down, but before he could resume, the book got tugged away from him. “Hey!”

Hermione reoriented the book, her eyes sliding down the page. Ron poked his head over her shoulder. “Large-eyed Pit Vipers?” Ron read. “They aren’t even magical creatures.”

Harry reached out for the book. “Your point?”

“This isn’t on our curriculum.” Hermione would know, she was taking nearly every class available to seventh years. “Why are you really reading this?”

“No reason.” Harry avoided looking anywhere in the direction of the Ravenclaw table, but a flush crept across his cheeks. The flush only deepened when Ron raised an eyebrow.

“Harry,” Hermione said, looking very serious, “is there something you need to tell us?”

Harry made a face. Someday, if Hermione had kids, they would be on the receiving end of the same question, and they would like it even less than he did. “Nope,” he said shortly.

“Harry.”

“Considering I’ve asked neither of you about the mark on Hermione’s neck, I think we can all agree that there are some things we keep private.” Ron’s ears went red while Hermione’s hand flew to cover up what was obviously a hickey a centimeter underneath her ear. Clearly it was recent as Hermione hadn’t used a charm or even muggle makeup to cover it up.

Harry shook his head, getting to his feet as he slung his bag over his arm. “I’ll see you guys in the common room later?”

Hermione, face still flaming, muttered something under her breath while Ron scratched behind his ear.

Harry strode out of the Great Hall, ignoring all the eyes that trailed him out the door.

The eyes that followed him everywhere.

He let out a sigh as he climbed the stairs to get to the library. From the moment Harry entered the Wizarding World, he’d dealt with publicity, first because of his name and then because of his adventures. But now that he was no longer a boy, the publicity had changed. The wizards and witches who’d been hungry for details about him, pictures with him, and his autograph were now hungry for other things. More invasive things. Things that after the war, Harry wasn’t ready to give anybody. Not even Ginny.

Ron and Hermione were now famous too, but Ron had always wanted recognition and Hermione used the attention for all her causes, like S.P.E.W.

All Harry ever wanted was normalcy.

He chuckled dryly to himself. Harry probably couldn’t recognize ‘normal’ if it set his robes on fire.

He entered the library just as Madam Pince walked past. “Shh!” she hushed.

Harry didn’t bother to respond. He simply passed her and went deeper and deeper into the library, finding a table in the corner. If he was going to be communicating with Eleanor and teaching Y/N to do the same, they needed to be as far away from judgemental eyes as possible. How would his fame in the wizarding world change if he was seen speaking Parseltongue? If there was a chance at being forgotten, even due to disgrace, Harry should’ve tried to teach Parseltongue sooner.

Harry nervously tapped the table, glancing at the clock.

Had Y/N forgotten they were supposed to meet? She seemed the scatterbrained type, so Harry shouldn’t have been surprised that she hadn’t shown up. Except that…she’d been determined to learn parseltongue, so determined that she’d practically strong-armed Harry into doing it.

Harry’s eyes slid to his bag and the book inside it.

Glancing around to make sure there was still no sign of Y/N, he pulled the book out.

Like every other snake, Large-eyed Pit Vipers possess an unnerving stare due to their lack of eyelids, but individual to the Large-eyed Pit Vipers are the two infrared-sensing pits for which these vipers are named for. These pits between the viper’s eyes and nostrils allow them to sense heat signatures while they hunt for their prey in the dark of night.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“Finally,” Harry muttered, putting the book down. “It’s past–” He stopped.

Y/N slid into the seat across from him, carelessly dropping her school bag onto the floor with a resounding thud that didn’t sound like books. Judging by the rosiness of her face, she’d just come out of the cold, but melting snowflakes weren’t the only thing stuck in her hair. Twigs, a bit of moss, and…were those…dried caterpillars?

“You, urm, you have stuff in your hair.”

Y/N ran her hands once through the tangled mess, causing the debris to shift. “Did I get it?”

“No, you just–here.” Harry reached forward, delicately pulling all the bits of nature out. Where had she been? And how had she reached the library before the snowflakes could fully melt? The library wasn’t close to the courtyard or anywhere in the grounds. Was it a secret passage or had she come through a window?

“Thanks.” Y/N reached into her pocket and pulled out Eleanor, placing her on the table. “Okay, let’s start.”

Oh.

No faffing about with pleasantries, apparently. Straight to business.

“Okay, um…” Harry looked at Eleanor, who was watching him intently. The book was right; her stare was unnerving. SeethaaSsssHathehhHathehhAyaeeh.

The end of Eleanor’s tail twitched. SeethaaSsssHathehhHathehhAyaeeh SeethaaaHaaHasseeyHasseeyHaaaaaah, she replied.

“What did you say?” Y/N cut in. “What did she say?”

“I said hello, and she said hello.”

“Say it again,” she demanded.

SeethaaSsssHathehhHathehhAyaeeh, Harry repeated, trying to say it slower this time.

Y/N looked dead-on into his eyes. Ssssssehhhhhhhhhhhathhhhhhhhh.

Harry coughed to disguise his laugh. Eleanor, however, was far from amused. She wriggled closer to Harry, away from her owner, clearly caught off guard to hear Y/N attempting to speak Parseltongue, even if Y/N hadn’t actually said anything discernable.

Y/N looked at Eleanor, then at Harry, and then Eleanor again. “What? What did I say?”

“Nothing really.”

His answer didn’t seem to satisfy her. Her eyebrows drew close together, creating a somewhat adorable pucker in between them. Sseettthhhhhhhayaaaa, she tried again.

Eleanor’s head poked forward and started excitedly rocking back and forth.

Y/N looked up at Harry. “What did I say?”

“Um, well, you sorta said hello.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Sort of?”

“An improper hello,” Harry said.

“Say it the proper way again,” she demanded.

And that’s how it continued to go.

It might’ve been odious to continually switch between having a conversation, translating, and teaching, had it not been for Y/N’s focus. She approached it head on, without a care for incompetence or imperfection. She didn’t even seem to pay any attention to their surroundings, wholeheartedly focused on Harry and Eleanor.

Had Harry been enjoying himself less, he would’ve noticed he felt some sort of safe haven, a bubble of sorts in that moment. But for the first time in a while, he wasn’t thinking about the war, his friends, Ginny, his safety, Quidditch, his failing heart, nor anything else of material consequence.

Harry’s hand lay on the table, palm up to allow Eleanor—who was still off-put by Y/N’s attempts to communicate—to curl around his fingers.

Y/N screwed up her face in concentration. SethaSsHatheHatheAyaeeh.

Eleanor abandoned Harry’s hand, slithering closer to her owner with great excitement. HassayHasseeyAayaaSsssSeyythaaSsaah! Y/N broke out into a huge smile, not needing Harry’s translation to know she’d successfully spoken Parseltongue. She affectionately rubbed a hand down Eleanor’s scales.

Harry grinned at the two of them, a swirling sense of accomplishment making him feel a bit giddy. Even if her pronunciation was a little off, she’d succeeded in saying something. Maybe it really was possible for someone to learn Parseltongue.

Y/N looked up at Harry, opening her mouth to say something, but her gaze jumped over Harry’s shoulder.

“Miss Y/L/N!” came a shout, and it took Harry a minute to realize it was Madam Pince’s voice, which he’d never heard louder than a stern mutter.

Y/N scooped up her bag. “Time to go!” Harry had just enough time to grab his own bag before Y/N dragged him towards the winding staircase that led to the next floor of the library.

“Why are we running?” Harry asked breathlessly, trying to keep up.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs two at a time. “I’m technically banned from the library.”

Harry stopped to gape, but Y/N seized his arm and pulled him along just as Madam Pince came around the bookshelf. “Miss Y/L/N!”

Harry hadn’t ever seen her look so displeased, and Madam Pince always looked displeased. He also didn’t know it was even possible for a student to be banned from the library, but if anyone could find a way to make the impossible possible, his money was on Y/N.

“Miss Y/L/N, you have thirty seconds to leave, or I shall tell the headmaster!” Madam Pince screeched as they reached the second floor.

“Maybe we should–” Before Harry could finish, Y/N sprinted towards the Restricted Section of the library. “Where are you going?”

The ravenclaw came to a skidding halt in front of the last bookshelf before the locked doors of the Restricted Section, reaching out to touch the shelves.

“Are we hiding?” Harry asked, running to her side with a hand pressed to his aching chest as his overloaded and half-dead heart desperately tried to keep pace.

Y/N shook her head. “We’re leaving.”

“Miss Y/L/N!”

Y/N glanced at Harry with a sideways grin. “Hold your breath.” Before Harry could ask or do anything, she pressed a notch in the wood, and then the whole world slid away as the ground fell out from under Harry.

He let out a yelp as he slipped through a tunnel barely big enough to contain him. Indeed, as he rushed downwards through the narrowing tunnel, he wondered if he was going to get stuck.

He only just remembered Y/N’s advice and sucked in a large breath before the slick gray walls of the tunnel disappeared to reveal dazzling sunlight.

And the next thing Harry knew, he was underwater.

He desperately held his breath, but he didn’t have much to hold. Already, his chest was building up in pressure, begging him for more air. But before Harry could get his wand, something large wrapped around his torso, trapping his arms. He fought, trying to free them, but the thing was pushing him upwards.

Then his head broke the surface, and he gasped, inhaling a great big breath. Looking down, he saw the thing around his body was a giant tentacle.

The Giant Squid.

Barely had the thought entered his mind before the giant tentacle propelled Harry through the water with so much speed, Harry nearly skinned his knees on the rocks of the lake when the water grew shallower. The tentacle released him, and Harry crawled the rest of the way, rolling onto his back on the shore.

His chest was burning, the sign that he’d overdone it.

“Thank you, Selva!” Y/N called from beside him, getting to her feet.

Catching his breath, Harry sat up and pulled off his right shoe, tipping it over to expel all the water. “The giant squid’s name…is Selva?”

“Squidish names aren’t like human names, silly,” Y/N replied, not even bothering to wring out her hair or her soaking robes. Instead, she drew out Eleanor from her pocket, who wound herself agitatedly around Y/N’s wrist. “I call him Selva because he loves Selva shrimp. I had to bribe him so that he wouldn’t keep pushing me out of the lake when I was trying to talk to the Selkies.”

“I didn’t know–” Harry broke off with a wince, clutching his chest as his heart gave a particularly resentful throb. He took deep breaths like Madame Pomfrey taught him and the ache subsided. “I didn’t know you could feed the squid.”

He glanced up at Y/N to see her staring at him. “You have chest pain?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Harry rubbed at his sternum.

Suddenly, Y/N was in front of him, dripping all over his robes. “Does it hurt worse with exertion?” she asked, reaching forward to prod Harry’s chest. “Do you ever feel lightheaded? Or dizzy?”

“Umm…” Harry looked down, feeling her fingers pressing down on the space between his collarbones. “Yes?”

“Does it feel like it’s beating out of your chest?”

“Er…sometimes?”

“What did Madam Pomfrey say?”

Harry just stared at Y/N, suddenly feeling suspicious. How would she have known he went to Madam Pomfrey?

“You’re having chest pain, and you didn’t go to the Hospital Wing?” Y/N asked, arching a brow.

“Of course I went,” Harry snapped, not wanting her to think him any sort of idiot. “She doesn’t know what it is…exactly…”

Y/N lifted her brows. “She doesn’t?”

“No. It’s just one of the perks of coming back from the dead.”

Y/N froze, her wide eyes unblinking. “You came back from the dead?”

Harry stared back at her. Did…did she not know the story? Everyone in the Wizarding World plus their grandma knew Harry’s story. “Yes,” he said shortly, deciding he didn’t want to unpack it. “I did.”

Y/N didn’t react for a moment, and Harry feared she was just taking her time to figure out what burning question to ask first. Surely this girl, the most curious being he’d ever met, would ask him all manner of things about his strange resurrection. But then Y/N surprised him yet again: instead of asking anything or even opening her mouth, she sat down next to him. As he watched, she dug her hand into her book bag and drew out a jar. Then, with her eyes trained on the rocks, she started shifting through them, grabbing hold of a tubeworm that she must’ve spotted.

Harry watched her, utterly bewildered by this person so much more concerned with a tubeworm than with a story about coming back from the dead.

But then again…maybe it was wiser to focus on the living more than on the dead.

As he watched her lift the jar to scrutinize the worm with her scholarly eye, Harry gazed at her, feeling his own curiosity rise.

Who was this girl, this student with such a violent hunger for information that never went to class and somehow got herself banned from the library?

Y/N rotated the jar slowly this way and that as the tube worm wriggled so differently from how Eleanor moved. Harry had just decided that the Ravenclaw had forgotten all about him when she softly said: “We like to think we know all there is to know about magic.” She stowed the jar in her bag, fixing him with a grave stare. “We like to believe that when people invent new spells or create new potions or discover new creatures, it’s just us using what we already know in slightly different ways.”

Harry was extremely confused, but sensed she wasn’t finished yet and wisely chose to just stay quiet.

“It doesn’t matter whether one is a muggle or a wizard…or a house elf…or a centaur or giant or vampire. It isn’t seemly to wonder so much about the unknown. And yet…” she trailed off, glancing out over the lake before her eyes roved over to the Forbidden Forest. Some sort of sparkle shone in her eyes, as if the very curiosity she spoke of was manifesting as diamonds.

Harry got to his feet. “And yet?” he asked in spite of himself, so taken in by that sparkle.

“And yet,” was all Y/N said. “I’ll see you around, Potter.” And with that, she strolled away towards the forest, looking to all the world as though she was following a calling.

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry fanfic #harry fanfiction #hp #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic #parseltongue #snakes #hogwarts #ravenclaw #ravenclaw!reader

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im-a-wonderling · 21 days

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Hollow Victory

Here y'all, have this late on a Friday night. Thank @sassysaxxy for bullying me into posting it.

Villain took a deep breath and let it out slowly, looking around with contentment.

It’d rained earlier in the day, evident by the pleasant smell hanging in the air as well as the puddles on the roof, reflecting the pinks and oranges thrown into the air by the setting sun. A little farther in the distance, she spied the bridge crossing the river that split their city in two.

If she leaned forward slightly, she could see the street 22 stories below, the headlights of the cars winking as the cars weaved around each other. She did so, tracing with her eyes a disjointed pattern in the lights pouring from about half of the windows of the building beneath her feet.

From where she stood, she could see the whole city, and the fact that it was her building made the view that much sweeter.

It was a good day.

Villain signed the deal an hour ago, the deal that would secure the future of this company, the one she built from the ground up with her bare hands all by herself. There was nothing anyone could do to screw this up for her. With this victory, Villain was one step closer to–

The sound of a shoe whispering against concrete reached her ears, and she whirled around, hands raised.

“Hero,” she remarked. “What are you doing here?”

Villain didn’t get an answer.

She studied her nemesis, attempting to figure out his next move. Surely he was primed and ready to…to…

Were those jeans? And sneakers? Yes, Hero himself stood in front of her wearing a black t-shirt, blue jeans, and red sneakers that looked as though they’d lived more life than Hero himself. Villain opened her mouth, ready to deliver the first verbal blow in their regularly scheduled discourse when she stopped.

It wasn’t his clothing that gave her pause, but rather the expression on Hero’s face.

There was no trace of his youthful dimples, nor the ever-wearying smile that was his initial offensive strike against her. His shoulders rounded inwards, bearing no similarity to the confident posture he normally sported. And his eyes. Settled on her face as they were, she had the perfect vantage point to see the severity they held.

Add that to the lack of brightly-colored spandex…

“What are you doing?” she asked suspiciously, trying to figure out his angle.

Hero held out his hands, palm up. “Take them.”

“What–” Villain began.

“Take my powers.”

Villain blinked. And then blinked again. “What did you say?” she asked calmly, betraying none of her confusion.

“Take my powers.” Hero said it again with no hesitation whatsoever.

Villain cocked her head. “Why are you doing this?”

“Take them,” Hero growled through his teeth, giving Villain the distinct image of a collared dog. Villain fell back half a step. Hero’s face darkened. “You’ve been trying to take my powers for months. Now I’m offering them to you, and you’re hesitating?”

That made Villain rethink her life choices far more than any of his monologues about good and evil. She gaped at Hero, trying to find her words.

“Take them.” Hero advanced, and Villain fell back another step, gripped with uncertainty. “Take them!”

Villain cringed. “Stop it!”

“Take them!” Hero roared, holding his hands out farther. “Take them!”

Villain backed up, her heel running into the step serving as the only separation from the fall. “S-stay back!”

“Take them!” Hero bellowed.“JUST TAKE THEM!”

“I WON’T!”

Hero crumpled forward, so suddenly that Villain worried she’d unintentionally done something to him. But then Hero’s whole body shook with the force of the strangled sobs.

Villain stared at him as he looked up at her, tears streaming from his eyes. “Take them,” Hero croaked in between sniffs. “Please.”

If this was some kicked-puppy routine, it wasn’t necessarily working, but it was far more original than any of Hero’s other schemes. Villain lowered her hands. She’d always wanted Hero on his hands and knees before her like a peasant before a king, but not like this. This would be a hollow victory.

Something was wrong, and Villain had a sinking suspicion she knew what it was.

“Hero, who did you hurt?” The rhythm of his sobs increased, and Villain swore underneath her breath, knowing she was right. “Did you kill someone?”

Hero pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and shook his head.

She let out a breath. “Are they okay?”

Hero shook his head again, unable to speak in between the strangled breaths and messy crying.

“Who was it?”

The question ripped through him. Still with his hands over his face, he pressed his face into the pavement.

Villain watched him.

He was right; she had been trying to take his powers for months. Her victorious evening would double if she succeeded.

Villain inched forward, cautiously reaching out her hand, waiting for Hero to grab it and somehow gain the upper hand. But he remained where he was, bent over and crying.

Tears like this couldn’t be faked.

When she finally rested a hand on Hero’s head, Hero didn’t flinch. In fact, his slender fingers wrapped around her wrist, holding her hand in place against his head. His body slumped, as if he was relieved.

But Villain didn’t activate her powers.

She slid her hand down to his jaw, propping her finger to lift his face. His red eyes were still overflowing with water, and a small bubble of snot popped as he looked up at her with the desperation of a cornered and beaten dog.

She shook herself. This was a ploy, it wasn’t real. He’d heard about her deal, and he came here to knock her down a peg, to humiliate her by tricking her into showing compassion.

Her heart pulling in one direction and her mind pulling in the other, Villain followed her mind, turning away from Hero, once again facing the city, trying to focus on the view.

But Hero’s resumed cries from behind her tugged at a deep-rooted thread, the sound echoing ones she’d heard before. Ones she’d made before.

She glanced up at the clouds as if asking them how she’d gotten into this situation. “I was eight when my mom came up behind me and scared me.”

Given how loud Hero’s crying was, she didn’t know if he could hear her. Somehow, that made it easier to keep talking. “She was trying to be silly, she didn’t know any better, but my powers just reacted.”

His cries subsided slightly.

“I was scared, and…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “She was only in the hospital for a few hours, but she never looked at me the same.”

Hero’s crying stopped, aside from the occasional hiccup.

She turned back around to see Hero had pushed himself up onto his knees. He didn’t bother to wipe away the traces of tears, nor the ones building in his eyes. He simply watched her, hanging on her every word.

“It happens. I’m not saying it’s good or right or that it isn’t your fault. I’m saying it happens.”

At this, Hero shook his head. “I want to be able to hug people,” he whispered. “I want to be normal.”

“I used to think the same,” Villain whispered. What was she doing?! She was conversing with the enemy, she was…divulging! But the heartbreak on Hero’s face was one she’d walked around with for years. “If you still want them gone in a month…I’ll take them.”

Hero’s face grew more haggard. “A month? Why won’t you just take them now?”

“I can’t give them back, Hero. Once they’re gone, they’re gone. And you’d feel differently about it if you watched someone get hurt when you could’ve saved them.”

Hero fell silent, and she knew he was wrestling with his pesky conscience, just like she knew he’d never return home to his family tonight. He needed to work through his guilt away from them.

“This is the reality of being a hero,” Villain said softly. “Being a hero doesn’t free you from feeling pain.”

Hero exhaled, the sound muffled and stuffy. “Does being a villain?”

“I’m afraid not.” Villain pursed her lips. “Pain is the great human affliction.”

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

#hero x villain #heroes and villains #hero #villain #superpowers #supervillain #superhero

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im-a-wonderling · 23 days

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Eyes, Part 5 ~ Anakin Skywalker

Summary: Knowing if she makes the wrong move, her love or her life will end catastrophically, Y/N grapples with the decision before her.

Warnings: unedited

Word count: 3.1k

Eyes masterlist

Vader’s cloak disappeared around the corner, and you sank to your knees, trying to hold the emotion in, to keep yourself from fracturing. But the harder you tried to contain it, the greater the pain grew.

Finally, a choked sob broke through your lips, and the dam broke.

All the heartache of the last few months came crashing down. Your whole life had been suspended since Order 66, as if you’d died with all the other Jedi. There were some days where you wondered if you should’ve, if only so that you didn’t have to live on in this way. If you’d died that day, you never would’ve learned what happened to Anakin, and you’d die believing that somehow, the two of you would be reunited.

But this?

This was the height of cruelty.

The tears fell like falling stars, and on them, you wished you could rewrite the past. It would have been better to have died than to live through tragedy such as this.

Vader didn’t come back.

You waited in the escape pod bay for a long time, pulling yourself together in preparation for his return. But your only company were the stormtroopers guarding the door.

Is that it then? you wondered as you finally got to your feet and traipsed back to your chambers, the stormtroopers never more than two paces away. Had Vader given up? Was he simply going to turn you over to the Emperor?

The thought normally would’ve made you seize with fear. Instead, you sat on the bed, staring at nothing.

If this was the end, then it was the end. What could possibly be the point in fighting it anymore?

Hope had fluttered away with its fragile wings, probably somewhere where it could be acted upon instead of clung to like an inch of rope in a deep, dark chasm.

You had no lightsaber after Vader sliced it in two, no supplies, nothing of value. Even if you somehow managed to ditch your stormtrooper escort long enough to get to the escape pod bay, it would be naive of you to think Vader wouldn’t send ships after you, or come after you himself.

There was no way out.

In a few hours, you would die at the hands of the Emperor. Your only comfort was to know that you would be freed from this miserable existence and join with the thousands of other Jedi before you.

The door of your chamber slid open.

You didn’t bother getting up because it wasn’t Vader. You couldn’t feel his darkness through the Force.

“Food for the prisoner.”

You turned your head just in time to see a stormtrooper set the tray down on the nightstand by your bed.

“I’m not hungry,” you replied, your voice tired and soft. “Take it away.”

The doors shut, leaving you alone with the stormtrooper, who didn’t move. “Didn’t you hear me?” you asked crossly. “I don’t want it!”

“In twenty minutes,” the stormtrooper said quietly, “right when this ship passes Asmall, the Rebel Alliance is going to attack.”

You leapt to your feet, staring at him.

“You’ve already found the escape pod bay. I’ll incapacitate the guards outside your door. Get yourself to the bay and off the ship, and the Rebels will take care of the rest.” He gave a quick nod before opening your door.

You almost called after him, but the sight of the two troopers outside your door made you stop.

The door slid closed, and you sat on your bed, heart thumping and your hands shaking in response to the sudden rush of hope. Was this a trick? Or was it real? Even if it was a trick, you decided, dying while trying to get away was better than dying for the Emperor’s amusement.

You felt the darkness a mere moment before the door slid open again. You stayed seated where you were, staring up at Vader.

Taking his time, Vader stepped into the room.

The door remained open, allowing the two stormtroopers outside to follow him in.

Your heart picked up. Vader always seemed to want privacy for your conversations before…so what did it mean if he no longer did now?

“This is…your last chance.”

The unasked question hung in the air, as if Vader already knew your answer and wanted to draw out the time before he received it.

You eyed the stormtroopers warily. For all you knew, if you refused, they were prepared to drag you off and throw you in an actual cell again. If you said yes, did you have a better chance of still getting away whenever the Rebel Alliance started attacking the ship? If you said yes, even just as a way of stalling until you got away, would you be able to stomach it?

Even your heart aflame with the hope of getting away, you knew your answer. “I won’t.”

Vader took a long, rattling breath. “Why not?”

“You know why.” You got to your feet and walked to the other side of the bed, putting more distance in between you and them.

“You don’t want to take part…in any more loss of life.” Vader stepped closer. “But you were willing…to kill me…when we fought.”

Blindsided, you took a step back. “I–”

“I felt it…you cannot deny…the darkness.”

“It’s different. The galaxy would be better off if I killed you.”

One of the stormtroopers behind Vader shifted slightly. Vader addressed them without turning: “Stand guard over the door.”

The stormtroopers scurried away. Fear started wafting through the room as you held your breath, waiting for what Vader would do.

Vader hit the button for the door with his fist, and it slid closed.

He remained where he was, with his back to you. “Y/N…I…”

Silence fell, but you knew it wasn’t because he was trying to catch his breath. It was because he didn’t know what to say. You blinked, and Vader was suddenly in front of you, without so much as a whisper of his boots across the floor. Your breath caught in your chest, for you’d never seen Vader move that quickly. “If you do not…join the Empire–”

“I will be killed,” you whispered. The Force inside you pulsed in response to the fear that rushed through you. But fear had never been a stranger. “So be it.”

“Does our history…mean nothing?” Even though his voice hadn’t changed, you felt the current of desperation in the words.

“If you are not Anakin, then why should our history mean anything?” you argued. “Why should I trust you? If you’re not Anakin, why would I have any reason to join you?”

It was disturbing to know from Vader’s silence that he was struggling to compose himself yet being completely unable to see it. “Because…I love you.”

“Anakin is the only man who ever loved me, and you say he is dead.”

“Anakin died…when this body burned.”

“Oh, I think the true Anakin died long before that body burned.” Your soft words fell like bombs, and you could’ve sworn the room darkened. “It doesn’t matter if you’re him or you’re not.” You swallowed hard, trying to keep your nerve. “Anakin was a sith. Darth Vader is a sith. Nothing changes.”

Silence fell once more.

Vader remained still, and while the Force seemed to be swarming around him, your head was clear and your heart was resolute.

Then his arms were moving, and you shut your eyes, convinced you were finally going to feel the famed chokehold around your neck. And in spite of yourself, you were so grateful that it would end at his hands and not the Emperor’s.

But instead of a pressure on your throat, you felt two arms wrap around you. There was no warmth or softness to this body, and when the arms pulled you into Vader’s chest, the electronic panel there dug into your torso. You’d never been held by a droid, but you imagined this is what it would feel like. You were about to pull away from his embrace when you heard it.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

You squeezed your eyes shut, and a solitary tear fell down your cheek as you sucked in a ragged breath. You could hear Anakin’s…Vader’s heart. The heart you’d once longed for, received, and then lost.

One of Vader’s hands came to the back of your neck, cradling you just like Anakin used to do. “Does my love…mean nothing?”

You drew away from him, not bothering to hide the tears. “Attachment isn’t love,” you said, your voice shaking. “But I guess Anakin Skywalker always struggled with that.”

Vader cocked his head, and you braced yourself for the vehement response that he wasn’t Anakin. But when he spoke, his voice was strangely soft.

“You’ve lost everything…but your life…and you are willing…to give it away?”

“My life is not the only thing I have left,” you breathed.

You felt it then, radiating off of Vader so powerfully, it almost stripped you of semblance.

Hope.

He thought you talked of him.

Your heart screamed in agony, but you shoved it aside as you had always been taught. “I am a Jedi.” You held your head high. “And to lose that would be a fate worse than death.”

Through the Force, a surge of darkness rippled through the space between you. Vader shifted, a long distorted exhale escaping the mask. “If you don’t want…to be with me…that’s fine. Just don’t make…a rash decision.”

“It’s not rash.” You tightened your grip on the lightsaber you held behind your back, the lightsaber you’d grabbed from his belt when he hugged you. “Believe me, I’ve thought this through.”

“Why don’t you–” The ship around you shuddered slightly, and Vader twisted to look at the door.

There wouldn’t be a better moment: it was now or never.

You almost brought out the lightsaber when the doors slid open, revealing a stormtrooper. “Sir, we’re under attack!”

Vader stormed over to the door, and the stormtrooper lowered his head. “Stay here…watch the prisoner.”

With that, Vader swept away.

You eyed the stormtrooper. Was this the same trooper who’d delivered the message or was this a different one? If it wasn’t, was this still the best opportunity you were going to get? You had Vader’s lightsaber, but you didn’t want to raise it against any stormtroopers if you could help it.

The stormtrooper standing guard poked their head in. “What are you–”

In a flash, the first stormtrooper knocked the butt of his blaster against his partner’s head, and his partner crumbled. “Go!”

No sooner had he uttered the word, you burst out of the room, sprinting down the hallway for the escape pods.

A pair of patrolling stormtroopers turned as you caught up to them. Taking a leaf out of your unknown hero’s book, you brought Vader’s lightsaber down on their heads, sending them to the floor in unconscious heaps. Grabbing one of their fallen blasters, you tucked it into the waistband of your pants.

When you caught sight of another pair headed towards you, you ducked into a closet, waited until they’d passed, and quickly continued on.

Running towards the final corner to turn before you reached your escape, you scoffed at the engineer who’d designed this ship for designing your temporary bedroom’s proximity to the escape pod bay. Heart pounding and lungs fighting for breath, you rounded the corner, ready to run into one and get off the ship.

Except the bay wasn’t empty.

“Where do you…think you’re going?”

Vader stood in between you and the pods.

The ship shuddered again, and you wondered what conflict Vader was willfully missing to be here. “I’m leaving,” you said shortly, seeing no point in being subtle. Anyone with half a brain would be able to figure out what you were up to, and Vader wasn’t that dim-witted.

“Stay.”

You breathed against the stab of pain.

If there was ever a moment to fight, to devote everything you had and everything you were to combat, it was now. Your life depended on it.

You ignited his lightsaber, cringing at the red but holding tight. “No.”

Vader didn’t move at first, the red light throwing harsh shadows onto his black armor. Then, he slowly raised his hand, not outward as if to strangle you, but to brandish something.

Your heart leapt into your throat.

“My lightsaber,” you whispered.

The lightsaber he’d made for you what felt like ages ago, in another life. The one he’d split in half a few days ago. And the one he’d apparently fixed for you.

“Y/N…please…stay.”

You lifted your eyes to the ceiling, keeping the tears and fears at bay and clutching onto every shred of strength and self-respect you possessed. “If I have nightmares for the rest of my life, so be it.” You looked back at Vader, and a tear finally fell. “But I need to be able to live with myself when I wake.”

The moment the final word left you, you pulled out the blaster and fired.

The harsh sound of the blast leaving the chamber barely reached your ears before Vader ignited your blue lightsaber and deflected it.

Less than a breath and he was upon you. The red and blue light flashing through the bay with the exchanged lightning quick strikes made your eyesight a little blurry. Every clash of the lightsabers was like a slice to the heart, but your life was on the line, and you knew it.

Vader lifted your saber above his head, and you were almost too late in lifting his to meet it.

The two of you grappled, his might pushing against you, forcing you backwards until you hit one of the power stations. You were trapped between cold metal and Vader, moments left before you lost.

So you did the only thing you could think of.

You hooked your leg around his knee.

Vader went down to the floor with a thud, and your lightsaber flew from his hand, the blue light disappearing as it deactivated. You stood above him, holding his red saber aloft as you gazed down at him.

You could deal the fatal blow.

You could rid the galaxy of the evil which you might’ve had a hand in creating.

But did you have the strength to strike him down?

In your hesitation, you knew the answer to that.

“Y/N…” Vader’s voice was pleading. Did he plead for mercy? For death? Or for you?

Your hesitation lasted too long. Vader slowly got to his feet. You held his lightsaber out, urging him to stay back, but his helmet didn’t so much as dip to look at his own weapon pointed at his gut. “Y/N, please.”

Before your hesitation could cost you your life and freedom, you turned off the lightsaber and hurled it. With the power of the Force behind it, the lightsaber flew through the air like a miniature torpedo, colliding with his helmet.

Vader stumbled, and you leapt into action before he could recover.

Sprinting faster than you ever had in your life, you reached the pod. Heart beating wildly, you slammed your hand onto the button to close the hatch. As the doors slid closed, Vader reached out towards you. “Y/N!”

The pod ejected, and the momentum threw you to the floor.

For a moment, you just lay there, mind whirling with the events that just occurred. But then your mind caught up with the present, and you scrambled to your feet, sitting in the seat to put your hands on the controls.

Vader burst onto the flight deck. “The rebels.”

The general heard the unspoken question. “We’re holding them off, sir, but it would be unwise to linger without back-up.”

“We must–” Vader started to say.

“Sir!” one of the navigators called to the general. “One of our escape pods was launched!”

“Any life forms aboard?” the general asked.

“One, sir, but the authentication was hijacked!”

“The prisoner!” the general said, turning to Vader. “Sir, we’ll go after her. Dispatch the TIE–”

“No.”

The general paused, giving Vader a strange look. “Sir?”

Vader gripped Y/N’s lightsaber, the one he made for her. The one he fixed for her. The last remnant of her he possessed. “Get us to Coruscant…before the rebels…finish us off.”

“But sir–” Vader advanced on the general, who wisely backed away. “Yes, sir, of course, sir.” The general turned back to the pilot, his throat rippling as he swallowed. “Prepare for the jump to lightspeed!”

Vader left the deck.

His body ached and burned as usual, but somehow, the pain felt new.

He found himself, standing in front of the window in the escape pod bay again. He watched the escape pod grow smaller and smaller. The ship whined, signaling the jump to lightspeed was near, but he kept his eyes fixed on the pod until the Star Destroyer lurched forward and the stars blurred.

There must’ve been some reason the Star Destroyer wasn’t firing at you, but you didn’t have time to wonder. You needed to put as much distance between you and the ship as possible. The sooner you reached the surface of Asmall, the more time you had to find a decent hiding spot.

You’d reached the planet’s atmosphere before you dared to look at the radar. To your astonishment, no TIE fighters pursued you. You twisted in your seat to look out the window in the back of the cramped pod.

The Star Destroyer was gone.

Your hands shook on the controls as you swiveled back to face the planet.

You kept glancing back, certain the Star Destroyer would come back, but it stayed gone.

You’d lost all your supplies, including both Vader’s lightsaber and your own. All you had were the clothes on your back and the near worthless escape pod.

And your life.

Darth Vader had killed countless people, even people on his own side. But he’d let you go, perhaps in more ways than one. Perhaps…perhaps he was still alive. Perhaps, in the heart of Vader, there still lived a remnant of Anakin Skywalker.

But even if there was, you knew that you would never see either one of them again, and the last memory you would have was of him reaching out for you.

And Eyes is officially complete! If you enjoyed this, check out my Obi-Wan fanfic Rescue Me.

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@idiotreblogger @inpraizeof @katsukiswrld @queenofnigthdarkness @stxrrielle @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @lollaa-puff @xferalblog @violetstyless @polarischk @moon4moony @msrawog @ninjarose23 @mushy-mushroom04 @ordinarylokix @anakin-pilled

#star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #jedi #fanfiction #anakin #anakin skywalker #darth vader #anakin skywalker x reader #darth vader x reader #anakin skywalker x you #darth vader x you #anakin skywalker x y/n #darth vader x y/n #darth vader fanfic #darth vader fanficiton #angst #star wars angst

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im-a-wonderling · 1 month

Text

Survival Mechanisms ~ George Weasley

This is part three, so make sure you read Is It Still Punishment if It's Worth It? and Clumsy, Clumsy first!

Warnings: none

Word count: 4k

The N.E.W.T. preparatory witch was absolute rubbish.

With the exams looming, Umbridge had allowed for a dodgy witch from the Ministry to host an exam study session of sorts on the Patronus Charm. It was hard to believe that Umbridge could hate so many things and yet endorse a witch that wore a hat with green shamrocks and orange balloons.

A load of the Gryffindors were lounging around on the seats that had been pushed against the walls, having produced a fully corporeal Patronus. They cracked jokes and laughed with each other. Every so often, one of them would lazily sweep their gaze across the room at the students still struggling with the spell. Their palpable arrogance seemed to bounce against the stone walls, weighing down the room.

I gripped my wand tightly enough to feel every ridge of it against my skin.

Why were they still here? If they’d successfully completed the exercise, they could take their boisterousness somewhere else, preferably over the balcony of the Astronomy Tower.

“Expecto Patronum!” I said firmly, circling my wand. The most pathetic stream of silver yet flowed from the tip of my wand, disappearing in an instant. I grit my teeth, circling my wand again. “Expecto Patronum!”

“No, dear,” said the supervising witch, waddling over to me. “The wand movement must flow. Like this.” She demonstrated, and the silver form of a dog burst forth, running through the air in the classroom with its tongue hanging out.

I ducked my head in thanks, and she walked away to help a Hufflepuff. I glared after her, imagining transfiguring her stupid hat into a flower pot of marigolds. When I turned back to the fake dementor, it wasn’t the only dummy standing there.

George leaned an elbow on the dementor’s shoulder, looking at me with his grin reeking with complications. “All right?”

I extended my wand towards the fake dementor, waiting for George to get out of the way. But he remained squarely where he was. “What?” I asked tersely.

“Nothing.” His tone was far too smug for that to be true. “You’re just cute when you’re frustrated.”

Just then, George Weasley should’ve thanked every star in the sky that I wasn’t born a Welsh Green, otherwise he’d be a pile of cinders. Gritting my teeth, I flicked my wand at him, trying to scare him away, but George didn’t so much as flinch. “Go away,” I finally said. “I’m busy.”

George stood up straight, his arm leaving the dummy. But instead of going to join his housemates, he ambled closer. He had such a funny and easygoing way of walking. He put one foot in front of the other like it didn’t even matter where his feet ended up, because he was content wherever he was. “Struggling, are we?”

“Expecto Patronum!”

George side-stepped the spurt of silver that left my wand, and when it faded, he looked back at me. “Do you want help?”

“George, I’m not in the mood,” I warned.

“What’s your memory?”

I shot him a withering glare. “I’m not telling you.”

George brought both his hands to his chest, sticking out his lower lip. “You wound me.”

“I will if you don’t get out of the way,” I seethed.

George tilted his head to the side in the way he always did when he seemed to be sizing me up. Then he bent down and leaned in, and I prepared my wand, ready to cast the Revulsion Jinx if he so much as laid a finger on me. “Meet me on the sixth floor,” he said quietly, his words tickling my ear, “by the portrait of Edgar Stroulger.”

“So you and your Gryffindor pals can ambush me?” I bit back, turning my head to look him directly in the eye. “Absolutely not.”

“Do you never trust anybody?” George’s soft question paired with his unassuming eyes almost made me feel guilty.

“If you want trust,” I replied, “go bestow your relentless charms on a Hufflepuff.”

George straightened, looking down on me with furrowed brows. For a moment, we simply stood there, staring at each other. Had I finally gone too far? Was he going to throw in the towel? Would he take the advice I wasn’t sure I meant and go find someone easier to talk to?

Then his face split into a grin. “You think I’m charming?”

How could he do that? I’d never known someone who could receive such acidic words from someone and spin them as if they’d been given a compliment. “Why would you help me?”

“Because we’re friends now.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“Well,” George’s eyes flicked over to the witch who’d just finished demonstrating how her own patronus walked on all fours, “you said you don’t snog your friends. We’ve never snogged, therefore we’re friends.”

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the flipping of my stomach. “I don’t think that’s how logic works.”

“Innit?” George straightened. “If you want help, you know where I’ll be.” And with that, he walked in his unhurried way out of the room.

The dark eyes of the dementor dummy bored into mine as I considered my options: staying and hoping the witch somehow became more helpful or taking a chance on George. I glanced at the witch, who was leading one of the other Slytherins in what appeared to be a breathing exercise.

Okay, clearly George could offer as much, if not more than, the witch. But the humiliation of failing in front of the witch meant nothing compared to how I would feel if George laughed at me.

Could I take that risk for the benefit of learning this charm?

I looked out the door George had just walked out of.

Stopping at the entrance of the Study of Ancient Runes classroom, I glanced around the corner, waiting for any sign of danger. Seeing none and walking slowly, I rounded the corner, coming face to face with the portrait.

Edgar Stroulger, the inventor of the Sneakoscope, looked warily down at me as he reached into his wrinkled purple robes to pull out the Dark Detector. It didn’t light up, spin, or whistle, which meant no one was doing anything untrustworthy nearby.

Did George pick this portrait to make sure that I wasn’t planning anything sinister? Or did he pick it so that I could be sure he wasn’t planning anything sinister?

Suddenly, the portrait swung outward.

My wand slid into my hand in an instant, and I pointed it, ready for action. “Calm down, it’s only me,” George said lightly, stepping out and closing the portrait behind him.

I waited a beat, just to see if George would start squirming, but he didn’t look the least bit concerned by having the tip of my wand an inch away from the tip of his freckled nose.

“Another make-out spot?” I asked, finally lowering my arm.

“Not yet, but there’s always time,” George replied with a cheeky grin. I waited for him to lead me somewhere, but he just stood with his hands in his pockets, looking at me.

“What?” I finally asked.

“You came.”

Were the words born of surprise? Excitement? Disappointment? I was unnerved by the fact that I couldn’t tell. “I don’t like failing.”

“Everyone knows that,” George chuckled. He gave a grand bow, indicating the hallway I’d just come through. “Shall we?”

I eyed George. Were we going to the Ancient Runes classroom? Or did he have somewhere else in mind? Was he bringing me to a second location? Wasn’t it common knowledge that one was never supposed to let a kidnapper take them to a second location?

“Well, we can’t practice charms in the hallway, can we?” he said, correctly interpreting my silence.

I sighed. “I’ll follow you then.”

George smiled and swept down the hallway, walking straight towards an empty stone wall. Was George about to walk right into it? And if so, did I have time to get snacks to watch? Just as I started to debate this, before my very eyes grew a large door, as if it’d just pooled out of the wall like melted chocolate.

“How did you–” I started to ask, a bit breathless. “How did that door just…appear?

George looked pleased at my response. “Hogwarts is full of surprises.”

I shook my head. If anyone would know about a secret door in Hogwarts, my money was on the nosy Weasley twins, but still.

George opened the door and made a little bow. “After you.”

My curiosity winning over my paranoia, I walked inside, glancing all about the room.

There was no furniture, only a wide-open space with a fire burning in the hearth across from the entrance. A few training dummies, similar to the ones the witch had been using, lined the walls. There lay an inherent conflict in the room between the cool, blue light from the windows which bounced off the mirrors and the yellow light of the glowing chandelier.

“Alright,” George said, rolling the sleeves of his uniform above his elbow as he brushed past me to stand in the very center of the room. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I followed him, dutifully pulling out my wand and keeping my eyes focused on one of the training dummies and not George. “Expecto Patronum.”

“You’re spiraling too big,” George said.

I tried again.

“No, not like–here.” The next thing I knew, George was at my back, his hand moving down my arm to encase my wand hand. “Smaller, softer.” My lips parted as his warm breath skittered across my cheek. His wrist moved, guiding my wand through the motions. “It’s not meant to be harsh.”

I glanced at the mirror across from us to see that George’s eyes weren’t focused on my hand, but on my face, which was steadily turning crimson.

If bringing me to this room was some sort of romantic move, I was determined that it would fail. The portrait of Edgar Stroulger would not become another make-out spot, and neither would this room. At least not with me. I kept my eyes studiously forward, waving my wand as instructed.

“Brilliant.” He spoke in a whisper, but it felt as though he were shouting.

"Expecto Patronum!" Silver mist flowed from my wand, more than before, and it didn’t fade as quickly.

“Better,” George said encouragingly. “Again.”

“Expecto Patronum!” Same result.

“Try again.”

I repeated the action, and the silver mist was gone in a moment. “Augh, this bloody charm is impossible!”

George rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and the appraising manner with which he looked at me made me nervous. “What are you picturing when you’re trying to conjure it?”

“Not–”

“Y/L/N.”

I lapsed into silence, keeping my lips stubbornly closed. Under no circumstances was I going to give him ammunition.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” George said softly. “I’m not harboring some secret plan to humiliate you. I’m trying to help, so will you please let those walls of yours down and let me?”

I just glared back at him, folding my arms tightly.

George sighed, moving to stand between the dummy and I. “Mine is a food fight with my family.”

The admission made me blink. Why would his response to my closed doors be to open his own? In spite of myself, I was interested. “Not some prank?”

George ducked his head, and I suddenly missed his smile. “No, not some prank. We were sitting down to dinner, and my dad leaned over to give my mum a kiss and he accidentally knocked over the cauldron, spilling pea soup everywhere.” George wrinkled his nose, as if he could smell it still. “My brothers and I were covered in it, and the whole dining room was dead silent…and then Fred threw his soggy roll at Bill, and next thing you know,” George smiled broadly, “we were all throwing food, even Mum, and Mum never willingly creates a mess.”

Even though I hadn’t been there, his memory was captivating enough that I could picture the large family laughing and slipping as they reveled in each others’ company.

George lifted his wand, and a burst of fear shot through me.

But before I could hurl a spell in his direction, he whispered his own: “Expecto Patronum.”

A magpie flew forth, soaring about the room with minimal flapping of its patterned wings. If patronuses could make noise, I had a feeling this one would sing the most beautiful song. Not because it was trying to compete with or impress anyone, but for itself, to represent the sheer joy that kept it aloft.

Then, it veered towards me, flying so close that I could’ve sworn I felt the brush of feathers on my leg as it began to circle. It flew higher and higher with every rotation until a silver cloud of mist surrounded me. Then, it shot away again, flying about the room.

“The Patronus is an outpouring,” George said quietly. “It’s the happiness that can’t be contained, therefore it must leap forward.”

I’d never been much good at outpouring. Everything I held dear was held behind my walls, for sharing things was the fastest way to spoil them.

But I wanted to learn this charm. How could I protect Clem if there was a gap in my magical prowess?

“What are you picturing?” George asked again.

I folded my arms. “I’m not telling you.”

“C’mon, Y/L/N, your wand movement’s good, you’re saying the incantation right. There’s only one thing that could be keeping you from casting it.”

I grit my teeth. If there was anything more insufferable than George Weasley, it was George Weasley when he was right. “I was…thinking of…getting my Hogwarts acceptance letter.”

George didn’t burst into laughter or devolve into mocking like I expected. “Why’s that a powerful happy memory for you?”

I looked away, staring at the door and stifling the wish to run through it. “My parents were going to send me to Durmstrang.”

“Oh.” George rubbed his neck. “Well. That would’ve been a shame.” There was a silence before I finally nodded, not wanting to say anything else on the subject. “Maybe try a different image?” he suggested.

“Like what?” I said hopelessly. “Hippogriffs tap dancing?”

George’s eyes gleamed, and the magpie landed on top of his head. “Now that’s a good one.”

“George,” I said warningly.

George rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. The longer the silence extended, the more I wished I could simply use George’s memory of his family food fight. Finally, George blew out his cheeks, imitating a frog’s vocal sac extending with a croak. “Don’t curse me for asking this–”

“No promises.”

“–but why do you protect Clem so strongly?”

I stared at George, confused. Not by his actions, but by the small part of me that actually wanted to answer his question and share about the biggest love of my life. But I couldn’t shake the deep-seated fear that this information would somehow be the key to bringing me down.

“I swear to you,” George said softly as the magpie ruffled its wings, “Clem’s safer from me than my own siblings, because I won’t turn his teddy bear into a giant spider.”

I debated inquiring about the story that clearly lingered behind his oddly specific word choice, but decided not to. Letting out a long breath, I looked away.

“I was six when Clem was born,” I told the floor. It was much easier to speak to the stone floor than to the intently listening redhead. “I’d always wanted a sibling, but my parents struggled with having kids. Even when my mom was pregnant, the healers at St. Mungo warned her that she might lose the baby at any point, but my father…” I sighed. “He wanted a son. You know, carry on the family name and all that.”

Mercifully, George stayed silent, as if he knew one word from him would make me clam up and one joke right now would earn him a trip to the Hospital Wing with a pair of permanent elephant ears.

“They let me hold him, and he was so much heavier than I thought he was going to be.” I smiled softly. “I’d never seen a baby before. I thought babies were just…small people, but they’re not, they’re chubby and wrinkly and they’re red all over.” I glanced at the mirror and George’s unmoving reflection staring intently at mine, willing me to finish.

“I don’t think six-year-olds know much about anything. I definitely didn’t, but when I held my brother…” My courage quailed. I shook my head, raising my wand to attempt the charm again.

Suddenly, the magpie flew past me and then George was in front of me, his hand holding mine still as he looked down at me with something I couldn’t name or deny. “Finish it,” he said softly, but earnestly. “Finish the story.”

I couldn’t form the right words at first, but George didn’t say anything to break the silence as I struggled. “When I held my brother,” the image of my baby brother started almost glowing in my mind, “I knew what love was.”

George’s slight, answering smile was quite possibly the most genuine thing I’d ever laid eyes on. He released my hand but didn’t step away. “Try it now.”

I didn’t look away, not wanting to puncture the peace of the room with the incantation. I looked deeply into George’s brown eyes and whispered it. “Expecto Patronum.”

The room lit up with the silver mist that poured forth from my wand, more than before. At first the mist pooled beneath my wand, and then, rising up from the pool, rose a large but graceful four-legged creature that ran around the room.

A lioness.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumbled, but there was little heat behind the words. I couldn’t be ungrateful for the creature, not when it moved so freely about the room, as if it were as glad as I was that it existed. “Don’t laugh,” I warned George as the patronus walked a circle around him. “And if you make a joke about me being in Gryffindor, I’ll turn you into a toad.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” George followed the lioness with his eyes as she trotted closer to me, leaving trails of mist behind her. “Makes sense though.”

I studied the markings by the lioness’s noble face. “How?”

“Strength. Ferocity.” His eyes flicked up to mine. “Beauty.”

I blushed, and the lioness started running again, as if energized by the heat in my cheeks. The magpie swooped to join the lioness, who playfully swatted at it before leaping into the air to join it.

“So…what other spells are you and your friends mastering in this room?”

George’s glance cut quickly towards me, and the magpie dissipated. “What?”

I allowed the lioness to dissolve as well. “There are multiple training dummies, and whatever spell you have on that door, clearly you don’t want people inside.” I tilted my head at him. “And you’re brilliant, George, but Defense Against the Dark Arts has never been your strongest subject, and considering Umbridge’s educational skills…I can't believe you're doing it on your own."

George looked scared, and as much as I enjoyed finally seeing a bit of fear on his face, I couldn’t let it remain there for long. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep your secret as long as you keep mine.”

George furrowed his brow. “Your secret?”

I stared at him, tongue-tied with disbelief. Did he really have no idea that he held a vulnerable secret? Had he not recognized that the knowledge of how deeply I loved Clem was a valuable piece of information? A vulnerability that could be easily exploited?

Too late, it seemed to dawn on him, and the sheer delight in his demeanor made me quickly walk for the door. “Wait–” he said.

“Time to leave, isn’t it?” I said shortly, but George caught up with me, blocking my way.

“You’re trying to blackmail me?”

I groaned, hiding my face in my hands. “Can we forget about it?” George burst out laughing, doubling over. I shoved him, hard enough to make him stumble. “Stop laughing at me!”

“I’m…sorry,” George wheezed, clutching his stomach. “You’re just so cute!”

“Excuse me?” I shrieked.

“What do you think you are,” he said, gasping for air, “MI6?”

“It’s a survival mechanism,” I mumbled, and his laughter started anew. Heat rushed into my cheeks.

George only laughed all the harder.

My goodwill evaporating, I shoved him. Hard.

The aggression in the gesture didn’t move George that far, but his laughter stopped as I stormed out the door. “I’m sorry,” he said, jogging after me, still looking amused. “I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m sorry.”

I turned to look at him and saw the door melting away again.

“Besides,” George leaned against a pillar, “friends keep each other's secrets.” He looked so comfortable, so unbothered. I didn’t know many Gryffindors who would willingly share the same room with a Slytherin, and here was one of the most Gryffindor of Gryffindors, staring down at me without a hint of a long-suffering sigh.

“George?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you want to be my friend?”

George rolled his eyes, pushing off from the pillar. “Enough with the paranoia, Y/L/N.”

“No, I’m not paranoid, I just…I’m confused.”

George looked at me suspiciously for a moment before the suspicion dropped. “Well…why wouldn’t I?” he asked, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re smart, and I happen to think your survival mechanisms are extremely endearing.”

“I’m also a Slytherin.”

George groaned. “Not this again.”

I stepped forward, craning my neck to look up at George. “You’re goofy, but you’re not naive. And I can’t believe that you haven’t been given any grief about your interest in me.”

George pursed his lips, clearly unable to disagree and wishing he could.

“So why are you risking it?”

His brown eyes searched my face as he seemed to gather and ponder his response. “Maybe I was curious,” he said at last. “About the terrifying, mysterious Slytherin that never lifted a finger to harm anyone.”

“I’m not compassionate, George,” I replied. “I never lift a finger to help anyone either, and that’s just as bad.”

“No, I know you’re not, that’s not what I’m saying,” he replied.

“Well, then what are you saying?”

“It’s…it just…it seems like…” He trailed off, and while the suspense wouldn’t kill me, I was considering killing him.

“It seems like what?”

“It’s like you try not to exist.” George’s face took on an expression of deep perplexity. “You don’t make yourself smaller, not like some people do, you just…float through this castle like the ghosts, leaving no trace and only the occasional word.”

He stepped closer, and it took everything in me to remain still and allow him close enough to easily step on my toes if he wanted to. “You’re more than just a Slytherin, Y/N. Just like I’m more than just a Gryffindor.”

“Are you sure about that?” I replied, more breathlessly than I’d anticipated in my head.

“If I wasn’t more,” he smirked, “we wouldn’t be such good friends.”

I blinked at him. He really was curious. And his curiosity was, in turn, making me curious as to what kind of man stood in front of me. “George?”

“Hmm?” he said.

I gnawed on my lip. “Thank you.”

George’s face went slack.

“For helping me,” I added, hoping confusion was the only reason he was looking at me like that. “I…appreciate it.”

There was a beat while George stared at me like my breakfast pumpkin juice had been spiked with Nose-Grow potion and my nose was starting to resemble Professor Snape’s.

Then, a bright, dazzling smile spread across his face. “Cheers, Y/N.”

I lingered for another moment before giving George a sharp nod and quickly descending the stairs, silently asking the universe why my heart felt like it was swelling.

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

#harry potter #hp #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #george #george weasley #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x you #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #room of requirement #hogwarts #slytherin!reader

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im-a-wonderling · 2 months

Text

Once A Heart Is Given ~ a continuation of Sorrows Can Swim

It's definitely true that art mimics life. Thanks to certain life events, I'm feeling remarkably similar to Prince, so...I guess inspiration is my silver lining?

Warnings: none

Word count: 2.2k

Sorrows Can Swim masterlist

Prince was tired of meetings. He was tired of people needing him. And he was tired of this life he called his own.

The council, fully composed of men greyer than rainclouds and wrinklier than raisins, sat at the big table. They never looked at him with anything less than expectancy, waiting for him to listen and make the big decisions that came with his duty.

“We’ll send funds to the village, but discreetly,” Prince decided, hating that he had to be subtle with his support at the risk of offending the nobility, but unwilling to let his people flounder.

The men leaned in towards each other, debating his decision with those calculating eyes and lowly spoken words. Prince waited for them to raise a complaint meant for his ears, but the murmuring eventually died. “Are we settled?” he asked the room at large. The men didn’t speak, to agree or disagree, which was a telltale sign they felt they were doing him a great service in humoring him.

Prince ached for a kind word from them, but that was like waiting for fairies to come, pointless and even if it happened, only a luxury.

“Is that all for today?” he asked the council, concealing his weariness the best he could.

The head councilman bowed. “Yes, sire, that’s all for the day.”

“Then I will see everyone tomorrow.” The council all got up from their chairs, bowed as one, and filed out of the room, talking amongst themselves again.

They have each other, Prince lamented. I have no one.

Prince’s shoulders slumped as he rubbed his eyes against the harsh, bright afternoon sun streaming into the room. He got up, turning to grab a fistful of the curtain, intending to close it and shut away the light.

But then he caught sight of the garden below and the beauty running amongst the hedges.

Princess.

Her long, unbound hair streamed behind her, her fists pumping as she ran. She reached the fountain and spun, the pale purple fabric of her dress billowing around her as she spun a full circle and a half, allowing her to face the castle once again. Her radiant smile was aimed at the ladies that were catching up to her.

What would it feel like to have that smile aimed at him?

Her mouth opened, and even through the glass, his ears caught her merry laughter. His heart swelled, and a pained croak fell from his lips.

He couldn’t contain it, the way he felt for her. He ached to hear her laugh again, but with the way his heart seemed to grow every time he heard it, it might grow too big for his chest if she did. He felt as if a piece of her was inside him, like she was interwoven in his being, and in the piece’s mighty effort to return to her, it nearly dragged him with it. He considered it a minor miracle that it wasn’t her name he said every time he opened his mouth. He couldn’t imagine what the council would think of him if that were the case.

Princess tagged one of the ladies and ran away, shrieking from the excitement of the game.

A sigh left him, and he allowed his forehead to rest against the glass, his eyes following her every movement. He knew he needed to look away, if not out of respect then for his own sanity. He needed to banish her from his mind or he would spend forever watching her from this window. If Princess were to look up through the window, she would catch sight of the fond smile toying at her husband’s mouth. But Princess kicked off her shoes, oblivious to her spectator as she lifted her skirts and ran.

And he couldn’t look away.

He’d spent most of his life either looking at or looking for her.

Every summer since Prince turned ten and Princess turned eight, she’d spent in this castle. Prince could still remember the first day she’d arrived in a blue carriage with golden accents, the Tunican colors. Nursemaid had all but wrestled Prince into his best clothes. As they stood outside the castle, watching the carriage appear in the distance, Nursemaid lightly smacked Prince’s hand every time he reached up to scratch the itchy collar. When the carriage came to a stop and a footman opened the door, Prince expected a bratty, snooty girl to step out.

A snooty girl indeed was who took the footman’s waiting hand. Once she was out of the carriage, she stood on the ground, blinking out at all the people standing in the castle courtyard waiting for her. Prince had started to groan, not looking forward to the bowing and scraping that was about to occur.

But before anything of the kind happened, the girl took off like a shot, running not towards the people or back into the carriage, but off to the side, towards the royal orchard.

The footman, clearly used to this behavior, ran after her, calling her name, and a few other servants joined in the chase, including Nursemaid.

But Prince looked back at the carriage to see two dainty blue shoes, laying discarded in the dust of the path from where Princess had kicked them off.

Never in his life had Prince known chaos like the day Princess sprinted through the courtyard and into his life. And nothing else in his life had he wished for since.

“Sire?”

Prince jerked away from the window, blinking as his eyes tried to adjust to the darkness of the room that had been too bright moments before. “Yes?”

“I have done as you ask.”

Finally, Prince’s eyes adjusted to see Maid standing in the doorway, looking a bit confused. “I’m listening.” He tried to arrange himself in a very thoughtful, serious position.

Maid swept into a deep curtsey. “Sire, she said she has no need for jewelry or clothes, sire, nor stationary or books.”

Prince frowned. His sneaky attempts once again failed to find out what Princess wanted for her birthday—which was two days away. It would be her first birthday in Prince’s kingdom, her first birthday as his wife. He wanted her to enjoy it, and he was getting desperate.

“What about a horse?” he asked desperately.

Maid shook her head. “She has a prize mare already, sire.”

Prince pursed his lips, deep in thought.

With their lives similarly decadent, what riches could he offer her? The only thing he could give with value other than monetary was his heart, and he’d given it to her already. She didn’t want it, he knew that, and if it were humanly possible, he would’ve taken it back long ago. Prince wasn’t even sure that a heart could be taken back once it was given.

“But if I may?”

Prince looked up at Maid, her fingers anxiously smoothing down her skirt, betraying her unease when her face didn’t. “Yes?” he said.

“She mentioned that she wants to go see Queen’s Veil Falls.”

Prince turned back to look at Princess, who was much further through the garden now. The waterfall was one of Prince’s favorite places in the whole kingdom.

As he watched Princess roll on the grass in an attempt to dodge one of the ladies, a plan started forming in Prince’s head. “Thank you, that will be all.”

“Sir, you…you don’t want to hear anything else?”

Prince furrowed his brows, spinning to see Maid’s furrowed brows. “What else is there?”

Maid glanced over her shoulder and then lowered her voice. “There’s a man–”

“No!” Prince said, so loudly, Maid flinched. “I’m sorry.” Prince rubbed his forehead, reeling back his feelings and pushing them down. “You’re dismissed.”

His outburst must’ve frightened her, for Maid curtsied and scurried away.

What had she been about to say? It certainly would’ve involved Guard, but was it information Prince already knew? Or was there more?

Prince swallowed hard and pulled out a map, forcing himself to stare at the location of Queen’s Veil Falls.

The waterfall was a pleasant, secluded space. Prince had never been there with more than three people, and often, he simply went by himself. But Princess wouldn’t want to spend her birthday with Prince, and he couldn’t send her ladies there without an escort, and an escort would make the group too big.

But there was a way for Princess to go to the waterfall with only one other person, someone who was very capable of protecting her, and possibly the person Princess would most enjoy going with.

Prince waited until the next morning before going to the barracks.

The dimly lit room contained twenty beds, ten on each side. Nineteen of the beds were empty, only one bed was occupied: the bed in the corner, furthest away from the light. The torches had been snuffed, leaving the sunlight streaming through two tiny windows as the only source of light in the room.

Prince walked briskly to the bed, eyeing the lump underneath the blanket. Guard was on duty the night before and was now catching up on some much needed sleep. Normally, Prince would avoid waking him at all costs, for Guard was already problematic enough to deal with when he’d slept well.

But this conversation couldn’t wait with the Princess’s birthday being the next day.

“I have work for you,” he told the lump still in bed.

The lump moved from beneath the blanket, and Guard’s groggy face appeared. Any other soldier in this castle would leap out of bed, standing at attention with poker straight posture. But Guard merely rubbed his eyes. “What?” he said, irritated.

“Princess’s birthday is tomorrow.”

Guard propped himself up on his elbows, blinking sleepily at Prince. “And?”

Prince stood statue still. Somewhere inside surely resided anger, but all Prince could feel was misery. Everyone deserved to be celebrated on their birthday. If Guard cared a mite for Princess, he’d commit himself to her enjoyment. But he didn’t, so he wouldn’t. Over and over, Guard’s actions spoke of nothing but self-interest, and Prince only had himself to blame for being disappointed.

He took a deep breath and blew it out as slowly as he could. “Princess wants to go to Queen’s Veil Falls. If the two of you leave after breakfast tomorrow, she can have lunch at the falls and be back before dinner. I think–”

“What’s in it for me?” Guard interrupted, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“A picnic. The chance to see a beautiful place. Time with Princess away from the castle.” Guard raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed, and Prince scowled. “You’ll have a day free of duties aside from keeping her safe. That must be sorely tempting.”

Guard smacked his lips, as if he were literally tasting the offer and deciding his verdict. “Very well.”

Prince stared as Guard yawned and stretched.

What would he himself give to be the one Princess wanted to celebrate her birthday with? If some witch could somehow make Princess naturally love Prince…why, Prince would give the witch anything she wanted, perhaps even his life’s purpose—his kingdom. And here Guard was, acting as though this opportunity, as though Princess were burdensome?

Guard’s eyes lazily passed over Prince, but then he froze in his position with his arms stretched towards the ceiling. Then, he lowered his arms and pushed himself up on his feet. “Does His Highness have something to say?” he asked, his mocking voice undermining the title.

Prince turned away. “The kitchens will prepare the picnic basket, and the stables will have two horses saddled and waiting for you.”

“Look at me!” Guard shouted, and Prince looked over his shoulder to see a dangerous light flickering in Guard’s eyes. “You don’t get to dismiss me.”

“I’m not.”

Guard advanced on Prince. “You will treat me with the respect I’m owed, or I’ll–”

“Spill the beans. I’m aware.” Prince held his clasped hands behind him, looking Guard directly in the eye. If only Guard knew what the kitchen staff normally did to rats, then he’d have no doubt that Prince was already treating him much better than he deserved.

Guard’s mouth suddenly spread into a nasty smile as he made a show of dusting off the shoulder of Prince’s doublet. “No matter. Your wife treats me well enough for both of you.”

Maybe Prince should’ve punched in Guard’s nose right then and there. Ordered him out of the castle. Called for the other soldiers to throw him in prison.

He was too defeated to do anything of the kind.

Prince just tiredly blinked at Guard, waiting until the man was satisfied enough to allow him to leave without more grandstanding.

Guard stepped back. And then he spat.

Prince lowered his gaze to the glob of saliva now darkening the front of his shirt.

“You’re pathetic,” Guard said in a low tone. “And your wife knows it.”

Prince waited for the searing, poker-hot pain to shoot through his chest, but he felt nothing. Nothing at all. His heart made nary a peep. Perhaps it really was wholly and completely Princess’s, so far gone, it resided in his chest no longer. “Don’t forget about tomorrow,” he said quietly before turning away.

“Come back here!” Guard shouted, but Prince ignored him.

He had a meeting to go to, and apparently he had to change his shirt.

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Tag list:

@writing-on-the-wahl @thepenultimateword @elf-kid2 @thinkwrite5 @tobeornottobeateacher @brekker-by-brekkerr @girl-of-the-sea-and-stars @lunatic-moss-studio @blueberryblood11

#fantasci #fantasci tumblr #fantasci writing community #fantasy #arranged marriage #unrequited love #prince x princess #princess x guard #royal #royalty #royal marriage #writeblr #angst

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im-a-wonderling · 2 months

Note

I am absolutely obsessed with your white moves first series. Could you maybe perhaps add me to the tag list for it? Pretty please with a cherry on top 🥺❤️

Yes, I will absolutely add you to the White Moves First tag list! Thanks for reading!

#my asks #white moves first

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im-a-wonderling · 2 months

Text

Sorrows Can Swim Masterlist

Summary: An arranged marriage between a prince who loves a princess and the princess who loves Guard.

Part 1 - Sorrows Can Swim

Part 2 - A Union of Obligation

Part 3 - A Lowly Soldier

Part 4 - Once A Heart Is Given

#fantasci #fantasci tumblr #fantasci writing community #prince x princess #princess x guard #royal marriage #royalty #arranged marriage #angst #writeblr #unrequited love #fantasy

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im-a-wonderling · 2 months

Note

Hi! I wanted to ask if there's a chance that the sixth part of white moves first is coming any time soon? Take care, don't pressure urself to write. Thanks!

It's coming! I don't know when exactly, but it will come. Thank you for enjoying White Moves First enough to wait for the next part! :)

#my asks #white moves first

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im-a-wonderling · 3 months

Text

White Moves First, Part 5 ~ Edmund Pevensie

Summary: Despite the distance between their two lands, Y/N, princess of Archenland, is close friends with King Edmund the Just. But when push comes to shove, will friendship turn to more?

Warnings: none

Word count: 3k

White Moves First Masterlist

@writing-on-the-wahl you're amazing, in too many ways for me to try and sum up. Thank you so much for everything.

“Never in all my days did I imagine this would come to pass!” My father clapped his hands together, the sound an unnaturally sharp contrast to the excitement of his words.

I tried to match his radiant smile, but failed before I even started.

It was less than ten minutes after Edmund went to go find my father when I was summoned to the king’s study. Cor sat properly on the sofa facing the fire while Corin slouched beside him. Edmund stood by the right corner of the mantelpiece, his back to the fire and his gaze trained on the rich wooden floor. Not knowing where to stand, I stood by the left corner.

My father flitted between his desk in the corner and Edmund, seemingly unable to keep still. “My daughter and King Edmund?” he said with comical disbelief. “How wonderful it is!”

Corin shook his head, looking a bit dazed. “My sister, a queen.”

“Of Narnia,” Cor added, giving his twin a significant look. Not the fourth wife of a prince in Tashbaan, his expression said, likely familiar with the consequences of those words ever leaving his mouth. Most everyone in the room believed I still had no idea how close I’d come to being a princess of Tashbaan and not a queen of Narnia.

Edmund’s gaze didn’t shift from the floor.

To anyone else, his face would speak of deference and humility, but I knew him, like I knew the scratches on my chessboard too well to mistake it for another or the paths of the garden too well to get lost. His expression was one of discomfort. And how could he not be uncomfortable when he was stuck in a room with my father and brothers, discussing the topic of marriage?

He’d seemed so surprised when I brought up how much he loathed marriage, as if it wasn’t plain and simple to see. Whenever Queen Susan or Queen Lucy talked of weddings and betrothals, he looked as if he’d smelt something rancid. What kind of friend would I be if I hadn’t noticed?

Hopefully, we had a few months before we married, to give us time to figure out how this arrangement was going to work.

“I am overjoyed!” my father announced, needlessly. We could all see it on his face. “And your mother would be so happy.”

I pursed my lips. Would this make my mother happy? Would the proposal from Rabadash have worried her? Would she have been relieved? Or, perhaps, like me, would she have been left in the dark, blindly following my father’s choices?

“Father, perhaps–” Cor’s comment was interrupted as the door flew open to reveal Edmund’s older sister.

“Queen Susan!” my father boomed, spreading his hands like he was welcoming an angel.

“I came as quickly as I could.” She glanced around the room as she closed the door behind her. “What’s happened?”

“Your brother’s marrying my sister,” Corin grumbled, and Cor nudged him.

Queen Susan’s eyes went wide as they found her brother. “You…” She glanced at me. “And…?”

“Me,” I finished awkwardly.

To her credit, Queen Susan only blinked once before taking the news in stride. “Well then,” she folded her hands together, “I suppose we’re preparing a wedding.”

My father nodded. “Ab-so-lute-ly. Why, there isn’t a moment to lose!”

“Sorry,” I cut in, “but why do we have no moments for, uh, losing?”

“The sooner we get married, the better,” Edmund said calmly from his spot on the other side of the room. Everyone looked at him, a common occurrence whenever the Just King opened his mouth. But unlike normal when Edmund would hardly acknowledge the attention, he glanced uncomfortably at everyone before meeting my eyes. “It won’t do to wait, not with Rabadash’s presence here.” He started to push his hands into his pockets, and, at the last minute, he clasped them behind his back instead.

“Oh,” was all I said.

“And why would we wait?” My father seized one of my hands, dragging me closer to Edmund with such zeal, I nearly tripped, and would have, if Edmund’s hands hadn’t found my waist to steady me. “This is a fated union!” my father boomed in Queen Susan’s direction as Edmund’s hands flew away from my waist and his feet shifted to create space between us.

I was so distracted by Edmund, it took me a moment to understand what my father had said.

Fated union? Hadn’t he just said moments ago that he never imagined this happening?

“If we work quickly,” my father walked towards the queen, “why, we could have them married by the end of the week!”

Queen Susan jerked out of some pensive musing. “Yes! Yes, I don’t see why not.”

“We’ll get started immediately.” My father offered his hand to the queen, which was quickly accepted. “Now, my lady, we must start with the guest list. Of course, the Archenland nobility will all be invited to this most auspicious event, but we must see about inviting High King Peter and Queen Lucy.” Still talking, he led her out of the room, leaving me and my brothers with Edmund.

Silence fell.

As the fire behind me let out a great pop, I peeked at Edmund, who was already looking at me. The moment our eyes met, we looked away.

Cor caught my eyes, quirking an eyebrow, but Corin was staring at Edmund with the defiant expression he wore whenever someone dared him to do something foolish.

“So why do you want to marry Y/N?” Corin asked.

“Corin!” Cor hissed.

“It’s a valid question!” Corin folded his arms. “You’re wondering it too!”

I looked at Edmund and knew we were silently asking ourselves the same question: did we reveal to them the true motivation behind why Edmund suddenly wanted to marry me? Edmund raised his eyebrows, clearly placing the decision in my hands.

If they knew, they would see how wonderful Edmund was…but they would also see how pathetic their sister’s position was, that I’d found out I was being married off and had to rely on a friend to rescue me because I couldn’t rescue myself. I didn’t want them to be party to my embarrassment. “It’s none of his business,” I said to Edmund, and I knew he understood my hidden meaning. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“It is too my business,” Corin argued, getting to his feet. Cor got to his feet also, putting a hand on his twin’s shoulder, which Corin quickly shook off. “If he’s going to be my new brother-in-law, I want to know.”

Brother-in-law.

The title made me feel suddenly queasy. If it made me feel queasy, it certainly made Edmund—the man who never wanted to marry—uncomfortable as well.

“Corin–” I started, ready to send him off the trail.

“Your sister,” Edmund cut in, drawing all eyes, “is special.”

Special.

That was like calling something interesting—it sounded like you were saying something, but you really said nothing at all.

“Really, Edmund, you don’t have to–”

“Shhhh!” Corin shushed me. Both my brothers faced Edmund, looking expectant. Outnumbered and helpless, I dropped into an armchair, watching Edmund try and stitch his words together.

“It’s not hard to find a beautiful woman,” Edmund said finally. “Nor is it rare to find a well-mannered woman of grace and poise. I’ve met many women of great intelligence or enthusiastic patience or tremendous humanity.”

I looked down at my shoes, my eyes watering from the smoke of my hopes burning.

“But your sister, somehow…is all of those things.”

I glanced up to see Edmund looking over at me. He wasn’t smiling, but there was a soft and undeniable fondness in his eyes. “Any man would be lucky to have her, but none could deserve her.” He shook his head. “Not even me.”

My heart overflowed, brought to the brink of pain with the amount of affection in it.

“I’m quite convinced that if she wanted to,” Edmund tilted his head, “she could outshine the sun.”

His words stole my breath. I fought to regain it, to be as unruffled and mighty as his words made me seem, but air seemed beyond my reach. He didn’t have to say all that, I’d given him permission to ignore my brothers, and yet he’d said it anyway. Did he really mean it? Or was he pandering to my brothers to convince them?

Even as I pondered the question, I could tell by his face that his words were in earnest, and it made me wonder. As underhanded as Rabadash proved himself to be…was he right? Did Edmund truly love me?

Corin pretended to gag. “Gross.”

“Corin!” I exclaimed, feeling my cheeks heat up.

“I didn’t ask for poetry!”

Cor shoved Corin. “Shut up!” Cor stepped forward to clap Edmund on the shoulder. “It will be an honor to have you as our new brother, King Edmund.”

Edmund politely inclined his head. “Likewise.”

“You picked a good one,” Corin told me, begrudgingly. With that, the twins left the room, arguing about Corin’s manners as they went.

And then, Edmund and I were alone.

All our familiarity melted away like snow in the spring. We didn’t touch each other, we didn’t look at each other, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if Edmund was trying to ignore the sound of my breathing the way I was trying to ignore his.

My current position far exceeded my position a few hours ago. Marrying Edmund was a vast improvement over marrying Rabadash.

But…with Rabadash, there was no obligation to pretend it was anything more than an arrangement. I could’ve spent my whole marriage loathing him, and it changed nothing. But with Edmund? I didn’t have the ease of hatred nor the certainty of love. It was still an arrangement, but an arrangement that left me unsure of where I stood.

“Will you stand up for me?”

I blinked, suddenly noticing that Edmund stood in front of my chair now, his hand outstretched. “What?”

“Stand up.”

I did, tentatively placing my hand in his. Edmund was standing so close, I had to tilt my head back to look in his face. This is how we stood in the drawing room, when Edmund looked down at me with an expression I’d never before seen.

He was wearing the expression again now.

Then, ever so slowly, he dropped down to one knee, and a sudden burst of alarm shot through me. “What are you doing?” I cried before clapping a hand over my mouth at the sheer volume of my shrill voice.

Edmund reached out for my other hand. “I’m doing this right.”

I curled both hands into my chest. “You don’t have to–”

“I do,” Edmund said grimly, looking up at me. “In fact, I should’ve done it in the drawing room the moment I thought of this whole plan. You deserve to have this done right.”

“But this makes it–” I’d been about to say ‘real’, but nothing about this was real. If it were real, Edmund would propose because he didn’t want to live life without me. Because he loved me, not because he was trying to save me from an impossible situation.

And yet, it was real. This was happening.

“Will you please let me do this?” Edmund asked.

“But I’ve already said yes!” I said shrilly. “We’re already getting–”

Married.

A measly little word, and yet I couldn’t make myself say it, too aware of its weight.

“You said yes to the plan.” Edmund got to his feet again, something raw in his eyes. “You didn’t say yes to me.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s implied!”

Edmund bent a little so that our faces were on the same level as he looked directly into my eyes. “I don’t want a marriage based on an implication.”

My knees shook a little, weakened by the intensity of his tone. There should’ve been no surprise about this. I knew what kind of a man Edmund was. Of course it would translate into the kind of husband he wanted to be.

“Y/N, please,” Edmund begged. “I-I need to feel like I’m doing this right.”

“You’re…” I trailed off. “You’re already doing too much for me.”

“Then do this for me.”

Why? my head screamed. I knew what Rabadash’s answer to that question would be, and it scared me. But as Edmund looked at me with his wheedling face, I knew there wasn’t much I could ever deny him. I squeezed my eyes shut and nodded, not trusting my voice. For Edmund. I could let him do this.

“Alright then.” Edmund clumsily and awkwardly took my hands, and I wasn’t sure if his hands were sweating or if mine were as he lowered himself onto his knee again. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

For a scary moment, I couldn’t form any words, couldn’t do anything except stare at him. Edmund was gaining new titles with this.

Son-in-law. Brother-in-law. Husband.

And so was I, I realized.

Queen. Sister-in-law. Wife.

I stared down at Edmund, cursing his persistent need to do things ‘the proper way’.

“Please say yes,” Edmund pleaded, his eyes imploring for the word.

Why did he seem so desperate? We were already getting married. The deal was already made. The wedding was being planned. Why did my ‘yes’ matter so much?

It didn’t matter that much to anyone else.

I swallowed hard. “Yes.” The word was strained and indecipherable, so I cleared my throat. “Yes, Edmund, I’ll marry you.”

Edmund didn’t smile. Instead, he released my right hand, shoving his own into his pocket.

“What are you–” My words died as my eyes caught the flash of silver. I gaped down at Edmund. “You got me a ring?”

Edmund laughed nervously, looking down at the band in his hand. “Not exactly. It’s actually my signet ring from when I was younger. I, uh, I outgrew it, and they had to craft another one.” He lifted his right hand to show off the ring on his pointer finger. “I-I just thought, um, that it could work until we could have another one made for you.” His rushed and uncertain words floored me. He scratched his neck. “It’s small, I know, and it’s very simple, but I just, I mean, I thought perhaps, in a way, it’s right–”

“It’s perfect.”

Edmund looked up at me. “Really?” I nodded, wordlessly holding out my hand. Edmund, staying in his position on the ground, gently slid the ring onto my ring finger. It nearly slipped back past my knuckle. “Um…I guess it’s too big.” He started to pull it off.

“Wait!” I quickly slid it onto my middle finger. Still too big.

Edmund rose to his feet. “Really, if it doesn’t fit, you don’t have to–”

I slid it onto my pointer finger, and it stayed right where it was. “It fits,” I said, showing it to him.

“It’s not on your ring finger though,” Edmund said, frowning.

“No, it’s okay. I like it on this finger.” I held it up to the light, admiring the birch leaves right in the center. “And anyways, we match.“ Taking his hand in mine, I spread his fingers until our palms met, the rings matching up with our pointer fingers. “See?” I said softly.

Edmund didn’t reply at first. Then, his eyes met mine. “I guess we do.” He let his fingers slip, intertwining with mine. I held my breath, suddenly anxious as his thumb gently, soothingly rubbed mine. “Are you okay?” he asked.

I let out the breath, sinking into the comfort of my courteous and wonderful friend. “Yes. Are you?”

“Apparently,” his Adam’s apple rippled as he swallowed, “we’re going to be married by the end of the week.”

I knew it, I knew he didn’t want to be married. I loosened my grip on his hand. “You don’t have to do this–”

“Y/N,” he said softly, holding my hand tighter. “We’re not going to have this conversation over and over again.”

“I-I just, I can’t–”

“If the roles were reversed,” Edmund cut in, “would you do the same for me?”

“Of course I would,” I replied without a moment’s hesitation. “I’d do anything for you, because you’re my best friend.”

The corners of Edmund’s mouth turned ever so slightly upward. “And I for you, because you’re mine.” His expression turned a little devious. “Should I be offended that you keep trying to let me out of this?”

I chuckled a bit self-consciously. “It’s probably bad manners, isn’t it, to reject a gift like this?”

“It is,” Edmund said pleasantly. “But have no fear, I’ll still bring you gifts on your birthday every year.”

I smiled. “Except you’ll only have to walk them down the hall instead of sending them across nations.”

“I’ll save on so much postage,” Edmund murmured. I giggled lightly, and Edmund smiled fully. The tightness in my chest eased at the familiar sight. It was the type of smile that promised we were going to be okay. The awkwardness of our impending marriage couldn’t shake our friendship.

The door opened, and we respectfully stepped away from each other.

“Y/N,” said Queen Susan’s melodious voice, causing me to look up. She pursed her lips, clearly trying to conceal a smile. “I want your opinion on flowers for the wedding.” Her eyes flicked towards her brother. “Edmund tells me you like flowers.”

I looked over at Edmund, and the pink dusting his cheeks made me smile. “Yes, I do,” I said lightly, walking over to Queen Susan. She turned to lead me down the hall, and I glanced over my shoulder at Edmund.

He looked the very picture of regality.

His hands were behind his back again as he stood at his full, kingly height. Even the smile on his face was lordly, yet spoke of such warmth, I wondered at his assertion that I could outshine the sun.

Didn’t Edmund know he already did?

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

White Moves First tag list:

@thelifeofsecretpenguins @read-just-cant @chesh-ire-cat @emotionallyattachedteen

#narnia #chronicles of narnia #edmund #edmund pevensie #edmund fanfic #edmund fanfiction #king edmund #king edmund the just #arranged marriage #arranged marriage trope #friends to lovers #chess #narnia fanfic #narnia fanfiction #marriage #wedding

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im-a-wonderling · 3 months

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just binge read "rescue me" and it's so amazing, you have no idea how much I enjoyed. your writing is something else. I love the plot, the angst and all the feelings behind your words, honestly I enjoyed every second of reading your work. I'm so grateful that you decided to share it with the world. I mean it. it's been a while since I found something like this to read, something with a story and character development and love not just smut involved. appreciate all the writers out there, but appreciate you first 🫶🏻 thank you so much for your incredible work, hope you give us more ❤️

I'm SO glad you like Rescue Me, it makes my heart happy that you think it's special! I have the plan for three more parts and hopefully the writing fairies stay with me long enough through those parts!

#my asks #rescue me

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im-a-wonderling · 3 months

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Fanfiction and fanart are bonus content, brought directly to you without monetary motives. That is so rare nowadays. You can and should if you're able to support these creators with donations, kudos, comments and reblogs. But you're not obliged to. You can consume it for free, because people enjoy sharing their talents with you. Make them feel loved for their gifts for us.

#writing encouragement #writers on tumblr #artists on tumblr #writeblr #writing positivity

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im-a-wonderling · 3 months

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I LOVE YOU

I LOVE YOU TOO ANON ❤️

#my asks #people saying nice things

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im-a-wonderling · 4 months

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I just found your blog so I haven't managed to get through all of your writing yet, but can I just say, that White Moves is some of the best fanfiction I've ever read, and I've been reading FF for nigh on 15 years now. I'm not even that big of a Narnia fan but you've won me over!

Oh my goodness, what a high compliment! To know that the story stands in its own beyond the source material is super encouraging, so thank you! 🥰

#my asks #white moves first #narnia

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im-a-wonderling · 4 months

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Clumsy, Clumsy ~ George Weasley

This is part two of Is It Still Punishment if It Was Worth It?, so be sure to read that first!

Warnings: bullying

Word count: 2.6k

“Don’t make the mistake of forgetting your essay on Angel’s Trumpet Draught for next class,” Snape said in his cool snarl, the dim shadows of the potions classroom throwing sinister shadows onto his face. “I expect no less than 24 inches of parchment.” After letting his words sink in, he sat at his desk. “Dismissed.”

The other Potions N.E.W.T.s students shoved their textbooks into their bags, chatter filling the air as they filed out of the chairs, leaving their cauldrons where they were.

As I slowly placed my ink bottle into my book bag, I kept my eyes on Cassius Warrington, a massive Slytherin in my year. He had a handsome face, to be sure, but it was his recently updated status as a member of the Inquisitor Squad that I cared about.

Before my detention with Umbridge, I didn’t concern myself with the Inquisitor Squad. Their blatant Slytherin favoritism added with my natural rule-following tendencies made any concern of them irrelevant. But now, thanks to my detention last night, I’d been thrust into the spotlight, and I couldn’t count on that combination any longer. I couldn’t rely on them to simply take away House points either, because taking points away from Slytherin would punish them as much as it would me. They would likely find other, more creative avenues of punishment.

“Y/L/N,” said a cold voice.

“Yes, Professor Snape?” I said, looking up to see the potions master looming next to me.

“Do you have a reason for loitering in my classroom?”

I immediately put my bag strap over my arm, gathering my parchment and my textbook into my arms. “No, sir, sorry, sir.” I ducked my head and shuffled out of the classroom, subtly glancing both ways before following the rest of the students up the stairs to the Great Hall for lunch.

I only made it five steps.

BANG!

I fell forward, only managing to catch myself before my nose hit the edge of a stair. The contents of my book bag, however, were not so lucky. The thuds of my books, the flip of my rolls of parchment, and the crash of my inkpot created a symphony of chaos, but the only encore was laughter.

“Clumsy, clumsy,” said a gruff voice.

I looked up into the leering face of Warrington. Cheeks burning, I reached for my wand to clean up the mess and hurry past, but it’d been in my book bag and was now likely among the mess.

“Don’t go and do anything stupid,” warned the voice of Pansy Parkinson, who flanked Warrington on one side with her arms crossed and her nose in the air while Gregory Goyle stood on Warrington’s other side, a menacing smile on his face.

I lifted my hands, showing I meant no harm.

Warrington’s mouth spread, revealing his perfectly aligned teeth with such malevolence, he looked like a bloodthirsty beast. “Aren’t you going to clean up your mess?” Pansy giggled, looking thrilled at the prospect of watching me collect my stuff.

They wanted to see me humiliated?

Fine.

When one’s greatest care isn’t pride, it costs nothing to grovel.

Staying on my hands and knees, I grabbed my empty book bag. My copy of Magical Drafts and Potions had fallen open to reveal a picture of Arsenius Jigger, the author. I reached out for it. A black dress shoe nudged it out of my reach. I crawled forward another step, reaching again, and again it was pushed out of reach, this time accompanied by derisive laughter.

The third time, the black dress shoe didn’t intervene, allowing me to pick up my potions textbook. After hesitating, I picked up A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration without any intervention from my spectators. And my rolls of parchment. And the few wayward quills.

Soon, the only thing on the stairs beside my knees was the puddle of ink that was gradually flowing down to the bottom of the staircase. If I could just find my wand, I could clean it up with the Scouring charm.

I looked up to see Warrington twirling a thin hickory stick between his fingers.

My wand.

“Oh, d’you want this back?” Warrington asked, feigning as if he’d just realized what he was playing with.

A show, I reminded myself, give them a show. “Please,” I said, infusing my voice with panic. I considered making my chin tremble but decided that was the wrong kind of pathetic to pretend to be.

My wand froze. “Clean up the ink first.”

Mimicking desperation, I looked down at the puddle, as if I hadn’t the faintest idea what to do. Then, I slid my cloak off my shoulders, dabbing at the black cloud. The house elves would be able to clean the ink easily, it was only a momentary situation. I was thankful I left my potion ingredients in the potions room, otherwise it might be frog livers that I was cleaning instead of ink.

Finally, I stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding my dripping cloak with one hand and my bag with the other, looking up at the deviant expressions far above me. “Can…can I have my wand back?” I asked timidly.

“Put your cloak back on.”

I lowered my gaze to the floor to contain my glower at Pansy’s order. Slowly, I set down my bag and threaded my arms through the arms of my cloak. Looks like the house elves would be cleaning my cardigan and skirt as well. I looked up at Warrington again with as pitiful an expression as I could muster.

Warrington’s black dress shoe slid forward. “Kiss it.”

He wanted me to kiss his shoe? I looked down at the article in question. The dress shoes were fairly clean, even if they were clearly polished. The momentary discomfort of the taste of shoe polish in my mouth was tame compared to what I expected them to do, so I knew that wasn’t all he was planning.

If anything, it was highly likely that when I got my face close enough to Warrington’s foot, he’d kick in my nose.

Grimacing, I leaned forward, already brainstorming which spell would be best to set a broken nose.

“What’s going on?”

The familiar voice from behind me made my spine straighten, and for the first time, I felt the shame that Warrington so desperately wanted me to.

“Nothing, Malfoy,” I spat before any of the others could speak. “Go away.”

“Malfoy,” Warrington said with a calculating smile, “come join us, won’t you?”

The inconsiderate blond climbed the steps to join the other three, and I glared up at him. “This doesn’t concern you.” Malfoy hadn’t talked to me since he reported me, though not for lack of trying. I didn’t want to allow a conversation until I’d formed some sort of response to his actions.

Kneeling before Malfoy as he stood beside Warrington, I certainly had things to say, but nothing that would make the current situation any better.

“Y/L/N just took a tumble on the stairs,” Warrington said, looking at Malfoy. “She was about to thank me for keeping her wand safe.” The four Slytherins all looked down at me, Warrington expectantly, Pansy nastily, Goyle bawdily, and Malfoy confusedly.

I tried to remind myself that I was trying to keep my head down and of the merits of complying. But it was one thing to comply with mistreatment when it came from notorious tormentors; it was quite another to comply with mistreatment from a friend. And with Malfoy standing above me, all I wanted to do was curse the lot of them.

“Kiss it,” Warrington hissed, “or I’ll go find that brother of yours and make him do it.”

I forced myself to hesitate instead of immediately throwing myself down onto the stone steps and obeying. While Warrington laid down the winning hand, I couldn’t let him know that particular hand could win all future games.

I inched myself closer to his shoes.

“Is there a problem here?”

I closed my eyes, denying the possibility that the owner of that voice was interrupting this stand-off between myself and the Inquisitor Squad. But no, when I opened my eyes once more, the Slytherins had parted to reveal the boy at the top of the stairs.

George Weasley.

“None of your concern, Weasel-bee,” Malfoy snarled.

George looked down at me, kneeling on stone steps in front of four members of the Inquisitor Squad, and I knew he was planning something dumb. Go away, I ordered him with a stern look. Let me handle this.

George casually stepped down two steps, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning against the wall. “Y/N, I thought you were going to meet me in the Transfiguration classroom so McGonagall can help us with our project.”

Clever to mention a seventh-year class that George and I were in but Warrington wasn’t. Foolish to think that mentioning McGonagall would have any sway with this crowd.

“I’ll be right there,” I said through gritted teeth, once again shooting him a look to tell him to get lost.

Once again proving his inability to listen to basic directions, George walked down another step. “I think Y/L/N needs her wand for Transfiguration.”

Did he recognize my wand in Warrington’s hand? Or did he listen before he revealed himself? How long had he been listening? I wrapped my arms around my middle, feeling more vulnerable than I had before.

Warrington let out a short laugh. “It’s four against one, Weasley. Don’t think you’ll win.”

“Maybe I won’t win,” George replied, a cocky grin on his face, “but I can make your winning hurt.” George pulled his wand out. “And it’s four against two actually.”

I shut my eyes, ready to curse every Weasley ancestor for their descendant’s actions. George had clearly allied himself with me. It didn’t matter if I accepted the alliance because the damage was already done. When I opened my eyes again, Warrington, Pansy, and Goyle were still staring George down, but Malfoy was looking at me with a look of betrayal.

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” Warrington drawled. “And unless you want to make it another ten–”

George slipped his hand into his pocket and then raised his hand high.

BOOM!

The area filled with green smoke and an odor so putrid, I had to cover my nose. A hand seized my forearm, and if it hadn’t had freckles on it, I would’ve clawed at it with my nails. The hand dragged me up the stairs so quickly, I nearly tripped.

Then, once I’d finally gotten my feet under me, the hand dragged me sharply to the right and into a cramped room I’d never seen before.

George slid whatever trap door it was shut, throwing us into darkness.

“Lumos,” George muttered, and a small light threw his face into view.

“I cannot believe you–”

“Shush!” George leaned his ear against the door he’d just shut.

“Warrington still has my–”

Without budging from his spot, George held up his hand, showing me my wand. “Now will you be quiet?” he hissed.

I was getting real tired of getting shushed by George Weasley, but unfortunately, he was always in the middle of misguided heroics when he was doing so. And he was right, now that we were silent, I could hear the shouts outside the door.

I took the opportunity to look around the tiny space. It was about the size of a normal Hogwarts broom cupboard, but there were no cleaning supplies in sight. Despite the lack of contents, the stone interior sported no cobwebs or dust that I could see from the minimal light emanating from George’s wand.

The voices, still audible, grew farther away, and I saw George relax a bit.

“I didn’t need saving,” I whispered, grabbing my wand from George’s grip. “I had it all under control.”

George rounded on me. “Were you actually going to kiss his shoe?”

So George did overhear the conversation before he disrupted it. Suddenly looking in his eyes was much more difficult than a moment before, but I didn’t look away, even as my face flamed. “It’s none of your business.”

His head recoiled, as if physically pushed by my words. “You were.” Anger transformed his face, which I didn't like half as well as the normal easygoing smile. “I can’t believe you’d just lie down and do whatever they say!” His words might not have accused me of cowardice, but his eyes did.

I folded my arms, exasperated. “I weighed the possibilities and made an informed decision.”

“And so you allowed them to bully you?” George asked.

“Just because I didn’t do what you would do doesn’t make my actions wrong!” I snapped.

“Just because you thought about it first doesn’t mean it was the right decision.”

I scowled. “Just because you got to be a hero doesn’t mean that your decision was the right decision either!”

“You’re lucky I showed up when I did!”

“Oh, of course I couldn’t have handled it myself, could I? Guess what, Weasley,” I stabbed a finger into his chest, “I’ve survived over six years at Hogwarts without you, and I will continue to do so without interference.”

“But now you’re not just trying to survive,” George argued, grabbing my hand and holding it away from his chest. “You’re trying to keep your brother safe at your own expense.”

“And there’s nothing you can do about that,” I fumed. “If I decide that submitting is the best way to keep Clem safe, I will let the every single student in this school walk over me and thank them afterwards for good measure!”

George let out a huff, but the longer we frowned at each other with blazing eyes, the more his mouth curled into a wry grin. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to restock on dungbombs and follow you around for the rest of the year.”

“I’m not some damsel in distress,” I replied acerbically, reaching out to push the door open.

George grabbed my hand. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Leaving.”

“Not yet.”

I fixed him with a look. “We shouldn’t linger for them to find us. We should go find a better hiding spot, a more secure one that isn’t so close.”

George’s surprise quickly morphed into amusement. “You’ve never been in here before, have you?”

I didn’t like that he clearly knew something I didn’t. “No, why?”

“This door’s enchanted,” George replied. “If the room’s occupied, the door’s charmed not to open from the outside.” George’s words seemed dependable enough, but I didn’t trust the smirk on his face. It was obvious he found something amusing, but the source was not obvious. Unless he was laughing at me.

“What is this place?” I asked warily.

George grinned, but it wasn’t his regular goofy smile where his whole face lit up with enjoyment. His lips stayed closed, and his chin dipped down slightly as he waggled his eyebrows.

There’s only one thing that could mean.

“You dragged me to a make-out spot?!” I shrieked.

The only answer was George’s shoulders shaking with barely repressed laughter.

Ignoring the butterflies that spontaneously erupted in my stomach, I shoved the door open. “I’m getting out of here.” I stepped outside, eyes darting every which way to spy any enemies.

“What, is snogging Warrington’s boot preferable to snogging a friend?” George called from behind me as I stormed towards the Great Hall.

“I don’t snog my friends!” I yelled over my shoulder at him, not bothering to turn around fully.

Maybe I was imagining it, but as I climbed the steps to the Great Hall, I could’ve sworn I heard George say: “Well, that’s a bloody shame.”

Read the next part here!

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

#harry potter #hp #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #george #george weasley #george weasley x y/n #george wealsey x reader #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #hogwarts #slytherin!reader

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