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My three day stint at Pansy’s is more than enough time around stuffy purebloods to last me for the rest of the summer. Her parents—despite not being around very much—are dull and boring to a dangerous level when they are. But, to Pansy’s credit, she has them wrapped around her finger. That girl practically runs the house.
She sends me off with a sharp look and a warning about ruining her chances with Ginny before I land in a cloud of dust at twelve Grimmauld Place. The floo spits me out right in front of an old grandfather clock that definitely seems cursed. Come to think of it, the whole place feels cursed.
But that’s none of my business.
Just as I’ve regained my footing, I hear a deep voice—no, two voices—and two pairs of footsteps heading in my direction. When I look up, I see none other than Sirius Black with messy hair and a grin on his face and Remus Lupin, much more reserved, close to his side.
“Ah, if it isn’t the little troublemaker herself,” Sirius laughs, crossing his arms. “How are you? How was the eclipse?”
“Oh, it was lovely,” I reply, grinning despite myself. “Though it wasn’t the same without your… feminine presence, sir.”
Remus rolls his eyes but a fond smile plays across his lips. “Don’t encourage him.”
“Don’t be such a buzzkill, Moony,” Sirius huffs, though his close proximity to the taller man betrays him. “And you don’t have to be so formal, kid. Sirius is fine. Or you can call me Padfoot, if ya like.”
I quirk a brow. “Padfoot?”
“An old nickname,” Remus supplies unhelpfully. “Enough out of you, Pads. She’s here to see Harry.”
“Yes, yes, I haven’t forgotten,” Sirius sighs, moving towards the end of the hall to yell up the stairs. “Bambi! Your friend’s here!”
I snort. Bambi? That’s a new one.
Remus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sirius, must you?”
“What? It’s a perfectly fitting nickname!” Sirius grins, leaning against the stair railing. “You know, with him being Prongs’ kid, and the big green eyes and the tragic backstory—”
Before he can finish, there’s a loud thud from upstairs, followed by some scrambling. A moment later, Harry appears at the top of the staircase, slightly out of breath and looking mildly horrified.
“Sirius,” he says, voice strained, “what have I told you about calling me that?”
Sirius feigns innocence, placing a hand on his chest. “I don’t recall.”
Harry groans before locking eyes with me. “Please tell me you didn’t hear that.”
“Oh, I heard everything, Bambi,” I tease, biting back a laugh. “And it’s never leaving my memory.”
Sirius beams. “See? She gets it.”
Remus shakes his head but doesn’t intervene, and Harry just mutters something under his breath before waving me up. “Come on before he gives you more blackmail material.”
“Too late for that,” I say cheerfully, slinging my bag over my shoulder as I follow him upstairs.
As we head down the hall, I nudge him lightly. “Your godfather seems fun.”
“He’s a riot, that’s for sure,” Harry snorts, opening the door to his room. “A right pain in my arse half the time, but I love him anyway.”
I smile, taking in my surroundings.
Harry’s room is bigger than I expected—cozy and warm, filled with mismatched furniture that somehow all works together. The bed is covered in a soft-looking quilt, and there’s a worn-out armchair by the window with a pile of books stacked beside it. Quidditch posters are tacked to the walls, and Hedwig’s empty cage sits atop his desk. The whole space feels lived in—like home.
I drop my bag by the door and plop onto his bed without a second thought. “Alright, spill. How’s it been, living here? Properly, I mean.”
Harry flops onto the armchair, stretching out his legs. “Honestly? It’s been… amazing.” His voice is lighter than I’ve heard in a while, like he’s letting himself relax for once. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s chaotic—Sirius and Remus bicker like an old married couple, and half the furniture in this place is cursed—but for the first time, I actually belong somewhere.”
I watch as he leans back, arms resting behind his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “It’s weird having people fuss over me, though. Remus makes me tea every morning. Sirius keeps trying to teach me how to ‘properly’ throw a punch, like I don’t already know how.” He huffs a laugh. “They actually care, you know? Not just about the Chosen One nonsense—just me.”
His voice is so full of quiet wonder that it makes my chest ache.
“I’m really happy for you, Harry,” I say sincerely. “You deserve this.”
His ears turn pink, and he shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I see the way his fingers tighten around the armrest. “Yeah, well. It’s about time, I guess.”
I chuckle. “And? Has Sirius embarrassed you in front of anyone important yet?”
“Oh, constantly.” Harry groans, rubbing his face. “You don’t even want to know what he said when Ron came by last week.”
I perk up instantly. “Oh, I absolutely do.”
Harry narrows his eyes. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“I live for this,” I correct, grinning. “Now spill.”
“Yeah, right,” he snorts, shaking his head. “But speaking of living arrangements… have you heard from your mum?”
I tense, just barely, before sighing. If anyone gets it, it’s Harry. “No. We ran into each other at the Ministry during the Malfoys’ trial—I told her I wouldn’t testify for her. We got in a huge argument and I haven’t heard from her since.”
Harry hums thoughtfully. “So, what, then? You’re stuck with the Malfoys?”
I shrug. “I wouldn’t say stuck. I’d much rather be with them. They actually care about me, you know? Like how Sirius and Remus care for you. It’s just…”
“Better?”
A small smile works its way onto my face. “Loads.”
Harry watches me for a moment, then nods like he understands completely. Because, of course, he does.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” he says, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Finding a home in a place you never expected?”
I exhale, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah. If you’d told me a year ago that I’d willingly be living at Malfoy Manor, I’d have laughed in your face.”
He snorts. “Same with me and Grimmauld Place. But it’s not about the house, is it?”
“No.” I meet his gaze, the weight of our shared experiences settling between us. “It’s about who’s there.”
Harry nods again, thoughtful. “I used to think family was just… blood. That the people you’re born to are supposed to love you no matter what.” His voice is quiet, but steady. “But then I met Ron’s family. And then Sirius. And now Remus. And it turns out, family is just—”
“People who choose you,” I finish for him.
His lips twitch into a small smile. “Yeah. Exactly.”
A comfortable silence settles over us. It’s rare, moments like this—ones where neither of us has to pretend. No expectations, no pressure, just two people who have seen the worst of the world and still managed to carve out a place for themselves.
Eventually, we hear Remus calling from downstairs. “Dinner’s ready, pup! We can’t starve your guest.”
“Coming,” Harry yells back, chuckling to himself. “We better get down there before they come looking for us.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” I say, already up on my feet. “I’m starved.”
Harry leads me down to the dining room, gesturing for me to take a seat at the already set table. Sirius is already in his chair, and Remus comes in shortly after, levitating what looks like an entire roast chicken.
Sirius smirks as he leans back in his chair, watching me with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “We didn’t have to go all out, but, well, it is a special occasion.”
I raise a brow, glancing at Harry as he takes his seat. “Special occasion?”
Remus sighs, shaking his head fondly as he sets the chicken down. “What he means is that it’s not often we get the honor of hosting Harry’s special guest.”
Sirius waggles his brows suggestively.
Harry groans. “Merlin, don’t start.”
I laugh, playing along. “Oh, should I be flattered?”
“Deeply,” Sirius says with mock seriousness.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Harry mutters, rolling his eyes as he grabs a plate. “He’s been insufferable ever since he found out you were coming.”
“Oi! I am always insufferable, thank you very much.”
Remus chuckles. “That much is true.”
Dinner is lively, full of playful jabs and easy conversation. It’s a far cry from the tense, formal meals I’d endured in other pureblood households. Here, everyone talks over each other, laughs loudly, and—most surprisingly—no one seems to care about manners.
Halfway through the meal, Harry excuses himself to the bathroom. The moment he’s out of earshot, Sirius leans forward, eyes twinkling with curiosity.
“So,” he drawls, “do you fancy him?”
I nearly choke on my food. “What?”
Remus sighs. “Sirius.”
“What?” he says innocently. “I’m just asking a question.”
I wipe my mouth, giving him a deadpan look. “No. Harry and I are just friends.”
Sirius hums, clearly unconvinced. “Just friends, huh?”
“Yes,” I insist, shaking my head. “Why, are you trying to set him up?”
He grins. “I’d just like to see him with someone interesting, that’s all.”
“Well, I hate to disappoint you,” I say, smirking. “But Harry’s like my brother. Besides, I’m engaged.”
Remus nearly spits out his drink, spluttering as he echoes, “Engaged? But you’re—you’re so young for that! Barely sixteen.”
Sirius seems unfazed, offering me a knowing smile. “Ah. You’ve been arranged, then?”
Sometimes I forget he was once the heir to a massive fortune. Pureblood politics and arranged marriage practices aren’t lost on him.
“Yes,” I reply softly, taking a sip of my water. “To Draco, actually.”
Sirius lights up at that. “Really? To Narcissa’s boy?”
“Sirius,” Remus warns.
“What? I’m allowed to be curious,” Sirius shoots back, leaning over the table. “Cissy was my favorite cousin before I had to leave. I can only imagine she raised a fine young wizard.”
A soft smile warms my features. “She did. I adore him—and Narcissa. She’s like the mother I never had.”
Sirius hums, twirling his fork between his fingers. “Well, that is interesting. And here I was hoping I could play matchmaker for Harry.” He sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “Such a shame.”
I snort. “You’ll survive.”
Remus rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue, instead taking another bite of his food.
After a moment, I tilt my head, thinking. “Besides… I don’t think Harry needs a matchmaker.”
Sirius perks up at that. “Oh?”
I grin. “Yeah. He seems to fancy someone already.”
Sirius leans forward eagerly. “And who might that be?”
I open my mouth, ready to say the name—but before I can, footsteps echo from the hallway, and Harry strides back in, looking at us suspiciously.
“What are you lot talking about?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.
Sirius immediately leans back in his chair, all casual innocence. “Oh, nothing important.”
Remus just shakes his head, while I bite back a grin. Harry eyes us for a moment longer before sitting down, clearly unconvinced but too hungry to press the issue.
Sirius catches my eye across the table, smirking like he already knows.
“Say, Harry,” I start, ready to kick up some drama, “how’s Theo?”
Harry freezes before trying to act casual again. “Why?”
I shrug. “Haven’t heard from him in a while.”
I catch Sirius and Remus’ gazes before they look at each other, almost like they’re both telling the other, I told you so.
Harry clears his throat, focusing very intently on his plate. “He’s fine.”
I raise a brow, deliberately drawing out my words. “Just fine?”
He stabs at his food. “Yes.”
Sirius hums, eyes glinting with mischief. “You know, pup, you’re a terrible liar.”
Harry groans, setting down his fork. “Merlin, why are we talking about this?”
“Because,” I say sweetly, “you get all fidgety whenever someone brings up Theo. It’s adorable, really.”
Remus chuckles, shaking his head. “Just let them be, Harry. It’s easier that way.”
Sirius, of course, ignores that completely. “So, Theo,” he drawls, pretending to consider. “Handsome lad, smart, bit of an attitude—”
Harry looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole. “Oh, shut up.”
I smirk. “No need to be embarrassed. We think it’s cute.”
Harry groans again, shoving a bite of food into his mouth just so he doesn’t have to respond. Sirius looks far too pleased with himself, while Remus just sighs like he’s resigned to the chaos.
This is going to be a fun dinner.
Harry, desperate to shift the attention away from himself, suddenly blurts out, “Well, Remus is a werewolf!”
The room falls silent. Sirius rolls his eyes, Remus pinches the bridge of his nose, and Harry looks a little too satisfied with himself. They all turn to me, expecting shock, fear—something.
Instead, I just shrug. “Okay? He’s not special. I have a monthly cycle too.”
Sirius chokes on his drink, spewing it everywhere. Harry’s smirk drops into horrified realization. Remus, who had been preparing for some grand reaction, blinks at me in stunned silence.
Finally, Sirius bursts into laughter, practically wheezing. “Oh, Merlin’s beard! I like this one.”
Remus groans, rubbing his temples. “Sirius, don’t encourage her.”
Harry looks absolutely mortified. “I was not expecting that response.”
I smirk, propping my chin up on my hand. “Well, maybe next time don’t try to throw someone under the bus just because you don’t want to talk about Theo.”
Remus hums approvingly. “She’s got a point.”
Harry scowls, but Sirius just grins, raising his glass to me. “You’re going to fit in just fine, kid.”
I laugh before realization hits me like the Knight Bus. “Oh, that’s why you left my party early. And I knew I heard something about a potion. You must be taking wolfsbane, right?”
Remus stills, his fork hovering over his plate as he studies me with mild surprise. “That’s… not exactly common knowledge. How do you know about Wolfsbane?”
I hesitate, suddenly feeling like I might have said too much. “Er… well.” I clear my throat. “I may have been mentored by Professor Snape last semester in advanced potions.”
Sirius gags. “Snivellus? Mentored you?”
Remus shoots him a look before turning back to me, his curiosity piqued. “That’s impressive. Wolfsbane is a complicated and delicate brew. Even some trained Potioneers struggle with it.”
I shift a little under his gaze, scratching the back of my neck. “Yeah, well. Snape didn’t exactly ask—he just sort of… decided I was going to assist him.” I roll my eyes. “Something about ‘not letting my talent go to waste.’”
Harry lets out a sharp laugh. “Wow. That’s high praise coming from him.”
Remus, however, looks thoughtful. “And did you actually brew it?”
I shrug. “Parts of it. He never let me do the whole thing myself, but he’d have me test ingredients, monitor the simmering process, check the color, that kind of thing.”
Sirius shakes his head dramatically. “Merlin, I hate that you learned something valuable from that greasy bastard.”
I smirk. “What can I say? I like potions.”
Remus watches me for a moment, then offers a small smile. “Then I suppose I should thank you, in a way.”
I blink. “What? Why?”
He gestures vaguely. “If you helped, even a little, it means you had a hand in making my transformations manageable. Severus has been supplying the potion for me since I taught at Hogwarts—albeit with much complaining. Regardless, though, that’s no small thing.”
My stomach twists at the sincerity in his voice, and I wave him off, a little embarrassed. “I mean, it was mostly Snape. I just… assisted.”
Remus chuckles. “Well, consider me impressed.”
Sirius, meanwhile, groans. “Great. Now we have to like Snape a little bit. This is ruining my evening.”
“I see where Harry gets his dramatics from,” I quip, earning offended gasps from both Harry and Sirius in sync.
Remus shakes his head. “Believe me, that’s all James.”
Sirius scoffs, crossing his arms. “Excuse you, Moony, but I’ll have you know I was the epitome of composure at Hogwarts.”
Harry and I both snort at the same time.
Remus just raises an eyebrow. “Right. That’s why you and James spent half your time in detention for pranking the entire school.”
“I’ll have you know,” Sirius sniffs, feigning offense, “that those pranks were legendary.”
Harry shakes his head fondly. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s worse—finding out you helped Snape or realizing you and Sirius would’ve been best friends in school.”
I grin, taking a sip of my drink. “Oh, I know we would’ve been. No wonder Draco calls me insufferable.”
Sirius barks out a laugh. “Merlin, I love this one.” He leans back in his chair, smirking. “So, tell me, since you’re clearly a menace—what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done at Hogwarts?”
Harry groans, covering his face with his hands. “Oh, don’t encourage her.”
But I just smirk, leaning forward. “How much time do you have?”
~
Being able to apparate without a wand has its perks—like being able to land right at the Weasley’s doorstep. I knock on the door three times, and I immediately hear some kind of commotion inside.
“Shut it!” Ginny’s voice rings out, muffled behind the door.
I vaguely make out, “She’s our friend, too,” and, “You’re so mean when you have guests over!” before the door swings open, revealing a grumpy, slightly disheveled looking Ginny.
“You made it. Come on in,” she says with a smile, though I can tell she’s annoyed.
I step into the house, taking it in. The burrow is so full of warmth and love and energy that it’s almost overwhelming. I can feel the magic humming in the bones of the place, but more than that, I can hear a million things at once.
The twins are running wild, tossing something back and forth. Molly is shouting, trying to get them to stop, and Ron and Arthur are having a heated chess match.
Molly finally catches sight of me and snaps her fingers at Fred and George, causing them to straighten up and drop what looks like someone’s wand. Ginny pinches the bridge of her nose, muttering something like, “Animals, the lot of them.”
“Oh! Y/n, dear, we’re so happy to have you,” Molly says warmly, walking over to wrap me up in a hug. “Please excuse the state of the house. These boys are making a game of testing my patience.” She says the last part through gritted teeth before plastering on a smile once more.
“Thank you for having me,” I respond, my face lighting up. “Your home is lovely. Very inviting.”
Molly beams at that, patting my cheek affectionately. “You’re too kind, dear. Now, are you hungry? I can whip something up in no time.”
Before I can even answer, Ginny lets out a dramatic sigh and grabs my wrist. “Mum, if you feed her now, the twins will find some way to use it as an excuse to start a food fight.”
Fred, who is now casually leaning against the wall, grins. “How dare you assume such a thing, Ginny. We are mature, respectable men now.”
George nods sagely. “Exactly. We only start food fights for meaningful reasons, like personal insults or boredom.”
Ginny groans, already dragging me toward the stairs. “This is exactly why we’re leaving.”
“But I like it,” I laugh, glancing back as I see Ron throw his hands up in frustration when Arthur makes a particularly good move in their chess game. The whole house is chaotic and full of life, and it feels like stepping into something warm and familiar, even though it’s nothing like my own home.
Ginny, however, is unfazed, practically yanking me up the narrow staircase. “Yeah, yeah, it’s all fun and games until they decide you’re a prime target for their mischief. Trust me, I’m saving you from becoming the subject of one of their ‘brilliant’ pranks.”
The moment we step into her room, she shuts the door behind us and leans against it like she just escaped a battlefield. “Honestly, I don’t know how I survive this house sometimes.”
I flop onto her bed with a grin. “I think it’s brilliant. You’re lucky to have so much… love around you.”
Ginny’s expression softens just slightly before she rolls her eyes. “You say that now. Let’s see how you feel after a full day of Weasley madness.”
“A day?” I echo, plopping onto her bed. “I worry for the three days after that.”
Ginny smirks, shaking her head as she locks her door. “Speaking of, Hermione will be here on Tuesday. Harry’s invited, too.”
Her slightly wistful tone isn’t lost on me at the mention of Harry’s name. “Yeah, about that. How are you… holding up?”
“You mean, ‘how’s finding out that your biggest crush is gay for a Slytherin?’ Wonderful. Just brilliant, truly,” she quips, flopping down next to me. “I must be the most unlucky witch on the planet.”
I chuckle, leaning back on my elbows. “If it makes you feel better, you’re still hot. I’m pretty sure half the school fancies you.”
“Like who? The brainless jocks who only ever want to snog?” she groans, rolling her eyes.
“Not necessarily,” I reply, the words slipping out before I can stop them. Ginny immediately perks up, catching onto my tone.
She narrows her eyes. “Why’d you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Don’t play dumb with me,” she says, fully sitting up now. “You know something, don’t you?”
I shake my head, hoping my face isn’t red. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Merlin’s beard, who is it? Someone hot, I hope?” she asks, practically bouncing. “Come on, tell me!”
“There’s nothing to tell!” I shoot back, raising my hands in surrender.
Ginny rolls her eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Damn. I can look Voldemort in the eye and mask all of my emotions, but the second I’m around my friends? They can read me like a book.
“I’m sworn to secrecy,” I say finally, clamping my mouth shut again.
Ginny’s eyes go wide. “I was right! You do know something! Come on, who is it? At least tell me what house he’s in.”
“I can’t, Gin.”
“Come on, please? I won’t say anything I just—”
“No, I can’t, she—they would kill me,” I stutter out, before freezing.
Ginny stares at me, slack jawed for just a moment before the realization hits her. “What?”
I blink, trying to think of a way out of this situation. “What?”
Ginny’s eyes widen even further, and she bolts upright on the bed like she’s just been hit with a stunning spell. “She?” she repeats, her voice rising an octave. “You said she! Oh my Merlin’s pants, is it someone I know?”
I mentally curse myself into next week. “No. I mean—yes. I mean—you don’t not know her—ugh,” I bury my face in my hands, groaning into my palms. “Forget I said anything.”
“Oh no,” Ginny says, practically vibrating with curiosity now. “You can’t drop a gendered pronoun and expect me to just let it go. Who is it? Wait—wait. Is it… is it Luna?” Her face lights up with something I can’t place. “It’s Luna, isn’t it?”
I look up just enough to see the excitement blooming on her face—and I want to let her believe it. Truly, I do. But even I know Luna deserves better than being used as a decoy right now.
“No, it’s not Luna,” I mutter, already regretting every decision that led me here.
Ginny gasps again, her grin stretching even wider. “Bloody hell. Then who? Who do I know that would fancy me and make you react like this?” She ticks names off on her fingers. “Not Lavender—she’s still hung up on Seamus. Not Hannah. She’s with Neville, and Hermione’s with Ron. Parvati’s got a thing with that Ravenclaw boy…”
She trails off, her gaze sharpening as it lands on me. A moment of silence stretches between us.
Then she whispers, like the words are forbidden, “It’s not Pansy Parkinson, is it?”
I visibly flinch.
Ginny recoils like I slapped her. “What?! No—no way. You’re kidding.”
I start to shake my head, to deny it, to backtrack, something, but the horrified look on Ginny’s face makes me panic.
“I didn’t say it was her!” I blurt. “You did! And technically, I never confirmed anything!”
Ginny stares at me, mouth slightly open. Then she suddenly lets out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan, flopping back onto the bed with her hands covering her face. “Bloody hell. Pansy Parkinson. Has a crush. On me?!”
“She doesn’t want to,” I try to explain, as if that somehow helps. “Believe me, she’s as distressed about it as you are.”
Ginny lifts her head just enough to squint at me. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
I shrug helplessly. “I don’t know. I’m in way over my head. Do you want me to obliviate you?”
Ginny lets out a bark of laughter. “No, no. I think I need to remember this. I need time to process the fact that the Queen of Slytherin has apparently been making heart eyes at me in the halls.”
I bury my face in a pillow, muffling a scream. “She’s going to hex me for this.”
Ginny reaches over, patting my back. “You can stay in hiding here. I’ll ward the door.”
I sigh. “Thanks. I’ll just live here now. Tell the Malfoys I died honorably.”
Ginny smirks. “Killed in action. Cause of death: accidentally outing a Slytherin with a crush.”
“Shut up,” I whine, rolling on my side to face her. “You can’t say anything. Seriously. She’s, like, really struggling with this.”
“I find it hard to imagine that Pansy struggles with anything besides her skincare routine,” Ginny muses, leaning against the wall. “I’m kidding. I won’t say anything. I promise.”
I exhale sharply through my nose. “I didn’t even mean to bring it up. I was just supposed to—” I start, before quickly turning away. “Never mind.”
Without missing a beat, Ginny just smirks. “She sent you to find out how I felt about it, didn’t she?”
“No,” I say promptly, meaning it. “I told her I’d find out. Of my own accord. She just threatened me with violence if it went wrong.”
Ginny huffs out a soft laugh. “Sounds about right.”
I glance over my shoulder at her, trying to gauge her reaction, but her expression’s unreadable—mischief curled at the corners of her lips, sure, but something quieter flickers behind her eyes. She’s thinking. And I can’t tell what exactly she’s thinking, which only makes my anxiety worse.
“She’s not like…” I pause, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “She’s not trying to make a joke of it, if that’s what you’re worried about. I think—” I hesitate again, fingers curling in the blanket. “I think it scares her. Liking someone who could hate her for it.”
Ginny doesn’t say anything at first. She just stares straight ahead, jaw working slightly like she’s turning that over in her mind. I half expect her to laugh again, brush it off like she always does when things get too close to something real.
But then she says quietly, “Yeah. I get that.”
It’s my turn to blink now, caught off guard by the honesty in her voice. I sit up slowly. “So… you’re not mad?”
She looks at me finally, one eyebrow raised. “What would I be mad about?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “She hasn’t exactly been kind to you over the years.”
“No,” Ginny agrees, stretching her legs out. “She hasn’t. But… I dunno.” She shrugs. “Sometimes people are mean because they don’t know what else to do with what they’re feeling.”
I nod slowly, watching her. She’s doing that Weasley thing again—playing it cool, pretending it’s nothing, but her fingers are fiddling with a loose thread on her sleeve. Ron does it when he’s stressed out with schoolwork—eating as much as he can as fast as he can to distract himself. The twins just pull pranks on people so they don’t have to think about whatever is bothering them.
“You’re not going to say anything, right?” I ask again, gently.
Ginny rolls her eyes. “Didn’t I already promise?”
“Yeah,” I say with a small smile, “but you’ve got that thinking face on. Like you’re running a mental simulation of what it would be like to snog her in the Prefect’s bathroom or something.”
Ginny throws a pillow at me.
“You’re the worst,” she mutters, but her ears are a bit pink now, and she doesn’t deny it.
I duck the pillow, laughing. “Admit it, she’s hot.”
“I will do no such thing,” she says primly, crossing her arms—but the corner of her mouth twitches, and her gaze lingers on the far wall like she’s not entirely in the room anymore.
Yeah. She’s definitely thinking about it.
~
“Have room for a few more?”
Hermione’s voice hits my ears as she raps on the door to Ginny’s room. Harry and Ron are close behind her, Harry looking particularly hesitant.
I beam but look to Ginny for approval before I say anything.
“Course,” she says simply, waving them in. “Let us finish this round first, then we’ll deal you in.”
Her and I play a few cards back and forth before the deck explodes with a snap—I lost. Again.
“Okay, you’ve rigged this,” I groan, before getting up to give the trio hugs, much to Ron’s grumbling.
“You’ve been in my house,” he complains before looking at Ginny, his eyes saying something like can you get your friend?
Ginny just shrugs. “Don’t look at me. You made friends with the Hufflepuff.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Harry jests, causing Ginny’s cheeks to go pink.
She clears her throat, looking back down at the deck in her hands. “Hi Harry.”
Harry offers a quick, sheepish smile. “Hey, Ginny.”
It’s short, clipped—barely even audible over the rustling of Hermione setting down her bag and Ron already rummaging for snacks in the corner. He scratches the back of his neck like he’s not sure if he should say more, but he doesn’t.
Ginny doesn’t look up again. She just starts to reshuffle the cards with more focus than necessary, her fingers moving quickly, mechanically. The silence stretches for half a beat too long.
I glance between the two of them, eyebrows raising slightly. There’s something thick in the air—like a conversation they haven’t had yet is taking up all the oxygen in the room.
“You alright?” Hermione asks, settling onto the edge of the bed beside me.
“Peachy,” Ginny says lightly, eyes still on the deck. “Just trying to figure out how to destroy both of you at once.”
I laugh, easing back onto the carpet and taking the cards Hermione hands me. “That’s bold talk from someone who calls Mione the Snap Queen.”
Harry sits on the floor too, but not quite as close to Ginny as he probably would’ve last summer. His knee barely brushes mine instead.
Ginny finally looks up, flicking a glance toward him. “I’m sure Harry will help you. He just loves playing hero. You know—taking in strays. That kind of thing.”
Hermione coughs—too loudly to be natural—and Ron stops mid-crunch with a mouth full of crisps. I go still.
Harry blinks. “What?”
“Nothing,” Ginny says, shrugging with forced nonchalance. “Just joking.”
But nobody laughs.
“Have… did I do something?” Harry asks awkwardly, moving imperceptibly closer to me.
Ginny just starts dealing cards, looking right up at me and then down at the floor again. “No. Don’t worry about it, scarhead.”
The nickname that once sounded light, playful even from her lips—comes out harsh. Cold.
Harry flinches but doesn’t press. I decide to do something to take the attention off him. With a flick of my wrist, and quite a bit of focus, I start to conjure up some dice and and a small table for the cards.
“I forget sometimes that you don’t need a wand,” Hermione says almost breathlessly, shaking her head.
“It’s not fair,” Ron whines, crossing his arms. “You get to do magic all the time. Even outside of school.”
I shrug, levitating Ginny’s carefully divided decks of cards onto the table. “Yeah, well, when you start showing signs of the ‘family gift’ before you’re even allowed to get a wand, it stops feeling special after the first month.”
Harry exhales. “Hardly seems like a family gift. Neither of your parents could do that, could they? Wandless magic, I mean?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “No. I’m talking about—”
“The dark magic,” Ginny finishes for me, finally looking up. “You’d know that if you payed attention, oh Chosen One.”
Harry’s face falls, the corners of his mouth twitching downward as if he’s not sure whether to frown or smile it off. He glances over at Hermione, who opens her mouth like she wants to jump in, but even she doesn’t seem sure how to smooth this over.
I try not to wince. Ginny’s words aren’t cruel exactly—but they sting, sharp-edged and laced with something she’s clearly been holding in.
“Right,” Harry mutters, looking down at his hands. “Sorry. I guess I’ve… missed a few things.”
“You could say that,” Ginny says under her breath, cutting the deck cleanly and dealing each of us a hand. Her movements are crisp, practiced. Too controlled.
The silence stretches again, awkward and buzzing with things no one’s saying.
I try to keep my tone light. “Well, this is fun. I love whatever this vibe is.”
That gets a snort out of Ron, and even Hermione lets out a small, nervous laugh, like we’ve cracked through the tension just enough to breathe.
“Listen, I don’t know what I did, but I swear—I’m not trying to be difficult,” Harry says suddenly, glancing at Ginny again. “Things seem… complicated? I guess. Right now.”
Ginny doesn’t respond right away. She places her cards face down and leans back on her hands, eyes on the ceiling. “Yeah. That’s one word for it.”
Hermione gives me a look—one that says please say something, before someone cries or explodes.
I sigh, tossing a card into the center. “Alright, if we’re going to drown in unspoken feelings, someone at least pass the butterbeer. I don’t suffer in silence without snacks.”
Ron perks up. “Finally! Someone with priorities.”
And just like that, the tension cracks slightly at the edges, but I can still feel it—humming underneath the table, between the glances Ginny keeps avoiding and the apologies Harry hasn’t figured out how to make.
Exploding snap (plus the dice I conjured, making it harder) doesn’t last very long before Ginny devolves into straight up arguing with Harry, who seems rather confused at the whole thing.
“Can you at least tell me what’s wrong?” Harry asks, his arms held out at his sides in defeat.
Ginny scoffs. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m not a Legilimens, Gin. If you don’t tell me what’s wrong I can’t—”
“Don’t call me that,” she snaps, her eyes burning with fury.
Harry takes a step back, as if afraid she’ll lunge at him. “Sorry. I didn’t know—”
“Of course you didn’t know,” she sneers, arms crossed right. “You never know anything, do you?”
Ron, Hermione, and I exchange quick glances. Ron jerks his chin subtly toward the door. Hermione raises her brows like really? but doesn’t argue.
I gather up the cards with a whisper of magic, stacking them neatly as an excuse, and we all start to edge out of the room like we’re just so coincidentally in need of water or air—or anything not laced with this amount of tension.
The second we slip into the hallway, Ron carefully eases the door almost shut, but not quite. It clicks lightly against the frame, just enough to muffle their voices without fully cutting them off. We hover there like nosy little shadows, hearts racing, breaths held.
Inside, Ginny’s voice rises again.
“Oh, please, Harry. Don’t act like you didn’t notice. Like you haven’t known for months.”
“I haven’t!” Harry insists, bewildered and exasperated. “I really—I didn’t know, alright? I didn’t think—”
“You didn’t think? Of course you didn’t think,” Ginny fires back. “You just flounce off with Theo Nott like nothing matters, like none of this ever mattered!”
There’s a pause. Hermione’s eyes go wide. Ron’s eyebrows shoot up so high they’re practically in his hairline.
“Bloody hell,” he mouths to us. Hermione elbows him hard, but he’s too stunned to feel it.
“What—what does Theo have to do with anything?” Harry says inside, his voice pitching higher. “I’m not—I mean, I’m not with Theo!”
There’s silence for a beat too long.
“Really?” Ginny finally says. “Because it sure looks like it. The way you talk about him. The way you look at him.”
“I’m not with him,” Harry repeats, his tone flat but uncertain now. “And it’s not my fault you have a crush on me.”
Outside the door, all three of us physically flinch.
“Oh, no,” Ron mutters under his breath, rubbing his hands down his face. “He did not just say that—”
The sound of something being thrown echoes from inside the room, followed by a dull thump.
“You absolute tosser!” Ginny shouts. “You think this is just—what? My problem? Like I’m the one who misread everything?”
Hermione grabs my arm, whispering, “We should stop this.”
But I shake my head. “No. She’s been holding this in all summer.”
Inside, Harry’s voice wavers. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just—I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry I didn’t know.”
Another pause.
“I was scared,” he says, softer now. “Everything’s been changing, and Theo was—he was just… there. He got it. He wasn’t asking me to be anything. You’ve never seen me as Harry. You’ve always seen me as Harry Potter—the ‘Chosen One,’ some kind of hero. I don’t want people to admire me, I just want people to see me!”
We don’t hear Ginny’s response right away. There’s only the sound of her breathing, sharp and uneven.
“You’re such a coward,” she says at last, her voice so quiet it barely carries. “That’s the worst part. You’re so brave when it’s about saving the world, but when it’s about you? You run.”
The silence that follows is heavier than anything she’s said.
Even Ron doesn’t make a joke.
We step away from the door, just beside the handrail for the stairs, but we can still hear their voices—Harry’s is louder, as if he’s getting closer to the door.
“I’m sorry I can’t be what you want,” Harry finally tells her. “At some point in time, I thought—maybe I had feelings for you, you know? But I don’t. It’s not your fault, it’s nothing you did, I just don’t.”
There’s another beat before she responds, “You don’t even care, do you?”
Hermione, Ron and I look at each other warily. We know exactly what’s about to—
“You seriously think I don’t care?” Harry questions her, voice rising. “You’re a smart girl, Ginny. Just because I’m not in love with you doesn’t mean I don’t love you!”
“Oh, that’s convenient,” she snaps back. “Tell me—do you love Hermione, too? Y/n? How about Malfoy?”
At that, Ron’s jaw practically hits the floor. Hermione covers her mouth with her hand, eyes wide. I just close my eyes for a second and breathe. This was always going to happen. Not like this, maybe—but eventually.
Inside, Harry sounds like he’s just been slapped.
“That’s not fair,” he says, a little too quiet to be convincing. “You know that’s not fair.”
“You said you loved me,” Ginny says bitterly. “Just not like that. And now I’m supposed to be okay with you running off and getting close to people who aren’t me, who don’t—”
“I’m trying, Ginny,” he interrupts, more forceful now. “I’m trying to be honest. I’m trying to not lie to you. That has to count for something.”
There’s a long pause, broken only by Ginny’s uneven breathing.
Then finally—“It does,” she says, and the anger in her voice has dulled to something softer, something sadder. “I just… I don’t know how to be your friend right now.”
“You don’t have to be,” Harry says. “Not right away. Not ever, if that’s what you want.”
The door creaks open a moment later, and he walks out, eyes downcast, lips pressed together in a thin, unreadable line.
Ron and Hermione immediately duck into the room behind him. I catch a glimpse of Ginny sitting on the edge of her bed, hands in her lap, eyes glassy but dry. Hermione moves to sit beside her, and Ron lingers awkwardly before sitting on the floor like he did on the train.
I don’t follow them.
Instead, I quietly step after Harry. He’s already partway down the stairs, taking them slowly like each step might break under him.
“Hey,” I call gently.
He stops but doesn’t turn around.
“I figured you could use someone who… doesn’t want to yell at you right now.”
He exhales, still not looking at me. “Didn’t think anyone like that still existed.”
I descend the last few steps and join him in the hallway, standing beside him in the soft creak of the Burrow’s old floorboards. We’re quiet for a moment.
Then, softly, I ask, “You okay?”
He huffs a humorless laugh. “No. Not even close.”
I nod, because what else can you do when someone tells the truth like that?
“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he adds, finally looking over at me. “But I think I did. Badly.”
“You did,” I admit. “But you didn’t lie. That counts for something.”
Harry leans against the wall and scrubs a hand over his face. “She said Malfoy’s name, didn’t she?”
I raise an eyebrow. “You noticed that?”
“Hard not to.”
He doesn’t say anything else for a long moment.
Then: “Do you think she’s right? That I care about him?”
I look at him carefully. “I think,” I say slowly, “you’re asking the wrong person.”
And then—because I know it’s what he actually needs—I add, “But yeah. I do think you care. About pretty much everyone around you.”
He doesn’t answer. Just sinks down onto the stairs and rests his arms on his knees, silent and spiraling.
“But you’re not asking about Draco, are you?”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Am I that see through?”
I just smile softly at him, my unspoken yes. He laughs mirthlessly.
“It’s okay, you know,” I say softly, brushing some of his hair out of his face. “To fancy Theo.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” he groans, taking his glasses off to rub a hand over his face. “I’m not gay.”
I take his glasses from his hand gently and clean them off. “I’m not saying you are. You can like both, you know. Or neither. Whatever. It doesn’t really matter what you call it—but I can tell you fancy Theo. You two just click, the same way Draco and I do.”
Harry lets out a quiet breath, like the air’s been knocked from his lungs but in slow motion. His eyes flick up to meet mine—raw, wide, uncertain. Like I’ve just said something he’s been waiting for and dreading all at once.
“You and Draco click?” he echoes weakly, like he’s grasping for a safer branch in the middle of a storm.
I let out a small laugh. “Harry. I’ve nearly hexed him daily since we met. That kind of chemistry doesn’t just appear out of nowhere.”
He snorts despite himself. “You’re both lunatics.”
“Absolutely.”
He takes his glasses back, but doesn’t put them on. Just holds them, turning them over in his hands. “Theo… he just gets it. He doesn’t need me to save the world or be brave or—figure myself out overnight. He just wants me to be there.”
“Sounds like someone I know,” I say with a small nudge of my shoulder against his.
“Yeah,” he says, quiet. “But with Ginny, it always felt like I had to be something. Someone. With Theo, I get to be.”
I look at him for a moment. “Then don’t throw that away just because you’re scared of naming it.”
He finally slides his glasses back on and rests his chin on his arms, looking down the stairs.
“I didn’t expect this summer to go this way,” he admits.
Merlin, neither did I. I had no idea that saving the world would lead to multiple ongoing sexuality crises with my friends. I pat his knee as I consider my response.
“None of us did,” I say finally. “But maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s not supposed to go to plan.”
We sit in silence for a moment longer, the house creaking faintly around us, the soft murmurs of Ron and Hermione still coming from upstairs.
Then Harry leans his head back against the wall, eyes closed.
“You think he knows?” he asks.
“Theo?”
Harry hums in response.
“I think you’re the last person to find out. He’s just waiting for you to catch up,” I say gently. “But he’s not going to wait forever.”
Harry nods once, barely.
And I stay beside him. Because he’s not okay—but he will be.
After a few moments he exhales before laying his head on my shoulder. I don’t think before wrapping an arm around him, mindlessly running my fingers through his hair, trying to offer him some semblance of comfort. I swear I feel a drop on my shirt, but I ignore it. If he wants to cry, he can. I’ll still be here.
His shoulders tremble, just barely, like he’s holding back more than he knows how to say. I don’t mention it. I just let him be—quiet and soft, curled into himself but still letting me hold him.
It’s not the kind of comfort with words. It’s the kind that just exists—warm, steady, a lifeline in a sea of things he can’t untangle right now.
“I didn’t want to hurt her,” he murmurs, so low I almost miss it.
“I know,” I whisper back. “You never do.”
He nods against my shoulder, and I feel his breath stutter once—just once—but I don’t press. I keep my fingers in his hair, and we sit like that until the voices upstairs fade, and the light from the kitchen starts to dim with the setting sun.
Eventually, he shifts, sitting upright again and rubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his jumper.
“Thanks,” he says softly, his voice hoarse.
“You don’t have to thank me,” I reply, giving him a half-smile. “You’d do the same.”
He nods. “Yeah. I would.”
Then he looks at me, and for a moment, he just breathes.
“Do you think I’m a coward?”
The question is sudden and small and impossibly heavy.
“No,” I say, without hesitation. “I think you’re brave in all the ways that count. And figuring yourself out? That takes more courage than anything else you’ve done.”
He holds my gaze, and for the first time all day, his expression softens.
“Maybe tomorrow,” he says quietly, “I’ll write to Theo. And apologize to Ginny. Properly.”
I squeeze his hand. “Tomorrow sounds good.”
~
I have no idea what Harry said to Ginny this morning, but she seems settled. More at peace than she has been in a while. Maybe they made up—or maybe she fully cut him off. I don’t really know, but I’m guessing it’s the former, because Harry seems lighter, too.
And somehow, we all fall back into a kind of rhythm.
Molly’s already bustling in the kitchen when I come downstairs, humming something off-key as she levitates a mountain of toast onto a large platter. The smell of sizzling eggs and strong tea fills the air, comforting and warm, and a little part of me wants to bottle it up and take it with me.
“Morning, dear!” she says brightly, pressing a warm plate into my hands before I can blink. “Eat up before those boys get to it—they’ll inhale everything if you’re not careful.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” I smile, sliding into a chair next to Hermione, who’s already sipping her tea and reading Witch Weekly with a bored expression.
Fred and George come barreling in moments later, arguing loudly over whether or not Extendable Ears could be adapted to spy on ghosts.
“That’s not how spirits work, you turnip,” George says, whacking Fred with a rolled-up napkin.
Fred dodges with theatrical flair. “Well someone clearly failed Spectral Studies!”
“You failed Spectral Studies!”
“I was making a statement!”
“You were asleep!”
Molly glares at them both from the stove. “If you two don’t sit down and eat, I will charm your tongues to the roof of your mouths.”
Fred salutes. “Aye aye, Captain.”
George plops into the seat across from me and grins. “So. Back off to the snake pit today?”
I chuckle, playing with my new ring. “Sure am.”
Fred winces. “Yikes.”
George leans in conspiratorially. “Want us to slip you some Skiving Snackboxes? Fake a fever, get out of pureblood politics for a day?”
I snort into my tea. “Tempting.”
Harry appears then, hair still damp from a shower, a slice of toast hanging from his mouth like he’s too proud to use his hands. He mumbles something that might be “morning,” and slides into the seat next to me, bumping shoulders as he does.
“Eat like you’ve got manners,” Molly sighs, waving her wand and forcing his toast onto his plate.
“Didn’t know I was being watched,” Harry mumbles, cheeks a little pink.
Ginny joins not long after, and though she doesn’t say anything to him directly, she does pass him the jam without being asked. It’s subtle. Quiet. But it’s something.
I catch Harry’s eye. He doesn’t say a word, but he nods.
They’re okay. Or trying to be.
The rest of breakfast is a blur of bickering and laughter and warm food that tastes like home. But eventually, the clock ticks too far forward, and my heart sinks just a little as the hour approaches.
“I should get going,” I say softly, pushing my plate away.
Hermione looks up. “Already?”
Ron frowns. “That was fast.”
Molly’s already at the door, wrapping me in a hug before I can even stand fully. “You’re always welcome here, dear. No matter what house you stay in.”
“Thanks,” I say into her shoulder, a little choked. “Really.”
The twins offer a dramatic bow as I gather my things. Ginny gives me a small smile and a squeeze of the hand. Ron just gives me a shrug and a muttered “see ya,” which, coming from him, might as well be a sonnet.
Hermione walks me to the door, arms folded over her chest like she’s trying not to show how much she’s going to miss me.
“You’ll owl, right?”
“Of course.”
“And if you need anything—”
“I’ll write.”
She hugs me tight. “Be careful.”
“I always am,” I lie.
When I turn to Harry, he just looks at me like he’s still trying to say everything he couldn’t last night. His hands hover awkwardly before he finally just pulls me into a hug that’s a little too long, a little too tight.
“Thanks,” he says quietly.
“For what?”
“For seeing me.”
I squeeze him back. “Anytime, Potter.”
And with that, I step outside and disapparate, the warmth of the Burrow still lingering on my skin—carried with me, even into the now familiar iron gates of Malfoy Manor.
At this time last year, the house I lived in didn’t feel like home to me. But now? Now I’ve got more homes than I can fathom, sprinkled all over the map.
Truly, I’ve loved every second of my time with my friends—but I’m glad to be home.
The doors open for me automatically as I trip the wards. The journalists outside are fewer but no less annoying, so I rush in quickly, hardly sparing them a glance.
When I set my bags down inside, closing the large door behind me, Dobby appears instantaneously with a pop.
“Miss Lavigné is back! Dobby will take your things,” he says cheerfully, bowing deeply.
I smile at him. “Thanks, Dobby. Where’s Draco?”
Dobby straightens, ears twitching as he beams. “Master Draco is in the library, Miss. Has not left it all day.”
Of course he is.
“Thanks,” I say again, brushing invisible lint from my sleeves before slipping down the long corridor, footsteps echoing quietly against the cold stone.
The library doors are cracked just slightly, warm light spilling into the hallway. I push them open silently, slipping in and closing them behind me with a soft click. He doesn’t look up—his back is to me, hunched over one of the long reading tables, sleeves rolled up, blond hair a little messy like he’s run his hands through it too many times. There’s a stack of books next to him—some open, some annotated—half of them I recognize from our last search together.
I pad forward on silent feet, winding between shelves until I’m just behind him.
Then—“Miss me?”
He yelps.
There’s a sudden, chaotic clatter as he spins, wand halfway drawn and elbow knocking into the stack of books, which tumble dramatically to the floor. He looks like he’s about to hex first and ask questions later—until he sees me.
Then something shifts in his face.
“Merlin’s bloody beard—” he breathes out, relief washing through his entire frame. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
I grin. “Just keeping you sharp.”
He stares at me for a heartbeat longer—and then moves.
In two strides he’s across the space between us, arms closing around me in a fierce, almost desperate hug. I stagger slightly, not expecting the impact, but I don’t mind. His grip is warm, steady, and just the tiniest bit shaking.
“You left me,” he mumbles into my shoulder, voice half-muffled. “Alone. With them.”
I laugh into his shirt. “It wasn’t even two weeks.”
“It felt like two years,” he corrects dramatically, pulling back just far enough to look at me. “They made me go to tea with my aunt twice. Twice, Lavigné. I just met Andromeda for the first time and the second. Do you know how awkward that was?”
“Tragic.”
He gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. “You mock my suffering?”
“Constantly.”
But I soften as I say it. Because even though he’s being ridiculous, there’s real relief in his eyes. Like seeing me lets him exhale something he didn’t know he’d been holding in.
“I brought you something,” I say, fishing a small tin out of my pocket.
His brows rise. “Bribery?”
“A peace offering,” I amend. “It’s treacle tart. From the Burrow. Molly insisted.”
He snatches it with the enthusiasm of a man long denied joy. “You are forgiven.”
“For?”
“Leaving me to rot in the Manor.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You were reading.”
“I was grieving.”
I snort.
“Come on, don’t act like you don’t enjoy your alone time,” I tease, pulling him to sit on the red velvet couch.
Draco drops down beside me, immediately pulling me onto his lap in one smooth motion. “I like my alone time better when you’re there.”
“That kind of defeats the purpose, don’t you—”
He cuts me off with a kiss, and I can’t help but smile against his lips when the initial surprise wears off. He holds the sides of my face gently, before pulling away a bit abruptly.
“You smell like Potter and Weasley. I hate it.”
I roll my eyes. “I did spend quite a bit of time with them, yes. And I hugged them goodbye.”
He crinkles his nose in offense. “I don’t know how I feel about you hanging off of other men. We are engaged, after all. Everyone should know you’re mine.”
“Trust me, they do,” I laugh, kissing the tip of his nose. His grumpy façade fades instantly. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Malfoy.”
“Of scar head and leprechaun? Absolutely not,” he scoffs, before turning back to me. “I’m getting you a bottle of my cologne.”
I quirk a brow. “Why?”
“So you can spray it on your clothes. So you always smell like me.”
I lay my head in the crook of his neck, getting comfortable. “You’re ridiculous.”
Draco’s arms wrap tighter around me, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear again if he loosens his grip even slightly. “And yet, you missed me.”
I hum against his collarbone. “Unfortunately.”
He scoffs, but the sound is muffled by the way he buries his nose in my hair. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“Is that what this is?” I murmur. “You threatening me with cologne and possessiveness?”
He shrugs, smug. “Malfoy love language.”
I giggle, tracing lazy circles on his chest. “And here I thought it was snark, dramatic eye rolls, and snogging in libraries.”
He tilts his head like he’s considering it. “Add in reckless dueling and unsolicited dark magic commentary, and yes—that’s the full list.”
“Perfect,” I whisper, closing my eyes. “Then I’m fluent.”
There’s a moment of quiet, just our breathing and the faint crackle from the fireplace tucked into the corner. He starts running a hand down my back, slow and steady. Comforting.
“I missed this,” he admits finally, voice low.
I press a kiss to his neck. “Me too.”
“Never leave for that long again,” he adds.
I lift my head to look at him. “Or what?”
His eyes gleam. “I’ll come drag you back. Publicly. Dramatically. Possibly with fireworks.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
I grin, curling back into him. “You’re the worst.”
“I’m your worst.”
And, somehow, that’s better.