The Scar
Jonshuffles along with Daenerys, passing rows of dusty chiaroscuro-painted sleeping portraits, men, women, babies, and animals snoring lightly in their unstirred slumber.
He stops, as she exhales loudly, wistfully slowing to a pathetic stop in front of the stone wall opposite the hanging tapestry of BarnabastheBarmy.
They had been searching for nearly an hour. Though Dany, being so close beside him, was keeping him fully awake.
She arches an expression of nearly giving up, whispering to herself, "Sixth floor, nothing. Seventh floor, nothing." Then she looks to him, "Where else can we go?"
"I dunno," he shrugs. "Maybe, if we can get all Gryffindors on board with us... we could just gather together in the common room? Until we find something better?"
She pouts in frustration, "Yes. But what if the ministry does come here? They're debating Dumbledore's sanity after he made that statement about Bran's encounter. They surely wouldn't approve of what we're planning."
Jon really hoped those rumours weren't true.
"Hmm..." She paces back and forth, "There just, there has to be somewhere we can go. A place, where no one can hear or see us... A place to hide, if something bad were to happen? We need to prepare to protect ourselves."
They both freeze.
What was that?
They both heard it... The sudden sound of scraping rock, chalking against itself in a rotating motion, begins to unveil quietly in front of them.
What's going on? He grabs her elbow, as the bricks swivel around in place, now revealing to open up as a gateway, wooden door to an unknown beyond.
The bricks start to slow to a final motionless formation, compiling together in a formed, solid archway around a majestically black-framed wooden door. The two Gryffindors stare ahead, processing intimately what could possibly be awaiting beyond.
It's just a room right?
Jon squints cautiously at the intricate, black metal framework on the door. It was indeed, a room. Or a closet maybe?
He knows she's going to make him go in there.
"Dany... wait."
She scans curiously the black iron door handle, gravitating towards it. She takes a first step, pulling it open slowly. The door creaked with a loudness that made Jon glance around him nervously. Dany stepped in to enter the mysterious space and Jon immediately guides a hand over her shoulder. “Dany, wait? We don't know what's in there...”
Of course, she ignores him. He follows after her begrudgingly, cautiously slipping off the cloak from his head, stepping in behind her.
"It should be an empty room, right? It’s new," she smirks slowly. She walks over to run her delicate hands over the gigantic, China cabinet against the wall, observing the conveniently provided tidy furniture, perfectly arranged in this strange, magical setting. She motions suddenly over to the multiple hammock bunkers that were spread out in even rows across the wide open space. “What is this place?”
This place was not empty.
There was furniture and living space, and— his uneasy feeling was now smoothly replaced with awe, spotting the endless sets of aged black armor, stainless steel muggle-weapons— all hanging in a neat line along the wall. “Wow.” That was definitely a unique interest of Jon’s.
They looked vaguely familiar...
"Yes, wow. This is..." she pauses theatrically, "This is, precisely, everything I just asked for a moment ago," she gapes at him haughtily. Like this was clearly all her doing. Even though it really seems like it was...
"And those peculiar, sharp tools— which I guess, we could use if we had to," she squints her eyes, turning to him in confusion, "but how can this all be? Where are we?"
He shrugs, completely clueless. "I have no idea." Then his cheeks actually start to spread into a small smile, peering back over at the muggle weapons. "And those sharp tools, are called swords, by the way." He checks back up at the wall of endlessly carved obsidian.
She rolls her eyes with a hiss. "I know that."
Jon pauses, touching he pad of his finger along the bumped, razor sharp edge of the obsidian axe hanging bold and shiny on the wall in front of him. "But was this place even on your map? Check if there’s a name on there—"
Behind them all the sudden, the rock wall starts to move again. Rearranging itself in a swift, marble-knocking moment, slowly putting itself back together.
Oh, shit.
"Hurry!" She lunges, running quickly towards it, "Jon?"
No way. He knew there was in no way, enough possible time for either of them be able to get out.
Solidly, she freezes, realizing too, as the bricks rotate its final formation like a puzzle, fully and finally closing them off completely from the dark corridors of the seventh floor.
Well...
Looks like they're stuck here.
The idea ironically made him chuckle.
The silent room was dimly lit, carrying a familiar homey atmosphere to it, Jon had perceived, now sifting his vision across. “Well, looks like we’re stuck here.” He says out loud plainly, continuing to inspect the miscellaneous swords, daggers and arrows nailed along the wall.
These weapons were beautiful.
She scratches her head in thought, now looking at him in utter betrayal, "Are you actually smiling— wait, do you think this is funny?" she glares at him, (as he just shrugs back with a small grin), shaking her head, "That we're trapped here? Tell me, how are we going to get out? There has to be a spell of some kind..."
"I don't know. We'll figure something out." He continues admiring the swords, picking up one of the daggers off the wall.
Why did they so oddly remind him of home?
"...Jon?" She folds her arms, "This place was not on my map. I know every square inch of this castle." She pads back over to him curiously, flipping open the map, "Well, except this floor... And oh, look, there's still nothing there!" she shakes the map out in front of him. "No label, no name. It’s like we’re nowhere."
"We're not nowhere, Dany..." he huffs quietly, "But it is strange,” he glances back at her again, suddenly realizing the honest concern on her brow, and he feels bad. “I'm sorry," he walks closer to her. "But don't you think this is... interesting? Considering the circumstances?"
"No? What circumstances?"
He raises his eyes around the room, exploiting the very obvious details as explanation, "Uhm, well, we're in a hidden room in Hogwarts castle for starters... And this room, has literally opened itself up for us." He peers back at her in disbelief, "Dany, its almost like it heard you."
"We don’t know that for sure..."
Wasn’t she the one just pointing this out? "Dany. You announced, out loud, wishing for just about everything in here before the room opened up."
She takes that in for a moment. Like she clearly knew that already, but still wasn't entirely convinced. She glances at him smartly.
"Well," she says, her tone dripping with disdain, "That's true. Everything in here is exactly what we would need...in our situation," she quips warily. "And yes, it has conveniently provided us with everything we might require to protect ourselves at some point," she pauses, her panicking tone escalating back, "But it was only just to lock us in here afterwards!"
"Oh, come on, Dany, I would've thought you would have been excited about this, you know, if I had known beforehand," he eyes her honestly. "We'll find a way out? I won’t let anything happen to you?"
She raises a shocked dark brow at his words.
Yeah, uhm, he winces, "I want to get out of here too, I mean."
She nods dutifully. Suddenly regaining her composure like it was completely her choice.
"Yes, okay..." she murmurs, a bit even more rational now, "You're wholeheartedly right, Jon." She paces away measurably, now whispering out loud, "Yes..." her eyes begin to glow, "Maybe there's...uhm, no— maybe, it’s... just like the changing stairs? Or the train carts? You know, like random?"
That's the look he was waiting to return back to her aura. Perpetual curiousity.
He grins back at her, "Yes, exactly." He watches her shoulders relax, "Okay... so don't worry," he says, as she suddenly strides over to the wooden chest in the corner, now examining the drawers next to one of the bunkers. Not in any way acknowledging his words of comfort.
The walls she puts up are probably stronger than the very one closing them off to the castle.
"And exactly what you said," she yells from further away, "Like, it’s almost like the room is... sentient? Like a kind-of magically adapting room... like a room of... a room of—“
What is she trying to remember? He could tell something had suddenly sparked her interest, dissuading her nerves back to normal.
"A room of requirement!" she bursts out suddenly, surprising his thoughts, "Tyrion told me about this once! Only... he thought it was a myth? But I think, I'm pretty sure at least, that you ask it something, and it will give to you whatever you require at that moment! Anything you need—"
Uh-oh.
To Jon's own caution, he backs up, as she gains momentum whipping out her wand towards the ceiling, taking a strong stance. She glances back at him, then takes a deep breath, demanding, "Uhm, Room?"
"Dany, wait-"
Slowly, she turns to him, and then carefully shouts out again, "Room? You will now show us,"
Show us...
show us...
Jon swore the walls echoed her. Or was that just what would occur in any large room after yelling at the ceiling?
"Fifty chocolate frogs," she bellows.
He gapes at her with a chuckled scoff. "Are you serious? Of all things to choose from?" He laughs again. "Why not money... or jewels, or something useful?"
"I don't know," she turns to him in offense. "It was the first thing I could think of... that wouldn't potentially hurt us—” she stops, thinking she heard something across the room.
Smart. Jon thinks that's what he admires the most about her.
However, as she rushed over to the corner, there was still only silence.
They continue to wait for something to happen. But the room remains quietly still— with nothing changed or unchanged.
She frowns in disappointment, "Hmm... well that didn't work..."
"Well, yeah..." he chokes out a possibility, “Maybe it only gives us things we really need? Or maybe it only works from the outside, I don't know..."
She nods, considering his approach. "Yes, maybe," she pulls out her bag from her robes, taking out some books. "And you're right, it's logical we make the most of this situation, until we can figure out a way out of here. There's no sense fearing the worst when we could at least use our time wisely and look through some of the chapters Tyrion marked for us..." She looks to him again more composedly. "I'm sorry about before. I wasn't thinking rationally. That was an incredibly stupid reaction."
He strides over to her sincerely, "Hey, don’t say that." He looks at her seriously. "And don’t apologize, I just wanted to help you stay calm. And if the walls don’t open again soon... or randomly... then we’ll just have to figure something else out. And we will, I promise."
•
Jon skims absently through the tagged chapter on "Horcruxes"...
This would have been so unbelievably boring, if it weren't for the fact that she was sitting so close to him on the conveniently provided couch. Every so often, he would watch her reading, and notice things about her that he hadn't before.
Like that she was constantly moving. Her knee bouncing slightly against the cushion. Or her fingers twirling her pen, deep in thought. Or the vein that popped out on her left hand as she wrote.
All while he just sat there, like a lump on a log. Staring at her.
Surely she must have noticed. Maybe he was making her nervous?
"Why are watching me?" she asks, peering her eyes up knowingly.
He stutters, "Oh- no, sorry, I was just zoning out. I'm getting kind of tired." He closes his book, leaving the page marked. "I haven't found anything interesting."
She sighs, fidgeting back into a pretzel style facing him more fully. "Me neither, I suppose."
"What should we do then?"
He gulped. What should we do? Oh god, did a million things- thoughts... just surface his mind without his permission.
The idea didn't sound as nearly alarming, as it did until it came out, and she just sat there. The question hung in the air with an uncertainty he knew was only in his own head.
Sam warned him. She obviously didn't think of him like that. And what was worse, was that he could tell she knew he did think of her like that, which made him even more self-conscious.
This was strictly professional, he repeated to himself.
Luckily, she just smirked back and paid him nothing but a casual response. "I don't know... Keep looking I guess?"
How did she have this kind of mental energy? If it weren't for the hormonal adrenaline coursing through him, he would be very close to falling asleep, which would ultimately be the worst case scenario. And his adrenaline was already fading, leaving him even more tired than before. They had to get out of here.
"I don't think I can anymore." He admits sheepishly. "I may... fall asleep."
She half-chuckles, sitting up straighter from her comfortable spot on the couch. "Well how about we give it another half hour of waiting for something to happen, and then we could start testing our way out?" She shakes her head reassuringly, "We can't sleep in here, I won't let you fall asleep."
He bites back his lip in response, "Okay," swallowing languidly, "How?"
"Well, I could tell you a story," she smiles, tucking her silver hair behind her ear. "The one, you didn't get to hear, about my father?"
Oh, well that did intrigue him more than anything. But he didn't want to pry, like he did the last time about her mother, and make her uncomfortable again.
"No, it's okay, you don't have to," he looks across at her, noticing her fingers playing with her robe.
She peers up at him confused, so she elaborates. "No, Jon I want to." She bites her lip indifferently. Then places her book down on her lap, replying plainly, "It was a long time ago, and I never really knew him anyway..."
This would keep his mind awake.
She shuffles over to sit next to him, and he glances at her, chuckling awkwardly.
Yeah, this would definitely keep him awake.
"Okay... then sure, I'd love to." He glances down and tucks his knees to the side of him on the back cushion, reclining to the side. He tosses his book along top with the other messy pile on the floor, and then looks up at her, attentively waiting.
As nervous as she made him, how come he felt so comfortable with her alone? Like as if they were old friends, gossiping in a late night talk. Okay this was strange when he put it into that perspective. Though it did make him less anxious.
"Alright, well," she begins enticingly, "My father, Aerys II Targaryen, was— or well, is, rather, an awful man. I'm not proud to admit that. That he is my own flesh and blood."
He shrugs carelessly, trying to prove to her still, that he would never judge her.
"Okay, so the truth is, when my father finished his final year at Hogwarts, he started to become a bit, madly obsessed with keeping magical blood pure, and then especially after his first child."
"You?"
"Uhm, no... my brother. And as you know, my family, being related to the blood of old Valyria... they’ve kept the strict tradition of only having children within their bloodline," she says confidently, though he thought he heard her voice slightly catch.
He knew Targaryens couldn't have children the same way as everyone else. But in this case, he would play dumb.
She looks across the room at the wall of armor, distracting herself. “Because, there is something inhuman in our genetics, where, we cannot have children otherwise."
He doesn't quite know what that entails that she so openly told him that, but he fixates his eyes on her intensely, sympathizing any way he could. "Dany you don't have to talk about this, I'm serious."
"I said I want to." Her expression changes, now taking a slightly darker turn. "Though, there was one exception. My uncle. My real uncle. Not Uncle Illyrio. A doomed example of proof, as to why we cannot mix blood. But I'll explain that later."
Wait.
How had he not realized this before?
"Dany... is your real uncle... Grindelwald?" he asks gravely.
She nods back patiently, and he now understood the saddened certainty of her voice. "So my mother gave birth to my older brother, their first born child." She lowers her tone, "And at first, they were ecstatic because well, he was a boy, but then, soon they realized.”
He felt the sudden urge to touch her, but he internally cringed and stopped himself.
"Something was wrong with him."
He slides over slightly closer to her, placing his elbow above the couch to lean against, "I didn't know you had an older brother, though?"
"Yes, my older brother, Rhaegar." She scratches her cheek, "I suppose I don't really like to talk about him I guess, but...” she gives him a barely there smile, then shakes her head. "He unfortunately, is a main part to this story." She sniffs, folding her robed arms across her chest. "Again, it shouldn't really even matter how I feel, considering I never met him, either."
He shrugs at her patiently. Feeling like saying she didn't have to talk about it, would only make her more angry again.
“But Rhaegar, he was different from everyone else. And as he grew older, my parents finally realized that he couldn't perform magic. That he was a Squibb."
"Oh." Jon breathes, "Like Walder Frey?"
"Yes. And this drove my father to the brink of insanity. He refused to accept him as his real son. He couldn't understand how he could bare a child that was not only, not adragon- but a child, that couldn't even perform simple magic." She looks up at him, "And as years passed, with the way my father treated him- it eventually triggered his own madness. He grew very jealous living without magic in the magical world. And then one day, he told my parents that he was leaving for good, and that he would never return. And for once, my father and him, actually agreed on something— though, my mother wept in disagreement."
"...Where did he go?" Jon asks slowly.
"Well. He said he wanted to live a new life in the Muggle world, to study there. But when he left, he also took something with him... in spite of my father," she turns to Jon, her eyes shining with disgust.
“Hekidnapped my father's, best friend's daughter, for revenge."
Jon mirrors her shamed expression, "What, which friend? A Marauder?" He shifts inwards again, sliding his arm back to stretch along the top of the couch. He felt her hair brush against his arm and felt an electrical charge flow up inside him.
"Yes," she glances subtly at his arm, "Rickard Stark's daughter, Lyanna. Who was said to be the loveliest, kindest, most beautiful witch anyone had ever seen... according to my uncle Illyrio's memory— he knew her," she smiles, yet her eyes still remained distant and cold. "And so my brother... took her somewhere into the Muggle world, holding her as his prisoner." She shrugs bitingly, "They believe he must have had someone do the Imperius curse on her... it's disgusting that squibbs can actually pay for that, you know."
He frowns roughly, "So, well... what did your father do then? Or her father?"
"Well. Rickard had first, sided with my father, as he held his own similar prejudices against my brother. But... he loved his daughter more than life itself..." she whispers. "So my father, he knew Rickard couldn't come with him... and when he finally tracked Rhaegar down..."
Jon knew how this story was ending.
"He went without Rickard, and instead went with his sociopathic nephew." she states harshly. "He knew Rickard would stop him from doing... what he was going to do."
Jon blinks back at her, nodding cautiously in acknowledgment.
"My father went and killed my brother with the Unforgivable curse..." she spits flatly, "And standing at his side, was my uncle, my real uncle... Grindelwald, who went ahead and killed poor Lyanna, right afterwards, just because he could," she grits her teeth. "All right as Rickard, and his son Ned, Professor Stark came to her rescue. But it was too late."
Jon veers down at her hands, and then covers his hand over hers.
She stares down at it intensely, and at first he was sure she was going to jolt her hand back. But she just stares at it, and then slowly lets two of her fingers lace with his. He opens his mouth— not expecting her to do that.
He didn't even think twice about what he was feeling in that moment, so wrapped up in trying to feel what she felt. Until she pulled her hand out from under his, he didn't even process the fact he was actually touching her skin, and how soft her skin really was.
He looks up at her, while she stares past him. Thinking. He leans back casually, trying to keep the conversation from turning awkward. "So then... what happened?"
Her shoulders fall a bit. "Well... Then they dueled, Rickard versus Grindelwald... all while my father sat there like a coward, watching as Grindelwald soon murdered his own best friend."
Wow.
"And then they fled the scene, leaving poor Ned all alone to mourn his dead sister and his dead father."
"I— I can't believe he's your uncle."
Dany nods back blankly, her stony expression reigning completely emotionless. "Yes. The family exception. Not completely Targaryen, therefore not completely human. Everyone knew what he would become since he was born, so he kept his mother’s last name in secret when he went to school—not that that changed anything eventually anyway," she recites, her eyes blurry, detached. "But in the end, they captured my father right away, and obviously, they were never able to find Grindelwald..."
"Don’t you think he's dead though?"
“People think so, but I don't." She bites her lower lip in thought. "I swear, Jon I can... feel him sometimes. If that sounds crazy? Like something inside of my chest starts burning. And I think, one day he is going to come for me... as I am the last Heir of Valyria, the last line of Targaryen power. Even if I am a girl." She exhales wearily, "But until then... I'll be ready. And if it comes down to it, I won't be afraid to kill him for what he did."
"Wow," he nods flatly, his mouth going dry again. "You'd kill him just for revenge?"
"No. I'd kill him for not only justice, but also for all of the muggles and muggleborns he planned to destroy. Or plans to," she responds honestly. "But still amongst all that, we still have a more pressing matter on our hands."
"That's true. I didn't forget about that," he smiles faintly, sitting up straighter. "But can I ask, why do you want to become a journalist? I mean, you clearly like to get involved in these kind of situations. Why don't you want to become an auror?"
She made a face.
Oh no, he was prying again.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to-" he starts to protest, but she opens her mouth, slightly taken aback, telling him as if it were obvious.
"Well, I can't. Because aurors can only work within the constraints of the law..." she argues pointlessly. "And— then, theres the fact, well, my uncle Illyrio always said, that an auror, well, it is not a ladies job." She scoffs.
“What?” He wrinkles his brow at her in shock. That was not a very Dany-like response.
"As a reporter, I can do more," she explains, "and I think people deserve to hear and know the truth. The whole truth. And I wouldn't be afraid to provide people with real answers, not lies."
The way she saw the world as so changeable, so fixable... it was sweet. Though it was a bit naive. He could never admit that.
He glances away, hiding his thoughts, admitting carefully, "Of course you're not afraid, but I don't think it always works like that... Sometimes people as a whole, they can't always handle the truth.”
She glares at him confused, so he sighs, "I mean, a person can handle the truth, of course, but people... When people as a whole know the truth, that's what’s really dangerous. Because one person may react towards the truth with bravery, but others in mass, they could turn against it in fear.” He smiles with a shrug. “My old professor used to say something like that. Professor Stark. Arya’s father?”
”Hmm. That’s nice.” She half smiles back.
He hoped that didn't sound mean. Because he really just wanted her to know that.
His serious expression softens, twitching a slow half-smile. "And who said you can't you do both?" He slides his hand up her arm, leaning in closer.
Her body reacts slightly to his touch, becoming more tense, but her violet eyes were distant in thought. Like she was forcing herself not to feel him.
"Jon, I can't be both?" She says matter-of-factly.
He huffs, "Well, I've seen you bend your way around the school rules in more ways than I could count. And from what I've seen what you can do since I met you, I think you'd make a great auror. Certainly better than any manly wizard out there today." His hand crawls down, lightly still over her forearm, though he's not quite sure what he was still even trying to do.
Why was he touching her again?
She clearly doesn’t want to be touched by him—
She stares at him suddenly with a look of utter shock. Like she just realized something awful. Or new, or something he couldn't even imagine.
"Dany, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" his thoughts stutter, as she reaches up to the hand he just lifted off her forearm, her fingers linking with his from the back. "No."
“No?”
She guides his hand up the length of her relaxed bicep, his breath catching stuck in his throat, his eyes following the trail of their twined hands. She moves him, making him touch the skin over her shoulder, pausing in the crook of her neck. He swallows as his fingers slide from the fabric of her robes to cup the soft skin of her jaw. He feels her pulse thickening and palms over a vein, a strange hunger pooling in his stomach.
“How do you... always know what I’m thinking?” she asks him, glaring back at him with an unreadable expression, and his heart started to pound, aching in his chest, suddenly feeling too hot under the touch of her skin. Her lilac eyes fall, a ghost of a smile fading, while her gaze began to harden.
He swallows. "Uhm... I don't feel like I do."
She moves his hand up from her jaw to her face. Shit.
"Kiss me." She holds his hand there as his eyes widen. "I just want to see if..." she trails off, looking up at his forehead. Barely touching his hairline with her fingertips. "Your mind... is different, I think."
What the hell does that mean?
He shudders a breath, closing his eyes, hiding under the microscope that was her curious eyes, his thumb grazing to a slow stop over her cheek. He opens his eyes as her skin pinked warmer, leaning her face in towards him, like she was searching for something, making his insides churn sickeningly.
What did she mean by his mind was different?
"Okay. I'll kiss you." He closes his eyes again, swallowing. He leans in soft, the scruff of his cheek almost grazing her chin. His clouded thoughts dissipate for a moment, snapping himself out of it, wondering how they even ended up like this.
Holy shit. What's happening.
Her lips buzz against his cheek as she hums, moving her hand from his own, curiously up to his face, holding him in place. She turns, her mouth now against his cheek and she hears his breath catch.
"I feel like I know you? It’s a very strange feeling." She pulls back a moment, looking into his eyes, waiting for a reaction. She was staring into his eyes so intensely that Jon felt something inside him that almost mimicked fear. “Do you ever... feel like that too... with me?"
His breath stutters. "Yeah." His racing thoughts instantly fade quiet, while his heart simultaneously thudded erratically in his chest.
What had changed so suddenly, and intensely... that she was doing this?
He felt like his throat was closing, like he was retreating in and out of his own mind. Like his thoughts mixed lucid with something else and started to float away. He blinked rapidly, trying to grasp desperate hold to his consciousness. "Dany... I feel strange right now."
She cups his face strong but gentle, now sitting up flat on her knees. "It's okay." Her pale eyes search his for a long moment, holding a soft hand up to the rough of his beard. She moves forward, closing the little amount of space that was between them. She leans down and plants her lips on his.
His head felt like it was on fire, but his body cold. He kisses her back, leaning into her, his hooded eyes darkening heavily, placing a hand on the small of her back.
She cradles his face, pulling back slightly to look at him. And then she leans in again, sliding against his face and he can feel her breath hot, hovering over his mouth. He swallows thickly, and then nods, angling his face against hers, pressing his lips back to her own.
Her lips were closed against his at first, but then they open with his, exhaling into his mouth, tasting him, and he reciprocates intuitively, sliding in his tongue, gliding it soft against hers.
He didn't feel like himself. Like something was taking over him... like his ideas, dreams, passions, memories were all jumbled together in one big hot melting pot that was his now skull.
What the fuck was happening to them.
She feels over his sculpted arms as they hug around her back, pulling her down on top of him.
He needed to lie down.
He ducks his head into the crook of her shoulder as she lays down on top of him. Sliding against him. Oh. He breathes into her neck overwhelmed, kissing her there deeply.
"Fuck... uhm wait," he pants, suddenly feeling his thoughts clear into even words again, making him feel more in control.
He flips her over onto her back, laying her down on the couch, planking over top of her, resting his elbows on either side of her shoulders. He looks down at her swollen mouth, and sifts his vision back up to her eyes, checking if everything's still okay.
Staring back at him with complete wonder and want, she whispers. "Are you okay?"
He chuckles lightly, "Uhm. I think so..." Brushing his cheek against hers, kissing her lips warmly again. He reaches under her polo shirt to untuck it, his thumb rubbing up her stomach. "How did you know that something like that would happen?" he chuckles again, "Not that I even understood what the fuck just happened."
"I don't know," she says as he almost moans, pulling him down, kissing his neck. "I felt something... odd. And just wanted to try... following my instinct." She breathes against him, and he closes the space between their lips. She snakes her hands around, slipping them under his own shirt, guiding them up his back.
“Your instinct, hmm?” He exhales into her mouth softly, as her small hands explore over his shoulder blades. Her fingertips running sensually down the bumps of his spine, gripping softly against and with his contracting back muscles.
She glides her hands from around his bare back... to just inches above his belt line, moving them up his chest. Meticulously, she touches delicately around the pronounced square muscles of his abdomen, and then massages over— an edged, raised mark.
The scar— His scar.
She inhales sharply when he flinches, his hand grasping over hers through his shirt. "Don't—" he exhales softly, panting against her neck. Then he lets go of his grip on her, sitting up slightly.
Watching his eyes, she cautiously looks down, smoothing her fingers back over again, touching across the pronounced, jagged scar on his chest.
"What... uhm— happened to you?" The strain in her voice seemed less empathetic than he would have guessed her to react. She sounded more or less alarmed rather than concerned.
“Nothing.” He responds in the same tone. “It’s just a scar.”
She frowns, her dark brows knitting together innocently. “Was this from the white walker?” She feels across the zig-zagged shape stretching over his heart— but then stops in new realization.
He brushes back a fallen white lock of hair out of her eyes, "No. This. I've always had this," he sighs, glancing back down his chest. She pulls her hand back absently.
And Jon could have sworn he saw a hint of fear in her eyes. "How?" She asks quietly.
Why was she so afraid of... his scar?
"From when I was a baby... I think I was basically born with it."
She nods knowingly... and then scoots back from underneath him, pulling her shirt back down tighter. "We— should try to go back. This was a stupid thing to do." She smooths down her hair, then her robes, standing up.
He squints back at her confused, "What? Why all of a sudden? What are you thinking right now— what's wrong?"
"I'm thinking this was unwise. Because," she distracts herself, neatly re-stacking the pile of books from the floor already. “I was just curious, but now I understand that connection fully. And no longer need to explore that curiosity.“
"Uh huh..." he comments dryly, "and what made you realize that? What's wrong with my scar?"
"It's not your scar?" She holds her elbows against her ribs, reasoning coldly, "I just didn't feel anything special, afterwards alright? Something felt off. Why continue doing something, that you know would never work out?"
“What?”
He examines her expression closely. She's worried, or scared, about something...
But he doesn't want to upset her any more, with whatever it's about, so he lets it go... for now.
"Alright, I understand. Something was missing," he glances away firmly, "I guess I felt that too. Let's just leave. We need to figure a way out anyway soon."
"You did?" Dany remarks coolly, when suddenly the sound of bricks knocking in collision again, catches both of their attention.
Jon's brows climb to his forehead, at first shocked. But once he thought about it, he huffs, amused.
Of course.
They need to leave now.So the room’s letting them leave...
The door to the Room of Requirement reveals itself yet another time. He immediately grabs the cloak, taking her by the hand, "Okay, let's hurry. We can leave the books here, and then make a plan to come back again— with everyone. Better we go right now without the books, than we get trapped in here, for who knows how much longer."
"Yeah, that’s true." She eyes him thoroughly. Suddenly she snaps her eyes back from his intense gaze, shooting a glare towards the opening doorway that would lead back into the hall. "Okay. You're right, let's go."
She follows behind him out into the corridors, and he throws the cloak back over both of their heads. "Remember," he says, "The- requiring room would be right across from that tapestry of that... troll."
"Barnabas the Barmy." She shakes her head, correcting him. "And it’s called the Room of Requirement."
She slows her steps with him, but continues looking straight ahead. "By the way, we're not telling anyone else about this yet. Okay?"
"A couple hours ago you were just telling me how we needed to tell everyone—" he pauses, nodding, "whatever, I don't care," not even bothering to argue with her. She glances back at him for a second, a trace of guilt almost flashing over her dark purple eyes.
They shuffle back to the common room together, stubbornly silent throughout the corridors. Dany's careful enough not to accidentally brush his shoulder, unlike the way they purposefully did on the way there.
Jon holds the lantern up in front of him, as the sounds of the knocked out— snoring Fat Lady near closer. The whole way, his stomach dropping in conflicting pleasure, regrettably thinking about the buzzing feeling he still felt on his lips.