“Bev,” Richie groans pathetically, throwing himself into her lap. “Help me. I’m doomed.”
Bev glances down at the pile of curly hair, awkward limbs and robes on her lap. They’re on her favourite squishy couch in the new, “house unity” common room, and it’s mostly empty. An inter-house common room was a popular idea at first, and it is busy now and again, but house pride and prejudices run deep. Often, it’s just the seven of them in here. The Losers club. The ones who petitioned for a shared house space in the first place.
She figures it’s safe to ask Richie what’s wrong as they have relative privacy. She strokes a hand through his hair, comfortingly. He groans again, muffled by her lap.
“He’s so cute.” Richie mumbles, frustratedly. Bev laughs, knowing immediately who Richie means.
“Does this have anything to do with a certain 5-foot-nothing Gryffindor? Small and always angry?” She asks, grinning. He doesn’t bother to reply.
”Friends since practically birth? Name begins with an E?”
Richie turns over onto his back and scowls at her, and then covers his face. Poor boy. So emotionally constipated.
“He turned his hair pink this morning. Pink!” Richie’s voice is strangled and she desperately tries not to laugh. ”He’s so cute I could die.”
Bev strokes his hair a bit more, contemplating how dumb her boys really were. Richie’s eyes close at the touch; he stretches like a cat. She looks at him.
“You know, you’re really dumb for a Ravenclaw.” She says, finally, and he cracks an eye open, squinting up at her.
“I’m creative. An artist.” he says, loudly and dramatically. “There’s more to a Ravenclaw than their brains, Bev.”
For a second, he sounds genuinely annoyed. It isn’t the first time he’s been called an unconventional Ravenclaw, or that he doesn’t belong in his house. Sure, he aces his classes, but with a carelessness that doesn’t suit his house’s reputation. She thinks that maybe she should apologise but then he opens his mouth and winks and the moment is forgotten.
“Ravenclaws are talented in lots of ways.” He continues, his voice laced with innuendo. He waggles his eyebrows obnoxiously. “Just ask your-“
“Nope! Shut up. No mum jokes.” She interrupts hastily. “And stop changing the subject. You’re being an idiot. Here’s a fun idea: just go and talk to Eddie.”
Richie stares at her for a long, silent moment.
“That’s a great idea, Bev.” He says, sitting up. “I have a better idea. I never tell Eddie, ever, and I don’t ruin our friendship, and I keep all my feelings bottled up until I die.”
She pushes him off the couch and he goes down with a yelp.
“You’re right.” She says, flatly. “There’s no helping you. You’re doomed.”
From where he’s now lying on the floor, Richie just groans pathetically again.
Later on- much, much later- he’s stretched out on the floor in the Ravenclaw common room. It’s one of his favourite places to be. It’s all dark blue and mysterious, and makes him think of night time and illicit evenings spent out in the dark grounds with his friends. He’s actually studying- probably the most shocking part of the picture he paints. He doesn’t really spend his time poured over books, not like Ben does, but he makes an exception for Transfiguration. He loves it.
Sometimes, it’s all he can focus on, and his mile-a-minute brain can usually never focus. Well, unless Eddie’s around. Eddie captures every inch of his attention.
He sighs, re-reading the last passage on “mental transformation.” He’s trying to perfect his animagus transformation, with private tutoring from Professor McGonagall, despite the fact that she’s given him 90 percent of his many thousands of detentions. He thinks that she’s only ever smiled at him during transfiguration. He knows his form now, it’s a bird. A huge, soaring falcon. He’s flown, and the feeling of the wind under his wings was more exhilarating than anything he’s ever felt, way better than quidditch. But he’s struggling to turn back to human form. Every time, he’s had to have McGonagall wave her wand and magic him back, and it’s frustrating. Why can’t he get this?
He’s about to give up, it is nearing 1am, when he hears a soft knock on the common room door. He startles. He gets up and walks over quietly to the entrance. The person knocks again. There’s the gentle murmur of the statue, asking a riddle, and Richie snickers as he hears the faint but unmistakably irritated voice of Eddie Kaspbrak in reply. Eddie doesn’t always get the riddles (to be fair, neither does Richie half the time) and it pisses him off to no end.
Taking pity, and also helpless to do anything else (his mind going “Eddie! Eddie! Eddie!”), he swings the door open to let Eddie in.
“Eds?” He says, looking Eddie up and down for any sign of harm. It is late.
He’s wearing pyjama shorts and, Richie’s breath catches in his throat, one of Richie’s band tshirts. He must’ve stolen it over the summer. Richie tries to remember how to breathe.
There’s no rant greeting him about how archaic and dumb having a riddle as a password is.
(“It’s just fucking dumb, Richie. Anyone smart enough could get in!”)
So, Richie stands there stupidly.
“Let me in arsehole,” Eddie hisses, his arms wrapped around his middle. “It’s fucking freezing out here.”
Oh, right. Richie quickly steps back and lets him in.
“Alright, alright, quit bitching.” He whispers, glancing down the corridor as Eddie slips past him. No-one as far as he can see. He closes the door.
When he turns back around, he notices Eddies hair is now purple and it looks unfairly good in the dark blue glow of the Ravenclaw common room. He can’t stop staring. Fucking Metamophmagus’.
Eddie also looks unusually awkward.
“Sorry,” Eddie says, as if he and Richie don’t spend half their time sneaking into each other’s Houses. “I just couldn’t sleep and you’re always up, because you don’t have any sense of how to be a healthy human being, you weirdo, and I just thought-
Richie interrupts his rambling, makes a shush-ing motion and points to the dormitory stairs. With a wave of his hand, he casts muffliato and then grins at Eddie.
“Alright.” He says, at his normal volume (read: loud), “Sorry, you can talk now. And Eds, you know you can come here any time.”
Eddie just stares at Richie’s hand with wide, dark eyes and his cheeks look a little flushed. Richie shifts uncomfortably under his gaze and coughs. Eddie’s head snaps up and wow, his cheeks were really burning.
“You make wandless magic look easy.” Eddie says, and it’s the sort of thing that should sound accusing and maybe jealous, but it doesn’t. There’s something else in his tone, something Richie can’t identify.
So he shrugs.
“It’s not a hard spell.” Is all he says and flops down onto the floor. After a pause, Eddie settles down next to him, cross legged.
“My mum sent me a letter.” Eddie says, after a while, and that’s explanation enough for why he can’t sleep.
“Oh.” Richie says.
“She wants me to come home for the Christmas holidays.”
Bitch. Richie thinks to himself, you can’t have him. He’s not your toy.
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t talk as much around Eddie as he does with everyone else. He’s seen Eddie every day since he was six, okay, sometimes when you know someone that well there’s not always tons of things to talk about.
Besides, Eddie hates useless platitudes, especially when it comes to his Mum. Instead, he holds his arms out. Eddie doesn’t even hesitate. He’s tucked against Richie’s side before he can take a breath, his head on his shoulder. Richie tightens his arm around him and for a second he aches.
Just friends. He thinks. Close, close friends. Just two friends being like...brothers.
He wrinkles his nose. Ew. Gross.
Eddie burrows into his side a bit and Richie tries not to tense, hoping that the way his heart is hammering isn’t too noticeable.
“Rich?”
”What’s up Spaghetti?”
The nickname earns him a punch to the arm and a swift “Don’t call me that!”. Eddie settles back by his side.
“Here I was, about to be all sappy and sentimental.” Eddie says.
Richie whips his head around around faster than you could blink. Sappy?
“Um,” He says, coherently. Then his brain starts to work a little better. “Sentimental about what?”
“Us, friendship, “bffs for life” as you put it.” Eddie responds, lightly.
“I said bezzies, actually.” Richie corrects absently. His mind is still stuck on the way Eddie said us. Like it was just a given that they were an us, a pair.
Eddie shakes his head in fond exasperation.
”Bezzies. Sure.”
Then, with the courage of a Gryffindor that Richie sometimes fucking wished he possessed, Eddie brushes his pinky against Richie’s. Then he intertwines them. Slowly, he links their index fingers, too. Time freezes.
“I was going to say, if I had it my way, I’d spend every single holiday with you.” Eddie admits.
Richie doesn’t normally dare let himself hope, but holy fuck. If ever there was a sign that Eddie felt the same way, this was sure as hell a hint.
Deciding to take a leaf from Eddie’s book, Richie thinks “fuck it” and laces his fingers through Eddie’s, so that they’re holding hands. His other arm is draped over Eddie’s shoulders still. He hears the very noticeable hitch in Eddie’s breath but still. He doesn’t want to ruin it. The moment, or whatever.
So instead, they sit pressed thigh to thigh, hands held between them over their laps.
This, Richie thinks, was probably pushing plausible deniability to its uppermost limits. Beverly’s earlier advice (“Talk to him!”) echoes annoyingly in his head as they sit there. But he’s not entirely brave enough.
A few silent moments pass, and then Eddie catches sight of the book by his side.
“Wait, were you studying?” Eddie says, sounding amused and slightly incredulous.
“Not really. Kinda” Richie admits and that grabs Eddie’s attention. “It’s extra credit. For my animagus transformation.” Eddie sits up.
“You were reading for fun?” Eddie asks, grinning down at him. “Richie-I never-read-books-willingly-Tozier, caught reading for fun?”
Richie laughs and pokes him in the thigh.
“I know, I know.” Richie says, “Who knew dumbass Richie Tozier could read?”
Eddie giggles. It’s a beautiful sound.
Richie feigns looking wildly round the common room, a mock shocked expression on his face.
“Wait!” He says, dramatically. “I’m in Ravenclaw? How the hell did I end up here?”
Eddie doesn’t laugh this time, and Richie looks at him. He’s frowning and staring at Richie with a highly focused intensity.
“Do you actually think that?” Eddie asks, quietly.
“Think what?”
“That you’re too dumb to be a Ravenclaw.”
Richie shifts a little and half shrugs. He knows he’s smart, and he loves magic. He fucking loves it. And he’s creative too, he knows that (his pranks on the lower years attest for his creative prowess). But, his entire life, his sorting has been treated as a bit of a joke. Every detention, the professors look at his blue tie and robes and ask how he ended up in Ravenclaw. His own housemates will say he’s pretty loud for a Ravenclaw or that he’s too reckless, too much like a dumb Gryffindor or Slytherin. Hell, even Helena Ravenclaw’s ghost seems perplexed by his existence.
Richie runs a hand through his hair and looks at the ceiling.
“Not really. I don’t know Eds.” He replies, lamely, not looking at him. “Maybe.”
Eddie is glaring at him now. He’s not entirely sure why.
“You belong in Ravenclaw.” Eddie says, fiercely. “You’re the smartest person I know, and that’s including Ben. You get straight O’s, the first years love you and you’re practically a qualified Animagus already. Of fucking course you’re good enough to be a Ravenclaw.”
Richie gapes at him.
“I’m not exactly very logical though,” He points out, slightly flustered by the aggressive compliments.
“Who gives a fuck?” Eddie snaps. “Your house doesn’t define you. But you’re the best wizard Ravenclaw, hogwarts even, has seen in years. You’re amazing. You have to see that.”
Richie blushes, honest to god blushes, clears his throat, and shakes his head.
“I’m not the best Eddie, fuck.. I’m not nearly that good, you can’t- mmph!”
Eddie launches himself forward and kisses him hard, and Richie flails, thrown off balance. His arms move on instinct, settling around Eddie’s waist, and his brain freezes for approximately 3 seconds before he kisses back.
Eddie’s hands settle in Richie’s hair, a lot more gently than the way he is assaulting his mouth, and Richie is suddenly desperate for Eddie to yank him closer until they’re impossibly close. Their teeth clack and it’s hot and messy and wet.
With a great gasping breath, Richie turns his head to the side. His breathing is ragged but Eddie doesn’t let up, sliding a hand under Richie’s shirt and mouthing down Richie’s jaw, to his neck.
Richie tries to think.
“What- what- are you...?”
“Shut up.” Eddie’s says, kissing him again. He moves, shifts his leg, and then he’s straddling Richie’s lap. Richie makes a choking noise, his hands flying to grip Eddie’s thighs as he grinds down.
“Wait, Eddie, just-
Eddie pulls back, his eyes hooded and dark as he looks down at Richie.
“You drive me insane.” Eddie says, leaning in and pressing another kiss to Richie’s mouth. “Your fucking, wandless magic... so fucking talented-you’re so hot. I can’t stand it.” And then they’re kissing again, slick and with spit. And Eddie’s hand creeps down, slips between them and presses down, very deliberately. Richie groans and his head falls back.
“Nnngh” He says, incomprehensibly, and then: “Wait, wait, Eddie. Stop.”
Eddie stops immediately and leans back, looking at Richie warily.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, eyes wide with worry.
Richie smiles reassuringly, his heart pounding.
“Nothing. Fuck. You’re perfect. This is....” He trails off, his face burning. How do you describe something like this? Years in the making?
But Eddie just smiles back, softly. As if he understands exactly what’s going through Richie’s head.
“Yeah.” He agrees. “This is.” Then he frowns.
“So...why’d we stop?” He asks, slowly, the impatient fucker.
Richie looks at him as if he’s stupid.
“Common room. Getting caught with our dicks out. Probably not good?”
Eddie slumps and sighs a little.
“Oh,” he says, looking disappointed. “Yeah, you’re right, I guess.”
Richie grins.
“My bed and a muffliato?” He says suggestively and Eddie immediately perks up. But then he drops his voice to almost a purr. “I’ll even do it wandless, if that’s what gets you hot, babe.”
Eddie whacks his arm and huffs in annoyance. But he still nods, suddenly almost a little bashful.
Richie stands up, and holds his hand out to help Eddie up.
It takes them a while to get up the spiral staircase. Richie can’t stop touching Eddie’s hair, it’s so soft and purple and pretty. It’s a miracle they even reach the dorm.
They bring each other off quietly in Richie’s bed, with the curtains tightly drawn and about three silencing charms cast. Eddie’s eyes flutter closed when he comes, his mouth parting silently and Richie watches in fascination.
“God, I hope I get to see this every night. Forever.” He whispers, accidentally and impulsively. He regrets it immediately, tenses.
Eddie’s eyes open and he smiles at him lazily. Richie automatically smiles back. He leans forward, cups the back of Richie’s neck and kisses him softly.
“Forever sounds good to me.” He says into Richie’s mouth. Richie’s heart soars.
They fall asleep, tangled together, Richie’s arm heavy slung over Eddie’s hip.
When Ben flings the curtains open the next morning, to wake Richie for class, he is irreversibly scarred. But, he also wins the Losers Club betting pool of “when-will-Eddie-and-Richie-get-their-shit-together” and the money goes a long way to helping him recover from being so scarred. He’s incredibly smug. At breakfast, Eddie joins Richie at the Ravenclaw table and his housemates high-five him or smirk at him, to Eddie’s embarrassment.
Richie doesn’t really pay much attention though. He’s holding Eddie’s hand under the table, and he feels incredibly content and warm.
He belongs with Eddie, he thinks. With the losers. His house doesn’t matter.
He has a family.