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angryinternetduck · 3 years

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When All Feels Lost Chapter One: All Business A scheme, some terrible plays, an outburst in an elevator. Rom coms, late night talks, dreadful kale and carrot juice. Harry Styles is one arrogant son of a bitch. [producer!harry x actress!reader; enemies to lovers] Warnings: explicit language and alcohol consumption about 11,000 words series masterlist | general masterlist | ask

~*~ The interior of the staircase doesn’t match the exterior of the apartment building at all.

On the outside, the building is run down. The paint of the windowsills is chipped, dead flowers lay wilted in graying flower boxes. It’s not quite derelict enough to catch the eyes of passerby, though; in fact, it’s so unnoticeable that you almost walk right past it.

When you walk in, the door creaks loudly. A small bell tries and fails to mask the sound, ringing out a pleasant chime just barely noticeable over the whine of the door. The man behind the desk looks bored, but a slight bit of interest crosses his face when you ask for the producer you’re looking for: Harry Styles.

The man at the desk points you up the stairs, tells you where to go.

Apparently, Mr. Harry Styles has a level all to himself. The staircase up to his apartment is lined with awards, certificates, and framed newspaper clippings. Where there are shelves, more awards in the form of small trophies cover every surface.

Despite yourself, you’re a little in awe. You knew how famous he was, how good he was at his job, but you never really saw all his glory laid out before you like this. It’s really quite impressive.

When you arrive at the door, you take a second to pause before knocking. You take a breath, read the gold plaque on the door: Harry E. Styles. Executive Producer. You let the breath out, and then knock.

“Come in.”

You walk inside. It’s a big office. There’s a leather sofa on one wall, a desk in the back covered in papers. A coffee table sits in front of the couch, covered in even more papers. Stacked on top of and spilling out of filing cabinets are thin yellow books, bold black print on their covers.

And Harry Styles himself is sitting on the couch. He’s terribly handsome, you notice first, all tan skin and tattoos peeking out of sleeves and green eyes when he looks up at you. He smiles, and you see dimples.

He’s also a mess. His crisp white shirt is undone one too many buttons, his bow tie unknotted around his neck. The coat of his black suit is over the back of the large chair behind the desk.

It hits you, then, that this man isn’t a big time producer. He was a big time producer. You close your eyes for a split second, thinking back to the dates on the newspapers, all from years ago, back to the less-than luxurious building he’s residing in.

He produced countless hits on countless stages, but none in the last few years. Which is odd, seeing how he looks young - he can’t be more than twenty five, twenty six, but it somehow seems like eons ago when you last saw his name in the papers.

Well, it seems like eons since you’ve seen his name glorified in the papers and online. He’s been featured quite a few times with horrific reviews, critics ripping his pieces to shreds and complaining about the once-master reduced to nothing.

Really, that’s the only reason you’re here, the only reason you think you have a shot with him: he’s probably just as desperate as you are. He hasn’t produced a hit in ages. You haven’t starred in a hit in ages.

You’ve been to every other place imaginable, starting at the top and spiraling down, but you haven’t been able to find a job anywhere. You’re the picture of a starving artist. You’re an actress - a damn good one, too - but haven’t seen the stage in months.

“Are you lost?” Harry Styles asks after a moment, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You blink. “No.”

“Alright, then,” he sighs, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. A sliver of muscled stomach peeks out at you as his shirt lifts, and you frown, your gaze darting back to meet his eyes, which are staring at you almost challengingly.

“I need a job,” you say.

“There’s a McDonald’s down the street,” he replies flatly. “It’s hiring.”

“I’m an actress.”

He quirks an eyebrow and then turns around, walking over to his desk. “Then the reason you don’t have a job is because you’re stupid.” You frown more, following him further into the room. He collapses into the chair, which squeaks and bounces under him.

“I’m not stupid,” you tell him, a sliver of irritation flashing through you. “You were the best producer Broadway’s ever seen. I need a job.” He laughs wryly, shaking his head. “‘Were’ being the key word there.”

“You must have something.”

“Yeah, I have something,” he says. “I have a lot of somethings. But a play isn’t one of those somethings.” He stands up again, heaves a sigh. “Neither is patience. So I’m asking you to leave, please, and find some other poor bloke to torture.”

“I’m not torturing you,” you say, stepping forwards rather than back. “I’m asking you for a spot in one of your plays.” His face hardens, and he juts out a finger at you. “Listen to me,” he says lowly. “I’m not producing a play. I’m too fucking broke for that, and it’s not like there are people lined up outside to support me.”

You scoff. “So what the hell are you doing in here?”

He blinks, his hand lowering as his expression melts and his face softens. “Withering away,” he mutters under his breath. “Just leave,” he sighs. “There’s nothing for you here. You look like a good actress… or whatever. You’ll find something else.”

“No,” you snap. “No, I won’t. This is my only option. I’ll do anything.”

He sits down at his desk. “Moose Murders,” he says.

He’s joking. You know he is. Moose Murders is widely considered the worst play ever created. But you sit down across from him anyway, because this is a test, and goddammit you’re going to pass this test and get a job if it’s the last thing you do. “Sold,” you say. “Moose Murders. I’ll do it.”

For a moment, he studies you. You’re a bit intimidated, but you hold his gaze.

Finally, he leans forward. He folds his hands in front of him, on the desk on top of loose pieces of paper. “Would you like to know my secret?” he asks, and you pause. You wonder if it’s another test, but if it is, you have no idea what the right answer is.

A hesitant, “Okay,” is what you decide on.

He clears his throat. “I’m going to try and perform a heist.”

“You what?”

He smiles, almost sweetly, and says, “I’m planning a scheme to cheat rich investors out of thousands of dollars.” Your jaw drops, just slightly, and you have absolutely no idea what to say to that. “Are you kidding?”

“No,” Harry Styles mutters. He stands up, shoves his hands into his pockets, and starts pacing. You turn around and watch as he walks. “I peaked early,” he begins. A faraway look is in his eyes, and you’re a bit scared of what you just got yourself into.

“I was nineteen when I produced my first hit.” He pauses at the record player tucked in a corner, inspecting it. “I’m a genius, I’ll have you know. I’m the perfect producer. I churned them out, one hit after another. I was the best there ever was. And then…” He sighs heavily. “It took one mediocre play to topple me.” He looks at you, and you see anger in his eyes. “It wasn’t even that bad. It was okay. It just wasn’t a hit. And I had… I had no idea how to handle it.”

He turns back around, starts walking around the room, gaze drifting over the documents and posters lining the walls. “I was a flop after that, as you know. Still am. My reputation went down the drain, my investors lost their interest… And now every show’s a flop.” He laughs wryly, looking at you again, shaking his head. “You know that, too. They’re all flops. Failures. But I… I figured something out after my last fuck up.”

Your eyes trail him back to his desk, and he meets your gaze as he sits down.

“You can make more money with a flop,” he says, “than with a hit.”

At that, you frown. “No, you can’t.”

“You can,” Harry insists. “You sell shares before a play, right?” It’s rhetorical, but you nod anyway. “Right,” he says. “You get money, in exchange for a payment once your play is a hit. But if your play isn’t a hit, if it’s only on stage for one night, you can avoid payouts and then just…” He shrugs. “You can just run away with all the money.”

You blink at him.

“We can run away with all the money,” he amends. “If you… want to work with me.”

“You’re kidding,” you say flatly.

“No,” he insists. “I’m not kidding - I swear. It will work. Nobody will check the books of a play thought to have lost money! If I - we - wait for a while overseas until it’s all forgotten about, we can come back, go our separate ways, rich as can be, and…” He tosses his hands up. “And live happily ever after.”

For a second, all you can do is stare at him.

He shifts forward, focusing his gaze on you. “Listen,” he says. “I need somebody like you to convince my investors that something’s different. They’ll never believe something’s changed unless I can show them that I’m serious this time, and you’re the way to do that. An experienced actor, a beautiful actress to star in my next hit - it’s perfect.”

You bite your lip, stay quiet.

“And you…” He scoffs, throws his hands up at you. “You need this. What else are you going to do? Where else can you go? Nowhere. There’s nothing. Theater’s a dying business, darling. You said it yourself: this is your only option.”

You swallow thickly, feeling yourself start to consider his offer. It really might work, you realize, and that kind of scares you, because you really shouldn’t do this. “Well - well it’s not right to steal like that.”

“Oh, please,” Harry mutters. “First of all, we’re stealing from rich old bastards who have nothing else to do with their money but invest in plays. Secondly, we’re barely stealing anything! We’re not taking thousands from one single person, it’s - oh, it’s just a little bit from each person. Each person who has millions, probably.”

You cross your arms. “We could go to jail.”

He rolls his eyes at that and replies, “We absolutely will not. We won’t get caught. Who the hell will check the books?” He leans forward. “Nobody. Besides,” he goes on, spinning his chair around, “compared to my bleak bloody existence at the moment, I don’t think I’d mind jail all that much.” He sighs, staring out the window at the gray building front it looks out on. “At least I’d’ve gone out with a bang.”

You’re quiet for a moment.

He turns back around. “Well?” he asks. “Any more arguments?”

“I need money now,” you say. “My rent’s about to let up. It’s the end of the month, and I… I can’t cover it. I need a job, or - or something now.” Harry looks at you. “Move in with me,” he suggests.

You scoff a laugh, shaking your head. “Absolutely not!”

“Why not?”

“Because - because I can’t!”

“Fine,” Harry says, waving a hand in the air. “Consider it. Whatever. Just get back to me by… oh, by the end of the month.” He levels your gaze. “Before rent’s due.” Then he slides a card over to you and taps it twice. “There you are. Use it well.”

He opens a yellow booklet and spins around in his chair.

You can’t do this. It’s insane. It’s absolutely ridiculous. You could go to jail. And moving in with a complete stranger? Especially one malicious enough to scheme people out of - what did he say? Thousands of dollars?

You look at the business card.

Shit, you think. You need this.

“Fine,” you say. “When can I move in?”

***

The days are starting to blur together.

So are the words.

It’s been about a week since you moved in with Harry Styles, and your days have been nothing but reading lately. You’ve paged through what feels like hundreds of those thin yellow books you’d seen that first day, spilling out of cabinets and opened on tables. You’re looking for the perfect play, which really means the most awful play. It needs to be so indescribably bad that it closes within the first week of opening so that everything goes according to plan.

You never thought there could be so many plays. Most of them are pretty awful. There’s a pile on the coffee table in the main room of potential prospects, but nothing good enough - or bad enough, rather - to run with.

You’re sitting on the bed in your room, plays scattered around you. There’s an empty cup of coffee on the table next to the bed, and you look at it forlornly, willing it to fill up. It’s almost midnight, and you’d go to sleep if you had any sense.

But you don’t have any sense. So with a sigh, you roll off the bed and pad out of your room in your fuzzy socks. As you head to the kitchen, the front door opens up behind you. You glance around.

Harry meets your gaze.

You turn around and pour more coffee into your mug.

The first time he disappeared, you had been asleep and had only realized he’d left when you woke up to him opening the door. He looked a little less than disheveled and absolutely exhausted, and you could only presume he’d been out getting laid.

Well, you thought. Good for him.

Then it started happening more often. It was almost every night, which was fine, you supposed, but only if you didn’t have a play to find. He worked with you during the day and left at night, or left mid-afternoon and came back around midnight, like today.

He shuffles around behind you, and it’s a combination of laziness and stubbornness that keeps you from turning around and watching him or asking him where he’s been. When your mug’s full, you turn around and walk back into your room.

Hours later, on another coffee trip, he’s asleep on the couch with a script on his chest.

***

The first few times he offered you snacks, you refused. You wanted to spend as little time with him as possible, which was a bit difficult seeing as you lived with him. You couldn’t control bumping into him on your way to the bathroom in the morning, or eating breakfast at the table while he watched TV on the couch, but you could control where you read the pages and pages of scripts.

Sometimes he plays records out in the office. He must have quite the collection. You’ve heard a few things you recognize through the door of your bedroom - lots of Fleetwood Mac, some Joni Mitchell, the Eagles - and a lot that you’ve never heard before. It’s all good, and it’s a pleasant background noise to your tedious reading.

He never stopped offering snacks, though, and today, apparently, the last of your restraint has melted away. When he knocks on your door and says, “Popcorn if you want it,” you can’t refuse the delicious smell of buttery popcorn wafting under your door.

If he’s surprised when you come out of your room a few minutes later, he hides it well. He glances up at you, but then his eyes go right back to the script in front of him. The popcorn’s worth it, and when the bowl’s empty, Harry wordlessly goes and microwaves another bag without taking his eyes off the script he’s reading.

When he comes back from the kitchen, he slides down from the couch and sits on the floor, popping a kernel of popcorn into his mouth. From your spot on the opposite side of the sofa, you watch as he spills crumbs all over the script.

You wonder why he’s pulling this scheme, suddenly, wonder why he’s going through all this trouble when he’s really probably fine from what he’s made in his early productions. Scowling, you come to the conclusion that he’s just greedy, and take one more piece of popcorn before standing up and walking back to your room.

***

“Have you seen my, erm - my collection?” Harry asks.

You’re eating lunch at the kitchen table, some spaghetti dish that Harry had made the night before. He’s quite the chef, you’ve learned. “Nope,” you say. There’s sauce on the booklet you’re reading, and you frown as you try and thumb it off.

“You should.”

The sauce smears. You frown more.

“Do you like music?” Harry asks.

You stand up. Walk to the sink. “Of course I do,” you say, a bit sharply. “I’m an actress.”

Behind you, you hear him shuffling through his records. “I love music,” he says softly. “I wish I could… I dunno. Sing or something.” You bite your lip as you run water over your plate. There’s a beat of silence. It’s just the sound of water, the clinking of the dishes in the sink.

When you turn around, Harry’s staring at the empty record player thoughtfully. He looks up after another second and smiles, just slightly. “Any preferences?” he asks, running his hands over the vinyls.

You shrug. “I don’t care.”

Harry looks at you, then shrugs and starts looking through the collection. Finally, he chooses one. “I listened to this,” he begins, sliding a disk out of its sleeve and gently placing it onto the platter, “on the plane the first time I came to the States.” The gentle sounds of Frank Sinatra’s “Leaving on a Jet Plane” float from the turntable.

He begins mouthing the words, dancing slightly, smiling at you.

“We should find that play,” you say, and you walk back to your room.

***

A few days later, you gasp awake when you feel Harry’s hand on your cheek.

“Christ, what are you reading?” he asks. “That’s the third time I’ve woken you up.”

“You had to slap me to wake me up?” you scoff indignantly, sitting up on the couch.

Harry frowns as he takes the script out of your hands. “I did not slap you.”

It’s two pm. You’ve been chugging coffee all day - he’s right, you shouldn’t have fallen asleep at all, much less three times since you started that script. It really is very boring… Your eyes widen as you think back to the play, and you begin, “I think -”

“This is it,” Harry breathes.

“It’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever read!” you exclaim, sitting up.

“I can see that. This is it. It’s dumb as hell, and - and you’ve fallen asleep.”

“Three times!”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Harry says happily. “The ending doesn’t - it doesn’t…”

“It’s awful,” you agree with a grin.

“Margaret Fitcher,” Harry says, reading off the back of the script. “It’s - there’s an -” He grins, looking at you as he snaps the booklet shut. “She’s close,” he says excitedly. “Get your shit. We’re going.”

The car ride is quiet. You fidget. So does he. His leg moves a mile a minute, his finger fiddling with his lip. He’s going just a tad over the speed limit. When he pulls into a parking lot, you don’t even look at the building.

There’s a directory, and you find the name you’re looking for: Margaret Fitcher. 9C.

The elevator is shaky. It has an iron gate, blinking numbers. When the ninth floor button lights up and the elevator rattles to a stop, the gates clatter open and you follow him out into the hallway.

Harry knocks on the right door. “Ms. -”

“It’s open, sweetie! It’s open!”

You look at Harry. He shrugs. He looks excited.

He pushes the door open, and immediately, the smell of rotten fruit assaults your senses. You grimace, and you see Harry blink, nose wrinkling. “Come in, dearie,” a voice calls. You walk further inside. A cat comes and slides along your leg. You shift away, bumping into Harry, and he steadies you before he turns the corner and you see an old lady - Ms. Fitcher.

Her face is illuminated by the TV, on which an infomercial is playing. There are cats curled around her. You count. Six. Plus the one who’s decided to sit on your feet. Seven. You spot the source of the odor: a small bowl set in front of an easel, which carries a small, partially painted canvas. It’s supposed to be the bowl of fruit, you see. It’s not half bad.

“Sit down, sit down,” she says. Her voice is weak. She’s wearing glasses, on a chain, that are sliding down her nose. “Hello, Ms. Fitcher,” Harry says, speaking up above the TV. “We’re here to talk to you about your -”

“Eh?” she interrupts, squinting at him “You’ll have to speak up, dearie.”

Harry tries again, louder, “We’re here to talk to you about your -”

“What are you selling?”

This time, Harry shouts. “We’re here to talk to you about your play!”

“My play!” Ms. Fitcher laughs. She picks up a ball of yarn that had been sitting next to her. One of the cats fusses. “My play, my dear play…” She begins unwinding the yarn. “Who are you, again?”

Yelling, you introduce yourself, and then Harry does.

“Nice to meet you!” Ms. Fitcher croons. “Never see young ones around here anymore… What a shame…” She shakes her head, beginning to wrap the yarn around her frail hand again. “What a damn shame…”

You and Harry exchange a glance.

“Your play is wonderful, Mrs. Fitcher!” you shout.

She looks up. She seems almost coy. “Why, thank you.”

Harry clears his throat, begins to scream, “We wanted to -”

He’s cut off by somebody banging on the wall from the other side. “Oops,” you mutter, realizing neighbors can probably hear all the commotion through the thin walls. “Can we shut off the TV?” you shout, a bit afraid somebody’s gonna come over and rap on the door.

“Oh, the TV?” Ms. Fitcher says. “Whatever you want, dearie.” She hands you the remote, and you shut it off. The silence is glorious. “We want to buy your play,” Harry says, and Ms. Fitcher’s eyes grow wide. “To… to put it on the stage?” she asks, her voice soft.

“Yes,” you tell her. “We want the world to see your story, Ms. Fitcher.”

She pauses, inspecting the two of you. You feel slightly uncomfortable. “You’re not wearing wedding bands,” she says, looking suspicious, and a surprised laugh bursts out of you. “Oh! Oh, no, you - you mean - you think we’re -” You laugh, shake your head. “No, no, just - just business partners.”

“Business partners, roommates, that’s all,” Harry adds.

Her gaze narrows. “Roommates?” she echoes.

“Yup!” you chirp, hoping that’s not a problem.

She hums lowly in a way that makes you think it is a problem, but then asks, “Who will be playing the role of dear Rosalind?” You falter, then remember that’s the main character’s name. “Anybody you want, Ms. Fitcher,” you say.

“I can see auditions?”

“You can come to every rehearsal,” Harry reassures her. “It’ll be just as you like it.”

She stares at you over her spectacles. And then she says, “No.”

You blink. “What?”

“I don’t want you children ruining my masterpiece,” she sneers.

“We are not children,” Harry says irritatedly.

“Hmph.”

“You sent this play to me,” Harry says.

“That was ages ago,” Ms. Fitcher says wistfully. “When I was but a girl.”

Harry scoffs. “It was last year!”

She glares at him. “Get out.”

“No, no,” you try, “no, please, Ms. Fitcher, you’ll have total control, it’ll be you, all you and your -”

“Get out, you’re bothering my cats,” she snaps. “Get out!”

“Please, Ms. Fitcher,” you beg, “please. We’ll -”

She stands up, and now the cats really are bothered. “I’ll call the police!” she shrieks, and both you and Harry jump up, hurrying to the door, which she slams behind you. You look at it, at the sign with the apartment number engraved on it, at the fraying fuzz of the green carpet inside that had stuck to your shoes and was now on the floor of the hallway.

“I’m covered in cat hair,” Harry whispers.

You turn around first. He follows you to the elevator, which clanks as it stops and as its doors slide open. You step inside, lean against one wall. Harry leans against the other. You look down, not sure what to say. The adrenaline’s fading. You really thought that was the one.

And then -

The elevator bangs to a stop.

“What the fuck?” Harry whispers, looking up as you do.

Each floor’s light blinks, then shuts off, in rapid succession.

“Are we gonna die?” you ask.

“I - I don’t know.” He pokes a finger through the iron gates. “We’re in between floors.”

You blink, feel your brows furrow as you shake your head to clear your mind of the cloud of disappointment. “The - the building,” you say, pulling out your phone. “We can call the building.”

“What’s it called?” Harry asks.

You look up. “I have no idea.”

You stare at each other for a second, and then Harry’s face lights up. “I have it,” he says, fumbling in his bag for the paperwork. When he finally finds it, he flips it around so you can see the address. You type the name of the apartment complex into Google and call the first number that appears.

“Hi,” you say, trying to keep calm. “Hi, we’re, um - we’re stuck in one of your elevators?”

There’s a pause.

“Hello?” you say, impatient.

“Um… I don’t really know…”

“Who are -” You sigh, taking a step in the elevator, trying to pace, but you don’t have room. “Who am I speaking to?” A bit of static, and then, “I’m Mike,” the guy says dumbly. “I’m just the desk guy…”

“Do you have the elevator controls?” you ask, not really knowing what you’re asking but unsure of what else to say. “I mean - can you restart the elevators or, like - I don’t know, can you get them moving again? Do you see the - I don’t know, the controls?”

“Yeah, they’re… the box is right here,” Mike says.

“Great!” you exclaim. “Can you please start the elevators again?”

“Oh… I don’t know how to work them…”

You let out your breath, gritting your teeth. “Fantastic,” you mutter. “Um, well, can you call somebody who does?” Mike shuffles a bit. “Um… Yeah, I think so…” You laugh wryly. “Great, Mike, that would be great. Please do that.”

“Okay, I, um… Okay…”

“Keep me updated, okay?” you say tensely. “I’m counting on you, Mike.”

“Okay… bye…”

He hangs up.

“We’re gonna be trapped in here forever,” you moan, banging your head against the wall.

“What?” Harry asks. “What was that?

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “He said he’d call somebody.”

“You didn’t get a time estimate?”

“Jesus, Harry, no, I didn’t get a fucking time estimate.”

Harry frowns at you. “Maybe you should’ve.”

You glare at him.

There’s a beat of silence, and then you start your two-step pacing again. “This is ridiculous,” you mutter. Harry blows his breath out, sliding down one of the walls to sit on the floor. “Ridiculous indeed,” he says.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” You feel yourself getting riled up. “I can’t - fuck. I can’t fucking believe this is happening.” Harry stares at you from the floor. “I’m in an elevator… after getting shot down by a crazy old lady… with - with -” You glance at Harry. “With a fucking con artist.”

Harry frowns at that. “I’m not a -”

“Dammit, I should be on Broadway,” you interrupt. “I should be on Broadway. I did everything right, Styles.” Your breaths are coming faster. You lean back against the metal. “I - I went to fucking Julliard, Styles. I’m a pro. I trained, and I did all the little shows, and I - fuck.”

“It’s just a little pitstop,” Harry offers. “Before Broadway.”

“No!” you sob, and you clap your hand over your mouth. “No.” You step forward, turn around, two steps, you’re pacing around him in the teeny-tiny little box. “God, I’m a failure. I’m a - a failure. That’s why I’m here.” You glare at him through tear-clouded eyes. “With you. Jesus, how fucking evil do you have to be to steal money to get rich? You don’t even need it. You’re probably just fucking fine, probably have some rich daddy back in fucking - fucking England - and you just…”

Your voice is cracking, getting weaker, and you wipe away the tears on your face angrily. “I can’t believe this.” You sniffle, shaking your head. “God, Styles, everybody likes to talk about the new opportunities. Everybody likes to say, ‘Oh, when one door closes” - you jerk on the iron gates - “another opens!’ But dammit, Styles, it’s not open!” You shake your head, stumbling back onto the back wall of the elevator.

“Those goddamn doors must be locked,” you say softly, staring at the shut elevator doors in front of you. “They’re locked,” you repeat. “They’re locked. They slam shut - in my fucking face - and every other door is locked. They’re all locked…” You slide down the wall. “They’re all locked with a key I just - I don’t have.”

Your breath stutters. You look at Harry. “I just don’t have it, Harry,” you whisper.

He opens his mouth to reply, and then your phone rings.

“Hello?” you say. Your voice cracks.

“Hi, are you the lady stuck in the elevator?” It’s a different voice than before. Not Mike.

“Yes! Yes, yeah, I’m here with -” You clear your throat. “What’s happening?”

“We’re resetting the system,” the guy says. “Hopefully that’ll pull everything together. Can you stay on the line for me and tell me if it starts moving again?” You nod excitedly, stepping forward and scanning the buttons. “Yes, I can - what, um - what am I looking -”

A button lights up. There’s a loud clank, and the elevator starts moving.

“It’s moving!” you say happily.

“Great, great. Thanks for calling. Have a nice day.”

There’s a dial tone.

“Right, then,” Harry says as the doors open and you slide your phone into your purse.

You start walking to the car, and Harry follows you. You slow down a little so you’re walking side by side and look at him apologetically. “Um… I’m sorry,” you say quietly, wiping the last of the tears from your eyes. “I’m just… frustrated, I guess.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry says.

The car ride back to the apartment is silent.

***

You’re back to reading in your room after seeing Ms. Fitcher.

What’s sort of annoying is that you’re not even partially ignoring him because you’re mad at him - you’re almost just embarrassed about your explosion. You don’t want to face him, don’t want to talk about it. You don’t even want to think about it.

He seems to understand. He cooks a lot. You told him your favorite food a few days ago, before Ms. Fitcher, and he’s made it quite a few times. That makes you even more embarrassed. You blew up at him, insulted him… and now he’s cooking for you.

Ridiculous.

He still disappears a lot. It’s for longer, now; sometimes he’ll leave at noon and not be back until around midnight. You only know because he keeps his bedroom door open and the apartment always has a different air about it when he’s not there.

He doesn’t usually tell you, but… today he is, apparently.

There’s a knock on your door, and you tell him to come in.

“Hi,” he says, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hi,” you say.

He looks down at his hands, and you follow his gaze. He’s holding a small black box, fidgeting with it. “I have to… go,” he says, quietly. “But I, erm…” He looks up, steps forward almost hesitantly.

You get up to meet him, and he holds the little black box out to you.

“I thought of you,” he murmurs. His ears are tinged red, and he won’t meet your gaze.

You take the box. It’s light. When you go to open it, his cheeks flush red to match his ears, and he presses his hand on top of yours. You blink, surprised, looking up. “Sorry,” he says quickly, pulling away. “I just… I, er -” He smiles, laughs a bit sheepishly. “Do you wanna open it when I leave?”

You smile slightly, a bit amused despite your confusion. “Sure,” you say.

Harry nods. “Okay,” he says. He clears his throat, not moving, and despite yourself, you’re not mad, because it’s nice to be in his presence, to hear his voice, because you haven’t heard his voice in a while, haven’t been near enough to -

“Okay,” Harry repeats.

He leaves, and you look at the door of your room for a second, hearing the door of the apartment shut before looking down at the little black box in your hands again. It’s a jewelry box. When you open it, a little slip of paper flutters out.

It has jagged edges like it was ripped from a larger piece of paper. You recognize the handwriting from the notes Harry writes in the scripts he reads, from the thoughts he writes in the margins of the books he’s lent you.

For when every door seems locked.

Inside the box is a necklace.

The chain is delicate. Simple.

Attached is a silver pendant, in the shape of a key.

***

The next day, after you said thank you to him, and after he smiled and said you’re welcome, you stayed in the main office with him to read. It’s quiet, but a comfortable quiet. You could stay in this quiet all day.

The day after that, he’s gone for most of the day.

When he comes back, your plan to silently scold him for leaving again by ignoring him for a while crumbles because he’s watching The Notebook while he works. It’s late. You were just getting coffee, planning to hide away in your room after acquiring your dose of caffeine.

Then he gives you a soft smile and nods towards the empty side of the couch.

Come on, he says silently. You know you want to.

So you do. You can’t help it. It’s The Notebook, of course, and you can kind of just tell it’s his favorite from his small smiles at certain parts, his whispered echoes of every other line. Also, he tells you, says, “This is the best movie ever created,” as he grins over at you from the opposite end of the couch where he’s wrapped in a soft blue blanket.

It continues the next day, when he flicks on a movie during dinner and doesn’t turn it off after all the food’s away and you’re just reading on the couch. It’s just something random, but you have to bite your lip to hide your amusement at Harry’s snarky comments under his breath.

A few days later, you shouldn’t feel as satisfied as you do when he comes in to find you already on the couch, your favorite movie onscreen. He smiles at you, takes some of the chips on the coffee table, and starts reading.

Progress goes a bit more slowly once the movie watching begins. You need it, though; it’s a welcome distraction and you’d definitely go crazy without it. Letters dance after a few hours of nothing but reading in silence.

The Potential Prospects Pile on the coffee table grows, but it’s kind of just for show. You both know you’ll know it once you see it. Your interest piques whenever you see him add a booklet to a pile, though, and you flip through each one that’s added like he does.

It’s a few weeks after that first time watching The Notebook, and to your slight reluctance, you’re watching it again. You’re sitting on the floor, coffee sitting next to you, a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table on top of the prospects. Harry’s on the couch, all six feet of him sprawled and taking up the entire thing.

It’s late, almost two am. You want to fall asleep - are falling asleep - but Harry only just arrived and you feel like you should stay up with him. He’d been out the entire day, doing God knows what.

“Sometimes I hate Allie,” Harry murmurs suddenly.

“Really,” you say, only half listening.

“She makes it so… unbalanced.” His voice is so low. He sounds exhausted. You look up, and you see that the play he’s reading isn’t even open - it’s closed in his hand, fingers marking his spot, hanging over the side of the couch. He’s on his side, head on his hand, eyes fluttering shut.

“What d’you mean?” you ask before you can think.

“He writes to her for a year,” he whispers. “A whole year. And she... She doesn’t.”

You shrug. “She didn’t know he was writing.”

“She should’ve written to him anyway. She said she loved him. She should’ve written, and told him again, or… or…” He fades off. “What, she should’ve run away back to him?” you ask, and Harry whispers, “Yeah.”

When you turn around again, he’s asleep. You bite your lip, and then look back at the TV.

On screen, Noah catches a glimpse Allie across the street, then sees her kiss someone else.

You open another script and take a sip of coffee.

***

Sleepless in Seattle is playing on the TV. Harry loves his romcoms.

It’s late again.

The days seem to pass so quickly, and the nights seem to drag on forever and ever. Maybe that’s because your sleep schedule is royally fucked up, but you’re mostly blaming that on Harry being out all day.

You’re sipping hazelnut coffee. It’s delicious. It’s not hot anymore, but it’s not quite cold enough to be given up on. The remainders of your midnight snack - tacos - lay on the coffee table, and there’s a smear of guacamole on one of the Potentials.

The movie’s wrapping up. The elevator doors are closing. The credits begin to roll.

Sighing, you stretch for a second before turning around and resting your chin on the coffee table so you can look at Harry. The key necklace swings forward. It hangs in the space between your chest and the table, and you can feel its weight on the back of your neck. It’s comforting.

Harry’s on the couch. He’s on his back, holding his arms straight up with his elbows locked so he can read his script. His brows are furrowed, and his lip is between his teeth. He looks uncomfortable.

“I don’t know anything about you,” you whisper.

Harry meets your gaze, dropping his arms. “You know my favorite movie.”

“But not your favorite book.” You wonder what the hell you’re doing.

Harry smiles slightly. “Or, apparently, how indecisive I am. I can’t decide.”

“Are you just trying to avoid other ‘what’s your favorite’ questions?” This is the longest exchange you’ve had in weeks. “No,” Harry says, “really. I can’t decide. I’d answer all the ‘what’s your favorite’ questions you have if I could.”

“Why?”

Harry sits up, looks at the script in his lap, and shrugs. “Seems like you hate me.”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“No,” he says softly, looking at you.

His eyes are really green, you notice. Maybe it’s just the light. Or lack thereof. They sparkle in the darkness, and you kind of want to see him smile, want to make him smile, want to be the cause of those dimples so that you can see his green, green eyes light up for real.

You close your eyes and lean backwards. Now your back is on the ground, your arm over your eyes. “I think you should pay for a chiropractor for me,” you murmur. “My back’s killing me from sleeping out here all the time.”

“There’s a bed just in there,” Harry says.

“Too far away.”

“Then that back pain’s on you.”

“You’re why I’m out here in the first place.”

“No, you’re out here for the food.”

You feel yourself smile. “And the movies.”

“There you have it.”

“Still think you should pay,” you whisper.

“I pay for yours, you pay for mine.”

You close your eyes tight, bite your lip hard, because now you’re smiling even more.

“You have yourself a deal,” you say.

***

A few days, later, and you’re trying to hold your tongue again.

It’s been quiet for too long, and you’re getting uncomfortable. You’re not sure if that’s because you’re beginning to associate silence with the tremendously boring reading, or if it’s because you just don’t like silence.

Another possibility hovers in the back of your mind, one that implies that you really aren’t uncomfortable, you just want to talk with him, with Harry, the enigma sitting two feet away from you, but you don’t want to think about that, so you say something.

“You sound British,” is what comes out, even though he hasn’t spoken in hours.

It’s a few days later. Four in the morning. The TV’s quiet, no movie playing. There’s a bowl of M&Ms on the table - this guy has every snack imaginable in his little kitchen - but that’s the only distraction. You’re both on the floor this time, the coffee table pushed off to the side. He’s cross-legged, sipping tea, you’re on your stomach, eating more M&ms than probably healthy.

“Is that a compliment?” Harry asks, looking up from his script.

You eat another M&M. “Can be.”

“That’s ominous. I am. Born and raised.”

“Why’d you come here?”

“Broadway.”

You smile, turning onto your back to look at the ceiling. “How romantic.”

Harry frowns, asks, “Why?”

“Dunno,” you reply with a shrug. “There’s something sweet about that - a little boy, being absolutely entranced by plays he sees onstage… he’s enchanted, wants to be a part of it but isn’t nearly handsome enough to be an actor, so -”

“Hey!”

You look over at him. Grin. “What?”

“You don’t think I’m handsome?”

“I’ll only make that big head of yours bigger if I answer honestly.”

He smiles. Takes a sip of tea. “Nice to know.”

“Why not an actor, anyway?” you ask, looking back at the ceiling. You follow the fan with your eyes as Harry says, “Believe it or not, I prefer to be backstage.” He sighs, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him follow your gaze to the fan.

“I wanna see people’s reactions,” Harry says softly. “I like to see their faces light up at something funny… Or their tears at something sad…” He looks back down and takes an M&M out of the bowl. “The best is when somebody’s trying to hide it.” You see him smile at you, and you look at him. “When they think they’re so cool, so stoic and - and immune to the wonders of the stage…” He smiles more, fiddling with the M&M. “And then you see them break, see their reluctant laughter or their hands rush to hide their watering eyes…”

You steal the M&M he’d been playing with. “Wouldn’t you rather be the one making them feel those emotions?” He gets another M&M. “Nah. Too much work.” He eats it, finally, you watch him chew and swallow and then you look at the ceiling again.

“It’s not,” you whisper, closing your eyes.

“Maybe you’re just not doing it right.”

You open an eye to glare at him, and he smirks.

“I am,” you say. “You’ll have to see me some time.”

“Maybe after this mess I’ll produce a real play,” Harry murmurs. “You can star.”

You close your eyes again. “Not in one of your plays,” you hum. “Don’t want my first play back to be a flop.” You feel something against your arm, and you realize Harry had thrown an M&M at you.

You scoff. “I’m just being honest!”

“Sometimes a little white lie can be appreciated.”

“That’s not good for your ego.”

“What ego?”

“The one making you think you’re funny.”

“Oh, sod off,” Harry laughs.

There’s a beat of silence, and then you whisper, “What if we never find a play?”

Harry clears his throat. “We will,” he says. He stands up, dusts off his hands, and grabs a book. You watch as he sits down in a chair and puts his legs up onto the table. “Keep looking,” he tells you quietly.

So you do.

***

A few days later, a little after lunchtime, and it’s your turn to pick the movie. It’s one of your favorites, a comfort movie at this point. You mouth along the lines with the actors, grinning madly at the television screen because it’s so perfect and you love it so much.

Harry’s not really paying attention. He’s been quiet. Normally, he’s cracking jokes, murmuring sass at the stupid scenes and sighing heavily at the dramatic ones. If it were any other movie, you’d be curious, or anxious, but not this one.

You’re not even holding a script.

Harry is, though, and you look over at him curiously as the credits start to roll.

“You okay?” you ask.

He doesn’t reply.

“Hey,” you say, nudging him with your foot, “are you good?”

“I think… I think this is it,” he says quietly.

Yawning, you stretch towards the ceiling. You wonder what time it is. “What’s it?”

“This is it,” Harry says, sitting up but not taking his eyes off of the script. You frown, straightening. “It’s bad?” you ask, and Harry finally looks up. He’s practically glowing, he’s so excited, and a spark of excitement rushes through you.

“It’s so bad.”

“Lemme see,” you say, standing up, but Harry’s pacing.

“Retired FBI agent Leopold Gray is suddenly being hunted down by a small town dentist named Ernest D’Angelo who thinks Gray has killed his wife. As D’Angelo chases the elderly Gray around the globe, the two slowly start to lose patience; by the end, D’Angelo has given up, and Gray is retired - again - in Bismarck, North Dakota.”

He pauses, and you frown, waiting for him to continue.

Instead, he looks up, grinning. “That’s it!” he exclaims.

You blink. “You’re kidding.” He hands the script to you, and you read over the summary, scoffing in pleased disbelief as you get to the end and see that it’s just as unsatisfactory as Harry read it to be.

“God, it’s a - it’s an action and a musical!” you laugh.

“Come on,” Harry tells you, grabbing his coat. “Look at the address on the back, tell me where we’re going.” Following him out the door, you read off the street name and number. Harry plays music in the car, but you don’t hear it.

A sliver of doubt runs through you as you get closer and closer to the address, scared to be shot down again. You shove it aside, shifting from one foot to the other as you wait on the front porch.

This guy lives in a house. His name is Richard. The house is a small stand alone, with a little yard out front. It’s gated. The paint on the door and under the windows is chipping, and the flowers in the yard are drooping and wilted.

Harry knocks on the inner door. The screen door slams shut when he pulls away.

You wait a beat, another, you’re getting nervous, and then -

BANG.

You jump a foot in the air as the screen door slams again, this time against the rail behind it, and then fear courses through you, because the guy is holding a large cast iron pan, and you’re genuinely afraid for your life.

“Who are you,” the man - Richard? - hisses, glasses sliding down a crooked nose.

Harry coughs, backing up half a step. “I - I’m Harry Styles, this is -”

You tell him your name. His eyes are beady, and there’s a single strand of graying hair on his forehead, and his fingers are trembling, and Harry says, “Please, sir, we just want to talk to you about your - your, erm - your absolutely fantastic play -”

He freezes.

“Could you put away the, um - the pan?” you ask, and it slides out of his hand.

It thuds against the floor.

“My play, huh?” he says gruffly, wiping a hand under his nose.

“Yes,” you say. “It’s - it’s absolutely ingenious.”

He stares at you for a second, and then backs up. “Come in.”

Harry looks at you, and you shrug helplessly, opening up the screen door. Richard’s already halfway through the hallway, which is dim, and if you squint, you can see cobwebs in the ceiling. You follow Richard until he stops in a living room and sits in a creaky sitting chair.

Richard glares at you. “What about my play.”

“We want to put it on the stage,” Harry says.

“Why.”

You clear your throat. “Because it deserves to be seen.”

“I think so, too,” Richard says. His glasses are slipping down his nose.

Slowly, Harry pulls the documents out of his bag. “If you sign here,” he says, patiently, like he’s talking to a five-year-old, or perhaps a wild animal, or maybe a criminal about to kill somebody, “thousands of people will see your play.”

“Thousands,” Richard echos, his eyes widening.

“Thousands,” you confirm, lying. Harry gently slides the papers, along with a pen, towards Richard on the glass table between the easy chair where Richard’s sitting and the sofa where you and Harry are.

“You’ll be praised in every newspaper,” Harry says, also lying.

Richard picks up the pen. He looks down at the papers. The place where he’s to sign is highlighted in yellow. He’s looking down, and his glasses are at the very tip of his nose. You wonder what would happen if they slid off his face completely, or if he’d notice.

After an awkward moment as Richard just stares at the papers, he begins to sign.

“My mother will love me again,” he whispers.

You look at Harry.

Harry looks at you.

“Make me proud,” Richard says hoarsely, and you and Harry both look to Richard, who’s holding the papers out. You see a single tear roll down Richard’s cheek. “Thank you so much!” Harry exclaims, and then he grabs your hand and practically sprints out of the house and into the car.

“Floor it, floor it,” you rush, and Harry speeds away.

As soon as he turns a corner so Richard’s house is out of eyesight, he pulls the car over, parking for a second. “Okay,” he breathes, palms flat against the top of the steering wheel, “what the fuck was that?”

“I have no idea,” you reply, laughter bubbling out of you.

“Oh, my God,” Harry says incredulously, laughing too, and for a second, all you can do is laugh, because that was so surreal and you’re not quite sure how else to react. “I hope we never have to deal with that again,” you say as your laughter dies down.

“Christ, he’s fucking insane.”

“Harry, our cause of death could have been a frying pan.”

“No wonder his mum doesn’t love him!”

“Shit, this play better bomb,” you giggle, and Harry pulls onto the road again.

“We gotta do something,” he says. “To celebrate.”

You raise a brow. “Like what?”

Harry glances at you, and smiles. “I know just the place.”

***

You haven’t been out in forever.

Harry’s music is great - calming, quiet, mellow. The entire atmosphere of the apartment is like that. Everything’s quiet, with a layer of comfort over it. That’s not bad, of course, but it does mean that the club Harry’s just taken you to is a little more than a shock to your system.

This music pounds in your ears, thrumming in your chest and in your stomach, pulsing in your hand where it meets Harry’s. He’s leading you through the crowd, and when he turns around to grin at you, he’s glowing.

He says something, you can see his lips move, but you can’t hear him.

“What?” you shout, and he stops for a second, but you don’t, and you’re suddenly bumping into him, pushed flush against him by the moving crowd around you. Smoothly, his hand slides down to your waist, holding you tight, grounding you.

You can feel his breath on your skin, his fingers digging gently into your hips. He’s everywhere, flooding your senses. The fabric of his suit jacket is warm under your fingers, his cheek so near you’d be kissing him if you were any closer.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he says, right next to your ear.

You feel yourself shiver, and you nod because you don’t trust your voice.

Suddenly he’s moving again, and then you’re through the crowd and landing at the bar, and you’re breathless, and he’s flush-faced and happy and you feel yourself smiling because he’s smiling, and then he’s ordering something and you’re not sure what it is.

On three, you see him say when the shot glasses appear in front of you.

And on three, whatever it is slides down your throat, burning a trail to your stomach and lighting you up from the inside. The music is deafening. You love it. Harry’s beaming, and he clinks his next glass against yours before downing it as you do.

You’ve never felt more alive.

Harry leans forward, and you lean into him, and you’re smiling blissfully, you’d kiss him if he let you, and he says, right into your ear, “You alright?” You laugh and nod and tell him, “Never been better.”

Time begins to blur, and your head’s fuzzy as hell not just from the alcohol but from Harry’s intoxicating presence and the thud of the bass in the music. You find yourself in the bathroom, a while later, staring at your reflection in the mirror.

You look different. Good different. You giggle and lean forward, inspecting yourself, and then sigh and stumble backwards against a wall. It’s much quieter in here, and you can breathe for a second, and can kind of hear your thoughts through the muddle of your mind.

After a while, you wonder where Harry is, and walk out of the restroom to search for him. “Harry,” you sing out, your voice drowned by the music and people. “Harry, Harry, Harry,” you call, just for the fun of it.

“Harry, Harry, Har -”

You freeze.

You recognize his hair, and the jacket he was wearing, and the rings on his hand, which is holding someone else’s hand above their head, against a wall. He’s close to them, lips against their neck. It’s a girl. She’s grinning euphorically, eyes closed. You can see her laughing, chin tilting upwards as Harry whispers something into her ear.

“Oh,” you say, out loud, even though you can’t hear yourself.

You can’t move. Your brain’s stuck.

When he moves, his arm slides around her waist, and he’s leading her out of the building. He looks over his shoulder before they reach the door, and sees you. He falters, and a spark of hope flashes through you before he just grins and winks and keeps walking and your heart falls back down into your stomach.

You see his fingers linger against the door as he guides it shut from the outside.

Oh, you think, silently, blinking back something that feels suspiciously like tears even though… why? You rub at your eyes, frowning at yourself, walking away, because why on earth would your - friend? roommate? coworker? - why would Harry getting laid suddenly make you cry? That’s ridiculous.

You collapse at the bar.

Absolutely ridiculous.

Somebody’s smirking at you. They’re pretty good looking. You sniffle, then smile back.

There’s nothing more ridiculous than crying over Harry getting laid.

They start to come over, and hurriedly, you blink away the tears in your eyes.

He wouldn’t cry if you were getting some.

They’re smiling at you. You bite your lip, letting your eyes trail over their body.

Not if - he won’t cry when you get some.

You say yes when they ask to buy you a drink.

Yeah, no, he won’t cry when you get some. Tonight.

You lean into their kiss, open-eyed. They’ve got some pretty green eyes.

It’s not like you can go back to the apartment, anyway.

***

“Charles Cartwright,” Harry reads off the list in front of him.

“Double ‘c,’” you say.

“Hope his middle name is Carter.”

“Or Chris.”

“Cole?”

“Cooper…”

You watch as Harry sighs, setting the stack of papers down onto his desk again. He doesn’t sit there a lot, behind the huge mahogany desk at the back of the room with the giant leather spinny chair.

“We’re never gonna get anything done,” Harry says, looking down at the list.

You shrug. “We have tomorrow.”

“Said that yesterday.”

“All these people sound like bastards, anyway,” you mutter, spinning the paper around on the desk so you can look at the names. “Yeah, that’s why they’re wasting money investing on my plays,” Harry mutters back.

The list is very long, a whole stack of crisp white printer paper with a cover page and a shiny black binder clip holding it together. Enumerated neatly on the left side are what seems like thousands of names, all previous investors of Harry’s various plays. Phone numbers and addresses sit under the names, along with emails and other pertinent information.

“We’ll go for Mary Sanders first,” Harry says decisively after a second, clearing his throat. “She loves me.” You look up at him, an eyebrow raised, and he rolls his eyes. “I look exactly like her son,” he says, “who hates her. So she’ll do anything for me.”

“Fun,” you say.

“Very. Tanner Smith, however…” He points his name out at the bottom of the third page. “He’s just fucked up. Batshit crazy. He hates me, but liked my old, erm - the company manager, so he chipped in for something I did with - with her.”

“Great.”

“Excited to meet Mr. Smith?” Harry asks with a wry smile, sliding a manila folder over to you. “Can’t wait,” you say, flipping the folder open. There’s a picture of a scowling man in wireframe glasses. “Wow,” you add, shuffling through the ten or so pages in the folder. “This is… a lot.”

Harry shrugs. “Most of it’s just financial details, but there’s a” - he reaches forward, slides a single page out to the front - “page on personal stuff. Don’t mention his wife, but we’ll definitely mention hockey.”

“Hockey?”

“He sponsors his grandson’s minor league team,” Harry tells you, rolling his eyes. “It’s all these entitled little rich boys who flip him off behind his back. He thinks he’s doing God’s work.” You snicker, scanning the document.

“They have games every Saturday,” Harry says, and you look at your phone. It’s Wednesday. Harry goes on, “I usually ambush him there,” and then frowns. “It usually doesn’t work.” His frown turns into a smile as he looks at you. “But maybe this time it will.”

“Making me feel a little used here, Styles.”

“Well, you’re using me for money, too, so don’t get all high and mighty on me.”

You sigh. “Are you really gonna take me to a hockey game?”

“Consider it our first date,” Harry says, smirking.

“Better buy me flowers, then.”

Harry smiles. “A whole bouquet. That’s Saturday, though. We’ll go for Miss Mary today.”

“Have a file on her?”

In response, he slides another manila folder from a filing cabinet behind him. This one’s a lot thicker, double the size of the last. “I’m a little creeped out,” you say, hesitantly opening the folder and peeking inside.

“Don’t be,” Harry replies. “She’s, erm - quite the chatterbox. This was all given consensually, I promise…” There’s a picture of Miss Mary herself on top of the papers, and then a picture of a young man next to her.

The young man is very good looking. Dashing. Green eyes, dark hair, a charming smile.

You look up at Harry and then back down at the picture.

“Nicholas,” Harry says. “Her son.” He poses for you. “See the resemblance?”

“If I squint,” you say with a shrug.

“He’s a lawyer.”

“Good for him.”

“Married,” Harry sighs. “A kid on the way. He lives in San Francisco. Drinks kale juice.”

“Damn.”

“I know,” Harry says, almost wistfully. “Imagine that.”

You scoff a laugh, brows raised. “No, Styles, I’m surprised that you know all of that, not that it’s - unimaginable.” Harry frowns at you. “Like I said! Mary’s a chatterbox. Not my fault she calls me to give me an update on her perfect son every week.”

“Je-sus. Every week.”

“More or less,” Harry says. He stands up and stretches. “Study up, we’ll leave in ten.”

***

He’s a natural.

You can tell from the moment he walks into the little flower-covered house that he’s got her wrapped around his little finger. “Oh, Harry, darling,” Mary coos, patting his cheek and linking her arm with his. She doesn’t even notice you, just leads Harry into the house. “I have biscuits in the kitchen, dearie, come on, come on.”

Attempting to disentangle himself from her, Harry starts, “Mrs. Sanders -”

“Mary, dear, you know that,” Mary interrupts cheerfully, pausing for just a second in the hallway. You hover in the doorway, but Mary goes on, “Oh, and I have that dreadful kale and carrot juice you love, too!”

You make a face at Harry, and he rolls his eyes.

“That’s Nicholas, Mrs. Sanders,” Harry mutters.

“Oh, of course,” Mary says absently, and she rubs his arms before starting into the house again. Harry sighs, and you watch his jaw clench in frustration as he gently places a hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Mary, I have a guest.”

“A guest!” Mary sputters, turning to look at you, still standing in the doorway.

“Hi,” you say.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Mary gasps to Harry, smacking him on the chest with the back of her hand. Harry winces. “He’s terribly impolite, isn’t he, sweetie,” Marry says disapprovingly. “What’s your name, then?”

You introduce yourself, Mary hugs you, and Harry shrugs at you over her shoulder.

“Come in, come in!” Mary exclaims when she finally pulls away. “I have biscuits and tea in the kitchen, you won’t have any of Harry dear’s terrible juice.” Behind her back, Harry throws his hands up exasperatedly.

“Okay, Mrs. Sanders,” you say, biting back a smile at Harry’s dramatics.

“It’s Mary, dear, please,” she tells you, leading you into the kitchen.

Harry closes the door behind her, then follows behind you.

“Sure, then, Mary,” you say with a smile, and she pinches your cheek. When you arrive in the kitchen, there is in fact a plate of cookies on the table and one teacup. Another cup, this one tall and clear, is set across the teacup, filled with a thick, scary looking green substance.

“Sit, sit,” Mary orders, pulling another teacup from a cabinet.

You do. Harry sits next to you, inspecting the juice with a disgusted look on his face.

“I do hope chamomile is alright,” Mary says, pouring some into the teacup that sits in front of you. “More than alright,” you say, closing your eyes as you breathe in the comforting steam happily. When you open your eyes, Harry is glaring at you over his kale juice.

You smile at him sweetly, then turn to Mary. “So, Mary,” you begin, “I’ve heard you’ve helped Harry here with his plays in the past.” Mary nods, hands wrapped around her own cup of tea. “Yes, I have. Quite the talented one, he is. He’ll be a force to be reckoned with once he finally decides what he wants to do with his life!”

“It’s this,” Harry says in a halfhearted way that makes you think they’ve gone through this many times before. “I’m a producer. That’s what I want to do with my life.” Mary chuckles, patting his cheek again. “Okay, dearie.”

You clear your throat. “Well, about this play…”

“Oh, yes, yes, what’s this one about?”

“It’s about an FBI agent,” Harry says. “It’s very adventurous.”

“Adventurous!” Mary echoes gleefully.

Harry smiles. “Yes. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Your eyes widen as Mary rifles around in her purse and then comes out with a checkbook. “I certainly will!” she says happily. Her handwriting is elegant, flowing from her black fountain pen and onto the check with graceful ease.

“I have an appointment at two, darlings, so you’ll have to excuse me,” Mary tells you, handing Harry the check. “But I do adore seeing you, love, so come back soon!” Harry slides the check into his pocket, and you stand up as he does, following him to kiss Mary on the cheek.

“Bye, now, Mary,” he says. “See you soon.”

“It was nice to meet you, Mary,” you say, and Mary smiles at you. “And you too, dearie. You better come back soon, too, promise me.” You nod, and she looks at Harry. “And pick up the phone, Harry.”

Harry opens his mouth to reply, but she goes on, “You’ve been dodging my calls, love, don’t bother denying it.” She glances at you and winks. “Maybe it’s because of this one. Try and take a break from each other every now and then, you hear me? Young love is important but so am I.”

Harry looks about as red as a tomato. “We’ll see you later, Mary,” he says hurriedly, and he grabs your hand to lead you out, which probably doesn’t help with Mary’s assumption. “Bye, Mary!” you call.

“Sorry about that,” Harry mutters once you’re outside, letting go of your hand.

“Seem a bit flustered,” you laugh.

Harry rolls his eyes as he opens the car and gets in. “Shut up.”

“Didn’t deny it, though.

“‘s not worth it,” Harry sighs as he starts the engine.

You reach over and pat his cheek like Mary, grinning. “Whatever you say, Styles.”

~*~

aaaaand that's chapter one! hope you liked it!!! if you did, a reblog and some feedback would be much appreciated <333

masterlist | ask | next chapter >>

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x you #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #🧇

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ourloveisforthelovely · 3 years

Text

One Chance (one shot)

Harry Potter Marauders Era

Request: hey so i was thinking could you might do a regulus x reader where the reader is like sassy or maybe all cold hearted? i honestly love ur page but i cant never relate with the reader bc she is always too soft 😭 maybe like if they understood each others depression and then end up falling in love? idk how to explain

To the annon who requested this: I hope that you enjoy

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader

Rating: M

_____________

“Y/n, Regulus Black has been looking at you for the past 10 minutes.”

You didn’t bother looking up from your potions book when your friend Anastasia spoke. The last thing that you wanted to deal with was Regulus Black and his stupid good looks.

“He needs to look somewhere else.”

You commented. Regulus Black had been staring at you a lot lately and it was beginning to get under your skin. Before a few weeks ago Regulus had nothing to do with you. It didn’t matter that the two of you had always been in the same house for the past 6 years or that the two of you had friends in the same circle. In fact, he took extra measure to not speak to you.

The best that you could come up with was he was uncomfortable with you going on a date with his old brother. Your heart hurt thinking about that particular time in your life. That was when you were an innocent sweet 4th year. Sirius dated you for all of a week before dumping you for some pretty Ravenclaw with blond hair and big boobs.

This was also the time that your depression really started kicking in. You weren't quite sure how to deal with all of the feelings swirling through your head. From dealing with your first break up to all of these dark and intrusive thoughts...you didn’t know how to cope. None of your friends seemed to understand either. A few of them chose to ignore what you were going through. The rest didn’t know how to deal with constant sarcastic comments. Now you had a few that stuck with you because it was in their best interest. If someone bothered them, you would chew the miserable fuckers ass out that caused them grief. This was a healthier outlet than sinking a knife into your arm.

Being at home was no better. Your mum tried to constantly get you off of the couch to do things but she didn’t seem to understand that you wanted nothing to do with whatever she was doing. Her words of…

“Stop lying on the couch like a giant hairball and do something. Go enjoy the day.”

Apparently you mother didn’t understand that you definition of “enjoying the day” meant being left the fuck alone.

That is one of the reasons that you preferred being at school. You could find peaceful places to be left alone.

Anastasia spoke again, pulling you from your thoughts.

“He probably thinks that you are pretty, Y/n. You really are a lovely girl.”

“Go get your eyes checked. Anna, I have as much luck with boys as a turtle does crossing the road.”

You muttered as the bell rang.

Not a moment too soon.

You thought as you stood to gather up your things. You were getting away from Anastasia and her mind numbing questions. Walking to the door you ran into a hard body.

Looking up, Regulus Black had turned around to just who the fuck ran into him. He blinked a few times the moment that your eyes met.

“Watch where you are going, Black.”

You hissed. Regulus automatically frowned.

“You ran into me.”

“So, you aren’t moving fast enough?”

You replied, not missing a beat. Regulus seemed a bit surprised by your comment. He wasn’t for sure why you were hostile toward him. In all of the years that he had known you, with the exception of year 1 and 2, you acted like he had personally fucked you over.

Regulus couldn’t help admitting that you were a lovely girl but your sarcastic hostile nature was a bit off putting. He had decided the year before just to avoid you at all costs. This year, however, he understood more about you. You were as depressed as he was. Regulus never understood it until this year.

Over the summer, Sirius ran off to James Potter’s abandoning his family. Regulus didn’t know how to put into words how he felt about it either. There was sinking in the middle of his stomach that never seemed to go away. It was there when he went to sleep at night and was waiting when he awoke the next morning. Regulus honestly never thought that he would be happy again.

He figured that returning to school would soothe those feelings. Regulus would be back with his best friends and would have no reason to think of Sirius. Unfortunately, the moment that he stepped into the great hall and saw his brother sitting at the Gryffindor table smiling and laughing. There was clearly no sadness in Sirius over the events of the summer. This sent Regulus into a deeper depression. His brother didn’t miss him and never would.

“You know most people just say excuse me and go on about their business.”

Regulus replied.

“Just get out of my way.”

You hissed and moved to get around him. Regulus honestly didn’t deserve your venom. He, after all, had done absolutely nothing to you.

He hasn’t done anything to you but you have no reason to trust him. Regulus will probably be just like his brother. You’ll get attached and have your heart broken.

You thought. It wasn’t fair to compare Regulus to Sirius when they were obviously such different people but you couldn’t help it. Most guys, no matter the house, was the same.

As you walked down the hall, you wanted nothing more than to have some time alone. You decided to walk down to the lake. A free period was just what you needed!

Sitting down, you took out a book and quietly began to read. It wasn’t until you were on paragraph two did you realize that someone was standing in front of you. Looking up, again your eyes met Regulus Black’s.

“What now, Black?”

You questioned. He put his hands on his hips feeling a bit annoyed. After the exchange in the potions, he decided that it was time for both of you to have a little chat.

“You and I need to talk.”

“Whatever about?”

You questioned as he sat down.

“I want to know why you hate me so bad?”

“I never said that I hated you.”

Regulus chuckled.

“Sure could have fooled me. You are always glaring at me like I personally offended you.”

You put your book down.

“I just don't like being oogled by some guy who is going to screw me over.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t know me.”

“Yeah, I know your brother. All guys are the same so it doesn’t matter who you are.”

The response came out a little snipper than you planned. Standing up, you turned to storm back to the castle. Just who the fuck did Regulus think that he was? So what if he was a member of the Black family?

Woo-freaking-who.

“First, off you don’t know anything about me. I am nothing like my brother. If you would give me a bloody chance you would see that. I see what you are doing Y/n. I get it you use sarcasm and cold humor to cope. I do it too. As much as you want to come across as this tough girl who doesn’t need anyone, you're actually quite lonely…again I get it.”

You stopped before turning to face Regulus. He sat with his knees drawn to his chest. Dark eyes looked up at you with an intensity that you had never seen on his face before.

“I don’t like this, Regulus.”

He smirked.

“You don’t like someone figuring out who you are, Y/n. You don’t want people seeing that inside you are actually in pain. Again, I can relate.”

Regulus stood and walked down closer to the lake.

“My brother, who I know that you dated and I know he did you wrong, he abandoned our family over the summer. Now...everything is up to me. I am the only heir to the Black family. I have to do everything and I don’t fucking want to. I want to do whatever it is I want and there not be repercussions for my actions. However, that won’t be able to happen now.”

You frowned and watched him curiously.

“And why is that? Why can’t you just walk away? You’ll be an adult soon. Tell them to fuck off.”

Regulus laughed.

“If only it were that easy. You see my mother, she depends on me and I can’t let her down. If you knew my family, you would understand.”

You had heard plenty of rumors about the Black family. Regulus’ mother sounded like the typical pureblood mother. Maybe a bit darker than what your mother was but a pureblood mother all the same.

“I’m sure our families are very similar. Lovely bunch, purebloods.”

Regulus laughed bitterly at that. There wasn’t much that was lovely about being a pureblood when your mother was Walburga Black.

“Then you will understand why we have to do things that we don’t want to do. For example, being a death eater.”

“Regulus…”

He automatically pulled up his sleeve to show you the dark mark on his arm. Regulus wasn’t surprised when you made no facial expression. He had a feeling that you had seen your fair share of dark marks lately.

“My mother and father were okay with me doing it. Actually, they were quite proud that their son was doing the right thing...the just thing. I think I am too...at points. There are other times that I am not for sure. I see your face. You have the same expression. I bet you about 10 galleons, if you pull up your sleeves there are going to very similar cut marks...sometimes it gets too much.”

You looked down. For the first time, your tough exterior faded.

“You do it too...cut your wrists?”

Regulus nodded.

“Physical pain is better than mental pain, at times. Maybe we understand each other more than we thought?”

Your crossed arms slowly dropped to your sides.

“Maybe. We could also really hurt each other.”

Regulus’ hopeful smile fell.

“Or help each other. I don’t know what my brother did to you but I’m not him. Sirius and I have nothing in common except our last names. I mean, our last name is literally all that we have in common. You’ll get stupid bullshit with him. I’m on my A game. You wouldn’t have to guess what you were to me. All that you have to do is give me a chance. If it makes you feel better...I know where my brother is about this time of day and...well...sometimes Sirius isn’t so bright.”

You snorted.

“You could say that again. Fine, you have a chance. Don’t mess it up Regulus.”

Regulus held out his hand with a small smile. Something told you to be wary. The depressive side said, no but something deep inside of you said yes.

You reached out and wrapped your hand around Regulus’. He gave you a small smile before tugging in you with him.

“This is going to be funny.”

You slipped through quiet corridors behind Regulus as he checked for any “little eyes” that would get into his way. He finally stopped the moment that he saw Sirius and James standing in an empty hallway playing “exploding snap.”

Regulus lightly elbowed you in the side before grinning. He had his wand out and muttered something low. You weren’t able to make out what he said but it didn’t matter. It looked as if someone had a bucket of water and dumped it all over Sirius and James. Both boys jumped back looking around wildly as another explosion of water knocked them off of their feet. James hit the ground first. Sirius reached out to help his best friend only to get hit in the face with water for the third time. He was knocked off his feet and directly on top of James. His elbow crashing into James’ crotch. James howled in pain as Sirius started rubbing his head where he hit the stone floor.

“Pads, stop. You're killing me!”

James shrieked. Sirius was yelling about how truly sorry he was over and over.

You, meanwhile, had to hold back a fit of rare laughter. Regulus, himself, was grinning as he turned the floor to ice. Both James and Sirius were sliding all over the place all the while screaming curse words after curse words.

“Whoever you are! We are going to fuck you up!”

Sirius yelled as Regulus reached down and squeezed your hand.

“This is where we make our exit. They are going to be sliding around for a while.”

You ran after Regulus, until he pulled you into an empty classroom

“That was fun.”

He commented.

“Fucking brilliant. Watching them slide all over the place while looking like drowned ferrets was the best fun that I have had in awhile.”

Regulus smiled, giving you a cocky smile.

“That’s only the beginning. I have a lot better material...if you want to watch.”

You reached up and pulled the taller boy down by his tie. Regulus was clearly a bit surprised but leaned right into the kiss. When he pulled away, you tossed your hair over his shoulder.

“Watching is for babies. I want to help.”

______

@amelie-black

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#Regulus Black #Regulus Black x Reader #Sirius Black #James Potter #marauders au #annon request #timothee chalamet as regulus black #ben barnes as sirius black #aaron johnson as james potter #young marauders #regulus x r eader #reader x regulus #regulus arcturus black #sirius orion black #harry potter fan fiction #One Chance #Once Chance one shot #update

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imaginexmeintheuniverse · 4 years

Text

5 times you infuriated me and 1 time you made it okay

A/N: okay so the 5 times concept is something i enjoy writing very much, however i am aware that in this piece in particular, a lot of the ideas are underdeveloped and probably especially dont make sense with the ending when you look at the relationship, but please keep in mind that this ‘5 times’ theme i chose focuses on those kinds of incidents so there are a lot of other times in between (and i dont have the time or energy to turn this into a super long fic but perhaps one day.. ) so this is what happened!

Warnings: mentions of torture (like in the 7th when Bellatrix takes to Hermione)

Tags: @expellimarvelous and for some reason my hp taglist got lost so let me know if you’d like to be added!

↠↠↠↠↠↠

I. Bad Start to the Sixth Year

Your sixth year at Hogwarts seems to be off to a good start as you laugh and snack on sweets with two of your three your best friends on Hogwarts Express. Or at least it seemed like it was off to a good start until the train arrives at the station, and Harry is nowhere to be found.

Waving off Ron and Hermione with a promise to catch up, you insist on going to look for him by yourself. Your search leads you all the way to the other side of the strain where the blinds are conveniently drawn. You can hear a voice muffled through the closed door, and you become filled with dread when you identify who it belongs to.

Sliding the door open a crack, you see a familiar head of slicked-back platinum hair. You aren’t able to make out what he says, but you do see him bring down a foot to meet Harry’s nose.

“Malfoy, what the fuck?!” you burst out, causing the Slytherin boy to jump in surprise.

“Y-Y/N- I-I—”

“I don’t know what the bloody hell you think you’re getting away with, but you better get the fuck off this train before I curse you,” you snarl, shoving him aside to get to Harry. Seeing that he’s been petrified, you take your wand out of your jacket pocket and mutter, “finite,” to which your friend thankfully wakes up, blinking a few times. He doesn’t move much, as he tries to regain control of his muscles, and you insist he takes a moment to do so.

Throughout this, Draco has gone so quiet you think he might have actually left, but when you turn your head to meet his stormy eyes, you’re filled with rage, once again.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?! Get out!”

“But Y/N, I-I'm—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you say in a lower tone as you tend to your friend, not even sparing him another glance.

Why is it that just when you think there might be a redeemable quality buried deep in Draco Malfoy, he always does something that proves otherwise?

II. Welcome to the Slugclub

“Okay, okay! I was gate-crashing! Happy?” He admits, trying to shake off Filch’s grasp on his jacket.

His eyes that used to be sharp and bright, have recently become sullen. They lock with yours for a solid moment before he’s ushered out by Snape.

Your eyes linger on his figure as he’s led away from the party— probably longer than they should have, but you can’t help noticing how thin he’s become. You’ve barely seen him all year, despite having a few classes together. He was never that hefty to begin with, but it looks like he hasn’t eaten or slept in ages. Other than his usual perfectly tailored wardrobe, he now wears dark circles under his eyes, and it’s impossible not to notice how the contours of his face have become that much sharper and his already pale skin has adopted a sickly pigmentation.

You and Harry follow the pair out, but for different reasons. You know that Harry wouldn’t be happy about yours because of his suspicions, but Draco looks like he’s crumbling under stress.

Eavesdropping only proves Harry’s doubts about Malfoy, and he then decides to rejoin the party as to not get caught by Snape, but you hang back, telling him you need to go to the loo.

You wait in the shadows until you hear Snape’s steps scurry away before approaching Malfoy who stays behind, sitting on a ledge. A half-smirk appears on his face upon noticing you like he’s been gathering an arsenal of insults to shoot at you, but really, under the snide mask, he marvels at how lovely you look tonight.

“Straying from your date with Potter?” he spits out Harry’s name like it’s revolting to have on his tongue. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think Potter’s lady is ditching him in favour of a more refined pureblood—”

“He’s one of my best friends!” You roll your eyes and flail your hands up in exasperation. “And how is the nature of our relationship any of your business?!”

He snorts, leaning his back on the walk behind him and crosses his arms over his chest nonchalantly.

“You know, I came out here to check and make sure you were okay!” You shout at him hands coming up to furiously push your hair back. “I can’t believe that for a second I thought that— no- but you—”

“You thought what?” His voice has become softer, hard exterior starting to peel away in your presence. He stands from his seat, mild concern washing over his features.

You shake your head, looking anywhere but at him. “N-Nothing—”

“Tell me,” his hands place themselves on your biceps, long fingers curling around your arms gently.

You fall victim to his intense gaze, getting lost in the grey seas of his irises. His features aren’t as hard as they usually are and the grasp he has on you is delicate; like he’s afraid to hurt you and you almost feel like you can let your guard down. Almost.

“Is it true?” you ask him, diverging from the subject and he raises an eyebrow in response. “Did you hex Katie Bell?”

He opens his mouth, and then closes it without a word when he realizes he has nothing to answer to that and you’re the only person he can’t lie to. That’s enough of a confirmation for you. You let out a breath of disbelief and he starts to panic, because contrary to the backwards dynamic the two of you share, part of him does care what you think. “Y/N- p-please listen—”

All emotion leaves your voice as you tell him, “Just leave me alone, Malfoy.”

You shrug him off, and spin on your heel, breaking the eye contact. Walking down the hall, you leave him there to bask in the silence and his dark thoughts.

III. Hair Like You

You’re already teeming with rage as you scour the castle for Ron, who slipped you one of Fred and George’s prank snacks that ended up changing your hair color. Running into Draco Malfoy, of all people, really puts the cherry on top of the shit sundae.

To make things worse, it looks as though he’s going out of his way to get to you when he spots you from across the courtyard. At first he squints, not fully sure if it’s you with the new physical change, and then tails you down two hallways, not giving a single damn how creepy he may look.

“What do you want, Malfoy—”

“It seems like you’re more obsessed with me than I had originally thought,” he snickers, catching up with your quickened pace.

That’s when it hits you, and you instantly halt, causing him to smack into your back. Spinning around to face him, your eyes widen in horror as you take in the familiar platinum blonde hair— the same shade you saw in the mirror earlier.

“That’s just great!” You throw your hands up dramatically. “Now I look like you!”

“Please, don’t flatter yourself—”

“Oh, sod off, Malfoy!”

“You know, it really doesn’t look that bad. Maybe you’re starting to have better taste.”

Despite knowing full well that that was Malfoy speak for a compliment, you’re in no mood for it. “Oh, well I’m so glad that the Slytherin prince thinks me, a lowly commoner, 'doesn’t look that bad’ just fu—”

“No! No! No! Y/N! I didn’t mean—”

“—ck off! Because on top of looking like the most insufferable git in the entire school what I really wanted was to receive a backhanded compliment—” And just then, you spot the familiar redhead with bad influences for older brothers from across the hall who you’re even more pissed off at than Malfoy.

“I don’t have time for this,” is all you say as you bolt down the hall towards Ron, screaming, “YOU’RE DEAD, WEASLEY!”

IV. Held Hostage

Hermione’s screams are enough to make you feel like you’re being gutted, and when Bellatrix takes her knife to your arm, you’re absolutely terrified. At least this means your best friend has a break from her torture. In the meantime, you nearly bite through your cheek to hold in your own screams whilst the saddistic woman spells out the hateful term that’s been thrown at you your whole life, carving it into your flesh.

After what feels like hours, the death eater sits back up, admiring the her work with a sickening grin on her face, and you want nothing more than to smack it off. Or at least you would if you didn’t feel like you’ve been drained. What you do feel is defiled; like your own skin is no longer yours, and the blood that runs through your veins doesn’t belong to you.

And Draco Malfoy has been standing on the other end of the room this whole time whilst his barbaric aunt tries to get information out of you.

The rest of what happens is experienced through the blur of hopeless tears your eyes are clouded with, until Harry picks you up off the floor after Bellatrix had pushed you and Hermione to save herself from the falling chandelier. A certain fire surges through you as you regain full consciousness.

You see Harry and Draco fight over his wand, and instinct kicks in as you lunge forward, efficiently tackling the latter to the ground. Snatching the wand out of his hand, you throw it to Harry. The blonde boy’s struggles are weak under your weight, almost half-assed as you feel the tension start to leave his muscles.

“Why?!” you shout in his face, grabbing him by the collar to keep him down. Tears well your eyes, but your gaze pierces through him nonetheless. The feelings of helplessness and emptiness are long gone as angry tracks burn down your cheeks. “Why—”

“Y/N!” Harry scoops you off him in one swift motion, pulling you to where your allies have regrouped. “This isn’t the time- w-we have to get out of here!”

You don’t say another word, and your infuriated eyes target the conflict and fear that resides in Draco’s. He’s left with the image of your anguish and fury engrained in his mind long after you disapparate.

V. Crossing Over

The Dark Lord himself beckoned him, and for a second you thought he might resist, but then his mother called him, extending her hand for him to come to her, and you saw him break.

“No!” You cry out as he starts to take hesitant steps towards the death eaters. “Draco, don’t do this!” His already shaky demeanor falters for a moment at the sound of his first name falling from your lips. “You have a choice.”

Steeling his nerves, he doesn’t allow himself to look back, because he would surely crumble under the weight of your gaze and the pain etched into your features. He continues forward, into the arms of a proud tyrant, and you swear your heart drops out of your chest.

Then, the whole scene with Neville’s heroic spirit ensues and you feel the fire within you flare up again when Harry tumbles out of Hagrid’s arms. Death Eaters that have been backing Voldemort start to disappear, leaving an unevenly distributed cloud of darkness.

Everyone else starts to retreat to the castle to regroup and fight as one, but you chase after the fleeing Malfoy family. It’s as though you have no control as your legs move under you on autopilot and as fast as they can go.

You’ve almost caught up to the trio on the bridge and can no longer help yourself.

“Coward!” You yell, trying your best not to let your voice crack, with no avail. It’s all you can do to keep the tears from spilling freely. Draco meets your eyes with his own that portray a boy who is terrified out of his mind, but you’re relentless. The truth isn’t always easy. “You’re a bloody coward, Malfoy!”

Avoiding your fiery gaze, he turns into his mother’s comfort. Not once do his eyes meet yours again before he disappears in a whisp of black smoke.

What you feel is rage, but with that rage comes with an added indescribable pain and disappointment.

+ Midsummer Night’s Dream

The next time you see the infamous Draco Malfoy is just over a year since he disapparated in a whisp of black smoke. Little do you know, immediately after apparating, the boy fell to his knees in the arms of his mother. He broke that day, and hasn’t been able to put himself back together since, contrary to the proud Malfoy mask he wears out in public. He hides behind crisp suits and perfectly-coiffed platinum locks. It’s enough to have anyone who reads the Daily Prophet fooled about how the heir carries onto a successful path despite everything that has happened.

But not you. He never could fool you of anything, really. So when you and your friends spot him taking a seat alone at the Three Broomsticks you know something’s up, because a refined Malfoy doesn’t just hang out amongst mere commoners like that.

“What is he doing here?” Ron spits out, red fury already starting at the tips of his ears and seething from his narrowed eyes.

As if on cue, Draco’s eyes lift from his glass to meet yours.

Hermione sends you a sympathetic smile before mumbling calming words to her boyfriend. The Malfoys and Weasleys always did get each other riled up.

Harry, who sits beside you, gives you a gentle nudge with his shoulder to get your attention and you can immediately read his expression. He can read yours just as easily and can see that you’re starting to get anxious. “Y/N…”

“Harry, it’s okay,” you simper, standing slowly from your seat. “I’ve got this.”

He casts a glance towards the blond across the room before his eyes come back meet yours, sending you a look as though to ask if you’re sure. You give him a nod and he sends you off with a comforting squeeze of your hand.

As you make your way to the table for one, you’re so focused on slowing your heart rate that you’ve arrived at your destination before you know it, seeing the shiny black dress shoes in contrast to the uneven wood panels of the pub’s floor. When you lift your gaze, it’s then that you realize he’s been staring at you the whole time.

“Malfoy.”

“Y/N.”

The sound of your first name rolling off his tongue lights something inside you— and it’s not pretty.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice is steady, but with a strong undertone of something darker. Like the calm before a storm.

“Can’t a man enjoy a butterbeer on his own?” Despite him being absolutely terrified of you, he somehow manages to exude a certain lightness. You look at his untouched pint and raise an eyebrow and he knows you aren’t in the mood for small talk.

“Cut the shit, Malfoy.”

Recognizing the beginnings of anger in your tone, he stands as smoothly as he can manage and gestures towards the door. The last thing he wants is for you to snap because he knows very well what it’s like to be on the receiving end of your fury.

He follows closely behind as you lead him out into the dim lighting of Hogsmead. The summer air doesn’t feel as heavy as it has for the last week, and the sky proudly shows off the twinkling stars. It would be a perfect night if not for your circumstances.

You stop in your tracks and spin to face him so briskly, your forehead almost hits his chin. “You have one minute to talk before I hex you where you stand.”

“You always did excel in hexes and jinxes—”

“Fifty-five seconds, Malfoy.”

“Uh- erm- o-okay—”

You have about zero patience left. The anger thats been quietly bubbling for the last year has been on the brim of overflowing the second he walked in tonight, but so has all the pain and sadness you’ve kept locked up all this time. “You’re wasting my time.” You prepare to stalk off, but a firm hand pulls you back by your elbow, and for the the first time since the war, your face with Draco Malfoy. It’s the first time tonight that you can really see him. He looks worse than ever.

The silver pools that once resided in his irises look like shells of what they once were. And he sure felt that way, until he saw you. That’s when he realizes how empty he always is until he’s around you. My, how he took that for granted all these years.

Trying your very best, you fight against the urge to give into the part of you who still cares for him and wants to know the last time he had a good night’s sleep. You also try to fight against the water accumulation behind your eyelids, but it only makes it worse.

“What?! What do you want, Draco?!”

The use of his first name is the only sign he needs to be brave for once. Without further hesitation, he leans down to capture your lips in a kiss. Once over the initial shock, you give in for only a half second before you come to your senses and push him back, both hands planted firmly on his chest.

“What the bloody hell are you playing at?!”

“I-I- Y/N, I-I’m so—” Right then, is one of the few times you see what he’s really feeling on the inside be expressed on the outside. “I-I just-I thought—”

“You- you thought what?! We’d ride off into the sunset on the back of a unicorn and live happily ever after?!” You don’t care how frantic you look right now. You don’t care that the midsummer night wind is whipping your hair into complete and utter chaos. And you definitely don’t give a single fuck about how the drunk people stumbling by you giggle uncontrollably. You pause for a moment as you wait for them to be out of earshot, and once they are, you let out a frustrated breath and resume. “Did you honestly believe that you could kiss me, and then everything— all of the absolute shite of a mess would just go away?!”

His gaze drops to the ground that his shiny dress shoes stand on, with a few platinum strands that fall from their place. Those are the only visible signs of something amiss with the well-dressed man. But you see something else cloud his features: shame. The last time you saw that, which was also the last time you saw him, he left. He always left you while you were angry, enraged, and never stuck around to face the truth.

Draco Malfoy decides that this time is going to be different.

He has felt as empty as his eyes appeared for months, but when his gaze rolls back up to meet yours, you see the grey storms you saw when you first met him. Sure, they were masked by an outer shell that was brimming with entitlement, but they have now what they had then. Purpose.

“Y/N,” His hands twitch as he fights the urge to reach out for yours, deciding against it in favour of using two words you’ve been waiting to hear. “I’m sorry.” You soften, releasing the tension you didn’t realize you carried in your shoulders. The angry tears that stung the backs of your eyes melt to something peaceful as they escape their ducts. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I know I don’t deserve another chance, or any of the chances you’ve given me, but if you’ll give me one more I promise I’ll be better. Everything you’ve ever said about me is true; I am a coward, but I’m not leaving this time.”

“And what if I want you to leave?” You ask, testing the waters, more than anything else.

“If you tell me to leave— if that is what you truly want, then I will. Tell me to leave, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“Okay, then leave.”

“Is that what you really want?”

“Y-Yes—” You stammer out a complete lie. Every cell on your body knows it’s a lie, and apparently so does he.

“I don’t believe you.”

More than anything, you want to fling yourself into his arms but you feel like your feet have been colashoo-ed to the ground. A corner of his mouth quirks up into a soft lopsided smile as his hands raise to thread fingers through the top of your hairline, smoothing wild strands away from your face. His touch is so careful and delicate than you could have ever imagined. He leans down slowly and stops just as his lips have brushed over yours, asking for permission, “I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

Syllables get caught in your throat, and channel themselves through you body as you move to slate your mouth over his. The sensation is so delicately mind-blowing, and it leaves you absolutely breathless when you pull away to lean your forehead against his.

All you can manage to breathe out is, “stay”.

The way your breath fans over his lips is intoxicating, and he’s certain he’s never seen anything more beautiful, no work of art finer, than the way you’re looking at him.

“I’m not leaving this time. Never again.”

His grasp tightens as he pulls you back to his lips and your fingers curl around the light fabric of his shirt. Every emotion and feeling accumulated over lost time is poured into this kiss.

This time, what you feel for him is something stronger and far different than anger.

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #5 times fic #hp #hp imagine #harry potter #harry potter imagine #hp fic #hp fanfic #draco malfoy fanfiction #potatowrites

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norafike · 3 years

Text

Despite all this, I still love you 26

“Got anythin' coming up, Nora?” Cripps lurked outside the tent with a small smile, he could see her through the crack in the tent, lying on her cot and sulking the hours away just as she had done these past few days. “Any jobs or such?”

“No.”

“Well, surely there is something you can do… why not help your brothers out on a job?” It was a simple suggestion but the thought alone caused her to groan loudly, it wasn't that a job scared her but working with her brothers was a nightmare.

Nora pushed herself from the cot, pulled the tent flaps aside and gave Cripps a stern glare. “I don't know if you've met Harry an' James, but working with them is stressful.”

“I know but it gives you something to do… but you look awful.”

“Point out the obvious, I feel awful so please let me be.” She tried to close the tent flaps again to shield herself away from the others but Cripps wouldn't let her this time and held it open, just to keep talking.

“You got to do something to keep occupied, Nora.” He tried pleading but this was only another excuse to keep her from moping about camp and bothering him.

“I'm keepin' myself occupied plenty.” She said, rather bluntly.

“How the hell are you keeping occupied while holed up in here? There's not a lot to do.” His question was simple but it caused Nora's face to turn a shade of red and when she failed to come up with a response he realised just what she implied. “Oh, I really didn't want that image.”

“You asked.”

“Not that, oh christ… look, for that alone I want you to help them with a bounty for my sake, please.”

“Shouldn't have asked questions, JB.” She let out a long sigh. “Just give me a minute and I'll go with them. Make sure they don't leave without me.”

“Thank god.” Cripps trotted off with a gleeful expression and she rolled her eyes at his mock joy before concealing herself in the tent to get dressed in cleaner clothes in private.

...

“She still has that bounty huntin' passion, I see!” Harry exclaimed once he saw her exit her tent, dressed in the same old clothes she would used to wear on their old jobs. She grinned all the same, firmly patting Casper's neck.

“So who we going after boys?” James dug into his satchel and pulled free a poster he had taken from a bounty board, handing it over for her to analyse herself. She narrowed her eyes to read the print and drew out a shuddered breath, oh she had heard this name before.

“Gene again?” James nodded to answer her question.

“We turned in him last year, how did he get out?” Nora continued her questions but the boys didn't mind and they were all able to talk while riding. She followed behind them, they knew the way to this outlaws new location better than she did.

“Apparently some friends thought it'd be a good idea to cut him loose. Killed about half the lawmen in town unfortunately and he got away, couldn't stay low for too long and already started the same old crimes once again. Wasn't long before we caught up with him.”

“They never learn.”

“Yes well, we ain't ones to judge them on their criminal ways.”

Nora laughed lightly. “Oh, I know this, brother.” With that said they rode out in comfortable silence, picking up speed on their adventure to get to this new spot quicker than what a small trot would take them.

Gene Finley never did travel far from Lemoyne it seemed and given that the Van Der Linde gang were now occupying Shady Belle it wasn't like he could drive them out and take it back himself, no, that would get him killed for sure. So instead he settled for the next best thing, what had been left of Braithwaite manor; now reduced to an ashy ruin.

Nora expected there to be some people left but the place was practically abandoned now that there was no Braithwaite's to be left, it didn't surprise her in the slightest and was almost nice to see the area empty instead of infested with those same parasites that lurked there before. Oh, how she hated the Braithwaite's since her run-in with them.

“Can't believe he chose that old shit dump as a new gang location. The place ain't gonna help 'em.”

“It's smart because ain't nobody there no more.”

“Yes, I suppose that is true.” She spurred for Casper to go faster and she ended up taking over Harry who let out a splutter of curses that he was now trailing behind.

...

Nora's Hungarian halfbred stopped just short of Braithwaite manor, bucking wildly now that they were so close to the ruins of the old house. Nora struggled to dismount but she didn't wish to be thrown off of the horse because it had been spooked by unknown forces, perhaps the ghosts of the Braithwaite's were what had Casper in such a frenzy.

“Ain't never seen Casper so startled,” James called out, hitching his horse just near with Harry copying soon after. She nodded too, it being quite peculiar for the beloved stallion to act up in such away.

“He'll be fine. Probably got startled by a snake.” She excused on his behalf before passing him an apple, cautiously reaching for his mouth. Her brothers watched with a smirk painted on their faces but they dropped it slowly as Nora managed to calm the animal, both sharing an astonished expression at how in control of her animal they didn't believe she actually was. “Right, let's go grab Gene "Beau" Finley, shall we?”

...

Nora crouched down behind one of the old pillars that decorated the exterior of the house, keeping her rifle ready while she watched some guards, as she presumed them to be, march back and forth the ruins. A couple of times Nora, as well as her brothers, were close to being caught but they managed to hide themselves just enough to not be seen.

“Harry.” She whisper-shouted to call him and he crept closer just as instructed.

“What?”

She pointed towards her left, giving him a firm stare. “You and James head that way, Gene's down there if you notice… we can cut him off from those sides, he can't go anywhere else from there.”

“Well, he can go West but whatever.”

“Into the fields. There's not a lot there beside a few crops. A lot of it's died out by now, not been looked after since, well, this assault on the manor.”

“Yeah.” He pulled his sawed-off shotgun from its holster and with a subtle flick, beckoned James to come over. He whispered to his brother a “come on,” before disappearing with him behind the rubble.

She pushed herself off of the pillar and followed along the porch, cursing silently when the boards would occasionally creak beneath her weight. Eventually, Nora had managed to move closer towards the bounty in question and quickly hid behind one of the walls and listened closely for any plans the group may have coming up; in case the opportunity for a bank robbery was to present itself then maybe she could drag the boys out on that too.

On the other end of the garden, Harry and James had split up to cover different parts around the land feeling that sticking together wasn't going to be beneficial in any way. Their sister probably wouldn't be happy with this branch from their original plan but that was an argument saved for later, their new one was significantly better.

They waited for no signal, once everyone was in their eyesight they aimed their guns and began shooting. Careful to avoid their target as they fancied being paid in full but also showing no mercy for anyone else who had associated themselves with Gene, it was strictly business what they were doing.

Nora swore loudly at the bullets flying around. In the moment she was worried about her brothers and poked her head just above the wall in time to see Harry and that stupid yellow coat run straight into the group so he could grab the bounty and in a short time, James trailed behind him providing cover fire. She sank back down and leaned her head back, wondering what possessed her to think this was a good idea. Nora worried but at the same time, she was pissed.

“You boys are so reckless, aye!” Nora cried as she jumped from her hiding spot, taking her revolver from the holster and aiming from the hip at some men who ran past.

“Testin' you to see if you still had what it takes to fight,” Harry called back, tackling a guard to the ground and punching him a couple of times to save him from being shot.

She rolled her eyes at the reply before shouting back “I do, it's called common sense,” something that he didn't look too pleased with hearing.

“Really funny.” He said back. She looked his way with a smile but it dropped when she saw him collapse to the floor with blood staining the bright yellow of his coat, she looked back at James worried who hadn't even noticed his own twin fall to the floor.

“Focus on Harry, I can handle the rest of them!” James called out and quickly she rushed to her brothers' side, already fearing the worst.

He was rolling around in agony but was very much alive and that was relief enough that she hadn't lost her younger brother. She gently slapped his other arm and scolded him for his recklessness before helping to move him to a safer location where he wasn't lying directly in their small battlefield.

“He's alive... but I swear I'm gonna kill him.” She told James who looked over-worried.

One guy was left but seeing as all the other hired bodyguards had been killed he opted for the best alternative and that was to flee the scene. He didn't make it very far, as Nora was tired of fighting today and wanted them all down to guarantee that they could return Gene to his cell, so she raised her gun and fired a bullet into his back and then another to make sure.

Gene "Beau" Finley coward in the remains of Braithwaite manor but slowly crept out towards the siblings, his hands raised high in defense. He would still laugh at the same time, impressed with how effortlessly it seemed they had dealt with the situation but there was no joke behind it.

“You three are good.” He complimented. Nora shot James a look and he nodded at the silent instruction, taking his lasso out and hogtying the bounty without a second thought.

Nora walked over to her other brother and took his arm over her shoulders, pulling him to his feet. He groaned at the pain that flared up and she made a small comment about understanding it, feeling almost sorry for him as she did so but he didn't hear what she said. “James., Nora called.

“What?”

“Think you can take Gene to Rhodes? I think Harry shouldn't dawdle around much longer.” James nodded to answer as he carried the target over towards his horse and when he was gone she turned towards Harry with a frown.

“This is what happens when you do things with no plan, Harold.” She said calmly. Her brother mumbled something but she didn't hear what he had said, knowing him though it was probably some sarcastic remark about how her plan was stupid anyway.

She whistled for Casper and he did the same for his Annabelle.

When the horses were near she helped Harry onto the rump of Casper before she mounted the horse herself. He still seemed very agitated by being at Braithwaite manor but it took a few firm pats and he had calmed some, now she just needed to get him far from the ruins.

...

“Cripps!” Nora shouted, her voice sounding a little shaky while she did so. It took him a minute but he sauntered on over with a sheepish smile plastered on his face. It dropped however, when he noticed the state her brother had returned in.

“What the hell happened?” His question was worthless, he could see as clear as day what had happened and there weren't any other explanations otherwise.

“Jus' help me get him to his tent.” She mumbled and he nodded slowly, helping him off of the horse and onto his feet. He didn't wait for Nora and was more adamant about getting him to the cot to take a look at the damage, assess just how bad it could be.

“Think you got this, Cripps?” She asked him once she made it to Harry's tent.

Cripps nodded slowly as he had him peel away the bloodied coat and shirt. “Yeah, ain't nothing too serious luckily.”

“Well, let's hope it teaches you a lesson Harold.” She said, although it was more of a joke than a warning.

With the sun setting and the tent getting darker, Cripps lit a lantern so he could see better while he worked on bandaging the wound and once she was certain that her brother was left in safe hands she left them to themselves.

Her tent was farther away and while she got closer she could hear the idle chatter from the two fade out until it was nothing but a dull murmur in the distance.

She pulled the flap aside so she could walk in but stopped herself when she heard a rustle in the bushes nearby. She thought it was an animal and so waited, expecting a fox or a bunny to jump out and attempt to help itself to the group's food… but the more the rustling got closer the more a shape could be made out amidst the shadows and trees and it was far too big to belong to a small woodland creature.

It groaned with every step taken and she pulled her revolver free from the holster, raising it with caution while this shape moved closer towards her.

Nora took a few steps back while it drew closer and she aimed her gun with a steady hand, ready to shoot if need be. Eventually, the shape stepped into the light and she could see the bloody remains of a man who was just barely alive, grasping onto his breath with what he had left.

She took in his face and the recognition kicked in, from the same scared look and “puppy dog eyes”. There was no greeting between them before his legs gave way and he collapsed forward, but she was able to react just in time and catch him before he hit the floor.

She picked him up as best as he could, cursing out loud with the question of where James could be to help them.

She got him stable before looking back over towards the boy's tents, shouting over the quiet. “Cripps…! Cripps, it's Kieran!”

#rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdo #rdo fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #red dead online #lemuel fike x nora morgan #JB Cripps #Kieran Duffy #gene beau finley

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darkobsidianquill · 4 years

Text

Harry Potter and the Descent into Darkness

Chapter Four

"Blimey, Harry! How did you do that!" Ron exclaimed as the three of them left the defense classroom and began to make their way towards the grand staircase. It was Tuesday and they were finally done with classes for the day and were not working their way to dinner.

"Do what?" Harry replied, slightly confused as to which 'that' Ron was referring to now. He had been under the impression that Ron had been oblivious to most of what he spent the last hour doing.

"That... that... thing you did! What was that?"

"Ron, I honestly have no idea what you're talking about," Harry barely managing to mask the air of annoyed exasperation in his voice.

"Harry, I think that Ron's referring to the non-verbal spell you used that caused your training dummy to disintegrate," Hermione said, while giving him a fairly wary look through narrowed eyes.

"Oh... that?" Harry responded. It had hardly been the highest level spell he had used in their Defense class that day, although he was pretty sure no one noticed the more interesting ones.

They had each been placed in front of a charmed dummy that was spelled to send random hexes at them. Moody told them to disable the dummy as quickly and efficiently as possible, and to do it without getting hexed. Harry took care of it in what he felt like was a rather efficient manner. His spell had hit it on his first shot, and had utterly disabled it. Definitely effective.

It was later that he started getting creative and began doing some more... subtle magics around the classroom.

Harry had gotten bored, since he had completed his task first. He was leaning against the wall to the back of the classroom, watching as the rest of his classmates were repeatedly hit with minor hexes by barely animate objects, and were unable to get their attacks past their dummies' weak little shield charms. It was pathetic, really. So he had started messing with people – just sending minor curses and lesser hexes here and there, to amuse himself. They had been complex and subtle, and the fact that he had pulled it all off without anyone the wiser sent an exuberant thrill up his spine.

But Ron wasn't excited about the results of Harry's subtlety. Ron wouldn't have noticed any of them, even if Harry had done it while holding his wand directly under the ginger's nose. No. Ron had never appreciated subtlety. He was getting all excited about the stupid spell he'd used at the start of class. Harry barely managed to refrain from rolling his eyes.

"Yes, that," Hermione said, with a fairly accusatory tone. "What was that, Harry? Where on earth did you learn something like that?"

"Erm... read it in a book, somewhere. Don't remember, where exactly," Harry said with a dismissive shrug. Truth was that his companion had whispered it in his ear a week earlier when he was trying to come up with different curses and hexes to practice in preparation for the tournament. He still didn't know what the next task would be, but he didn't see any harm with practicing curses. Seemed like a decent enough use of his free time to Harry.

"I didn't hear you say anything when you cast it," Ron said, his voice filled with a bit of awe. "Did you seriously cast it without saying anything!"

Hermione huffed in exasperation. "Merlin, Ron! Harry has been doing almost all of his classwork non-verbally for more than a month! How could you not have noticed!"

"Seriously!" Ron exclaimed and turned to gape at Harry.

"Uh... yeah, Ron. I have." Idiotic, unobservant, git. Harry thought as he rolled his eyes. His companion burst into cackles of laughter, making it very difficult for Harry to keep a straight face until it subsided.

"How did you learn to do that!" Ron exclaimed.

"Learned it while I was studying on my own, you know – for the dragon," Harry said in a rather annoyed tone.

Ron's ears went pink and he looked down at his feet.

"So what spell was it?" Hermione asked, turning to Harry and giving him a rather expectant look. "I mean, the one you used today in Defense."

Harry clenched his jaw in irritation, trying to hold back the urge to snap at her and tell her to mind her own damned business. Instead he took a slow breath and pulled back on a disinterested mask.

"It's called distraxi," he replied once he was sure he could keep the anger out of his voice.

Hermione frowned. "I've never heard of it."

Harry was unable to refrain from rolling his eyes this time. "Obviously," he remarked sarcastically.

They reached the landing on the first floor and began to make their way towards the entrance hall.

"What is the spell, exactly?" Hermione persisted. "I mean, what does it do?"

Harry's hand was fisting so tightly into the hem of his robe sleeve that his knuckles were turning white, but he managed to maintain a vaguely calm exterior. "It's a dissolving hex, Hermione. Literally it means to pull into pieces." The truth was that it wasn't a hex at all. It was a curse. But he knew Hermione would only give him a harder time if he admitted that to her.

"Yes, but what are it's limits? Surely you wouldn't be able to use that spell against... against a person would you? We were supposed to be practicing a way to stop someone attacking us with hexes, Harry. Surely you wouldn't use that spell against a person, would you?"

Harry stopped and turned to look her in the eyes. His face was mostly blank, but the irritation was still blatantly clear. His lids were slightly lowered, and his brows were flat.

"The assignment was to stop the dummy from attacking, and to not get hit. The challenge was to get past the dummy's shield charm and disable it. I did that."

"Well, yes, but shouldn't you find a way to do that in a way that you could use in a real scenario? You could use that spell to stop a dummy, but you wouldn't be able to do that if it were a real person... right? What would that spell do against a real person?"

"What exactly are you suggesting?" he asked, flatly.

"Well, it just seems a bit... destructive, that's all. Are you sure it's just a hex? It looked like a curse, Harry. Especially since it managed to get through the training dummy's shield so easily..."

"And diffindo isn't destructive? Bombarda isn't destructive? What about confringo?" he sneered.

"What's your point?" Hermione asked, taking on a rather defensive posture.

"My point is that all of those spells are all neutral spells that are taught as a part of the standard Hogwarts defense curriculum, and they're all destructive too. Bloody bombarda is taught in classes! I don't see how the spell I used was any worse."

"Bombarda isn't taught until sixth year, Harry!"

"You used it last year!" he pointed out.

"Well, yes, but I read ahead! And you haven't answered my question. What would that spell do if used on a living person?"

Harry's eyes narrowed and he glared down icily at the bushy-haired brunette. "It would do exactly what it did to the dummy," he bit out in a harsh whisper.

Hermione's eyes widened in slowly dawning horror and Harry turned away and continued to stride down the hallway. Hermione stood stunned in place and Ron stood there with his head turning back and forth from Hermione to Harry and back again before he hurried down the hall to catch up with Harry.

"You're kidding, right, mate?" Ron said as he caught up and matched Harry's harsh strides. "I mean... it tore that dummy to pieces and dissolved it into dust! In like... five seconds flat! It wouldn't really do that to a person would it?"

Harry grumbled in frustration as he came to a stop and turned to glare back at his 'friends'.

"Do you know why the killing curse is called the killing curse?"

Ron blanched but shook his head no.

"Because that's all it can do. It kills you. It's quick, painless, and honestly – probably the most humane way you can kill a person. Do you know how many other magic spells can kill a person? Hundreds! Probably thousands, if you're creative enough.

"You can kill a person if you slice their throat open with a well aimed diffindo. You can kill someone with a bombarda if you blast them out a window, or off a ledge, or blast some big piece of something hard into their head. If you're point-blank and put enough force into the spell, you could probably blow a person apart with confringo! Bloody hell, guys, you can kill a person with a pencil if you're really dedicated! Just because I used a spell that could be used to kill someone doesn't mean that that is it's only use. Do you want to ban quills because someone could stab you in the eye with one?"

"Yeah but that spell seemed like a really dark spell, Harry," Hermione whispered as she came to stand beside Ron. "It just.. it felt dark."

"Well it's not. It's a neutral magic spell like the others because it has uses that have nothing to do with maiming or killing a person," Harry shouted at her. Of course, it's only just barely a neutral spell... he silently admitted to himself. "Besides, do you honestly think I'd be stupid enough to use a dark spell in school? In class!"

"Are you saying that you know some!" Hermione gasped.

Harry growled in anger. "No! Of course not!" Well... maybe a few... but it's not like I'm going to tell you that. He amended, mentally, and his companion snickered.

"Well, I'd certainly hope not! It's Defense Against the Dark Arts class, not the Dark Arts class!"

"Merlin, guys! I learn a few spells outside the standard curriculum and suddenly you're jumping on the 'Harry Potter is going dark' bandwagon!"

"I just don't see why you'd need to learn a spell that tears things apart like that!" Hermione argued, defensively.

"Uh – does the Tri-Wizard Tournament ring any bells, Hermione? You know, I'd really prefer not to end up dead this year. I'm going to learn whatever the hell I need to learn to survive this thing."

Hermione made to open her mouth but snapped it shut and looked down.

"I'm sorry, Harry. You're right."

"Thank you!" Harry said in angry exasperation while throwing his hands into the air.

Hermione sighed heavily and turned back down the hall and the three of them resumed their trek to the Great Hall.

"You've been doing really brilliant in classes lately," Hermione whispered in a very quiet voice after an uncomfortable minute of silence.

Harry narrowed his eyes and looked at her suspiciously for a moment before masking it away an taking on a forced bashful expression.

"Er, thanks."

"Do you... do you think you could teach me some of that non-verbal magic you've been doing? Maybe point me to whatever book you learned it from?"

Harry blinked at her in surprise. "Uh... I... I don't really know Hermione. I mean, I didn't exactly read it from a book or anything."

Hermione stopped and looked at him with a furrowed, confused brow.

"How'd you learn it then?"

"I just sort of... started doing it. I kind of had an epiphany earlier this term one Saturday morning when I was doing a lot of thinking. I can't really explain it, but I sort of figured out how to tap into my magic in a way I never had before. I just.. get it now. I really wouldn't have any idea how to instruct someone else on it though."

She frowned and sighed. "Oh... alright."

The trio entered the great hall and made their way to the Gryffindor table. Harry managed to avoid much of the conversation for the majority of the meal. Ron and Seamus, who were sitting opposite Harry and Hermione at the table, got into a heated discussion about some upcoming Quidditch match between the Ballycastle Bats and the Chudley Cannons. Hermione ended up eating while reading, and Harry was grateful for the opportunity to be left alone for a while. He knew he would have to soak it up while he could since his friends would expect him to stay with them in the common room to do their homework.

Harry had just finished eating when he heard a startled choking noise from Ron. He looked up and saw Ron's jaw hanging so far open it was practically resting on the table. A glance to the left revealed an identical expression gracing Seamus's face.

Harry was about to ask what they were gawking at when he felt a light tapping on his shoulder. Harry turned around in his seat and saw none other than Fleur Delacour standing just behind him.

His eyes widened and his lips parted in surprise for only the briefest of seconds before he pulled on a confident grin and nodded his head.

"Mademoiselle Delacour, what a pleasure it is to see you this fine evening," Harry said with mock seriousness and a silly dip of his head. She giggled and rolled her eyes at him. Harry heard a strangled whimper noise emanate from somewhere in Ron's throat, but ignored it.

"Please, 'arry. Call me Fleur," she said grinning.

"My lady you honor me," Harry said, still grinning cockily. "So to what do I owe the pleasure? Have you already made your decision?"

"I have," she said, grinning even larger.

"Are you going to keep me hanging here? I'm absolutely desperate with anticipation."

She laughed. "You really are quite amusing 'arry. I do hope you will keep me just as entertained at zee ball."

Harry's brows rose questioning. "Does that mean you've accepted my invitation?"

She rolled her eyes and giggled lightly. "Yes, 'arry. I accept."

Harry beamed at her. "Brilliant."

"I will let you know where to come collect me for zee ball when zee event draws nearer."

"I look forward to it."

"So do I," she said with a smirk as she began to turn away. "See you later, 'arry."

"Bye Fleur."

Harry turned back to the table, chuckling lightly and feeling a smug sense of accomplishment. He looked up and saw that the entirety of the Gryffindor table... and everyone from most of the other tables, for that matter – were all staring at him.

Ron's face was almost as red as his hair and he was making squeaking noises in his throat.

"You alright there Ron?" Harry asked with mock concern.

"Was that what I think that was?" Seamus asked in a choked gasp.

"What do you think it was?" Harry asked, grinning.

"Did... wait, did you ask Fleur Delacour to go to the dance with you!" Seamus exclaimed.

"Yeah," Harry said with a dismissive shrug.

"When!"

"Um... last week. Morning after McGonagall announced the ball."

"For real!"

"Yeah."

"And she just accepted!" Seamus continued, his voice growing higher in pitch with each word.

Harry laughed and shook his head in affirmative. "Yes, Seamus. I asked her out, and she said yes," Harry said slowly, as if he were speaking to a small child.

Ron's jaw was now floundering up and down and his eyes were oddly dilated. Harry reached across the table and waved his hand in front of Ron's face.

"You alright there, mate?"

"F-ff—fleu..." he began to stutter.

Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to Seamus. "So you asked anyone yet?"

"Oh, yeah. I asked Lavender. She said yes."

"Congrats man."

Seamus coughed out a laugh. "Nah, Harry. If anyone should be congratulating anyone, I should be congratulating you. I can't believe you had the balls to ask out Fleur! Even more... I can't believe she said yes!"

Harry laughed. "Is it really so hard to believe I could get a date?"

"It's not that, Harry. It's just that she's Fleur Delacour! And you're just a forth year!"

"F-f-fl-fl..." Ron continued to stutter, dumbly.

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, I know. I think the fact that I'm able to talk to her without stuttering and drooling like a babbling buffoon really improved my chances, though."

Ron's jaw snapped shut and his face went red again.

"I don't know how you manage it, though," Seamus said with awe in his voice. "I mean... you were just talking to her so easily there! How can you not go all dumb around her?"

Harry shrugged and reached down to grab his bag. "I don't know, I just don't." He turned to Hermione who was giving him a small knowing smile and he rolled his eyes at her. "I'm gonna head back to the common room. I'll see you all later, alright?"

"Alright. See you later Harry," Hermione said.

– – –

The next morning at breakfast a speckled gray owl swooped down through the great hall along with the countless other post owls, and settled on the table in front of Harry. Harry's excitement grew and he quickly reached for the parchment wrapped around it's leg. He gave it a piece of bacon off his plate and quickly unrolled the letter.

"Who's that from, mate?" Ron said through a mouth full of eggs. Harry barely managed to stop the sneer that wanted to spread across his face as a few pieces of food fell out of Ron's mouth and onto the table.

Disgusting whelp...

He shook his head and looked back down at the letter. It was from Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary in Knockturn Alley.

Harry quickly read over the letter and his lips curled into a devilish grin.

"What is it Harry?" Hermione asked as she leaned over his shoulder a bit. He scowled as he quickly folded it shut before she could read it. He masked his annoyance and took on a simple innocent expression.

"I ordered some things from the apothecary in Hogsmeade, but they didn't have some of the ingredients I needed so they recommended I write to an apothecary in Diagon Alley. This is them and they have what I need."

"What sort of ingredients?" Hermione asked, frowning slightly in confusion.

"I needed some Re'em blood."

Hermione blanched. "What on earth for!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "For a potion."

Hermione scowled slightly in annoyance. "Yes, Harry, I figured that much. What potion are you trying to brew though?"

"A strength enhancing potion for the next task," Harry lied easily.

"Are you allowed potions in the next task?" she asked, surprised.

"Of course. That's the point of being given the clue so far in advanced. The sooner you figure it out, the more time you have to prepare."

"Oh. That makes sense. So you've figured it out then."

"Mmhmm," Harry hummed in a rather noncommittal way as he took a bit of food. "As soon as all my ingredients show up, I'm going to have to spend some time in the dungeons brewing."

"We can help you mate," Ron said. Harry almost snorted. As if I would want your help with potions.

"Nope," Harry said easily. "It's for the task. I'm supposed to do it on my own."

"Oh... right."

Harry smirked. Too easy.

Now he had a great excuse to get away from them to do his brewing without having to make any extra excuses. And he could always claim the potions he was making would take multiple days to brew and get away from them even more.

– – –

The next morning a small crate from the Hogsmeade Apothecary arrived, carried by two brown post owls. Two days after that, the box containing the Runespore eggs and Re'em blood arrived from Knockturn Alley. It was the last day of term, and Harry had a potions exam that day on brewing antidotes.

Harry knew that he'd have an easier time with his brewing if he actually got permission to use the potions lab during break, rather than trying to sneak in, or trying to brew the potion somewhere poorly equipped for brewing, so he decided to ask Snape after class.

–

The exam was surprisingly easy. Harry was pretty sure he got most of the written questions correct, and, since his practical potion was brewed alone instead of with a partner, he was able to get it completed without anything exploding. He was completed with his test fourth behind Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass, and Hermione, but his potion looked better than Greengrass's did, and he never expected to do better in potions than Hermione or Malfoy.

Unfortunately, since it was an exam class, it meant that once Harry was done with his test, there was nothing for him to do until everyone else had finished as well. Everyone else left as they finished, and Ron looked at Harry with mild confusion when he saw Harry sit back down after handing in his potion and test parchment.

It didn't take long for Harry to grow incredibly bored, so he reached into his bag and pulled out the potions book from the restricted section.

The two 'non-restricted' potions that Harry planned to brew were, an advanced nutritional restorative potion, and a bone and muscle restructuring potion.

Both of these potions, however, would normally require Harry to take them every day for years to reach the level of correction that he wanted to gain. They would slowly, and gradually correct the damage done by a decade of malnutrition.

The third potion - the one he got from the restricted section book – was an accelerant potion and it had been invented by a wizard that felt that the other two potions, and other restorative potions like them, took too damned long. It would speed up and magnify the effects of the other two potions, as well as having a number of lesser benefits of its own.

He would still need to brew enough of the first two potions to take one dose every day, but only for two months instead of multiple years. The accelerant potion would be taken eight times. Once a week he would need to take a dose of it, and ideally at a point in time where he could remain in bed for twelve hours without being disturbed, because it would be painful and leave him entirely bedridden.

Thus, his plan was to do it on either Friday or Saturday nights, and come up with some excuse about training or some such thing, to keep his friends away. Of course he still needed to figure out where he was going to stay while he endured these sessions. He was still working on that part.

Harry began to thumb through some of the later chapters in the potions book. Brews and Rituals of Permanent Improvement by Scaliea Vanity. It was a fascinating book. Everything covered in the book would be... well, permanent. Memory enhancement rituals, physical strengthening potions, brews to drastically increase mental clarity and cognitive thinking.

Harry had to admit that more than a few were tempting. However they tended to have side-effects that would be to visibly obvious for him to risk doing many of them while at school. Possibly after he graduated he'd go through and do several of them.

Of course, the potions he was planning on taking would cause a visibly noticeable change too. Hopefully he could get away with claiming he had a magical growth spurt, and had been exercising to get in shape for the tournament.

He looked back down at the book. There were definitely a fair number of things in it he was interested in trying later. He wished he could just copy the darn thing, but the copyright spells on it prevented that. He considered just keeping it. He hadn't actually 'checked it out', so no one actually knew he had it. But he suspected that there were charms on all of the library books that prevented them from being removed from the school.

Write the... publisher...

Harry blinked and then rolled his eyes at himself for not thinking of it on his own. He flipped to the front cover page and looked for any information on the publisher. He found it right away and pulled out a piece of parchment to copy it down.

Jasper Beech; Crespus Publishing

He would write a letter to them asking if he could buy a copy of the book directly from them, as soon as he was done with Snape.

Speaking of which... Harry looked around the room and saw that Goyle and Lavender Brown were the only ones left in the room. Neither of their potions looked very promising, and Harry doubted that Snape had the patience to actually wait for the two of them to finish.

Figuring he'd make use of the time he had, Harry began to pen the letter to the publisher. It was pretty simple. Just asking about the specific book and whether or not he could buy a copy direct from the publisher, and if he couldn't, asking if there was a reseller that he could contact instead. He signed the letter under the same alias, Notechus Noir, that he had used with the apothecary, and folded it up and placed it into the cover of his book.

He looked up just as Snape strode angrily down the isle and glared at Lavender and Goyle. He growled at them to just bottle what they had and turn in their tests. Harry packed away his things and sat back in his chair, waiting until the other two had cleared out.

As soon as the dungeon door closed behind Goyle, Snape spun around and glared at Harry.

"Potter," he hissed in a quiet, threatening tone, "what are you still doing here?"

"I need to brew some potions in preparation for the next task. I was planning to do it during the Christmas holidays and was hoping I could do it in one of the dungeon potion labs," Harry said quickly, getting straight to the point. He knew that drawing this out would only irritate Snape more.

The potions master narrowed his eyes and looked at Harry speculatively.

"And you really need to make use of one of my class rooms for this little task of yours?" Snape sneered with an air of skepticism.

"I was hoping so, yes. I need somewhere quiet where I can concentrate and where I won't have any of my house mates breathing down my neck. I'd also prefer to do it in a properly equipped potions lab then in some random empty classroom. I wanted to get your permission first though and make sure that I wouldn't be causing you any inconvenience by using one of the labs you would be using."

Snape's lip curled up disdainfully. "How unlike you, Potter. Actually taking other people's needs, and the rules into consideration ahead of your own self interests."

Internally, Harry rolled his eyes. Externally, Harry retained a perfectly blank expression. "Would it be alright sir?"

Snape's eyes narrowed and he pierced Harry with them for a long minute before giving him a curt nod.

"You may use potions lab B. It will remain unused the entire break."

The corners of Harry's mouth turned up the slightest bit. "Thank you, sir," he said eagerly. "I really do appreciate it."

Snape looked disgusted by the display and quickly shooed Harry out of his classroom.

Harry didn't dawdle and quickly left the dungeons and began to make his way towards the owlery. If he was lucky, he could get that letter sent out before Ron or Hermione caught up with him again, so he wouldn't have to make up some lie about who he was writing to, or why.

– – –

The next day was Saturday and once lunch was over, he begged off from Ron and Hermione, informing them that he was going to start brewing his potions and would be unavailable for the rest of the day.

He had collected all of his ingredients into a single box, and took it, along with the necessary potion brewing supplies down to potions lab B, and quickly set everything up.

It took him the whole afternoon and into the evening to brew the first potion. He had a huge vat of the stuff when he was done, and conjured a wooden sectioned box and four dozen small glass phials. He carefully measured out two months worth of doses and put one dose into each phial.

He put away all of his supplies and his new box full of potion, and cleaned up his workstation. He did a quick shrinking spell on the wooden box, and then a cushioning barrier around it before slipping it into his bag and making his way out of the dungeon.

He was absolutely wiped out when he was finally done, and headed straight up to bed.

The following day was the same. He brewed the muscle and bone regrowth that day, and it took just as long. Again, he conjured another wooden box and another large set of small crystal jars – larger this time since the dose of this potion was about three times that of the other one.

Monday arrived and Harry took his first dose of each of the two potions. Neither tasted good, but they weren't nearly as fowl as some of the other potions he'd endured in Madam Pomfrey's care over the years.

Friday was the Yule Ball, so Harry planned on doing his first dose of the accelerant potion Saturday night, through Sunday morning. But first he had to brew it. Since he knew this one would take the longest he planned to leave Ron and Hermione right after breakfast. About half way through the meal an owl arrived with what looked like a mail order catalog attacked to it's leg. Harry looked at it with mild confusion for a moment before he removed it from the bird and gave it some sausage.

Upon closer examination, Harry realized it was from the book publisher, Crespus Publishing, that his potions book came from. He grinned as he read a small note attached to it from Mr. Jasper Beech; owner and operator, saying that the book he inquired about had a newer edition available and that he could order it directly from them, using their owl-order service. Details were included in their catalog.

Harry packed it into his bag and told Ron and Hermione he was heading out to start working on his potion. Ron whined about Harry wasting his holidays with ruddy potions work, and Hermione told him to make sure he still had time to dedicate to his holiday homework with all this potion work he was doing.

Harry only just managed to walk away without saying something snarky to them, and made his way down to the dungeons.

– – –

Harry could not describe how grateful he was for the presence of his companion when it came to the brewing of his last potion. It was an incredibly delicate matter and it was, quite honestly, above Harry's level. But his companion was surprisingly patient and his guidance was always delivered in just the right way.

During the lulls between ingredients, or between the times when he had to stand and stir it so many times counter clockwise before adding in a single clockwise stir, Harry sat down at his workbench and thumbed through the catalog.

It became quite obvious right away that Crespus Publishing specialized in questionable books on questionable subject matter. Yet quite a few of those 'questionable' subjects sparked an exited wave of curiosity in Harry.

He chewed on the edge of his quill, waging an internal battle. A wicked grin spread across his lips and he chuckled and shrugged to himself as he put quill to parchment and marked down all the books he wanted to order.

There were quite a few.

–

By the time dinner had rolled around, Harry had finished. His potion was a semi translucent silvery sludge. It oozed out of the ladle and into the eight jars he had to hold it. He didn't imagine he would enjoy swallowing that down, but he was surprised to find that it actually smelled rather nice. Sort like lilacs.

Harry cleaned up his workstation, packed away his supplies and made his way to Gryffindor tower. He stowed his things, before grabbing the order form from his bag and jogging towards the owlery.

– –

The rest of the week passed peacefully. Each morning he would take another dose of the first two potions, and then spend his day either in the common room reading, or relaxing in bed, in his mindscape with his companion.

The gray mottled discoloration had spread through almost every space of his mindscape. The black mist also took up almost a quarter of the large space and it gave his companion more room to wander. Harry found that he could will the dark ambiguous mass that he once relaxed in, into a specific form if he desired it, so he turned it into a large overstuffed black leather couch.

The whole thing was just in his head, and having a couch there to rest in didn't actually effect his enjoyment of the time he spent with his companion, but it was a luxury he enjoyed giving himself, so he kept it there.

Besides, he liked the image of the two of them curled up together on the large leather couch. The leather felt cool and luxurious against his skin, too – even though he knew that was just imagined in his head.

–

Harry hadn't been present for the actual incident, but Ron had apparently managed to offend Hermione at the start of the week. He had been suddenly inspired with the realization that Hermione was a girl, and had asked her to the ball in a fit of desperation, while also insinuating that she couldn't possibly have a date to the ball already. The poor idiot had also been stupid enough to point out that while it was bad for a bloke to show up without a date, it was downright mortifying for a girl.

Hermione had refused to speak to him after that.

At some point later that day, Ron had finally gotten so horrified by the prospect of showing up to the dance without a date that he had just yelled out a panicked 'invitation' to the first girl he had come across at the time – which apparently had been Parvati Patil.

–

Tuesday night Harry had sat in his mindscape with his companion trying to come up with a private place where he could take his potion. He needed somewhere where no one would be able to bother him. He could cast silencing charms, so it didn't necessarily need to be sound proof, but it wouldn't hurt.

He was frustrated by his lack of options and finally slipped into sleep, still unsure as to what he was going to do.

He woke that morning with inspiration. For a few solid minutes he was sure he knew the perfect place where only he could go and no one could bother him. Then reality fell upon him like a bucket of ice water and he frowned.

The Chamber... that was what he had thought. He could slip down into the Chamber and have absolutely no worry of anyone interrupting him. But then he remembered the state of the Chamber and how utterly disgusted with the place he had been.

Plus there was also a great rotting basilisk down there. It had already smelled rather foul down there. Now there would be the added benefit of two years worth of giant rotting snake corpse.

Harry grimaced.

Yet he was getting the distinct impression from the tiny presence he could feel of his companion in the back of his mind, that he should still investigate the idea.

After lunch he told Ron and Hermione that he needed to check on a potion he had on a slow long-term simmer and that he didn't know how long he'd be away. He ran up to Gryffindor tower and grabbed his invisibility cloak and the Marauder's map. He slipped into an empty classroom on the third floor and slipped on the cloak and pulled out and activated the map. Once he was sure the coast was clear and no one would be around to catch him slipping into Myrtle's bathroom, he went to the 2nd floor and slipped inside.

Fortunately, the ghost seemed absent so he went straight over to the sink that didn't work and hissed §open§ at the tap. The sink moved and shifted away, revealing a wide opening into a deep, dark, tunnel.

Harry's lip turned up into a disgusted sneer at the sight of the pipe. He did not want to go sliding down the thing like he had in his second year. He wondered if he should have brought his broom along with he felt his companion's presence grow in his mind.

Stairs..

"Huh?"

Call for stairs.

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion for a moment but he knelt down at the edge of the hole and hissed out §Stairs§.

The smooth edges of the tunnel suddenly began to change shape and narrow, steep steps emerged from it. The first section was so steep it was practically a ladder, but it was still a tremendous improvement. Harry grinned.

He began to climb down and once his head was below the entrance he hissed the close command and was instantly shrouded in darkness. He pulled out his wand and cast a lumos to light the tip. It didn't take him too long to climb down, and a short distance down the tunnel widened and shifted into a gradual slide enough that he could traverse the steps without bending over ducking, or having to climb down like a ladder.

He finished his decent and entered the larger tunnel filled with the bones of countless little dead things. When he came upon the section of tunnel that had caved in slightly he hissed out some banishing spells and waved the rock pile away, reveling in the exquisite sensation of his magic whirling around him and coursing through him. It surged and tingled in delicious ways that made his stomach curl when he wielded it to do larger things like this. Unfortunately he rarely had the opportunity to do anything larger.

The idea crossed his mind that even if he didn't use the Chamber to take his potion, he could still come down here to practice magic in private. That thought excited and a large grin spread across his lips.

He came across the entrance to the anti-chamber commanded it open with another hiss. He braced himself for a wave of horrific rotting odor but was surprised to find that there was no significant increase in the smell of dead things.

He entered the Chamber and came up short upon the sight of the basilisk corpse. He had almost forgotten how enormous the damned thing was.

Had he really fought against that monster when he was twelve?

He shook his head and was filled with a boiling rage that he had been forced into a situation like that. Why the bloody hell did he have to keep dealing with these things? Granted, the teachers weren't capable of parseltongue, so they couldn't have gotten down to the chamber, but was there really no way for them to use magic to find the place?

Although, he supposed, Slytherin had probably gone to a lot of trouble to keep the place hidden, so conventional magic was probably useless, especially if you don't know what your looking for.

Still... didn't the school have wards to detect dark artifacts? Why hadn't the diary ever been detected? Everyone claimed that Hogwarts' wards were supposed to be some of the most powerful in the world, and that the school was the safest place in Britain.

Harry snorted.

Yeah, right.

It was all just empty words. The wards didn't detect shit. And if they did, Dumbledore didn't know how to read them, or willingly ignored them.

Hell! Voldemort had been in the school for an entire year, latched onto the back of Quirrell's head! What did the wards even do if they couldn't catch Voldemort roaming around the school on the back of a teacher's head, or a dark artifact like that diary? Clearly nothing.

Harry shook his head.

He was always on his own. No one ever protected him. No one ever had. He had always had to look out for himself. He'd had to look after himself at the Dursley's, and that hadn't changed one bit upon entering the wizarding world. All that changed was that now more people were trying to kill him.

And why? He realized he hardly knew. He fought against them simply out of defense. Just desperately trying to stay alive. He'd gotten into half of his messes because he felt the need to try and save people, but what was the point of running around like a fool saving people if all it did was get you killed?

He sighed heavily and tried to shake the bothersome thoughts from his mind. He began to stroll around the enormous serpent and was mildly bewildered at how... intact it appeared.

It didn't look like it had rotted at all!

Magically preserved... His companion's voice explained in a breathy whisper that sent a shiver down his spine.

Harry nodded his head and looked down at the monstrous beast approvingly. It really was a shame he'd had to kill it. Of course it was that or get eaten.

Go to the statue...

Harry paused and turned to look at the great statue of Salazar Slytherin that the basilisk had emerged from two years ago. It was still open and he briskly walked over to it. He peered into the inky blackness and squinted. He flipped his wrist and sent a series of small glowing balls of light down the tunnel, each stopping five feet further down than the last and lighting the long, large tunnel.

It seemed to go for a surprisingly long way and he began to trek down it.

About 20 feet in he felt the urge to stop fill him. He had a feeling it was coming from his companion, but the other presence remained silent. Harry looked around the large tunnel he was standing in and felt a pulse of magic from the wall beside him. He reached his hand out and brushed it against the smooth rocky surface. There was something there and he brought his wand closer.

A small serpent was carved into the rock. Curious, he leaned in and whispered §Open§, just to see if it would work.

A second later a seam appeared in the smooth rock in the shape of a door. The rock sunk back and slid to the side revealing an entryway.

Curious, Harry stepped inside and was stunned by what he found.

It was a study. And it was coated in a thick later of dust. The room was about the same size as Dumbledore's office. There was a plush chaise lounge of some sort, a wide, intricately carved wooden desk, and a large high-back wooden chair also carved with designs of snakes curling up the legs and up the back support. The walls were lined, floor-to-ceiling with bookshelves, all of which were filled with books.

Harry walked over and began to examine some of the room with eager excitement.

He cast a lumos maxima and sent the glowing light to the ceiling so as to better illuminate the space while he explored. While it was true that it was covered in dust, it wasn't nearly enough to be a thousand years worth. Riddle must have gotten into this place too, he reasoned. Probably cleaned it up some during his time at Hogwarts.

Harry walked over to the chaise lounge and with a quick sweep of his wand and a controlled swirl of his magic, all of the dust and dirt was banished from it.

It looked like velvet or something similar. It was a deep emerald green, and had small shiny black buttons in the shape of skulls sewn into the back and side rest, pulling the plush fabric in, every six inches or so.

He ran his hand over the fabric and it felt smooth and soft. He smiled. This was perfect.

He could come down here once a week to take his potion and be guaranteed complete privacy. And he could practice his spell work down here in the basilisk chamber. He knew the schools wards didn't detect anything down here, so there was so worry...

He paused and felt a sense of excited anticipation surge through him. He could try out some of those... dark spells... He hadn't felt safe actually casting any of them since he didn't know if there was anyway for someone to detect he was doing it. Plus he didn't really have anywhere private enough to do it. But now he did.

He only had the smallest of reservations about practicing dark magic. His opinion of the branch of magic had changed drastically over the last two months, although he couldn't quite pinpoint why.

It was all magic. Light, dark, neutral. It was all knowledge, and to limit himself to only one or two of the branches, he was only holding himself back. Willingly keeping himself ignorant of a potentially powerful well of knowledge and magic seemed idiotic to him now.

He was at school to learn magic, and for the first time since he had come to Hogwarts, he found himself consumed with a hunger for knowledge. Each new spell he learned - each new theory he came to understand - the more excited he became. It was thrilling to wield such power.

Why shouldn't he learn to use every branch of magic that interested him?

Harry spent two hours exploring the study and the books contained within it. He was literally gleeful - vibrating with excitement. He slipped two into his bag and left the study. He continued down the long tunnel and found the massive chamber where the basilisk had clearly lived. It was filled with bones and filth and Harry quickly left to return to the entry chamber, and then back out and up the stairs.

He checked the Map to make sure the coast was clear before commanding the sink to move aside so he could leave. He glamored the cover of one of the books to look like his transfiguration textbook and settled into one of the chairs in the common room.

Ron tried to get Harry to join him in a game of chess, but Harry said he was busy and couldn't. Hermione smiled in apparent approval at Harry's new studious attitude. Harry smirked, internally. She would hardly be so approving if she knew he was reading about the fundamentals of dark theory.

#Harry Potter #Tom Riddle #Dark!Harry #Tomarry #Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness..

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icarus-imagines · 5 years

Text

Hermione Granger X Female!Hufflepuff!Reader

Could you do a hermione granger x female hufflepuff reader?

Word Count: 3,053

~Her Freckles Taste Like Cinnamon~

“Hermione, stop it…”

Hermione, despite being told what to do, even though the voice was soft spoken, in fact, did not ‘stop it’. She continued on, her quill that held a pretty raven colored feather, swishing quickly back and forth with the quick movements of her well-trained hand. Words of deep and dark black ink stained the beigish/brown parchment, leaving her handwriting of concentrated hard work in its wake. This only seems to aggravate the one who had spoken up however, you, to the point they had to devise another way to get Gryffindor Granger to stop her actions.

With a swift jerk of your hand, you snatched up the quill that had once been placed in her pretty little hands. While it could have been classified as a very rude thing to do, it was the only way to get her attention. Because when she was focused on something all the other things behind her would wash away and become a blur in her peripheral vision of sight.

Holding the quill in your hands you pulled it farther away from her when she tried to reach forward to take hold of it once again. Her usual warm gingerbread eyes glare intensely into your own (E/c) with such a ferocity that you could only conclude that whatever she was going through truly was of more importance than mere homework. How troubled inside she could be, yet on the outside look like the same girl people believed her to be.

“Please, give it back,” Hermione whisper-yelled with desperation. If it was not for the fact you were both in the library you wondered what she would have done instead. “I need it.”

“You say you need this,” you start, silently pulling a chair and sitting beside her, “but you don’t seek what you truly need.”

She stares at you perplexed for a few moments before retracting her hand to ball into her lap as a small sign of defeat. While you were an ordinary Hufflepuff girl you talked like a Ravenclaw. Your words were somehow like writing poetry when they spilled from your lips. All people who knew you would all agree that even if you had called someone an atrocious and nasty name it would still sound like bell chimes on the porch of a cozy house. Everything you said was a lullaby, on that Hermione needed more than she knew. With her rough exterior, she needed someone to calm her thoughts and insecurities.

Oh, how she needed you more than life itself yet even she herself didn’t know it.

With a small sigh, she momentarily forgot about the mass of books, both open and stacked, on the table along with the long winding parchment paper for an essay due next week, to instead look at you. Her dark and nicely bushy hair brushed over her shoulder when she swirled her head to look at you. Those eyes of earthquakes stopped their assault and focused on you. Just you. And nothing else that was raging on inside.

“What is it that I need?” she sighed a bit. She may have not looked like she was enjoying this conversation, but deep down inside she was. She was glad you noticed her very very subtle change in her demeanor today. You, besides maybe Harry and Ron, knew what truly went on in that impressive brain of hers.

“A shoulder to cry on,” you replied simply, standing up for a second to scoot your chair closer to you. Both your bare legs touched each other, due to the short skirt, and you could feel her skin heating against your already.

Her eyes widened a bit in what you perceived as not only shock and confusion but startlement and fright. “W-What?” her words wavered into a stutter that you knew she would be internally cursing herself with.

“Hermione,” you said sweetly like that of cajolement as not to anger her or even worse, scare her off. “As your girlfriend, there are rules I must abide by, you know.”

Her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, but her cheekbones dusting with a delectable pink from your word of ‘girlfriend’. While gay-marriage and all that followed under the umbrella term was allowed, but it was still a touchy subject to those who did not like the act. Hermione’s parents were one of the few getting used to the idea, so having their own daughter have these tendencies and likes was still confusing. Since she was taught at such a young age to believe certain ideals, it still made her flustered when the topic came up.

She loved you with every fiber in her being. The taboo rule of being a same-sex couple just made her feel like she wasn’t abiding by the laws for which they had been placed for more than a few decades. It was like a dessert she could never eat even though her mouth was telling her to devour it. You were that dessert, that caramel filled chocolate that made her not care about rules or peoples judgment.

But sometimes...it did get to her.

“Rules,” she asked slowly, trying to figure out what you meant. “What rules?”

You reached over and gingerly took her hand in yours. Overall, her hand was smooth and like a girl’s was supposed to be, but on her fingertips, there were tenuous bumps from calluses. All the years she had spent writing, flipping pages from books, conjuring up potions to help her friend group called the ‘Golden Trio’. One might find it unladylike, to have rough hands, even though hers were still quite nice. But you found it utterly fascinating.

How she had been through so much in such a short amount of time. To think she was a normal schoolgirl in England, but now a student under the tutelage of wizards in a school of magic in Scotland. She had progressed so far, done so many things. You idolize her even before she knew of your name. Before she even knew you, a poetic Hufflepuff, even existed. To be her significant other was like a dream come true and you never wanted it to end.

“Well,” you began, your right hand, which was not occupied with her own, tapping on your chin in thought, “wouldn’t you think it was my duty to always make you happy?”

A sideways smile appeared on her face and while she tried to make it look real, it was obviously fake. She knew you probably knew this too, you knew everything about her. “But I am happy,” she tried to persuade you to think so. “Why would you think I am anything else but happy?”

Your face turns from playful to serious in the span of five seconds after she utters those words. “I know you're not happy. It’s quite easy to tell even though your best friends Harry and Ron might not figure it out.”

Her small smile disappears and she wears a frown that makes your insides twist. “Yes, you’re...you're right,” she confirms your deductions, breaking under the pressure of keeping her mask on in front of you. “I haven’t been myself lately and I am more than sure you already know why.”

You get closer to her, your shoulder brushing against her, and even though the clothes covering your bodies separate you two, you swear you can feel the heated skin beneath meeting your own. “Yes, but I can’t really understand why, “ you begin, but quickly try to explain yourself. “I mean I do. I understand just how much he can get on your nerves and drag you down, but…,” you look into her eyes, you orbs small spheres of fire, “I cannot begin to imagine someone like you losing to someone like Malfoy.”

You see the disgust evident on her face when you say his last name, but your words seem to calm her down. They offer her solace and shelter. To know you believe in her and everything she does is more than incredible. Others believe in her too, but your faith in her is selfless. Unconditional love and affection beyond measure.

“He is just that type of person,” she says through her gritted teeth. While the majority of the feelings he inflicted on her to have was that of anger, some of it was sadness. You knew it wasn’t just an inkling in the back of your mind for she continued one. “I used to think boys were amazing, but the older I get the more I feel repulsed.”

“Some boys are good and some are bad. You just need to find the ones who make you feel happy, make you feel like you could conquer the world,” you laugh a little thinking about the Chosen One Harry and the goofy Weasley Is Our King. Your laugh seems to brighten her mood, a genuine smile flitting across her features.

The small, almost undetectable freckles upon her cheeks glow in the low light. They look like sprinkles of bright golden dust, powered on her face to make her look otherworldly. You can’t but lean in. Lean in closer to that very face and softly peck a chaste kiss upon it. An odd thought pops in your head for a second, wondering if you would be able to take those sprinkled freckles and convert them onto your lips.

She smells of spicy cinnamon, such a feisty seasoning, you thought. If they did stick to my lips, which is impossible, would they taste of cinnamon?

As you lean back and open your eyes, you are welcomed with the amusing expression she now sports. With a face the color of summer cherries and gingerbread eyes sparkling with something unknown, you can only think of the million things running through her mind. But before you could question it, she surprises in one of the ways you never thought she would do.

She kisses you.

Her lips are soft and you taste a small, yet still significant, amount of peach from the plump extremities of flesh. Hidden in a more isolated part of the library, she had gained the courage to act upon your flirtation attitude and actions. Replying to her move, you lean into her, a tilt of your head giving you more access to be one with you to a more fulfilling extent.

Her hands come up to clutch at you yellow and black Hufflepuff attire. The cotton of the sweater underneath the traditional robes shift against her hands, almost enticing her to go under, but she stays put. There needs to be no more progress beside this, for this is all she needs. This is close enough for her even though there could be more progression.

Your own hands slid up from her elbows to her shoulders and finally to her head. With one hand, you stick it behind the adjoined meeting place of her neck and the bottom of her skull, while the other comes to cup of her cheek. Both your hands are full with her hot skin, her big hair, and you know then this is all you want from life.

Sooner than either of you wish, you both part in favor of more than needed oxygen. As you inhale air to keep yourselves alive, you still stay close, her darker toned bangs brushing your forehead. You can feel her warm breath wafting over your face, the heat doing nothing to quell the flush you now have obtained yourself. Inhaling a bit you smell the strong scent of cinnamon wafting off of her body. You love the smell. Her own natural scent she carries with her wherever she roams.

Her cute lips are parted in an almost provocative way. Looking at them makes you want to snatch them up again however you do not. Instead, your (E/c) orbs shift from her lips to her eyes. Despite thinking of them to have their pupils full-blown and wide, they are the opposite. They are shiny, gleaming with pure love. No lust, is in them. This fact drives your insides wild knowing this attraction you feel for each other is not some fling. It is here. And it is here to stay.

“You astound me,” you whisper soothingly, feeling the edge of sleep catching you. Or was it lovesickness in disguise, perhaps?

“That is supposed to be my line,” she smiles, a more than adorable giggle flitting past her lips at your compliment to her.

You both giggle together as you untangle yourselves, life becoming the reality once again after indulging into a moment of tranquility. As she fixes her hair, though you doubt anybody would notice, you help stack the open books into neat piles on the wooden desk. Curling up her parchment into her school bag, making sure it is secure and won’t fall out, you push in your chair with a smile.

She looks at her leather school bag hanging from your shoulder, but you quickly wave it off. “I’ve got it,” you tell her.

She grins, her mood somehow brightening the whole room. To know she is thankful for your help makes you all the much more content. Black school shoes click-clacking just quiet enough to not make a big ruckus. You casually grab her arm, linking it with yours, and make it back to your respective common rooms together.

Though she insisted on leading you back, her chivalry shining through, you lead her first to her own Gryffindor common room. You wanted to not only see her off but to make sure she doesn’t have to walk alone after having to go to your much farther away Hufflepuff House common room. What kind of girlfriend would you be if you did that?

Standing idly outside of the common room, far enough from the Fat Lady so she will not overhear your conversations, you give Hermione back her bag. “Thank you,” she speaks, clutching her leather school bag tightly.

“What for?” you chide playfully.

“Helping me,” she replies quickly. “Reminding me that other people's views and opinions cannot dictate what I do with my life. How I lead my life, though it may ‘hurt’ others, should be one that makes me happy. Makes me joyful in everything I do.”

Her words melt your heart, and as she moves forward to put a stray strand of (H/c) hair behind your ear you find yourself replying back. “I want you to live a life a life you do not regret,” you say, though it could have a twinge of sadness peaking through.

She reacted quickly with, “Of course I won’t! With you by my side I know life will be more than worth living.”

“That makes me more than glad you hear you say that,” you murmur.

She smiles at you as a small goodbye and turns to head towards the Fat Lady. She only reaches about three steps before you tug her sleeve back. With a quick movement as she turns to look at you in bewilderment and confusion, you kiss her on the lips. You savor the taste of the peach and the heat of it all. Being swift, before she can do anything about it, you leave her lips and take a kitten lick of her heated cheek.

For a moment she forgets it will soon be past curfew and lets out a tiny shriek. “H-hey! What-What was that for!?”

“An experiment,” you say. “I wanted to figure something out.”

“I swear, all Hufflepuffs are completely lucid,” she sighs as you wipe her cheek clean of anything wet. “Well, did you figure it out?”

You give her a cheeky grin, laughing. “Yes, I now know for sure.”

She looks as if she wants to question you about it, but she lets it go, opting to leave you be. When you were like this she knew it was best to let you complete it without a word of disruption. “Whatever you say, (Y/n),” she bids you goodnight, walking back to the Fat Lady who seems to be giggling from the school love affair situation. “See you at breakfast.”

You wave to her as she disappears behind the painting and is engulfed into the Gryffindor common room. Smiling to yourself you turn on your heels and retreat to your own common room. With (E/c) orbs and flushes (S/c) flushed from the events that have occurred today you know sleep may be harder to come by tonight.

You don’t mind it in the least though. You had helped you fierce girlfriends realize that there are up and downs to living you must conquer. Whether you had a helping hand or none at all, you can get through things. It may be a hard winding road or it might be a straight road off into the horizon. Either way, you would be able to get over it.

Malfoy may not understand this right now, but hopefully, he would soon. Hopefully, he would learn picking on someone because of their blood is something that won't fix your own problems. Healing internally helps with healing externally. You kept in your prays the wish for him to understand this. Whether it starts tomorrow or in the years to come. To see Malfoy grow up and right his wrongs were one thing you desperately wanted to live to see.

Hermione was your inner and external struggle too. That girl with sharp words like a lion’s claws and the combined mind of a revolutionist was your weakness and your strength. A Gryffindor with a Hufflepuff. Such an unusual pair. A strong one though, when fitting bravery and patience together.

You did learn something overall, albeit it was small and probably useless. Yet it made your heart soar to the skies for some unfathomable reason only you yourself would truly know. And may it be an imaginary conclusion or true fact you concluded it was all you needed to know about her.

Her freckles taste like cinnamon...

~The End~

#x reader #oneshot #imagine #drabble #hermione granger #hermione granger x reader #hermione granger x female reader #hermione granger x hufflepuff reader #hermione granger x female hufflepuff reader #female reader #hufflepuff reader #female hufflepuff reader #hp #harry potter universe #harry potter

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starboyholland · 7 years

Text

Sundae Funday

Requested: no

Rating: PG, just a lot of fluff and ice cream.

Summary: All Harry wants to do is take YN out for ice cream. A simple, cute ice cream date. YN loves ice cream and Harry feels like shit he can’t even provide this for his wonderful girlfriend due to all of the paparazzi and fans plaguing the exterior of the hotel. This puts him in a funk, until a new opportunity arises to improvise.

🍦🍦🍦

“Harryyyyy.” You call from your room, laying on your floor in front of your fan. The heat has become almost unbearable today and the hotel cooling system is doing its best to keep up with the record breaking warm front sweeping through the city. Harry opens his eyes at the sound of your voice, moving off of his spot on the couch in front of the T.V., where he’d fallen asleep watching a documentary about the arctic that was still playing. You’d claimed earlier in the day that maybe watching penguins play around on the ice would make you both remember the cold and the heat would feel more manageable. Sadly, it didn’t seem to be working, as you’d become too hot next to Harry and had left to sit with your fan instead after he’d fallen asleep.

“Yes, love?” He replied from the doorway, voice gravelly and eyes groggy due to just waking up from his nap. “We should go out for ice cream! I saw the cutest looking shop just down street from here, do you want to?”

 Harry smiled a little. “Are the fans still outside?“ Your face fell as your immunity to the constant noise faded away and you were reminded why the two of you had been holed up in your hotel room so long. The amount of people outside your hotel seemed historically unprecedented, although you know that wasn’t true.

That didn’t matter to you though, because they were enough to keep the two of you locked away Rapunzel style, where you hoped that no unwanted guests would find you. The fans were great, the attention Harry got was great, it was a blessing it really was- but sometimes it was all too much. On days like today, You couldn’t help but wish Harry was just… normal. It was a selfish desire and you felt bad for hating his popularity at times like these, when all the two of you wanted was to go out for a little while, uninterrupted. You knew that wasn’t possible right now. You slouched a bit, disappointed. You didn’t even have to check the window to know that everyone was still there.   Harry seemed to read your mind as he moved to plop down beside you. "I’m so sorry, bug. I’d make them all leave if I could.” His hand gently stroked your forehead, moving stray hairs away from your eyes. “No, I know, it’s no big deal don’t worry about it, okay?” You smiled up at him, trying not to let on how you were feeling. This wasn’t Harry’s fault, and you didn’t want him to feel bad about the whole situation. Harry nodded, but you knew he hadn’t stopped thinking about it.

Harry knew ice cream wasn’t that big of a deal, it was the fact that he and his girlfriend couldn’t even go out for a few minuets together like a normal couple. It was hot as hell out and that only added to his poor mood that stuck around the rest of the day, even with you curled up next to him with the portable fan blowing on your body, clad only in light running shorts and a bra, it was too hot for clothes, you’d claimed, and Harry was the last person on earth who’d object to that.

Harry woke up in the middle of the night with an idea. He found you asleep on top of the covers of the hotel bed, tossing and turning, most likely due to the heat that plagued every room of the hotel.   “Angel, wake up.” He punctuated his sentence with a kiss to your forehead, and another to the tip of your nose, and another to the highest point of your cheek. “What? Harry, its late. Im sleeping.” You mumbled, beginning to roll over when Harry stopped you with a kiss to your shoulder.

“Babe, you said you wanted ice cream, let’s go see if that store down the street is still open, shall we? Everyone is gone, they’ve all left, we can finally just go, the two of us.” His voice was gentle, slow and convincing, enough so to make you slip on your shoes and a tee-shirt to go out in, grabbing your phones and a plastic room key. The thought of a late night adventure like this was enough to wake the two of you up, both of you giggling all the way down the hall to the elevator, and the rest of the way to the street.

You took in a much needed breath of fresh air, and walked in the direction of the retro-style diner that displayed a neon sign to advertise the homemade ice cream inside. "Well, here we are! After you, darling.” Harry smiled, opening up the door with a silver bell that jingled upon their entry. “We are so lucky this place is open 24 hours.” YN grinned and reached up to kiss Harry, excited at their late night date and the prospect of getting back inside to air conditioning and ice cream. The two of you reveled in the current state of the world. There were no people out in the streets, nobody demanding any pictures, videos or autographs. It was quiet, no chants or singing in the streets, everyone had returned home and it was just Harry and YN out for ice cream- like a normal couple. Neither of you minded that it was the middle of the night, it was just nice to be out together.

“Well, what do you want tonight, m'lady?” Harry smiled at you, still staring at the menu board, wearing old tennis shoes, and a long tee shirt that hid your shorts, your hair thrown up with pieces falling around your face.

“I don’t know, what do you want?”

Harry almost laughed, even in her tired state YN was indecisive as all get out.

“I’m going to get that sundae.” Hardy pointed to the biggest thing on the menu, knowing that neither of them would be able to finish that much ice cream. “Do you want to share it?” He offered, running circles into the small of her back with his finger tips. She just nodded, leaning against Harry’s chest. She was tired, this would probably be a quick outing, so they could get back to bed.

YN went to find a booth to sit in, the smooth red seats offering a good view of the diner. Flowers in vases sat all over, as did framed pictures in black and white, and newspaper articles from decades ago. Harry stayed up at the counter to order, and paid for the sundae, waiting at the counter before bringing back the dessert to where YN was sitting. Her eyes widened upon seeing how much ice cream sat in the bowl. “I saw the picture, why does this suddenly seem so huge?” She laughed, grabbing one of the two spoons in the bowl. Harry agreed, laughing.

The two of you ate quietly, getting through about half of the ice cream before YN sat back in the booth, across from Harry. “I don’t think I can eat anymore,” she sighed contently and let her eyes close for a second.

“Me either, want to go back to bed now?” Harry put his spoon down as well, waiting for YN’s nod of confirmation before leaving a few dollars on the table next to the melting ice cream. Fudge and caramel still drizzled over some of the parts they didn’t get to when they were eating.

“C'mon, darling. Let’s get you home”.

The two of you interlaced fingers and started to walk back to the hotel. After stepping back into your shared room, you kicked off your shoes and peeled off your shirt, laying down on top of the covers on the bed once more. Harry joined you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Love you, ice cream queen.” You smiled, “love you, ice cream king. Thanks for the date, it was really-” your sentence was broken with a yawn. “Nice.” Harry smiled and nodded, peeling off his clothes for bed and falling asleep to your quiet breathing and the whir of the fan.

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voyagerafod · 7 years

Text

Star Trek Voyager: A Fire of Devotion: Part 2 of 4: Louder Than Bells: Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

“I thought we were trying to disable it,” Commander Chakotay said, as the debris from an exploded Borg probe ship filled the viewscreen. Seven of Nine checked her scanners, wondering what she had done wrong. She had been skeptical of the plan to try and capture the Borg ship, the smallest design the collective used, but Janeway had been correct that it’s relative lack of weapons, plus the briefly vulnerable status its shields would have once it exited its transwarp conduit made it at least an even fight. Of course, the fact that Voyager, thanks to Seven’s upgrades to the astrometrics labs, could see the Borg ship coming in the first place gave them an advantage. “It would appear the torpedo detonated near a power matrix, causing a chain reaction,” she said.

“Any survivors?” Janeway asked. Seven looked down at her console again, but Tuvok had already checked. “None,” he said. “Debris status?” Janeway said, now looking towards Harry. “There’s a few components intact,” he said. “but they’re badly damaged.” Janeway turned back to Chakotay. “Begin a salvage operation,” she said. “There might be something we can use. Weapons, a transwarp coil-” “That second one would be unlikely,” Seven said. “Unless there’s been a redesign of such vessels since I’ve been free of the collective, the transwarp coils would’ve been right near the power matrix and would’ve taken the brunt of the explosion.”

Janeway shrugged, and smiled. “Maybe,” she said. “but I feel pretty lucky today.” She left the bridge and headed for her ready room. Tom Paris and Chakotay shared a look of concern, and Seven couldn’t blame them. At the same time though, this battle had been easy. One could argue that it was too easy, but the Borg Collective was not known for laying traps. Traps were often convoluted and had a much higher risk of failure than simple overwhelming force. “I really wish she hadn’t said that,” Harry said. “It’s been a few weeks since we had a major crisis. I can’t help but feel like we’re tempting fate here.” “Had I not been on this ship for nearly five years, Lieutenant Kim,” Tuvok said, “I would be inclined to dismiss what you said as illogical. However, Voyager does seem to encounter more difficult situations than would be considered normal for a Starfleet vessel.”

“If this vessel were named Enterprise however,” Seven said, “such difficult situations would likely be referred to as ‘Tuesday,’”

Tom Paris laughed, and even Chakotay grinned. “Good one, Seven,” Tom said.

---

Captain Janeway walked into the cargo bay where much of the Borg debris was already being gone over by multiple crewmembers.

“My spoils of war,” she said, grinning. “Eight kilotons of debris total,” Chakotay, who was standing just a half-step behind her said. “Most of it hull fragments. So far we’ve recovered two power nodes and a dozen plasma conduits, all in working order.” “Anything left of their propulsion systems?” Janeway said. She remembered what Seven of Nine had said on the bridge about how unlikely it was they could get a transwarp coil in good enough shape to possibly upgrade Voyager’s engines, and get them home sooner. But a part of her held out hope.

“B’Elanna found a transwarp coil,” Chakotay said, pointing towards a piece of Borg tech resting on top of a tarp covered Starfleet issue cargo container. Janeway picked it up. “Well,” she said. “That’s lighter than I expected.” “It could make a nice flower pot if we can’t get it to work,” Chakotay said, but Janeway ignored the joke.

“Let’s hope our little skirmish got back to the hive mind,” she said. “Maybe they’ll think twice before they attack us again.”

“It was only a probe,” Chakotay said. “Next time we might not be so lucky.”

“By my count,” Janeway said, putting the coil back down, “we’ve added at least two years to our journey home by avoiding the Borg.” “True,” Chakotay said, “but at the same time, along the way we’ve managed to subtract more than twenty. That’s not nothing.” “I know, Chakotay, but still, I’m tired of turning tail every time we detect a cube.”

“Better safe than assimilated,” Chakotay said. Janeway was about to reply when she heard an excited shout from the Doctor, who she hadn’t noticed was in the cargo bay until just now. “I was hoping to find one of these,” he said, holding up what looked like a drone’s severed arm. “It’s a servo-armature from a medical repair drone. It’s got a laser scalpel, a bimolecular scanner, micro-suture, and all rolled into one instrument.”

“That’s nice, Doctor,” Janeway said. “Please don’t point it in my face.” “Oh, sorry about that,” the Doctor said. ”My point is, this could revolutionize the way that I perform surgery.” “Sounds good,” Janeway said. “Keep me posted on that.” “Will do, Captain,” the Doctor said. Janeway glanced back to where the transwarp coil had been sitting. At some point while she’d been talking with Chakotay and the Doctor, Seven of Nine and B’Elanna Torres had come in and were doing something with the device. “Remodulate the coil frequency,” B’Elanna said. “No effect,” Seven of Nine. “Same as last time I’m afraid. It appears your theory that we were using the wrong tools was incorrect.” “Which you said from the get-go,” B’Elanna said. “Guess I should’ve listened.” “No harm was done in the attempt,” Seven said. Is it wrong that the two of them not bickering bothers me? Janeway thought. “What’s wrong?” Janeway asked. “The field regulator is fused,” Seven said. “We won’t be able to activate the transwarp coil.” “Damn,” Janeway muttered. “Well,” Chakotay said, “at least the Doctor found a new toy.” “I was really hoping we’d get something more useful,” Janeway said. “We may have,” Seven said. She walked over to a worktable that had been set up, where two Borg data nodes were sitting. “This node here,” Seven said, pointing at the one on Janeway’s right, “is a drone manifest. The other contains tactical information.” “Specifically?” Janeway said. “Long range sensor telemetry, assimilation logistics, and vessel movements for a radius of thirty light years,” Seven said. “I’ll need to convert the information to Starfleet parameters, but we should be able to get a good look at the data within two hours.”

“Good work, Seven,” Janeway said. “Maybe this day isn’t such a wash after all.” “Captain,” Seven said, “we survived a ship to ship battle with a Borg vessel, without the aid of a fleet, or a natural phenomena. That is nothing to sneeze at, as Sam would say.”

Janeway smiled, though she wondered if Seven would ever just use colloquialisms without having to give credit to the crewmember she first heard them from.

---

“I was able to recover sixty-two percent of the data,” Seven said, working on one of the consoles in the astrometrics lab. Captain Janeway and Tuvok were there, already in front of the main console, and looking at the main screen, waiting on Seven.

“This is an iso-grid of Borg tactical movements across twenty-five sectors,” she said.

“Are there any dangers along our present course?” Janeway said. “There are three cubes approximately nine light years away,” Seven said, zooming in on an image of the three cubes, with a green line through each one showing its flight plan. “They are traveling on a trajectory parallel to our own. They do not pose a threat.” “What about that vessel?” Janeway said, pointing to another mark on the grid. Seven tapped a few buttons, and the viewscreen shifted again. “It’s a scout ship, a sphere,” Seven said. “It’s approximately eight light years away, traveling at warp two.”

“Why only warp two?” Tuvok asked. “It appears the ship was heavily damaged,” Seven said.

“Was it attacked?” Tuvok said. Seven brought up the data on the sphere. “No,” she said. “An ion storm. The sphere is presently regenerating. At least, presently as of when we destroyed the probe ship.”

“I want a heavily detailed schematic of that vessel,” Janeway said. Uh oh, Seven thought. She has a plan, and we’re not going to like it.

“I think we’ve just struck gold,” Janeway said, looking back at her and Tuvok with a look of grim determination. Seven looked at Tuvok, and could tell, even through his calm Vulcan exterior that he was feeling the same way she was; that whatever the Captain was going to suggest had the potential to end very, very badly.

I’m starting to think she let our victory against the probe ship go to her head, Seven thought. Still, she did as she was asked, and once she had what the captain had requested, Janeway called a meeting of the senior staff in the briefing room.

---

“So what we have here,” Janeway said as she called up a schematic of the Borg sphere on the main screen in the briefing room, “in two simple words is Fort Knox.” “Captain?” Tuvok said. “Fort Knox was said to be the largest repository of gold bullion in Earth’s history,” Tom said. “Its security is the stuff of legend. If the stuff I read in history class is right, no one ever managed to break into Fort Knox. It was considered impenetrable.”

“Are we planning a heist, Captain?” Chakotay said. “As a matter of fact,” Janeway said, smiling, “yes. But we’re not chasing gold, we’re chasing a working transwarp coil. Think it might come in handy?” “If I could equip our engines with even one coil,” B’Elanna said, smiling herself, “we could shave about twenty years off this trip.” “Do you believe the Borg sphere is damaged enough for us to penetrate its defenses?” Tuvok said. “Long enough to take what we need and get out in one piece,” Janeway said. She looked at everyone around the table, waiting for objections. Not hearing any, at least not yet, she continued. “Now, to pull this off we would need to plan this operation down to the millisecond. There’s no margin for error on something like this.”

Seven of Nine looked like she wanted to say something, but kept quiet. Janeway figured she would bring it later in private. She wasn’t going to make her wait that long though. As soon as she had finished she would ask her senior staff for suggestions and concerns.

“The way I see it,” she continued, “we need to plan an intercept course that won’t attract their attention then create a diversion to keep them distracted so we can send in an away team to grab the coil.” “I’d like to see the data on that sphere,” Chakotay said before Janeway had the chance to ask for feedback. “We might be able to recreate parts of it on the holodeck and run a few tactical simulations.” “Sounds good,” Janeway said, smiling. “Do it.”

“We’ll need to mask our warp signature,” B’Elanna said. “I picked up a few tricks in the Maquis I can use to pull that off. They’re not exactly Starfleet approved though.” “Go ahead,” Janeway said. “The sphere is three days away at maximum warp, so Tom, set a course. Chakotay, I want an outline for our heist by tomorrow morning.

“Now, to be fair, are there any objections to the plan?” Nobody said anything, but Janeway wasn’t ready to dismiss them all just yet “Harry, you haven’t said anything,” she said. Harry simply shrugged.

“How about you, Seven, any thoughts?” “Your plan is ambitious,” Seven said, “and there are many variables. However, I do think it could succeed.” “Perhaps we could narrow those variables a bit,” Janeway said. “I have something I’d like to ask you, but it’s a sensitive matter. Everyone else, dismissed.” Seven seemed puzzled, but she merely sat there as everyone else filed out. “Captain?” She said once the two of them were alone. “I’ve been going over the records we found on the U.S.S. Raven,” Janeway said. “My,” Seven said, pausing to take in a deep breath. “My parent’s ship. I did not know that you had taken any data from the ship’s logs. Why was I not informed?” “At the time you didn’t seem interested in your past,” Janeway said, “from before you were assimilated. I thought you were aware of the records, so I set them aside, hoping one day you’d ask for them. I apologize for not realizing that you didn’t know. If I had-” “Apology accepted,” Seven said, a bit harsh in her tone, but Janeway felt she couldn't hold it against her.

“Anyway, Magnus and Erin Hansen both kept extensive field notes, detailed journals; there are over nine thousand log entries alone. They spent their careers studying the Borg. They tracked a cube at close range for three years. I’d say that made them experts.” “And you want me to go over that research,” Seven said. “Look for anything that could us a tactical edge.” “You took the words right out of my mouth,” Janeway said. “These records have been collecting metaphorical dust in our database for over a year. You’re the best person for this job. If you feel uncomfortable, if you’re worried it will bring up any traumatic memories I can ask someone else to-” “No,” Seven said. “The information belongs to me. I will read it.” “Have Sam with you,” Janeway said. “Having somebody to lean on if it gets painful can be a big help.” “I appreciate the thought, Captain,” Seven said. “but I feel this is something I should do myself. Sam is a protective person by nature. If reading this becomes emotionally difficult she will want me to stop. I would rather not put her in that position.” “Fair enough, but if it gets too tough for you, report to sickbay immediately. Under any other circumstance I’d tell you to just put the logs away for awhile, but this operation is too important, I’m sorry. Do whatever it takes.” “Understood,” Seven said.

---

Seven poked at a Borg data node with a tool her unfocused mind had forgotten the name of even though she’d used it hundreds of times since joining the crew. The door to the cargo bay opened and Neelix walked in, carrying a box. “You are late,” she said, but only as a statement with no real frustration behind it.

“Sorry,” Neelix said. “It took longer than I expected to download these records. This is only the first batch.” Neelix took the lid off the box, revealing two rows of PADDs, seven in each. “I organized the information by category. Field notes, personal logs, bio-kinetic analyses, etcetera.” “Thank you,” Seven said. “Glad to help, but I need to get started on the rest of the files. I’ll see what I can do to make it go faster this time.” “I doubt I will have completed reading this batch,” Seven said, picking up the box and carrying it over to her alcove. She sat down and took one PADD out to start reading. “Your current pace is adequate.” “All right then,” Neelix said as he headed for the door. “If you need anything let me know.”

Seven opened the first log, one recorded by her father. "Field notes, U.S.S Raven, Stardate 32611.4. It's about time. The Federation Council on Exobiology has given us final approval. Starfleet's still concerned about security issues, but they've agreed not to stand in our way. We've said our good-byes, and we're ready to start chasing our theories about the Borg." “If only they’d thought to talk to an El Aurian,” Seven said aloud, even though no one was there to hear her. It was amazing to her how much the Federation had known about the Borg, even before the first official encounter with them made by the Enterprise-D ten years ago. She had to admit a certain amount of admiration for the amount of work it had taken Starfleet to keep so many people convinced for so long that the Borg were merely a rumor, when there were so many El Aurian refugees all over the Alpha Quadrant. and had been for nearly a century. As to why that was, she had theories, but ultimately it was irrelevant. She imagined there were few sentient races in the galaxy now that didn’t at least know of the Borg, even if they’d never encountered them.

She continued reading her parent’s logs, losing track of time until Chakotay’s voice over her comm badge refocused her attention.

“Seven of Nine, report to the bridge,” he said, as the ship went into red alert mode. “On my way,” she said. We can’t have reached the sphere already, she thought. She checked the chronometer on her way out, the time stamp confirming what her sore legs and back were telling her. She’d been sitting the whole time. She wondered why neither Sam nor the Captain had come to check on her in all that time as she made her way to the bridge.

When she exited the turbolift, she saw an enhanced view of the sphere on the screen. “Looks it took a real beating,” she heard Chakotay say.

“They could still pose a threat,” Janeway said. “Let’s not get too close. Match their course and speed, keep a distance of ten million kilometers.” “Aye, Captain,” Tom said. Janeway glanced over her shoulder, saw Seven, and turned to face her. “Seven, scan the vessel. I want to know their current status.” “Understood,” Seven said, moving quickly to the auxiliary tactical console. “Their weapons array is regenerating, but their shields and transwarp drive are still off-line.”

“How long until they have transwarp?” Janeway said. “Approximately seventy-two hours,” Seven said. “We may not get this opportunity again,” Janeway said, clearly speaking to everyone on the bridge now, including Sam who Seven only now noticed at one of the science stations. Seven smiled, but Sam was fixated on the view of the Borg sphere on the screen. Seven imagined she was nervous, and couldn’t blame her.

“I don’t intend to miss this,” Janeway continued, “whatever it takes. Double shifts, round-the-clock simulations, I want to be ready.” The crew got to work. Seven managed to maneuver herself over to Sam’s station. “I apologize for missing lunch,” she said. “No need,” Sam said. “Neelix told me what you were doing, and I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Oh,” Seven said. “Well, still, I let myself get distracted and-” “It’s okay, really,” Sam said, smiling now. She put her hand on one of Seven’s. “Once we get that transwarp coil, you can tell me all about it. I’m curious to know what your parents were like. Maybe I can tell you about mine, too.” “I’d like that,” Seven said. “Seven,” Harry said from the back of the bridge. “I need your input on something real quick.” Seven sighed, and gently squeezed Sam’s hand. “Sometimes I feel like you are too forgiving, Samantha Wildman,” she said.

---

“Well that could’ve gone better,” Harry said as the holodeck simulation of one of Voyager’s transporter rooms froze. “That’s an understatement Harry,” Janeway said, groaning in frustration. Up until this moment, things had gone swimmingly in the latest simulation. She, Harry, Tuvok, and Seven had successfully disabled the sphere’s sensor grid and gotten the pattern enhancers around the transwarp coil to beam it off, but the two minute period they had while the sensor grid was down had expired, and Borg drones had managed to piggyback in on Voyager's transporter beam and right to the bridge.

“We’re going to have to find a way to cut down our time on the sphere even further,” Seven of Nine said, “but I’m unsure how.” “We could increase the size of the away teams,” Harry said. “Beam one to the sensor grid, and another to the chamber with the transwarp coil.” Janeway shook her head. “Too risky,” she said. “More people increases the risk of attracting the drone’s attention. We can’t do anything that would make us look like a threat before we’re ready.” “In addition,” Seven said, “the transwarp chamber is too heavily shielded.”

Janeway rubbed her eyes, feeling both tired and wound up at the same time, a side effect of too little sleep and too much caffeine.

“Seven, weren’t your parents able to walk around a Borg cube for hours at a time at one point without being detected?” “I do not recall that being in the logs I have read,” Seven said. “That information may be in one of the other PADDs that Neelix brought me I haven’t gotten to yet.” “Try to find it, and fast,” Janeway said. “I’m not ready to give up yet.” “Captain,” Tuvok said, “you should prepare yourself for the possibility that this mission may prove too dangerous to succeed. I will continue to run simulations and search for other ways to reduce our time on the cube, but there are a finite number of scenarios I can conceive of.” Janeway knew that Tuvok was right. If anything, he was being kind in not telling her to give up now, when doubtless his logical mind was telling him this was not worth it. Once again, she found herself grateful to have a Vulcan as a close friend.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” she said. “Thank you, Tuvok. Seven, get on those logs. Harry, you and Tuvok keep working on the simulations. I need to lie down for a few minutes. If I’m not back in an hour, come and get me. Wake me up no matter what, even if I threaten you with a court martial.” “Understood, Captain,” Harry said with a wry grin. Janeway left the holodeck, yawned, and headed for her quarters. Along the way, she passed by Ensign Wildman. “If you’re looking for Seven,” Janeway said, “I’ve got her back on log duty. I’m hoping her parents have more information that can help us.” “I was actually going to pick up Naomi from her lessons with the Doctor,” Samantha said, “but thanks for letting me know. And I hope it all works out too. Getting that transwarp coil could really help us.” Samantha went on her way, and Janeway watched her go. In some ways, what Samantha and Seven of Nine had reminded her of how she and her now ex-fiancee Mark had been when they were first dating. I just hope those two get a happier ending than we did, she thought.

---

The realization hit her so hard it almost felt like a physical impact.

“We have more than one transporter room,” Seven said aloud, even though there was no one in cargo bay with her. She was sitting in front of her alcove, reading her parents’ logs when the idea came to her; each team would go in and come back on a different transporter pad. They had more than enough people on board who were capable of operating a transporter beam; more than half the crew had at least the bare minimum requirements to be allowed to do so, and there were at least a dozen who were rated as “experts,” only two of whom, Harry and Tuvok, would be on the away mission.

The door to the cargo bay opened, and Naomi walked in. “Hi,” Seven said, making a note to send the Captain her idea about using two separate transport sites later. “You seem upset, is everything alright?”

“I had a bad dream,” Naomi said. “Can I stay with you for awhile? Mom’s in engineering and Neelix is on duty shift.” “Sure,” Seven said. “Are these your mom and dad’s journals?” Naomi said, looking at the stacks of PADDs around Seven. “Yes,” Seven said. “I am searching for information that may help us on our current mission.” Naomi nodded. “In my dream, I went on the mission too. It didn’t work, and everyone got assimilated.” “Your concerns are understandable,” Seven said, putting an arm around Naomi’s shoulder. “And I won’t lie to you and say that our chances of success are high. However, I am still confident we can succeed.” “I hope so,” Naomi said, leaning against Seven and closing her eyes. Seven went back to reading, but only a minute or so later, she heard a voice. It was faint, and for a second she thought that Naomi had fallen asleep and was sleep talking. She looked down, but the child was still awake, and was looking at the text on some of the PADDs that were on the floor, ones that Seven had already finished. “Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix 01,” the voice said, loud enough to be understood this time. “You have become weak.” It was a feminine voice, one Seven did not recognize, but she knew that it was coming through her Borg transceiver, the one that shouldn’t be working. “Naomi,” Seven said, “could you do me a favor and take some of these PADDs to your quarters?” She pointed to a box where the lid had been put back on. “I’ve already read most of those, but Sam said she wanted to know what my parents were like. It shouldn’t be too heavy.” Naomi looked puzzled, like she wasn’t sure she believed Seven’s stated reason. Seven didn’t blame her at all, but Naomi eventually shrugged. “Okay,” she said. “can I come back when I’m done?” “Of course,” Seven said, hoping that Naomi would actually get tired carrying the box and decide to try and go back to sleep instead. Naomi picked up the box and left.

“Identify yourself,” Seven said to the voice as soon as Naomi was gone. She turned around, and gasped. Somehow, the cargo bay had instantaneously transformed into the interior of a Borg ship. No, no, that can’t be right, Seven thought. I am in a regeneration cycle, I am dreaming.

“This is no dream, Seven of Nine,” the female voice said.

“Seven of Nine to security,” Seven said, slapping her comm badge, “intruder alert.” “They can’t hear you,” the voice said. “Who are you?” Seven said, panic replacing nervousness in her voice now.

“I am the Borg,” the voice said. “Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix 01, you have become weak,” the voice added, repeating the first thing it had said to her.

“Where are you?” Seven said, looking around. Maybe if she could attack the source of the voice somehow…

“We’ve accessed your neural transceiver. Our thoughts are one. We know about Voyager’s plan to invade the sphere. It will fail.”

I need to warn them, Seven thought. “Do so, and I will redirect the three cubes nearest your position to you. Voyager will not escape. Your ship, its crew, your lover and her child, all will be assimilated.”

“Why haven’t you done so already?” Seven asked. “We’ve come to make you an offer,” the voice said. “Rejoin the collective and we’ll spare Voyager.”

Seven wanted to accuse the voice of lying, of setting a trap of some kind, but somehow she knew it was true. “Why?” Seven said. “Because,” the voice said, almost sounding aroused, much to Seven’s discomfort. “you are unique.”

With that, Seven’s vision returned to reality. She was standing in the cargo bay again, and she was afraid. Worst of all, she knew what she had to do.

“Computer, begin recording a message for delayed delivery to Samantha Wildman,” she said.

---

“A bio-dampener?” The Doctor said when Seven of Nine presented him with the information she’d found in her father’s field notes. “That’s very clever. Have you informed the Captain about this find?” “I did,” Seven said, “She told me to bring it to you immediately.” The Doctor began going over the schematics, while Tuvok looked on. “The device creates a field around the body which simulates the physiometric conditions on a Borg vessel,” Seven said. “It is a very effective camouflage.” “Doctor,” Tuvok said, “how quickly can you prepare four of these devices?” “I’ll have to tailor each unit to its user’s physiology,” the Doctor said, “so a few hours at least. I’ll get started immediately.” “Thank you, Doctor,” Tuvok said, before leaving sickbay. The Doctor noticed that Seven of Nine simply stood there, staring at the schematics on the screen. “The Hansens were resourceful,” she said. “Indeed,” the Doctor said. “Seven, is something wrong?” “No. Well, yes. Perhaps. I think I am just having concerns about being a Borg vessel again for the first time in almost two years. It is,” Seven paused, as though she was searching for the right word. “Disconcerting,” she said. “Understandable,” the Doctor said. “Though if you have sincere doubts about your abilities you should inform the Captain so she can assign someone else to the mission.” “As tempting as that offer is, Doctor,” Seven said, sighing sadly, “without my expertise on the Borg the mission’s chances of success drop dramatically. I’ll have to just adapt.” “I believe you will,” the Doctor said, smiling. Seven looked like she wanted to say something more, but instead she offered a polite nod, and left. The Doctor couldn’t shake the feeling that something was bothering her, but he had a task to accomplish and a short window of time to do it, so he got to work.

---

Seven wondered why the Captain had called her up to her ready room. Part of her hoped that she was going to abort the mission, but deep down she knew that doing so would likely be a death sentence as the collective would end up sending three cubes after them. One alone could easily destroy Voyager, or assimilate its entire crew.

“Coffee?” Janeway said. “You look like you could use some.” “No thank you,” Seven said. She had tried coffee before and didn’t care for it, even though paradoxically she found she liked the smell. “Caffeine is a human vice you might wanna try one day. Keeps you sharp.” “Another time,” Seven said, not really thinking about coffee anymore, but what would happen to her once the collective took her again. “You might also want to try craps. Harry and I played last night. He won so he got to keep his hands,” Janeway said.

Seven looked up, her mouth hanging open. “What? That-” “That was a joke Seven,” Janeway said. “I was just seeing if you were still paying attention. You seem distracted.”

“I apologize, Captain,” Seven said. “My mind has been focused on the mission. I have even been neglectful of my relationship with Sam as a result, but she has been very understanding.” Janeway took a sip of her coffee and looked down at the PADD in her other hand. “I’ve been fine-tuning our game plan for tomorrow morning,” she said. “I’ve decided to reassign you to the bridge.” Yes! Seven thought. “That would be inadvisable,” she said, hoping her inner turmoil wasn’t showing in her facial expressions. She didn’t want to go back to the Borg, but the alternative was seeing everyone she cared about being assimilated themselves, and she couldn’t stand for that. “I’m concerned about Voyager’s safety. If the sphere decides to attack, I’ll need your expertise at tactical.” The Captain's logic was sound, Seven couldn’t argue with that, but there would be no way for her to turn herself over to the Borg to save Voyager unless she was on the sphere. She tried to come up with a justification to stay on the away team that didn’t sound convoluted.

“Captain, you may encounter unexpected obstacles; force fields, encryption codes… I’m the only member of this crew qualified to anticipate and deal with them.” Janeway looked upset. “You underestimate the rest of us?” she said.

“You underestimate the Borg,” Seven said, a bit harsher than she meant to. “My parents made the same mistake, and I ended up being raised by the Borg.” Janeway tapped the handle of her coffee mug several times with her thumb, then stepped forward. “This is more than just a question of tactics,” Janeway said. “I’m concerned about your well-being, and your ability to perform on this mission.”

“Your concern is unwarranted,” Seven said. “Is it? I’m not the only one who has noticed something off about you this past day. The Doctor, Tuvok, even Naomi. I bet Samantha has noticed too, even though she hasn’t said anything.” “If she had her concerns, Captain, she would have addressed them to me,” Seven said, speaking the absolute truth and not just trying to convince the Captain to let her go on the mission. “I have always listened to her concerns and advice, even if I have not always followed it.” “Okay,” Janeway said, “I’ll take your word for it on that, I’m not privy to the inner workings of your relationship with her. But that doesn’t change the fact that we’ve noticed changes in your behavior. You seem preoccupied, agitated, even a little depressed. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your efforts. We couldn’t have come this far without your help. But it’s obviously taken its toll.” Janeway sighed, and took another sip of coffee. Seven stood there, unsure what the say. She knew the Captain was right of course, and it would be so easy to just tell her that the Borg had contacted her and they needed to run and hope they could escape. “If I had known how those journals were going to affect you,” Janeway said, “I never would’ve pushed you to read them. I’m not about to ask you to face the collective in your present frame of mind.” “Captain, we are in the Delta Quadrant,” Seven said. “The Borg are always going to be a threat. Less so as we get further away from their main territory, but a threat nonetheless. I’ll admit the past several days have been difficult, but I must join the away team. As I said, I am the best qualified to handle anything unexpected that could happen. If I don’t go I am certain this mission will fail.”

“I know you, Seven,” Janeway said. “there’s something more going on here. What’s wrong?” “The survival of this ship and its crew has become important to me,” Seven said. “Not just Sam, though she was the first. This vessel is my collective now. I am willing to risk my own well-being if it will increase our chances of success.” Seven wasn’t lying to the Captain, she certainly would. The only detail she left out was the fact that she knew for a fact that her being on the sphere would save this ship, and everyone on it.

Janeway walked over to her desk, put her cup down, and cross her arms, staring at Seven for several seconds. “Okay,” Janeway said. Seven waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. “Thank you,” Seven said.

“Dismissed,” Janeway said. “We go at 0600 hours. Meet us in transporter room one.” “I will,” Seven said.

---

The Borg sphere had, as Seven had predicted, not yet repaired its shields by the time the operation began. The away team consisting of Seven of Nine, Tuvok, Harry Kim, and Captain Janeway, all equipped with the bio-dampeners the Doctor had made for them, beamed aboard without incident. Seven could hear the voice of the Borg, the feminine one as opposed to the voice of the Collective, in her head. “Never forget who you are,” it said.

The team split up, Tuvok and Harry going to the sensors, Janeway and Seven to retrieve the transwarp coil. Seven was nervous, a part of her worried that the Borg were lying and this was all a trap. If it wasn’t though, at the very least they could get Voyager that coil. Helping them get home sooner would be worth the price she was paying.

Seven and Janeway, each carrying a transporter pattern enhancer, made it to their target first, having to slip past fewer drones than the simulations had suggested, which meant they now had to wait on Harry and Tuvok to destroy the sensor node, buying them the two minutes to beam the coil out and escape undetected. Or at least, for Janeway, Harry, and Tuvok to escape undetected. The sound of an explosion was the cue. Seven quickly worked to disconnect the transwarp coil while the Captain adjusted the pattern enhancer. Within seconds, the coil was beamed away, and Chakotay’s voice came over their comm badges. “Target obtained,” he said. “All right, let’s get the hell out of here,” Janeway said, heading out of the chamber and towards the rendezvous point where Tuvok and Harry would hopefully be waiting for them, Seven followed behind, though she knew she would not be joining them. Whatever you’re going to do to keep me here, she thought, just do it already.

“Seven of Nine,” the voice said, causing Seven to stop in her tracks. “Seven, keep moving!” Captain Janeway yelled.

“No,” Seven said, her voice breaking as she said so. She considered for a moment lying, and saying she was staying of her own free will, but then she remembered the message she’d left for Samantha that would be appearing in her quarters in approximately three minutes. “I’m sorry. They knew you were coming, I have to stay. To save you. Go, please.”

Janeway started walking back towards where Seven stood, but a force field appeared blocking the path. “Go!” Seven yelled. “You have the coil, get your crew home Captain!”

“Chakotay to away team, the sphere has detected Voyager and is locking on weapons. We need to get you out of there.” “I’m not leaving without you,” Janeway said. Seven heard drones coming up from behind her. “Dammit, Kathryn, run!” Seven said, tears pouring down her face. Janeway looked behind her as another drone came up the corridor at the opposite end. Janeway blasted it with her phaser rifle, and taking one last sad look at Seven, ran towards the transport point. “Get them home,” Seven said, even though she knew the Captain was too far away to hear her. “Do it for me. Make this worth it.”

The two drones that had approached Seven from behind now stood on either side of her. She closed her eyes, waited for the sting of an assimilation tubule, and opened them again when she realized that the drones weren’t trying to assimilate her at all, but in fact stood in defensive positions around her.

---

Janeway ordered that she and the team be beamed directly to the bridge. When she, Harry and Tuvok rematerialized, Chakotay immediately asked the obvious question. “Where’s Seven?” “The mission was compromised,” Janeway said, deciding to tell them only the barest minimum of the truth. “She bought us time to get out with the transwarp coil. But I’m not going to abandon her. Status of the sphere?” “They’re bringing their remaining transwarp coils on line,” B’Elanna said from the auxiliary tactical station. “Tom, pursuit course. Tuvok, target the propulsion systems.” Before Tom Paris could do anything though, the viewscreen showed the Borg sphere glow green, and vanish in a flash. “They’re gone, Captain,” Tom said. Janeway sighed. The rest of the bridge was silent, even the Doctor, who stood next to Harry Kim’s station. She looked around, hoping someone would say something, have an idea. But nobody said anything. How the hell am I going to tell Sam? she thought. She had lost people under her command before, and every loss weighed on her. She sometimes would see their faces in her dreams. This loss, however, felt far more personal than any of those had, and unlike those other instances where she had at least had a chance to get some kind of justice for them-

“Captain?” Chakotay said, derailing her train of thought. “Are you alright?” “No,” Janeway said. “No, I’m not.”

---

Seven of Nine and her drone escorts entered through a spearhead-shaped door and stood in a large room with a wide, slightly raised platform situated in the middle. Seven knew they were no longer on the sphere, nor were they on a cube. Seven could tell that they were now in fact inside a Borg Unicomplex, a structure composed of thousands of connected structures and hubs spanning at least six hundred kilometers, and housed hundreds of Borg ships and trillions of drones.

Seven heard a noise and looked up. Above the platform, a head and its upper torso descended on a lift from above. The head appeared to be that of a humanoid female, and it was smiling. As the head and torso approached the floor, a disassembled black mechanical body, composing the rest of the torso and limbs rose from the floor. After the two parts were attached, the body slowly walked up to Seven. It was only then that Seven realized who this was. As a drone she had always heard this one’s voice as the voice of the collective. “The Borg Queen,” she muttered. “That’s what my father called you.” The Borg Queen simply smiled. “Welcome home,” she said, reaching out and touching the side of Seven’s face. She looked at Seven, up and down, as if sizing her up like a cat approaching its prey or, in a mental image that almost made Seven laugh, a clothing designer figuring out what size pants to make.

“You’ve changed,” the Borg Queen said. “Your exo-plating, your ocular implant… They’ve taken you apart and they’ve recreated you in their own image.” The Borg Queen sounded like she was upset at this. I would imagine the hypocrisy of this is completely lost on her, Seven thought.

The Queen continued walking around Seven, slowly, gently tugging at her Starfleet uniform. “Hair, garments, but at the core you are still mine.” Resisting the urge to backhand the Queen in the face, Seven simply kept looking forward. “The Borg have changed as well,” Seven said. “I expected re-assimilation, not conversation.” “I also see they’ve given you a sense of humor,” the Queen said. “I see you are an annoying pain in the ass,” Seven said. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Spoken like a true individual,” the Queen said. “The last two years must have been a remarkable experience. You are unique.” “My experience will add to your ‘perfection,’” Seven said. “That is why you had me removed from Voyager.” The Borg Queen tilted her head, as if surprised that Seven didn’t understand the situation. Seven found the gesture insulting. “It is why we put you there in the first place,” the Queen said. “You believe that Voyager liberated you from the collective. Did you really think we would surrender you so easily?” You’ve got to be kidding, Seven thought. The Borg are going to pull an ‘I meant to do that?’ I was there, I only became a member of the crew because I survived Chakotay flushing the other drones out into space. There is no way this was part of some master plan. “You must be tired,” the Queen said. “We’ve adapted an alcove just for you to regenerate in. Right over there. When your cycle is complete we will continue our conversation.”

Seven didn’t move, didn’t even look at the alcove that had been made for her. She just glared at the Borg Queen. Seven had not sacrificed her freedom, her individuality, her life just so she could be lectured by a woman whose appearance Tom Paris likely would’ve found a dozen ways to mock by now. “Comply,” the Queen said.

Seven eventually did so. She was tired, the Borg Queen had gotten that much right. She hoped it would all be over soon, one way or another. The ‘another’ being, a voice in the back of her mind said, maybe taking advantage of the fact you aren’t re-assimilated yet and maybe find a way to escape.

If the Borg Queen had heard that thought she gave no indication. Seven was not optimistic, but something here wasn’t right. This was not the Borg Collective she knew, and maybe if she was observant enough, careful enough, strong enough, perhaps she could break free after all. Barring that, she could at least hurt them. That would be enough.

---

Captain Janeway, Neelix, and a number of other crewmembers were at work cataloging and clearing out the remaining debris from the Borg probe ship, the one whose destruction had started them on the path to this day. As she looked around it almost bothered her how calm everyone seemed, as though it had just been another day. Was everyone really that okay with losing Seven of Nine, or had it just not sunk in yet, she wondered.

Chakotay entered the cargo bay and gave her his report. “No sign of Borg activity,” he said. “Looks like we made a clean getaway. No sign of the sphere on long range sensors of subspace telemetry.”

“It could be anywhere in the quadrant by now,” Janeway said. “Launch a class-5 probe, scan for transwarp signatures.” “Understood,” Chakotay said, even though his tone suggested that he felt this was a waste of time. Janeway looked over at the alcoves along the bay wall. “She called me Kathryn,” she said. “Captain?” Chakotay said. “The last thing she said to me on the sphere,” Janeway said. “She called me Kathryn. Told me to run when a drone was coming up from behind me. She rarely calls people by their first names, people with only one name excluded of course.” “Captain,” Neelix said, “we’ve cleared out most of the debris but before we vaporize it I’d like to melt down the larger fragments and extract the polytrinic compounds.” “Go ahead,” Janeway said. “That leaves one other item,” Neelix said. “Seven of Nine’s alcove. It requires a lot of power. Should I deactivate it?” Janeway sighed. “No, leave it alone,” she said. “Captain,” Chakotay said, presumably to argue that she was being pointlessly sentimental, but she couldn’t accept that. “Leave it alone,” Janeway reiterated. “It’s too soon to-”

“Ensign Wildman to Captain Janeway,” Sam’s voice said over the com. “Could you come to my quarters, please? I have something I think you need to see. Something from Annika.” “On my way,” Janeway said, tapping her comm badge to close the channel. “Right, Sam,” Chakotay said. “I’d completely forgotten. This must be hell on her. She loved Seven, and Seven betrayed-” “No she didn’t,” Janeway said, not realizing how loud she was until the noise of the crewmembers clearing out the debris stopped. She looked around and saw that everyone was looking at her.

“You weren’t there Chakotay, you didn’t see the look on her face. You didn’t see the tears, the pain. She called me by my first name for god’s sake. She didn’t betray us to return to the collective, she sacrificed herself to save us. Have you all forgotten already everything she did in the short time she was here to help this ship?”

“You’re right,” Chakotay said, looking embarrassed. “She’s right,” he said, looking at the other crewmembers. “The fact is if we’d really been betrayed, we’d be drones on that sphere right now. Remember that.” “Thank you, Chakotay,” Janeway said. “Well, it helps that you verbally smacked some sense into me,” Chakotay said. “I guess it was just easier to believe she’d stabbed us in the back than to mourn her.” “I’m going to talk to Sam,” Janeway said. “I’ll see you on the bridge.” “Aye, Captain,” Chakotay said.

--- Samantha Wildman imagined she looked as bad as she felt when the Captain walked through the door to her and Naomi’s quarters. Sam was technically supposed to be doing a lab shift today, but no one had said anything when she didn’t show up. No one called her, or came by to see her in person except for Neelix who had offered tea.

Naomi was in her room, finally asleep after spending what seemed like hours simply crying. Sam had cried too, but had tried to hold it back enough to offer what little comfort she could to her daughter. “Sam?” Janeway said. “Captain,” Sam said, not standing up, instead pointing to the monitor screen on the wall. “I received a message from Annie. She recorded this before the mission on the sphere.” Sam took a deep breath, wiped fresh tears from her face, and spoke up as clearly as she could manage while Captain Janeway sat next to her. “Computer, replay last recording.” Seven’s face appeared on screen. “Sammy,” she said, “you probably already know what’s happened by the time you’re seeing this, but I want you to hear it from me. Yes, I’ve gone back to the collective. But you need to know that I didn’t do it because I wanted to. I haven’t wanted to return the collective for a long time, and you played a large part, probably the largest part in that.

“Just a short while ago, the Borg were able to reach me. They contacted me through my transceiver, somehow, I don’t know how they turned it back on. They know about the mission to steal the transwarp coil. They said,” Seven stopped, and sighed. “They said if I return to the collective, they would let Voyager go unharmed. I don’t want to believe them, I want to dismiss this as some kind of trap and warn the captain but, it’s true. I just know it is.

“I won’t ask you to forgive me, Sam, for not telling you this right away, but I know, you would’ve tried to stop me, and worst of all, I would’ve let you. I don’t want to do this, but…

“Once you have this message, give it to the Captain. She might be tempted to stage some kind of foolish rescue mission to bring me back. That can’t happen. Use the transwarp coil. If it can’t get you all the way home, at least shorten the journey. Don’t let my sacrifice be for nothing. And tell Naomi I love her, like she was my own. I was looking forward so much to us being a family. Then again, perhaps we already are. I mean, this is what families do right? Take care of each other, no matter the cost?

“I love you, Sam. Goodbye.” The message ended there, and the screen went blank. Sam felt herself starting to cry again, and she heard the familiar sob of a child behind her. She had failed to notice that Naomi was awake. She had seen the message before, they had watched it together when it first arrived, but it was not any easier. Janeway’s face, howeve,r was not one of sadness, it was one of grim determination. She was planning something, Sam was sure of it. “Captain,” she said, quietly, “I miss her too, more than anyone, but you heard what she said.” “I did,” Janeway said. “but there is one thing about Starfleet captains that Seven has never truly understood. We don’t like to leave anyone behind. If there is even a sliver of a chance we can get her back, I’m taking it.” Janeway tapped her com badge, “Janeway to all senior staff, report to the briefing room. Sam, may I have a copy of this message?” “Why?” Sam said. “What could it possibly-” “I don’t know yet,” Janeway said. “but if nothing else, at least the senior staff will know that she didn’t let us down. There’s been some, doubt, in that regard.” “She wouldn’t do that,” Sam said.

“I know. I knew even before I saw this recording.” Sam sighed, then nodded. “Take it,” she said. “Thank you,” Janeway said. She leaned forward and put her hands on Sam’s shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes. “We’ll do our best to bring her home. I promise.” “Don’t make promises reality might not let you keep Captain,” Sam said. She wanted Seven of Nine, her Annie, back in her arms so badly it hurt, but not if it meant endangering everyone else’s life, she couldn’t afford to be that selfish, not with a child to take care of. “I don’t make promises lightly, Sam,” Janeway said.

---

When Seven of Nine opened her eyes, her vision was no longer like that of a human, it was like that of a Borg drone. Despite this, she still felt like herself. She could not hear the voice of the voice of the collective, and her thoughts were still her own.

“Good morning,” the Borg Queen said. “My visual cortex has been altered,” Seven said.

“We’ve enhanced it with Borg technology. You’ve seen through human eyes long enough. It’s a neural processing adjunct designed to increase your synaptic efficiency.” “My ‘human eyes’ were fine,” Seven said defiantly. “I could still use my implants to see more if I needed to. Remove this upgrade.”

“You prefer to remain small?” the Borg Queen said. “I prefer to remain unique,” Seven said, wondering briefly just how many times she could punch the Queen in the face before any drones came to stop her. “Don’t be afraid,” the Queen said. “We won’t turn you into a drone. You’re much too valuable to us with your individuality intact. But you’ve left humanity behind, try to leave behind their petty emotions as well.”

“Happiness is one of these petty emotions you speak of,” Seven said. “Yet you were perfectly willing to be happy to see me when I arrived.” The Queen did not seem to have any response to that. Seven decided to press forward with the biggest question of all she had about this whole affair. “You have expended considerable resources to capture me,” she said. “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You’re going to help us assimilate humanity. We failed in our first attempt to assimilate Earth and we won’t succeed the next time unless we understand the nature of their resistance.”

“Or you could accept your failures,” Seven said, feeling genuinely assertive for the first time since she’d been brought to the unicomplex. “You couldn’t assimilate Earth when you went back in time to a period when they were vulnerable. Or have you simply erased the disaster of the attempt to kill Zefram Cochrane and prevent first contact with the Vulcans from your memory?”

“We want you to be our eyes, Seven. Let us see humanity,” the Borg Queen said.

“While I was regenerating,” Seven said. “you no doubt assimilated my memories. So you already possess all of my knowledge. There is no point to this exercise.” “You are the only Borg that has ever returned to a state of individuality,” the Borg Queen said. Seven did not respond.

“We both know that is not true,” Seven said. “You are attempting to deceive me, despite my knowledge both from the collective and from Starfleet records. Why?”

“We want to keep you exactly the way you are. Otherwise, we would lose your human perspective,” the Queen said, continuing on with her speech as though it hadn’t been interrupted, and ignoring all of Seven’s questions. “We don’t want another drone. We want you.” Seven of Nine applied all her Borg analytical thinking to the situation, trying to find some sort of logic in the Borg Queen ramblings. When that failed, she tried to look at it from a human perspective; perhaps there was some ‘method to the madness’ as the old Earth saying went. Ultimately, however, both lines of thought led her to the same conclusion. “That’s an illogical plan,” she said to the Borg Queen, who actually seemed taken aback by how forcefully she said it. The Borg Queen did not respond, clearly unprepared. Did it really never occur to her that I wouldn’t go along with this so easily? Seven thought. This is the queen of the hive? Chell could come up with a better plan than this. While intoxicated.

The unicomplex shuddered, and the Borg Queen continued talking as if Seven of Nine hadn’t just insulted her to her face. “Our vessel is disengaging from the unicomplex. We’re setting a course for grid 5-3-2.” “State your purpose,” Seven said. “Assimilation,” the Queen said. “Our presence is not required but I thought the experience might be a rewarding one for you.” Ripping off your nose would be a rewarding experience for me, Seven thought. Every emotion she’d had up to this point relating to her returning to the collective, fear, trepidation, loss, even her missing Samantha was all replaced. She was angry. However, she would not let that anger consume her. Instead, she would channel it, harness it, and when the moment came, she would use that anger as a weapon against the very Collective that a mere two years ago she longed to be a part of again. Was it always like this, or did something happen to the collective while I was away?

The Borg Queen called up a holographic image of a planet that Seven had never seen before and drew her attention to it. “Species 10026,” she said. “How many lifeforms,” Seven said. “Three hundred, ninety-two thousand,” the Queen said. “You’re experiencing compassion. I can feel it as easily as I felt your anger towards me earlier. You’ve forgotten what it means to be Borg. Those lives will be added to our own.” ---

After Captain Janeway had shown Seven’s goodbye video to Sam to the rest of the senior staff, the crew got to work on figuring out exactly what had happened. Soon. Janeway herself found signs that the Borg had communicated to Seven through what sensors had initially tagged as random subspace interference.

What she didn’t expect was Chakotay coming to her in her quarters between shifts the following morning with news that they were not just any signals, but ones belonging to a Borg Queen, like the queen of an insect hive. “Look at the transpectral frequencies,” he said. “Just like those that Seven’s parents found during their time studying the cube they shadowed. They matched the ones that were sent to cargo bay 2.”

“What did the Hansens learn about the Borg Queen?” Janeway said.

“I’m afraid they never got the chance to find out,” Chakotay said. “Whatever she is, she clearly can exert a considerable degree of influence. Seven of Nine insisted she be on that away mission, that without her we would fail. I think she was being threatened.” “So, you’re saying the Borg Queen offered to let us go in exchange for her surrendering willingly?” Chakotay said.

“Possibly,” Janeway said. “Though given my week I’d be a fool to think that that was the right answer seeing as it’s my first hypothesis.”

“I don’t know,” Chakotay said, “it sounds plausible to me, if a bit out of character for the Borg. If they wanted her back so badly they easily could’ve taken her by force.” “I want you to keep at it with the Hansens’ logs. Compile a list of every piece of tech they came up with to track the Borg. Assemble a team of engineers to assist you.” “If you’re planning a rescue mission,” Chakotay said, “that research will only take you so far. I’ve studied their log entries long enough to realize that as brilliant as the Hansens were, they made a fatal mistake. They became overconfident.” “We won’t make the same mistake,” Janeway said. “There’s a saying I used to hear around Starfleet Academy back in the day. Learn from other people’s mistakes, because you won’t live long enough to make them all yourself.”

“Fair enough, but one last thing,” Chakotay said. “Seven of Nine did what she did to save us. If we endanger the ship-” “We won’t,” Janeway said. “This will be a volunteer mission only, and we’ll be taking the Delta Flyer. If I and whoever comes with me doesn’t make it back, it’ll be up to you to get everyone home.” Chakotay sighed. “No point in trying to talk you into letting me lead the rescue team is there?” Janeway smiled. “Not a chance,” she said.

---

Samantha was still lying in bed, as she had been almost non-stop for two days since Chakotay had made her leave of absence official, when the ship wide communication opened. Captain Janeway was addressing the entire crew. Sam tried to tune it out, she just wanted to lie in bed and mourn her girlfriend, but soon she realized that what the Captain was talking about was a rescue mission. For Seven. “This will be a long-range tactical rescue,” Janeway said. “It could take days, even weeks before we find our missing crewmember. Lieutenant Torres is equipping the Delta Flyer with the transwarp coil. It will allow us to cover more territory. My team will take it into transwarp space, where Commander Tuvok believes we can track the sphere that abducted Seven of Nine. Thanks to the work of Magnus and Erin Hansen, we’ll be well prepared for an encounter with the Borg. Their multi-adaptive shielding will make the Flyer virtually invisible to Borg sensors, and narrow beam transporters will allow us to penetrate the sphere.

“This is going to be a dangerous operation, therefore it is strictly volunteer. Anyone who wants to sign up, report to Tuvok’s security office at 0600 hours. Janeway out.”

Sam sat up, grabbed her uniform off the back of a nearby chair, and dressed faster than she had since her Academy days. She knew that the Captain would not want her to come along, but she had lost so much these past six years, and of those things only Naomi had been returned to her by way of a spatial anomaly she didn’t like to think about. Naomi, she thought. Damn, I can’t leave her. What if something happens to me? Sam sat back down on the bed, in full uniform, but less determined than she’d been just seconds ago. She got back into bed, and pulled the sheets up to her neck, closed her eyes, and began hoping that Captain Janeway could bring the woman she loved back home.

“Come home, Annie,” she whispered into her pillow. “Come home.”

-o-

“As you expected Captain,” Tuvok said as he stood next to Captain Janeway on the bridge, “there were, in fact, more volunteers than we could possibly fit on the Delta Flyer.” Janeway smiled. “Good to hear,” she said. “Nice to know that people understand that reports of Seven’s betrayal were greatly exaggerated. Who are we bringing along?”

“The Doctor insisted on coming, since he has expertise in removing Borg implants, and Mister Paris is not only our most qualified pilot, he built the Delta Flyer. I have also added Joe Carey to the away team, in case we have any difficulty with the Flyer’s warp core.” “Not B’Elanna?” “She did not volunteer, though she has, wished us luck.” “That’s all?” “Yes Captain, much to the disappointment of many,” Tuvok said. “However, I felt it logical to keep the away team small so as to prevent the Flyer from being too crowded, and to increase the length of time our supplies can last.” “Sounds good,” Janeway said. “Chakotay, you have the bridge. Tuvok, Tom, I’ll go collect the Doctor and Mister Carey and meet you at the Flyer.” “Yes, ma’am,” Tom said.

“The rest of you,” Janeway said to everyone else on the bridge, “Commander Chakotay has your orders. He’s in command until we return. And we will return, with our missing crewmember. Starfleet has lost enough to the Borg. It’s time we took something from them for a change.”

With that, she, Tuvok, and Tom Paris made their way to the turbolifts at the rear of the bridge. Janeway had no doubt in her mind they would succeed.

---

Tom Paris had never believed for a second that Seven of Nine had just decided to go back to the Collective, and he had made that known to any crewmember who’d suggested otherwise, leading to more than one bitter argument in the mess hall over the course of a few days, but once knowledge of Seven’s goodbye message to Samantha had spread, he’d been vindicated, and that was always a good feeling. A less good feeling was the unexpected effect that crossing the transwarp threshold had on his stomach, leaving him glad he hadn’t eaten yet. “Wow,” he said, looking out the forward viewport and the glowing green and black tunnel ahead of them, the colors shifting and undulated like some eldritch abomination from one of those old Earth horror stories his high school history teacher had loved so much.

“Doctor,” he heard Janeway say from her seat right behind his, “are you alright?” “Just a bit of motion sickness,” the Doctor said. “I will need to adjust my holomatrix to account for extreme velocity.” “If it’s any consolation doc,” Tom said, “I’m feeling a bit woozy myself.” “I am detecting a transwarp signature,” Tuvok said. “it matches the sphere that took Seven of Nine.” “Adjust our course and follow it Mister Paris,” Janeway said. “Mister Carey, how are the engines holding up?” “Fantastic,” Joe Carey said, “B’Elanna did a great job of integrating the Borg technology into the Flyer.”

“Well Seven did help me build it,” Tom said. “Shame she’s not here to see this.” “Well, hey, I’m glad I could help,” Carey said. “Though I must admit it, as much as I want to see Seven rescued, I was getting a little bit of cabin fever back on Voyager. I haven’t had a proper away mission in months.”

Janeway chuckled. “I don’t if I would call this proper Lieutenant,” she said, “but it’s good to have you with us anyway.”

“Thanks, Captain,” Carey said. “This will be one hell of a story to tell my sons.”

---

Seven of Nine studied the information from the Borg diamond she was on, the Queen’s personal ship, when the Queen came around a corner and began speaking to her. “We’ve arrived,” she said. “Are you ready?” “I have familiarized myself with the species,” Seven said. She didn’t want to go along with this, but she knew that there was little she could do to help. If the Borg Queen felt she was lying she could easily just go into her head again as she had before and find the truth. Short of killing herself, Seven saw no way to help the people of Species 10026, and that was not something she was ready to do, at least not yet.

“Tactical weakness?” the Queen said. “Their vessels lack maneuverability,” Seven said. “Tactical strength?”

“They’ve developed a modulating phaser pulse that can penetrate our shields,” Seven said.

“You hope they can damage us enough to give you the opportunity to escape, don’t you?” “Another common trait of humanoid species,” Seven said derisively. “Asking a question you already know the answer to. How you can still consider yourself above them?” “Trying to goad me into making a mistake will not work, Seven of Nine,” the Queen said. “It annoys you,” Seven said. “That is sufficient.”

The Borg diamond shuddered under the impact of weapons fire. “How do you propose we adapt?” The Queen said. “You’re the Borg, you tell me,” Seven said.

“Thirty-nine of their vessels are converging on our position,” the Borg Queen said, stepping forward. “Our shields are failing. We will be destroyed.”

The ship shuddered violently, a panel behind Seven sparking, much the same way Voyager’s would when it was under heavy attack. Thinking of Voyager again made her think of Sam, and how badly she wanted to see her again, and in a moment of weakness, Seven gave the Borg Queen what she wanted. “Triaxillate our shield geometry to absorb their phaser pulses,” she said, regretting the words as soon as they left her mouth. The Borg Queen smiled that insufferable smile again, and said “I was thinking the same thing.” Seven wanted to punch that face so badly, only the shaking of the ship under another volley made her pull back. “Maybe next time,” the Borg Queen said. “If it will really make you feel any better. Though more likely, you’ll only injure your hand.” “I hate you,” Seven said. “For now,” the Queen said, casually. She looked up and to her right, and a second later the shaking stopped. “Adaptation complete. They are no longer a threat. Go the primary assimilation chamber. You’ll monitor the bio-extraction process.” Seven swallowed hard. She remembered what those chambers were like, and she knew that she did not want to see that again, even though she knew she had no choice. “You look reluctant,” the Queen said. “Perhaps I have been pushing you too quickly. You can assist with repairs to the shield matrix instead.” Seven didn’t reply, she merely went to the door that would take her to the corridor that would lead to the shield matrix. At least there, she wouldn’t be put in a position to harm anyone. She walked unsteadily through the corridor, feeling nauseous for the first time since she was a child. Around her, captured members of Species 10026 were escorted by drones to assimilation chambers, bloodcurdling screams ringing out from the direction of the chambers.

“I can’t help them,” she muttered to herself as she got to work on the shield generator, trying to lose herself in her repair work as other drones worked around her.

The screams didn’t stop though, and she walked away, trying to find somewhere on the ship, anywhere, where they would at least be quieter. She walked down multiple corridors, the site of numerous freshly assimilated humanoids making her feel even more sick. She reached a chamber, where she saw three members of Species 10026 standing still, but unassimilated, trying to be brave as a drone prepared to attach a prosthetic replacement arm to the severed stump on an alien on the table in front of it. That’s it, Seven thought. A second drone that was in the assimilation chamber left, presumably to carry out a repair as the battle still raged on, and even with the adapted shields the diamond was starting to shudder again. As soon as it was gone, she immediately went up to the remaining drone working on the victim on the table, and deactivated it.

“Assist me,” she said to the aliens who looked shocked as she propped up the one on the table. “I will help you escape.” Two of the aliens helped the one on the table up, and held onto him when he had trouble standing. In a panicked rush, looking out the entryway to the assimilation chamber every few seconds, Seven began operating a console. “I am detecting one of your ships. It is heavily damaged, the crew is dead. The Borg are ignoring it. Its propulsion system is still functioning, I will transport you aboard. Remain there until the Borg leave orbit, then set a course on a heading of 1-2-1 mark nine. Do you understand?” One of the aliens, Seven assumed she was a female, nodded. Seven checked one more time to see that no drones were looking in their direction. She rapidly tapped several buttons, and watched with a small sense of relief as a Borg transporter beam enveloped them, sending them to the ship.

Seven returned to the main chamber where the Borg Queen waited, the sounds of battle, and the screams of the captured had stopped.

“Congratulations,” the Queen said. “assimilation is complete.” “Three hundred thousand individuals have been transformed into drones,” Seven said. “Should they be congratulated as well?”

“They should be. They’ve left behind their trivial, selfish lives and they’ve been reborn with a greater purpose.” “By force,” Seven said. “I wonder, how much time in the search for knowledge and perfection has been wasted by shoving it down the rest of the galaxy’s throat. How much farther along in understanding would the Borg be had they spent all that energy, all those resources in study instead of combat.”

“We are delivering the galaxy from chaos into order,” the Borg Queen said.

“Bullshit,” Seven said. “Perhaps you should use those words in the future, instead of ‘resistance is futile.’ What you do isn’t a search for perfection, it’s a cult.”

“You cling to anger because you are afraid to see the truth,” the Queen said. “species 10026 is already adding to our perfection. You can feel their distinctiveness coursing through us, enhancing us. Stop resisting. Take pleasure in this.” “Pleasure?” Seven said with a bitter laugh. “Another petty pursuit you say you are above. The more I learn about you, the more repulsed I am by what the Borg are. My only solace is the hope that perhaps we weren’t always this way. That the Collective was once a hive mind of like minded individuals wanting to understand the universe, instead of a bunch of genocidal hypocrites.”

The Queen began looking around, as if she didn’t hear what Seven was saying to her. Finally the frustration got to be too much. “We’ve overlooked-” the Queen started to say, too distracted by whatever the Collective was telling her to see that Seven had picked up a long piece of metal that had been blasted off a wall during the battle, and brought it down with all her strength onto the Queen’s head. “Why do you even bother,” Seven said, striking the Queen again, ignoring the sound of drones marching up the corridor from either side of the chamber. “asking me questions, asking me for my insights on humanity,” she struck again, “if you will just ignore me and talk like you’re reading from a script?” She brought the bar down once more. It took her a moment to realize that the Queen was not making any effort to defend herself. It took another moment for her to realize that the Queen was laughing. “I see we still have some work to do, Seven of Nine,” she said. “Go back to your alcove. I will adapt my techniques to your new personality, and we can start over. Eventually, you will give in. And when you do, you will be at my side when we finally assimilate Earth.”

Seven of Nine dropped her makeshift weapon, and sighed. “You are delusional,” she said. “You are not the first individual to say that to me,” the Queen said. “But can it really be delusion, when the Borg have lasted for so long, and only gotten stronger? When have we ever truly been threatened?” “Species 8472?” Seven said. For once, the Queen seemed speechless. “Species 847- Right, I, we, had forgotten. Somehow. That, why did we seek to penetrate alternate realities when there is still so much in just this galaxy we do not yet know?” The Queen looked confused, and maybe even frightened though Seven was not entirely certain of that. Whatever the Queen felt though, Seven had clearly touched a nerve. But she also raised a question with herself as well.

Why had the Borg entered fluidic space? Why had the Borg only ever attempted time travel once? Why had they never sent more than one cube to the Alpha Quadrant at a time? So many mistakes, so many blunders, and nearly all of them within the past eight years, half an eye-blink compared to all the time the Borg had existed. Seven allowed herself a small grin. She finally understood that her unique perspective gave her the upper hand. Now all she needed to do was use it to escape.

---

“Captain?” the Doctor said. Janeway looked up from the PADD she’d been reading, containing some of the personal journals of the Hansens. “Hmm?” “I’d like to suggest some modifications to the comm array,” he said. “I’ve studied Seven’s cranial schematics, and I’ve isolated the frequency of her interplexing beacon. When we catch up with the sphere, we might be able to send her a short message.” “And if she’s already part of the hive mind by now?” Janeway said.

“Every drone has it’s own translink signature, only Seven would be able to hear our message.”

“Sounds good,” Janeway said. “Get Joe to lend you a hand.”

“Thank you, Captain,” the Doctor said.

While the two men worked near the rear of the Delta Flyer’s cabin, Janeway continued reading the journals. Just a minute later, a quiet alarm noise went off, and Ensign Paris told her what it meant. “I’ve got a fix on the sphere’s location,” he said. “It’s in a region about two hundred light years from here.” “Red alert,” Janeway said. “Bring the multi-adaptive shielding on-line. Set a course for those coordinates and prepare to disengage transwarp drive.”

The Delta Flyer exited transwarp, far smoother than it had entered it. “Holy crap, look at the size of that thing,” Tom said. Janeway couldn’t help but agree. The structure they were flying towards was definitely Borg, but unlike anything she had ever seen before. “Report,” she said. “I’m detecting thousands of integrated substructures,” Tuvok said. “trillions of lifeforms, all Borg.”

“There’s a cube coming up fast off our port bow,” Tom said. The small ship shuddered as the larger Borg one passed it. “Did they detect us?” Janeway said. “I do not believe so,” Tuvok said.

“Mister Carey, how is the transwarp coil holding up? I want us to be able to get out of here in a hurry if we need to.” “Still solid Captain,” Carey said. “The Borg certainly build their stuff to last.” “Any sign of our sphere?” Janeway said. “Yes ma’am,” Tom said. “Its ion signature leads directly to, that really big thing ahead of us.”

“Take us in Ensign, minimum thrusters,” Janeway said. “Tuvok, begin scanning for Seven.”

---

The diamond had returned to the unicomplex. The Borg Queen spoke to Seven as though the latter had not tried to bash the former’s head in mere hours ago. “I have a task for you,” the Queen said. “We’re planning to deploy a new method of assimilation designed for highly resistant species. I want you to program the nanoprobes.” “I might be willing to assist in this project,” Seven said, “if you can answer a question for me.”

“What question would this be? I can sense you have many.” “You claim that you ‘put’ me on Voyager. Yet you have offered no evidence that this was the case. From my perspective, it would seem that while I may have been selected to act as an avatar for the collective during our dealings with Captain Janeway due to my having been human, that was the sole reason. I do not believe there was any long term plan for me to remain aboard Voyager after they assisted us in fighting Species 8472. Can you convince me otherwise?” The Queen simply shook her head. “You are not fully returned to the Collective,” she said. “As I said, we need your unique perspective to aid us in assimilating humanity. The downside of thi,s however, is that you cannot truly understand the machinations we have in play.”

“Uh huh,” Seven said. “In other words, you made it up to cover for your own errors.” “We do not make errors,” the Queen said. “We can only have insufficient information.” “Excuses,” Seven said. “From your small minded point of view,” the Queen said. She motioned towards the center of the room. “Interface with the central alcove. Begin programming the nanoprobes. All relevant data will be uploaded to you once you are inside.”

Seven of Nine complied, but only because it was clear to her that the Borg Queen was no longer able to read all of her thoughts. She had an idea. It was unlikely to work, but it was her best chance of getting away. The Borg were not what she had thought they were when she was a drone, or even after, during her early days on Voyager when she had wanted to go back to the Collective. Perhaps they never were, or perhaps they had been but lost their way. Regardless, they were a threat to everything she cared about in the here and now, and she had a chance to hurt them.

“You are still torn between your desire to be one with us,” the Borg Queen said, “and your loyalty to them. Especially to the one called Samantha Wildman. But don’t worry, she will be a part of us in time, and you will be able to hear her voice, forever.” Seven of Nine backed into the alcove, and smiled. As soon as she felt the link begin to connect, she began flooding her mind with every memory she had of Samantha Wildman. If the Borg Queen was going to try and use Sam against Seven, Seven was going to use Sam right back. And as she expected, the drones in the room had no idea how to respond to all the romantic and erotic imagery they were being flooded with. “What are you doing?” the Borg Queen said, breathing heavily. “I’m distracting you,” Seven said, as her own alcove on the diamond, the one she had set to a gradual overload, one so small it only registered as a minor issue to be repaired later to the drone, exploded.

The Borg Queen screamed in anger as the organic parts of her body were shredded by shrapnel. Seven felt the sting of some piece entering her legs which weren’t as protected as the rest of her by the Queen’s own alcove, but she bit back her own cry of pain as she pulled out the link and got out of the alcove. “Giving me your own alcove was your mistake,” Seven said, smiling through the pain as blood poured out of her own wounds. “Doing so gave me more access than I would’ve had from my own.” With that Seven ran as fast as she could out the door and into the corridors. Now, she thought, time to find a probe craft and hijack it. Easier said than done.

---

“Seven of Nine, we’re searching for you, hang on,” Janeway said into the com, hoping that it was being received. After several more tries, she checked her scanners.

“Our transmission is being deflected,” she said.

“By whom?” the Doctor said.

“No idea,” she said, much to her own frustration.

“Captain,” Tuvok said, “I have isolated Seven of Nine’s position. She’s inside a large infrastructure, approximately six hundred kilometers away. She appears to be moving.

“Set a course, Tom,” Janeway said. “On it,” Tom said. As they approached, the proximity alert went off. “A cube has altered course. It’s heading straight for us.”

“They’ve detected us,” Janeway said. “remodulate the shields, begin evasive maneuvers.”

The Delta Flyer shuddered slightly. “Whew, flew right past us,” Tom said. “If they’re on to our trick we won’t be able to fool their sensors for much longer.,” Janeway said. “Tuvok?” “Seven is moving through a corridor, heading towards a collection of probe ships,” Tuvok said. “Her pace suggests she is running.” “Trying to escape maybe?” Carey said. “That’s a good sign if you’re right,” the Doctor said.

“Janeway to Seven of Nine, can you hear me?” Janeway said, hoping they were close enough to get a signal through.No response. “Tuvok, can you get a lock on her?” “Not from this distance.”

“Take us to within transporter range,” Janeway said.

---

“Seven of Nine,” the Borg Queen’s voice said in Seven’s head. She tried to ignore it, but no luck. “Return to the central alcove Seven. I have something for you.” “I doubt that very much,” she said, not caring if the Borg Queen could hear her back or not.

“Annika Hansen,” the Borg Queen said. “We remember you. We always have. Your parents were assimilated too, remember?”

“Kind of hard to forget,” Seven said, grunting, the pain in her legs getting worse. So far none of the drones she passed attempted to restrain her. She still thinks she can convince me to work with her, she thought. She is even more delusional that I had first believed.

“Seven of Nine, can you hear us?” Janeway’s voice said. Seven could hear her inside her head too, but in a different place; her interplexing beacon. “Captain, can you hear me?” she said. “Loud and clear,” Janeway said, sounding excited. Part of Seven feared this was a trap, but realized fairly quickly that a trap that clever was beyond what the Borg were capable of now, if ever. “We need you to stay where you are.” Seven looked behind her. A number of drones she had passed had now turned around, and were heading straight for her. “Not an option,” Seven said, moving forward.

“Annika?” another voice said. A male one. Seven stopped in her tracks. It was coming from the place in her head the Borg Queen’s voice had come. “Oh no,” Seven said.

“Seven, hang on, we’ll try to get you out, but we’ve got three cubes converging on our position,” Janeway said. “Seven,” the Borg Queen said, “come back to the central alcove. Come see your father.” Seven closed her eyes, and gritted her teeth. She wanted so badly to see her father alive again, but she couldn’t give in to that temptation. “I’m sorry Papa,” she said, “I wish you could’ve met Sam. You would love her.”

“We believed you would be an asset to us,” the Borg Queen said. “We were wrong. You are weak. And now you are responsible for the death of your father.” Seven could hear the scream as the Queen painfully terminated the drone that had once been Magnus Hansen. But Seven had a response that even she didn’t expect from herself. She laughed. “You didn’t kill him,” she said to the Borg Queen. “You set him free.” “What?” the Borg Queen said.

“Thank you,” Seven said. “Enjoy your precious Collective. I get the feeling that it won’t be around much longer.” She allowed the connection with the Queen to expand just a little. She showed the Queen what she had seen, about the mistakes the Borg had been making, how they were getting, to put it bluntly, dumber. “No,” the Queen said. “You are lying to us!” “How? You’re in my head remember?” Before the Queen could reply, Seven felt the pull of a transporter beam envelop her body, just as the drones who had been coming towards began to lunge forward to grab her, but it was too late for them.

---

Janeway watched as Seven of Nine materialized near the back of the Delta Flyer’s cabin.

“We got her,” she said. “Tom, get us out of here.” “Don’t have to tell me twice,” Tom said. The Delta Flyer shuddered, the weapons of the Borg not connecting with them directly, but still affecting the shuttle in their wake. “She’s hurt, Captain,” the Doctor said, going to seven with his medkit in hand. Janeway had noticed that Seven’s legs were bleeding profusely.

“She’ll be able to track us,” Seven said. “You have to knock me out and disable my transceiver.”

The ship shook, more violently this time. “Direct hit to our tactical array,” Tuvok said. “Our weapons are down.” “Joe, fire up the transwarp coil.” “On it, Captain,” Carey said. “Transwarp in four seconds,” Tom said. If we can hold out that long, Janeway thought.

“A vessel entered the conduit with us just before it closed,” Tom said. “It’s Borg, diamond shaped. Never seen one of those before.” “It’s the Borg Queen’s personal vessel,” Seven said. “I can still hear her.” “I’m working on a powerful enough sedative, Seven,” the Doctor said. “Just give me a-” “Wait,” Seven said. Janeway looked at Seven who seemed to be gazing intently at the ceiling. Suddenly, Seven closed her eyes and chuckled. “You, moron,” she said. “Seven?” the Doctor said, sounding worried. “She still hasn’t broken our connection. I can hear her. I can hear every drone on that diamond. And I know their shield modulation frequency and structural weak points.”

“Give that data to Tuvok,” Janeway said. “Tuvok, once you have it transmit that data to Voyager,” Janeway said, “ASAP. Tell them to open fire on whatever comes out of that conduit after us with everything they’ve got.” “Aye Captain,” Tuvok said.

“The diamond is attempting to lock onto us with a tractor beam,” Tom said. “I’m remodulating the shields,” Janeway said, “that should hold them off. How long ‘til the rendezvous point with Voyager?” “One minute,” Tom said.

The Flyer kept rattling, the combination of its engine being pushed to their limits and they’re being fired upon. Janeway hope the shuttle would hold together just a little while longer. Seven spoke quietly to herself, or at least that’s what it looked like. “Doctor, what is she doing?” “Antagonizing the Borg Queen,” the Doctor said. “I think she's trying to goad her into making a mistake.” “At this point that’s probably going to do more harm than good,” Tom said. “We’re coming up on the threshold,” Tuvok said. “Exiting in four, three, two…” Tom said. Open space filled the viewport. Off in the distance, small but growing larger each second, Voyager. “Tuvok?” Janeway said. “Data already sent, Captain,” Tuvok replied, knowing exactly what she meant. “along with the order to fire at will.” “Tom, make sure we don’t get caught in the crossfire,” Janeway said. “Sure, take away all my fun,” Tom joked as he maneuvered the Delta Flyer out of the path of where Voyager’s phasers and torpedoes would be going.

Another proximity alert went off, but Janeway didn’t need to be told what that meant. “Voyager has opened fire, Captain,” Tuvok said. “The Borg diamond has already taken significant damage. Its structural integrity is collapsing. Destruction is imminent.” “Tom, fire a few torpedoes of our own. Let’s give the Borg Queen one last little ‘up yours’ from Starfleet.” “With pleasure ma’am,” Tom said, bringing the Delta Flyer about so that the Borg diamond was visible in the viewport, without the aid of sensors. Explosions ran along its structure, large chunks of it flying off into space. A pair of torpedoes flew out from the Flyer herself, hitting the crumbling ship dead center. The Borg vessel was already a lost cause, the last two torpedoes only speeding along the inevitable, but Janeway took a great deal of pleasure in it anyway. “You know,” Joe Carey said, “in all the excitement, I forgot to say welcome back, Seven.” “Good to be back, Joe,” Seven said, leaning against the bulkhead, and smiling. Janeway looked on her with pride. When she had first brought Seven on board, some had dismissed her as just the Captain’s pet project, and maybe to an extent they had been right at the time. Now though, here was someone who had, to paraphrase an old Earth philosopher, stared into the abyss, and laughed. “Tom,” Janeway said, “take us home.”

---

Seven of Nine got up from the biobed slowly. The Doctor had repaired all the damage done to them, but they still felt sore and unsteady. The door to sickbay opened, and Samantha Wildman came running in, nearly knocking over a tray of medical instruments in the process as she grabbed Seven and held her tight in a hug that Seven feared might cut off the blood flow to her brain. “Don’t, scare me like that, again,” Sam said, managing to be sad, happy, and angry at the same time in that way that only a human could. “I don’t intend to,” Seven said, hugging Sam back. Seven took in a deep breath, and said something that she had not planned on saying at that moment. In fact, she hadn’t expected to say it for at least another year. “Marry me,” she said. Sam didn’t let go of Seven, but she did pull back a little so she could look Seven in the face. “What?” she said. “What?” the Doctor said. Seven considered taking it back, saying that it was just the stress of everything she had been through the past several days No, she thought, it’s out there now. Might as well face the consequences. Besides, a no right now would not mean the end of our relationship, simply a desire to keep things from escalating too quickly. A negative response would be disappointing, but completely reasonable.

“Okay,” Sam said, smiling. “I can honestly say I did not see that coming,” the Doctor said. “Seven, you’re clear to leave. I would advise against doing any running for a day or two, but your legs are in perfect working order otherwise.” “Thank you, Doctor,” Seven said. “And, thank you for coming to rescue me.”

“I’d do the same for any member of the crew,” the Doctor said, his smile belying his modesty.

“So,” Sam said, “I imagine you won’t be referring to yourself as both human and Borg after all this.”

“Actually,” Seven said, as she leaned back against the biobed. “what I went through has me thinking I’m more of a true Borg than any Borg has been in a long time. I think maybe I represent what the Borg could be in a more ideal universe.” “That’s oddly egotistical of you, Seven,” the Doctor said. “A little bit, yeah,” Sam said, tilting her head slightly. “Maybe,” Seven said. “but my experience, while unpleasant, was also insightful.” “How so?” the Doctor said. “I’ll need to do more research to be certain Doctor, but if my hypothesis is correct, I believe that the Borg Collective will not be a threat to anyone before long.” “Now this I gotta hear,” Sam said as she put a hand on Seven’s back. “but later. For now, I think you and I have a date with a spa program on the holodeck.”

---

Captain Janeway sat down on her couch in her quarters, a cup of tea instead of coffee this time, and she planned to go to bed as soon as she finished her latest log entry.

"Captain's Log,” she said. “Stardate 52619.2. We got another twenty thousand light years out of the transwarp coil before it gave out. I figure we're a good fifteen years closer to home. Unlike the last time we managed to take this large a chunk out of our journey, the crew isn’t planning any sort of celebration. Honestly, I think a lot of us are just feeling burned out. This mess with the Borg the past few weeks was certainly trying on everyone to varying degrees.

“Still, some good came out of it. Seven of Nine has updated our records on the Borg with information she gathered during her time in Unimatrix One. Speaking of Seven, word has gotten around about her and Samantha Wildman getting engaged. I have to say, I never saw that coming when I brought her on board. I imagined it would take a long time for her to even start making friends, let alone fall in love.

“That’s all stuff I’ve opined about before though, I’m actually quite happy for them. In a weird way, I feel almost like my own child is getting married. It’s silly to think that of course, the age gap between us isn’t wide enough for her to be like a daughter to me, but still. I wish them all the best.

“What I do worry about though is that we haven’t seen the last of the Borg. The Borg Queen doubtless had contingency plans in place if her body were ever destroyed. Add to that that she seems dangerously obsessed with Seven...

“I suppose we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. As for now, I think the crew has earned some rest.”

Janeway put down her now empty cup of tea, and got into bed. “Computer, end log entry.”

#a fire of devotion #part 2 #chapter seven #star trek voyager #fan fiction #sam7

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