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whitewolfmoving · 3 years

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Boston Burning Part Three

In Your Orbit

Summary: Chris takes Nika with him to the station during his next shift, there she's introduced to the latest transfer from Austin, Texas—Arden Daniels. A simple question from an outside perspective brings out an overdue confession in a roundabout way.

Warnings: cheesiness, flirting, Chris Evans absolutely doting on Nika Stan (yes it absolutely needs its own warning lol)

Word Count: 2770

A/N: This fic will feature a lot of implied signed dialogue, as two of the characters are a part of the Deaf Community. Dialogue expressed in ASL (American Sign Language) will appear in bold and italics preceded or followed by the proper indicators. Unless otherwise stated, regularly spoken dialogue will be used for interpretation purposes for characters who do not sign when mixed in with signed dialogue. As I, myself, am part of the Deaf Community and wanted to bring a character to the table that represented my own experience with my deafness, I DO NOT speak for all d/Deaf/HoH individuals nor the Community as a whole. I am but one person, these are MY OWN experiences. Happy reading!

"Are you sure you want to come to the Station with me tonight?" Chris asked, poking his head into the bathroom as he and Nika got ready to go.

"For the last time, Evans, I'm going. I'm not sitting around here waiting for shift to be over," Nika said, applying a small amount of antibiotic burn cream over her skin.

He put his hands up in surrender, leaning against the doorframe. He wouldn't offer to help her unless she indicated that she needed him to. "Alright, alright. I'll quit asking. I just want to make sure you're as ready to see everyone as they are to see you."

"Chris," she paused, looking over her shoulder, "I'll be fine, I promise. I'll take it easy and I'll let you or Lizzie or Scar know if I need to come home. Now, can you help me with my shoulder?"

Chris nodded and accepted the tube. He took his place behind her and moved her hair to the side revealing the wound on her shoulder to him. He gingerly rubbed a thin film of cream over the healing blisters. "It's looking better already."

Nika scoffed. She'd never really taken the time to look at herself in the mirror before, never really felt the need to. Since the fire, all she did was stare at her reflection.

"Hey," Chris said softly, "you're still just as beautiful now as you were before."

"Are you flirting with me, Evans?"

"Depends, is it working?"

"Maybe."

The two continued to stare at each other in the mirror; Chris's fingers idly glided over the rough skin of Nika's scar tissue. She watched intrigued as he leaned into his own touch of her skin instead of pulling away repulsed by the feeling as she would have been. Chris was good to her, too good, in ways Nika felt she hadn't earned.

As if he'd read her mind, he turned her around to face him, lifting her chin to look into her eyes. The pad of his thumb gently brushed over her cheek. Stop that. You don't need to earn my attention or my affection or my care.

Why are you so good to me? How can you just give me that much of your time so easily? Nika questioned, her hands moved furiously to highlight her frustration. Try as she might, she couldn't understand what he saw in her — more so now, thanks to the scarring left behind by the fire.

Chris understood that Nika's confidence had been shaken, he understood that she didn't see herself as she once had. It's simple, Nik. You're my best friend, it's yours if you want it.

The drive to the firehouse was quiet. Nika left her hearing aids at home, not wanting to burden herself with attempting to follow so many conversations. Chris was there to interpret for anyone who didn't sign, giving her a much needed break.

Chris pulled up outside of the station and looked over at Nika. He waited patiently for her to make a move or a sound or any indication that she was ready to go in. She sat still as a stone, amber eyes fixed on the brick and mortar building in front of them. Chris softly tapped her left knee with his right hand, grabbing her attention. You ok? Nervous?

Nika shook her head. No, not nervous. Indifferent.

We don't have to go in. We can go home. Whatever you want to do.

I want to go.

Then we go. Chris reached across the seat and grabbed Nika's hand. He slid his fingers through the spaces between hers, giving her palm a gentle squeeze. The soft look in his eyes was warm and calming, exactly as it had been in the mirror. He slowly brought their hands up to his mouth, softly brushed his lips over their tangled fingers, skimming her knuckles. Ready?

Nika answered with a small nod of her head, her eyes still trained on the spot where Chris's lips had touched her skin. His affection wasn't new to her, except the way in which it was being delivered. She communicated with her hands, and to have him now showing deeper levels of care to her with his own… Chris's touch was everything.

The passenger door opened to reveal Chris standing at her side, waiting to escort her into the station. His bright blue eyes found her smooth honey gaze, and a sense of ease washed over them both.

She took his hand when offered, smiling as she hopped out of the truck. Who is here tonight?

That you know? Scarlett, Lizzie, Scott, and myself.

Do they know about the fire?

Scott knows, he was with me when Seb called. Everyone else will know only if you want them to. Chris smiled reassuringly. He knew seeing everyone under the current circumstances would be a lot for her, but he hoped having at least him and his brother there would take some of the pressure off. The Evans brothers were good for interpreting, Elizabeth and Scarlett knew enough conversational signs, and Nika could get by fairly well on her own otherwise.

The warmth of the summer evening relaxed both Chris and Nika's nerves. He hummed softly as she leaned into the protective barrier his body offered, shielding her right side from further damage. He hadn't been there to protect her from the fire that had caused the initial injury, but he'd make sure no more harm came to her during her stay in Boston.

She tugged on his arm as they approached the firehouse and nodded toward the opened shutter doors of the apparatus bay where Scott was waiting for them.

Hey, Scotty. Long time, no see. Nika greeted the younger Evans brother, stepping away from Chris's side and giving Scott a hug.

Hey, Trouble. Glad to see you're up and moving. How's the arm?

Can't wait to get this cast off. I'm already tired of it and it's only been a week.

Scott chuckled, greeted his brother with a nod and quick hug of his own. "Chris, you two doing alright? Need anything?"

"No, Scott. We're good. Thanks," the older Evans answered. He adjusted Nika's backpack over his shoulder and watched her slip into a comfortable conversation with Scott. The brothers had been friends with Sebastian and Nika since the four of them were in grade school; when the Evans' family moved back to Boston when the boys were in middle school, every so often Chris and Scott or Nika and Sebastian would spend a weekend with their respective second family. Nothing could tear the bond they had apart.

As they got older, Chris grew closer with both of the Stan siblings while Scott branched out and made friends of his own. He still kept in touch, not as closely as his big brother had but enough to keep the bond with them alive.

Chris's brief trip down memory lane ended abruptly, when a surprised yet happy squeal from Nika met his ears. He turned to find her sprinting through the apparatus bay toward the back of the rigs, Elizabeth's brunette hair fanning out behind her as the two spun around in a reunited embrace. He caught up to them in time to see the sling slip from Nika's arm in all of the excitement.

He tapped her left shoulder and gestured to her right arm. Hey, careful! You're not 100% yet, Nik.

Whoops. Nice catch. Thanks, Cap. she blushed, biting at her lower lip as Chris helped her slip the sling back into place. She did her best to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks at the soft kiss he pressed into the side of her hair.

How long are you here? Elizabeth asked, drawing Nika's attention away from the Squad Captain.

Off duty until my wrist and burns heal, so I guess we'll see. Definitely long enough for girls night!

That's what I like to hear!

The girls erupted into a fit of giggles. Nika hadn't been back in Boston since her breakup three years prior; a nasty one that only Chris and Elizabeth knew the explicit details of. Girls nights had been out in hold in favor of the time and space she needed to work through what happened.

Chris carefully guided a happy and preoccupied Nika to the locker room, followed by Elizabeth, as the two desperately made plans for a much needed wine and gossip night. He knew better than to interrupt.

After depositing his and Nika's things into his locker, Chris finally decided he'd take a chance pulling her away from the party planning for a bit. He found the two friends huddled in a corner of the common area, chatting animatedly over two mugs of fresh coffee. Elizabeth alerted Nika to Chris approaching her from behind and she turned around with a warm smile.

Hey, what's up?

Not much. How's your arm?

Ok, a little sore. Lizzie and I are planning Girls Night.

Chris chuckled. He loved the way Nika's eyes lit up whenever she mentioned plans with their other friends, especially Elizabeth. The two of them were almost as inseparable as Chris and Elizabeth were, and he knew that whenever he couldn't be around for her, Elizabeth would be. He nodded at the brunette and gestured toward the offices.

Mind if I borrow Nik for a moment? There's someone I want you to meet.

Not at all, I need to find Scarlett anyway. I'll see you later. Elizabeth waved them off and went in search of the other paramedic.

So, who am I meeting? Nika asked, following Chris to his office. It'd been three years since she'd stepped foot in that small room, three years since she's been in Boston at all but it still looked exactly as she remembered.

Latest Squad transfer. I think you'll like her, he answered simply. He set her purse on his desk and led her back out to the apparatus bay.

As they rounded the corner, Nika noticed the woman across the bay next to the Squad rig who hadn't been there when they'd arrived. She had wavy chestnut brown hair about as long as Nika's and stood a couple inches shorter than Sebastian. From the back, she could be his twin—a thought that thoroughly disturbed the younger Stan sibling. As the woman turned, Nika noticed the glint of the lights off of something in her hair and squinted, trying to make out what it was.

What was that flash of light in her hair? she asked, pulling Chris to a stop before they approached.

Just go meet her. Please? For me? he said. He reached forward and gently touched her left shoulder, rubbing it reassuringly and tugging her forward with him. "Hey, Daniels. You got a moment?"

The woman paused her inspection of the Squad apparatus, and turned in the direction of Chris's voice. The light caught the strange piece in her hair and now that they'd moved closer, Nika recognized it as a cochlear implant.

"What can I do for you, Captain?" The woman's eyes shifted from her superior over to the younger woman standing next to him. She gave her a polite smile, but kept her professional composer as best she could in the presence of company.

Chris easily slipped back into ASL now that he had her attention, not wanting to leave Nika out of the conversation. He quickly made the proper introductions. Nik, this is Arden Daniels, the new transfer I was telling you about. Arden, this is my best friend in the entire universe and the most badass firefighter I have ever seen, Nika Stan. She's staying with me for a few days during recovery.

Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you. Arden relaxed, shook Nika's hand, and offered the man a small chuckle of her own. So, this is the girl you learned to sign for?

Nika didn't miss the way Chris's cheeks grew a light shade of pink at Arden's accusation, though all she could do herself was stare at her best friend and wait for his answer. She'd always wondered why he'd learned ASL but never thought to ask, assuming that like everyone else, that's just how things went.

I didn't learn for her. He shook his head with a soft smile. He glanced over at Nika whose warm amber eyes were trained on his face, and he couldn't look away. I learned because of her.

Isn't that the same thing? Arden continued once she'd had Chris's attention again.

No.

Arden, now interested in what Chris had to say, sat down on the bumper of the truck behind her. It'd become increasingly clear to Nika throughout this small interaction, that like herself, Arden's experience with hearing people wasn't always positive. Truth be told, she'd never really thought of Chris as "just another hearing person" because he'd never treated her as "just another hearing impaired" girl. But then again, their relationship was different entirely.

How is that not the same thing?

Because I could always learn to sign, but Nik could never learn to hear again. I learned ASL so that I could talk to my favorite person in the world without barriers.

He'd never admitted it before, at least not out loud. No one had ever asked except Sebastian once, and when Chris didn't immediately offer an answer, he didn't press the issue. After that, he never really thought about it. For Chris, it was self-explanatory. Why would you ask a Deaf person to accommodate you in a world that's made for you?

Well, now that that particular cat was out of the bag, Chris wondered how long it would be until Nika knew the truth of how he felt about her. He'd move heaven and hell to see her smile again, but he knew it wouldn't return until she was healed up and back on the job. He couldn't just let her go home after this, not when things were finally taking a step in the right direction.

The world needs more people like you, Captain. Hearing people who don't see us Deaf as something broken to be fixed. Arden said, grabbing Chris's attention once more.

If you think I'm great, you should meet Nik's brother. He taught me everything I know about being a good advocate for the Deaf Community.

Nika rolled her eyes at the mention of Sebastian. She loved her brother, but she was loving her time away from his overprotectiveness even more. Who do you think taught him what he knows? she joked, giving Chris a playful shove.

Arden couldn't help the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she watched the two of them interact. Chris was a goner...it showed in the brightness of his smile and the melody of his laughter.

I'm going to get back to it. But Nika it was nice meeting you. And if you're still around after shift, I'd love to get your number before you go.

It was nice meeting you too. I'm sure I'll see you again before the night's over. Don't let Evans run you into the ground.

Chris put his hand to his chest in mock offense. Hey! I resent that. I am a fantastic Squad Captain.

Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night, C.

The air between Chris and Nika was playful and electric. He led her back to his office in a comfortable silence, her left hand securely tucked into his right one. Both of them were coming down off of the excitement they shared with Arden, and the weight of his near-confession still hung just out of reach.

He shut the door behind her to give them some privacy.

So, what'd you think of Daniels?

Nika shook her head with a chuckle. Female Seb, but Deaf. It's weird.

I thought the same thing when I first met her. She's good at her job. he offered.

Hey, Chris?

Yeah, Nik? What's up?

Chris stopped in front of where Nika leaned carefully against his desk. She was staring down at her shoes, lost in thoughts she hadn't yet shared with him. He tucked his finger under her chin, lifting her head to meet his gaze. What's wrong?

I was just wondering… what are you doing with your time? Her soft honey eyes found his mesmerizing blue ones.

There in the quiet of his office, Chris did the one thing he'd been waiting to do for seven years—before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned down and softly kissed Nika's lips.

It's yours if you want it.

To The End of All Things Taglist: @suitofvibraniumarmor @pinknerdpanda

#boston burning #sebastian stan fanfiction #chris evans fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #firefighter au

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saudadeonly · 4 years

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never doubt never fear

Read on ao3. Part seven.

Death Eater!Sirius Black AU

The year after Andromeda Tonks and her family are declared dead to the rest of the Wizarding Britain is the most confusing, most unnerving year she's experienced in her life but she wouldn't change it for the world.

(Spans from February 1982 to March 1983.)

Word count: 11577

___

Andromeda Tonks, formerly Black, which she still has trouble forgetting on the worst of days, considers herself to be a fairly put-together person, able to keep her wits about herself in the direst of situations and her cool even when faced with emotional turmoil.

(“Maybe usually,” says Marina, her friend of too many years, sipping her whiskey, probably the third or fourth one since she arrived. She drinks like it’s a lifeline and has for longer than Andromeda has loved her, but she’s the only one that’s ever cared enough to stay. “But you do have some very specific exceptions.”

“You’re going to die from that,” Andromeda tells her in lieu of an answer, taking a sip of her tea.

Marina laughs, raspy around the edges. “I’ll be gone long before that,” she says.)

(The Dark Mark appears above her apartment three weeks later, the walls painted with her blood, so she’s right, in the end, as she always is—was.

For the first time, Andromeda resents the fact that she can’t sit and listen to Marina tell her, I told you so.)

But waking up in a house she has not been able to visit in a decade, her daughter and husband nowhere in sight when her last memory is of her sister’s manic laugh as she flees through the woods away from her, then walking out of her room only to find her cousin that’s been presumed dead for years in the kitchen is a bit of a stretch, even for her.

Let alone the fact that said cousin, one Regulus Arcturus Black, is currently wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt and stirring a pan full of what look like scrambled eggs. He looks up when she enters, black hair sleep-messy around his face, grey eyes bright. “Good,” he says, blinking slowly at her. “You’re awake.”

“Regulus—” Andromeda starts, then finds she has no words yet and sits down on one of the high stools at the island counter. She goes over the previous night in her head. Dinner, riddle-solving with Ted, getting Dora to bed, pouring tea in the kitchen; then a group of wizards inside her house, Bella’s grin, the dark woods around her. After that, nothing at all—certainly not anything involving Regulus.

She watches as Regulus ladles the eggs onto two plates, adds an abundance of bread slices to both, and sets one of them in front of Andromeda. He flicks his wand and a kettle from the stove flies toward the counter, pouring tea into the two mugs resting there. Once poured, Regulus pushes one toward Andromeda and takes the other one for himself, putting it down beside his plate of eggs as he starts to eat.

He nods toward her plate. “You should eat,” he says. “You’ll feel better.”

Andromeda stares and finds she has no energy to stop, which, considering the years of etiquette lessons her mother imposed on her, is a surprise in itself. It’s not so much the fact that he’s here as it the fact that he’s here like this, domestic and relaxed as she’s never seen him, at ease with himself and the space around him. He’s taller, too, and broader, a new weight to him that only age could have brought along. Age that, as far as she knew only a few minutes ago, Regulus never got to experience.

“Am I dead?” she asks, clearing her throat. It’s the only explanation that comes to mind.

He huffs a breath between two bites and looks up at her, brows and the corners of his mouth raised. She doesn’t remember his smiles, however small, coming as easy as they do now. “Not unless I am, too,” he says.

Andromeda blinks. The irony isn’t lost on her, nor him, judging by the remains of his smile. “Well, legally,” she says, slowly finding footing on this rocky ground, “you are.”

Regulus considers, mouth pulling to the side. “So are you.” He points his fork at her and adds, “Legally.”

“And Dora?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper, the name like a jolt of that peculiar thing Muggles call electricity. She can’t believe it’s taken her this much time to ask about it. “Ted?”

Regulus’s eyes darken, mouth settling into a firm line. “Alive but, like you, considered dead to the majority of the wizarding world. And in much worse condition.” He nods toward the room at the beginning of the hall, the one Cissy always claimed as hers because it had the best view. “In there.”

Andromeda makes to stand up but Regulus catches her wrist before she can take a single step. She reaches for her wand, only to find it’s not in the inner pocket of her robes where she usually keeps it. “Where’s my wand?”

“Let them sleep it off, Dromeda,” Regulus murmurs. “Bella got to them before she got to you.”

Andromeda’s heart slams against her ribcage, as if it could jump out and reach Ted and Dora all by itself. Bella’s cruelty has always aged like fine wine and Andromeda dreads to find out what new expanses she’s discovered in the years since they parted ways. “Then let me see them,” she says, ripping her wrist out of his grip.

He draws his hand back, letting it rest against his side, but he doesn’t back down. “Eat first,” he insists with a stubborn frown that is at once familiar and strange; she’s not used to it on his face but she’s seen it plenty of times before on another. “You need it. You won’t be of any help to them like this.” He runs a hand through his hair, the waves an enviable mix of elegant and mussed. “Your wand broke,” he adds in a quiet, careful voice, so much more like the reserved boy she remembers, “when they got to you. I’m sorry.”

Andromeda’s throat closes up. That wand was one of the few constants she had been allowed for most of her life. From that first summer before her first year, through all the years at Hogwarts, through her elopement, her pregnancy, every good and every horrible part of her life. It was the only thing given to her by her parents that she still truly adored.

“We’ll find you a temporary replacement later,” Regulus says. “I promise.” He nods toward the plates, the food probably cold by now. “Now you sit down and eat.”

Andromeda looks up at him. The last time she properly saw him he was only eleven years old, more skin and bone than anything else, all sharp edges and big eyes, small enough she could use him as an armrest. Now he towers over her, looks at her with patient eyes, all that skin filled out, that sharp edges softened.

She collapses onto the stool. “How did you pull it off?” she asks before she brings a spoonful of eggs into her mouth. They’re not bad, certainly worse than she could have made but they might as well be the best thing she’s tasted in years. They’re not yet cold, at least.

He copies her, then takes a sip of his tea. “I didn’t,” he says, shrugging with tense shoulders, which is a contrast that she can’t find strange, not on him. “Sirius did.”

Andromeda is suddenly grateful that she’s sitting down. Her knees might have gone out from underneath her otherwise. Finding out that Regulus is alive is one thing but to know that Sirius, who has despite her best efforts to convince herself and others the opposite always been her favourite family member, is the one responsible for the survival of her entire family, the only thing she still cares about in this wretched world, feels larger than life. She's spent years of anger at the betrayal he seemingly so carelessly executed, not only at her but at his friends. It hurt more than finding out about Bella’s admittedly expected affiliation with Voldemort or Cissy’s marriage into the Malfoy family. She's never been able to put a finger on why exactly.

“Let’s talk,” Regulus says, giving her a soft smile that she might have once thought shy or unsure. “There are so many things you don’t know.”

***********

Andromeda gets used to the old house slowly at first, then quicker every day. It was always a warm, welcoming place but it was slowly falling apart when she last saw it. Uncle Alphard, always a bit eccentric, had never had much interest in keeping a house elf or keeping up the house himself—a trait that was later only amplified by his years-long sickness. But now, with Regulus as the main resident, the house has been fixed up, the rooms put to good use and all of Alphard’s peculiar collections thoroughly sorted through. Andromeda enjoys finding the unfamiliar in the familiar, the little changes that tell her that the shelter of her childhood has become a haven of her adulthood.

Regulus, however, demands a little more adjusting. Andromeda learns quick enough that any change she might have thought superficial at first goes deeper than she could even imagine. There aren’t just the wardrobe change and the growth spurt in play. He’s still distant and considerate, but there is a new sense of strength in him, like his spine has become unbreakable, like it’s been coated in steel and tempered in fire. He dotes on Dora, redresses her wounds, coaxes her to drink her potions and is nothing but patient with her. He’s more reserved with Ted but no less respectful, no less mindful of his newly-obtained injuries – broken ribs, gouged face, cracked spine – and Andromeda can only marvel at the kindness, the one that has despite his mother’s best efforts always simmered inside him, he can so freely give now; there was a time she never would have dared to hope of such a kind fate for her little cousin.

He has his secrets and, as he always has, guards them well, with smooth, easy-flowing movements and an impassive face but Andromeda still manages to catch little glimpses of dark books and large maps he pores over early in the morning or late in the night when he thinks everyone else is asleep.

She doesn’t mind, is quite used to it after years of having to keep secrets herself and even finds comfort in the fact that this is a part of Regulus that hasn’t changed, a part that she still—quite ironically—knows.

*********

Dora, wedged between Andromeda and Ted in the large bed, is just drifting off to sleep when the door to the cottage bangs open. Andromeda’s first thought is that Dora was finally, finally calm enough to have fallen asleep and she is going to kill whomever just woke her up. Then it occurs to her that she might actually have to.

She jumps up and is out of the room before she remembers to grab for the wand Regulus found in the old study. It’s not fit for her at all but it’s better than nothing, especially in a situation like this one.

Ted calls out after her, unable to follow her, but Andromeda ignores him. She trusts him to keep Dora safe while she deals with the intruders or if it comes to the point where he has to take them on by himself. She’ll be damned if she lets her family get hurt again just because her sister has some kind of a desire to get rid of everything she considers to be tainting her past.

But it’s not Bellatrix or even a barrage of Death Eaters that stand in the living room. At first glance, Andromeda almost mistakes the tall, lean man for Regulus; but his hair is too long, his face too pale. He is swaying on his feet and he is much too thin under the cloak he’s taking off. The spike of recognition is more pain than relief.

“Sirius,” she breathes, her wand lowering with the frantic beat of her heart.

Sirius gives her a slow, small smile, an alien thing on his hollow face that was so full of life the last time she saw him. Years have passed since then, long, difficult years for him; she shouldn’t be surprised that he is so, so different now. “Hi, Dromeda,” he says, voice scratching against the walls of her heart. “How have you been?”

Andromeda takes a breath, then another. In between, Sirius throws off his robes with shaking limbs, revealing a white shirt underneath. A white shirt that is, from the side of his ribs down to his hipbone, stained red.

“Sirius,” she chokes out, taking one staggering step forward.

“I know,” he says, glancing at her before he rips the shirt off as well, grey eyes glassy.

For a moment, all she can notice is the ribs pressing up through the too-pale skin, the scars littering the expanse of his torso and his arms, white on white, blades of grass through paper. Then she sees the long, narrow gash down his side, streaming red, and it’s so much worse.

Sirius coughs, a dry, heaving thing, and sways back on his feet. He’s always been a steady boy, unperturbed in the harshest of conditions, resilient where all others failed. It’s the first time Andromeda thinks that that strength will fail him, that he might crumple in on himself.

Funnily enough, that’s what snaps her out of the trance she’s fallen in. She steps forward, wand once again poised but with a different intention this time. “Let me help you,” she says.

Sirius huffs a laugh but he doesn’t stop her as she taps her wand against the wound and murmurs a low incantation, pushing against the will of the wand as it seeks to evade. The gash simmers at the edges, the flesh almost knitting together, but then spreads further back, the blood more like a river now. A leaden ball settles in the pit of Andromeda’s stomach.

“Hardly can be helped,” Sirius says, looking down from the wound towards her with dark eyes. If possible, his face has paled. “It’s cursed, probably.”

Before Andromeda can say he should have told her that before she made it worse, the door bangs open again, this time indeed announcing Regulus with flushed cheeks and wind-tussled hair. His eyes take the scene in within seconds, his hands already throwing off his cloak. “What happened?” he asks, calm despite the situation. He reaches for Sirius and catches him just as Sirius’s knees buckle.

“Bloody Dorcas,” Sirius rasps as Regulus deposits him on the sofa. The plush soft-blue material is dark with blood within seconds. Sirius bares his teeth in what might be a self-deprecating smile, the sound that escapes him almost a laugh. “Knew she’d get me back for Marlene eventually.”

“Talented witch,” Regulus murmurs, turning Sirius onto his side, fingers skimming along the edges of the wound. He reaches for his wand, hidden in the inner pockets of his robes, but Andromeda catches his wrist.

“Magic makes it worse.”

Regulus blinks, swallowing as he tucks the wand away again. “Blood-replenishing potions,” he mutters instead, then gets up and disappears into the kitchen.

“Andromeda,” Sirius says as his eyes flick away from Regulus and towards her, clearing and blurring almost in time with his breaths. He presses his hand over the wound, blood seeping through his fingers. His voice is steady despite all of it. “Right pocket of my robes. There’s a book. Get it.” He coughs, his chest heaving with it, and adds, “Please.”

Andromeda’s eyes burn as she reaches for the robes, blindly digging through the pockets until she grabs a leather-bound book. The thought of losing Sirius just as he’s so close turns over her stomach. She makes to give it to Sirius but he shakes his head.

“Page 23.”

She dutifully flips it open, finding the pages filled with a familiar, elegant script. There are sketches, too, quick but precise, more beautiful than Andromeda would have managed to draw in her entire life. She looks back at Sirius. “These are spells.” Newly invented spells, from the looks of it – Andromeda has never heard of any of them.

Sirius nods, swallowing. “Healing spells, mostly,” he says.

Regulus appears back in the living room, levitating a number of potion vials beside himself. He grabs a dark red one and shoves it at Sirius. “Drink it.” He glances at the book in Andromeda’s hands. “What’s that?” he asks as he hands another potion to Sirius.

“A spell Andromeda will try out on me,” Sirius answers between gulps of the potion. He makes a face and leans his head back against the armrest. His hair lies plastered against his forehead, perspiration gleaming down his neck and chest.

Bile rises in Andromeda’s throat, her fingers shaking. She closes them around the book, refusing to be anything but useful here. She cannot afford to be anything else. “You mean to tell me you haven’t tested it yet?” she asks, managing to keep her voice even.

“Not that one, no. Haven’t had the time.”

“Sirius,” Regulus says, locking his jaw as he glares down at Sirius. They look so alike in the bright room, the lines of their regal faces nearly matching, both of their mouths set in a stubborn frown. “You can’t.”

“What is it going to do?” Sirius shoots back, lifting his chin as far as he can in his reclining position. His voice trembles but his eyes on Regulus’s remain steady. “Kill me?”

*********

After, Andromeda sits by Sirius’s bed, watching the rise and fall of his chest, tightly bound with Muggle bandages. She fiddles with the book, fingering the pattern pressed into the soft leather to set herself at ease; it’s a beautiful, intricate thing – a stag, a dog, a wolf, and a rat, standing side by side, the moon arcing high above them. It’s nearly as peaceful an image as the one before her.

Sirius’s breaths are slow and deep, his heartbeat steady. He is in no danger of dying, at least not from this wound, but Andromeda can’t bring herself to walk away. It’s been so long since she saw him, since she heard his laugh, since she listened to one of his stories. She only now notices the gaping hole in the side of her heart that has existed since she first heard the news.

In the months after Remus and James stopped by for tea, with darker bags under their eyes than Andromeda had in the first year of Nymphadora’s life, Andromeda stayed up for hours at a time, finding ways to berate herself for not having foreseen it, for not doing more to stop it, for not helping Sirius. She was just a renounced heiress back then, struggling with relying on anyone but herself and discovering the difficulties of having a child, but there had been so many occasions Sirius had found the time for them, for her, and she never repaid the favour. The guilt tore its way through her for a long time before she found a way to check it, burying it underneath her love for the only family she had left.

To know now that that was all an illusion is a relief but the guilt has broken through the dam she so carefully built around it, the one that remained firmly intact even after Regulus told her everything, and it now burns like acid, clawing its way into every crevice of her body.

Andromeda takes Sirius’s hand. It’s long-fingered and elegant but even the back of it is flecked with tiny scars. She bows down low over it, forehead touching his wrist, and murmurs, “Je suis désolé, Sirius.” The tears are not unexpected but they feel wrong somehow, too hot and heavy for someone who did so little to help at all. The tightness in her chest eases, though, and her next breath is easier to draw in. So she lets them spill over, lets the acid burn and hopes that tomorrow she can begin to make amends for her mistakes.

*********

Sirius more or less sleeps for the next few days. He wakes intermittently, sometimes murmuring names Andromeda can’t decipher but mostly reaching for the refilling glass of water they deposited on his nightstand. He just lies there, filled to the brim with various potions Regulus practically had to force down his throat, looking more dead than alive even on the best of days.

Dora glides by his room most of the time, drawing back at the smallest of sounds Sirius makes, and Andromeda’s heart aches with the knowledge that her daughter would have been the first to spend her nights watching over her uncle only a week ago. Now, she is just a girl whose normally vibrantly pink hair has remained short-shorn and dark brown since the night she had the misfortune of meeting her older aunt.

She inches her way into the room after a couple of days, drawing herself up against Andromeda as soon as she’s close enough, and watches as Sirius’s eyelids flutter in his sleep. He looks, for a lack of a better word, different than the last time Dora, only five years old then, saw him but when she reaches out to touch the ends of his hair, dark against the white pillows, Andromeda knows she remembers the boy who used to upend her by her ankle and make her shriek with laughter, who spent hours listening to her babbling and answering every one of her concerns with utmost honesty.

“Will Sirius be alright, mum?” she asks quietly, curling into the warmth of Andromeda’s arms in the small armchair. She smells like the sea and chamomile tea Regulus must have just made her. She'll have to remember to thank him later for so diligently taking care of her daughter.

“I hope so, sweetheart,” Andromeda answers, curving her body around Dora’s, and presses a kiss to the top of her head. Here, in the quiet, in the dimness, the memory of Dora’s small body, broken and beaten, is clearer than the daylight skies. Andromeda shudders. She cannot lose another person she loves. She will not. “We’re doing everything we can to help him and Papa.”

*********

There is a tapestry of the Black family tree in the dining room. It is reminiscent of the one at Grimmlaud Place, with the vastness and the pompous names, but this one has no scorch marks. It is strange to see her own name, written out in a slanting, copperplate script, right between Bellatrix and Narcissa’s. She can’t imagine that its twin was so lucky.

It’s the first time Andromeda has even been in the dining room since she came here. She usually avoids it like the plague because she nearly suffocates with the memory of long, stuffy family dinners she had to endure in here but it is the fastest way from the kitchen to the small wooden terrace in the back where Ted and Dora are and she stepped right into the rabbit hole of their beloved family. She readjusts her grip on the tray with tea and glances at her name again, eyeing the golden thread proclaiming her death to have been in 1982. She has yet to step beyond the border of the Fidelius charm guarding the house so it might as well be true, for all anyone in this world knows. Although only a few steps away, the prospect of it seems daunting now that she’s got used to this small haven, unaffected by the war raging on outside.

“I was all for painting over the damn thing but Regulus insisted we keep it,” says a voice from her left and she whirls on the spot, miraculously managing to not slosh the tea all over the place. Sirius stands in the doorway, half leaning against the frame, dressed in a loose shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He grimaces as he pushes off of the frame and steps further into the room, adding flippantly, “Something about tradition and legacy.”

“Sirius,” she says, pausing long enough to put the tray down on the table. She turns back around to find she has no idea what to do next. She’d like to hug him but she doesn’t know how well he would take it, or if at all. The few feet between them feel like a chasm, started by war and gouged by time.

Sirius saves her the trouble and positions himself next to her, shoulder-to-shoulder. She can feel the rhythm of his breathing, just a tad quicker now that he is awake. “At least this one is complete,” he murmurs, reaching out to touch the names of the people whose faces had been burned off in Grimmauld Place. Isla. Phineas. Marius. Cedrella. All names the two of them spent their childhood searching, if only to know what things they had done to have earned to be cast out of their family. Their findings only ever offered a horrible insight into what kind of family they had been cursed with. Andromeda had barely been able to look at her father for weeks after.

Sirius’s finger touches uncle Alphard’s name and stills.

Andromeda’s hand trembles and she clenches it into a fist, tight enough to hurt. Her favourite uncle, the dearest soul she has ever known. “He left me some money,” she says, then adds unnecessarily, “In his will.” She chances a glance at Sirius, finding his jaw firmly set. “Is that why—?”

Sirius nods. “Cygnus flew into a rage when he found out. It was the last straw for him and mother dearest wasn’t about to disagree with him. She didn’t waste her time either.” He scoffs, though the corners of his mouth turn up with it. “Alphard left most of the money to me but he wasn’t about to go out of this world without one last dig at the two of them.” He taps his finger against the tapestry, once, twice, then drops his hand. “Stubborn man,” he murmurs, looking all over the tapestry with dark, grey eyes; eyes that, now that they are not closed or glassy with the haze of pain, Andromeda can barely recognise.

“How are you?” she asks softly. She reaches out a hand and hesitates. She keeps it still mid-air for a moment then decides to damn it all and puts her hand on his shoulder. “Sirius, comment tu te sens?”

Sirius glances down at her. He’s been taller than her for some years now, even before they last saw each other, but he seems small now, stooped over in the kitchen where they spent some of their best years, finally, finally not just groomed to be scions of the House of Black, but allowed to be children. He touches her hand, lightly, with the tips of his fingers. “Ça va.” He looks out the window, his chin lifted as he watches the clouds roll past. “I should go,” he says, the words like a splash of cold water in her face; his duties don’t end here, not by a long shot, and she cannot save him from them. “They’ll be wondering where I’ve been.”

Andromeda doesn’t let herself look down at his forearm where the mark rests, dark and too alive across the veins rising against his thin skin. “Not right now.” She grabs his upper arm again and doesn’t let go as she levitates the tea tray with her other hand. “Come outside, for a little while.”

“Are the others there?”

“Just Dora and Ted. I think they’d both like to thank you while you’re awake.” She pulls at his sleeve gently, bites back the urge to beg him to stay. She’d go in his stead if she could. “Come on.”

Sirius glances at the window again, then sighs and lets her lead him out into the sun. He seems a stranger to it.

*********

Regulus doesn’t settle for days after Sirius has left. He is quicker with his movements, more intense when he studies his books, constantly looking between them and the door from the couch he’s nestled himself in.

“It’s been a hard couple of months for Sirius,” he explains softly when Andromeda nudges him. “I always fear I won’t see him after he goes.”

“Not hard years?” Ted asks from where he’s stretched out on the couch. Like this, underneath a red blanket, he looks nearly as he once did, content and dozing in the afternoon, not confined to the couch and a prisoner in his own body.

Regulus looks up at Ted, his hand almost absent-mindedly reaching up to touch the scar resting across his throat. His fingers move when he swallows. “Not like this.” He taps the corner of a small, dark book resting on the coffee table. “He lost a lot.”

And Andromeda finally sees something that she can recognise in Regulus – the fall of his eyes, stubbornly firm, the way he pulls his mouth to the side as if he’s biting the inside of his cheek; guilt has always been easy to notice with Regulus and she can do little to hold down the wave of her own that whirls up at the bottom of her stomach.

“He’ll be back, Regulus,” says Ted. His eyes are dark and gentle, even with a boy that he never met before two weeks ago, and Andromeda’s chest feels tight with the appreciation for this kind, patient man she was thankfully not stupid enough to let go. “He still has you.”

“Yes,” Regulus agrees softly. “Yes, he does.” He readjusts himself when Dora slots onto the couch between him and Andromeda and only once she’s safely curled against the two of them does he add, “I just hope he knows that, too.”

*********

Sirius comes back, of course.

He puts his hand on Regulus’s shoulder when he comes into the kitchen, quiet and unassuming; he moves like a ghost sometimes, half-there, half-alive, trapped between two worlds and welcome in none. Though Andromeda has seen ghosts who suffered a kinder fate. He goes to draw his hand away but Regulus turns toward him, giving him a slow, sad upturn of lips, and puts his hand over his, squeezing it once, quickly.

“Alright?” Regulus asks after he’s let go.

“Alright,” Sirius says, nodding. He reaches around Regulus to steal a piece of bacon from his plate and bites off half of it. “Bella is still on a rampage so they were all sufficiently distracted.” He looks at the remaining piece of bacon, frowning, then up at Andromeda. “Did you make this?” he asks.

Andromeda nods, still not finding the right words to say anything else, too busy scrutinising Sirius. He seems better and worse at the same time – he’s paler than he was when he left but he holds himself upright now and doesn’t grimace anymore when he moves.

“It’s good.”

Regulus glares up at Sirius. “Are you implying mine isn’t?

Sirius shrugs. “I’m not not implying it,” he says and Regulus shoves him.

*********

Sirius and Regulus filter in and out of the house from then on. Regulus, who used to disappear for scraps of time during the day, now stays away for hours, although he always comes back before the dark has settled in, usually smiling softly at himself or humming under his breath. On some days, even both.

“He has someone,” Sirius says on one of the rare days he’s with them. He’s gone for days at a time and unlike Regulus, rarely spends the night and even then, he is gone before the sun has risen. He spends most of his time with Regulus and his books and parchments, scribbling in the margins, or with Dora, playing chess with her or showing her various wand tricks to entertain her. He is always kind, always patient, but the scars and wounds underneath are visible even on the best of days. Andromeda wonders sometimes if he sees Bellatrix when he looks at Dora with her dark hair and high-cheeked face, or when he looks at Andromeda herself; she doesn’t blame him for getting lost in the pain sometimes. “He won’t tell me but I see him.”

“Are you sure?” Andromeda asks. It seems unimaginable, not because Regulus would be incapable of forming such a relationship, but because it seems almost bizarre that he might allow himself such a comfort, such a liability when he and Sirius are clearly mixed up in something that goes beyond Sirius’s affiliation with Voldemort.

Sirius nods, dragging on the cigarette he’s lit. “I don’t blame him for it,” he says, puffing out the smoke, his voice caught with it. “I had things I didn’t tell him about, too.”

There are so few things Andromeda thinks Sirius has left to keep to himself, to cherish. She cannot imagine the pain he must have felt leaving his friends in the dark and with every loss after it – there can’t have been just a few of them. Her heart aches with the thought of how alone he must have been that first year before Regulus joined him.

“He’s happy,” Sirius says, pressing his shoulder against Andromeda’s briefly. “I can never resent him for it.”

“I’m glad,” Andromeda says and pushes the question bubbling up her throat back into her lungs, squeezed between her ribs, storing it for a day she might get a satisfactory answer. Are you happy?

*********

Days bleed by, then weeks, during which Andromeda learns to exercise a degree of patience she has never known before. It takes hours to put Dora to sleep sometimes, days to help Ted master a new level of mobility, but Andromeda never for one second wishes it were any different; she has them still and that is more than she can ask for.

Sirius examined Ted the second time he came back and his diagnosis, coming from someone who Andromeda has known to be exceptionally talented at healing, offered little hope; but Ted is trying with everything he has, religiously doing all exercises and drinking his potions—the results are defying all expectations.

Currently, he’s learning to use the wheelchair Sirius has procured and magically enhanced for him, using the wheels to propel himself backwards and forwards, back and forth, back and forth. “This is quite nice,” he says, smiling up at Andromeda with tired eyes, set strangely into his thin, scarred face. He’s always been a bit on the stout side, but he’s lost a lot of weight during his recovery, his rehabilitation; it’s not a bad change but the reasons for it are. She misses, sometimes, her cheerful husband and her bubbly daughter but always catches herself before she wishes to go back. There are so many things she has gained now that she would never have managed to see otherwise. It is hard to be resentful of that. “Come on,” he proclaims as he tugs on her hand and then lets go to push himself forward, past the kitchen and towards the front door. “Let’s take it out for a test drive.”

Andromeda follows, opens the door and steps out. It’s a beautiful day, cold but not unpleasant, the sun shining high up in the clear sky. She hasn’t made it a habit to remind herself of it lately.

Ted is a bit unsure in the wheelchair, rolling over the grassy knolls and dips, but it is wonderful to see him enjoy the outside world without having to rely on anyone’s assistance, to be self-sufficient, if only for the time being.

She stands next to him once he’s stopped and reaches for his hand on the armrest. “I love you,” she tells him. “And I’m sorry I’ve caused you so much pain.”

Ted smiles at her, wide and unrestrained, but weak around the edges. He wraps his fingers around her and brings their joined hands up to his mouth to kiss the back of hers. “My Dromeda,” he murmurs. “You’ve only ever brought joy to my life.” He pulls on her hand until she gives and climbs into his lap, curling into his firm torso, into his smell of chamomile and healing potions. He wheels them forward, slowly and unsurely, but Andromeda trusts him enough to keep her eyes closed until he stops. He’s brought them all the way to the end of the path leading to the village below, where Regulus has taken Dora, heavily masked, for the day.

It takes her a moment to realise that they’ve crossed the border of the Fidelius charm and there’s a painful tug in her chest, an old panic finally rearing its ugly head; but it’s Ted and she trusts him. So she noses against the curve of his neck as he wraps his arms around her and she breathes him in, lets the sunrays wash over them. With him by her side, she isn’t afraid.

*********

“How’s Cissy?” she asks Sirius when she finally dares.

He looks up from a parchment, depicting strange, mangled creatures. He and Regulus have been becoming more open with their research, leaving them to lie on the table even if they’ve left their spot for longer than a minute; she thinks they might tell her what they’re up to soon. “Good,” he says, grey eyes unreadable. He takes a bite of the sandwich she’s made him and it seems almost absent-minded or at least not deliberate. Regulus told her Sirius practically has had to have food forced down his throat for months, if not years. “Surviving,” he adds after he’s swallowed the bite; then, even softer, “She fears for her son.”

Andromeda thinks back to the family tree in the dining room, the gold thread tracing down from the line connecting Narcissa and Lucius. “Draco,” she says and he nods.

“He’ll be two soon,” he tells her, a distant look crossing his face; it seems at once caught between reminiscence and regret. “I’d help her if I could but Lucius would kill her before he’d let her go and she won’t risk Draco.”

Andromeda’s throat burns, a familiar sensation by now, older even than Sirius’s servitude. It’s been a constant companion since she last closed the door of her childhood home. Bella, she had little qualms about leaving behind, but Cissy, pliable Cissy who would do anything to please their parents and Bella; she would have taken her with if she had been able to. She cannot blame Sirius for having the same conflict within himself, for failing to come up with a solution when his circumstances are so much worse.

“I’m sorry you’re alone,” she says, leaning back against the counter, gripping the old, hideous wand like it’s her lifeline; she hates it, its history, its character and everything in-between—but it’s all she has right now and it has to be enough.

“I wasn’t always,” Sirius says, the long, elegant lines of his face shifting as he reaches up to touch a small carnation pendant resting just below the hollow of his throat. She has the sudden image of the boy he was, rising from the stool at the Sorting, equal parts elated and terrified. She really thought that he was safe then, that he would get away. “But I am now.”

*********

Regulus teaches Dora to fly on a broom, leading her high up into the sky and guiding her through easy manoeuvres. It makes her laugh, makes her giddy with excitement and she comes back into the house rosy-cheeked and with shining eyes.

Ted reads bedtime stories to her, has her tucked against his chest until late in the night, until she’s been asleep for hours and not mere restless minutes. He kisses her hair and tells her he loves her and doesn’t let go of her unless she asks him to.

Andromeda sings her lullabies until her throat hurts and brushes her hair and plays with her. She shows her all the wonderful things Alphard kept in his house, all the knowledge he kept in his books. She teaches her to dance every ballroom dance she remembers and doesn’t once mind any antiquity Dora breaks.

But Dora’s hair remains dark, her features familiar and painful not because they remind Andromeda of a past she’d rather forget, especially now, but because they are not her daughter’s, who has made it her personal mission to be her own and no one else’s since the day she first figured out how to control her abilities. They are a reminder that Dora lost something – that she was robbed of it – she can’t ever get back.

Then Andromeda goes for a glass of water in the middle of the night and she finds Sirius sprawled out on the couch, a thin blanket over him. He rarely goes to his room to sleep, instead preferring to crash in the living room; Andromeda hasn’t dared to ask him why yet. His chest is rising and falling steadily, his breaths blowing his hair away from his face. He has his arm around Dora, who is snuggled into his chest, her own arm barely reaching up to be wrapped around him. The embers in the fireplace cast a soft, warm light over the two of them, just enough that Andromeda can see that there, just above the swell of Nymphadora’s ear, her short hair glows pink.

*********

Snow melts under the relentless onslaught of the sun and gives way to blooming flowers. The days grow warmer, longer.

Andromeda starts tending to the old garden and Dora, with her hair a beautiful, beautiful pattern of pink and brown, joins her. They work while Ted sits in his chair nearby, reading or simply watching them. Sometimes he tells them stories or jokes; on other days, they are all content to stay in silence, to enjoy all the things that they nearly lost. Here, in the small world they’ve built for themselves, occupied and protected by people Andromeda loves most, they start healing.

*********

The newspapers grow darker and Regulus’s eyes become stormier, his face worn with frowns. He stays inside day and night, digging through old texts that probably haven’t seen the light of day for decades.

Sirius doesn’t come home for weeks.

*********

It’s nearly June when he does. The garden outside is blooming, bright with colours and life, but the house doesn’t light up until he bursts through the door.

“I got it!” Sirius yells. He’s smiling, honest-to-god smiling, when he barrages directly into Regulus and knocks the two of them off-balance, nearly onto the floor. “I got it, Regulus,” he says into his shoulder, muffled and fuzzy with the shock. He’s still grinning when he pulls back but now, so is Regulus.

“How did you get it?” Regulus asks, reaching out a hand.

“I convinced Narcissa.”

It’s not until Regulus takes the small black book from Sirius’s hands that Andromeda even notices he had it. It’s an old, unassuming thing but Andromeda spent nearly half her life in houses where she learnt the hard way that most things weren’t what they appeared to be; even just looking at it makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, her chest heavy with the weight it has brought to the room. Whatever it is, it isn’t harmless.

“What is that?” she asks.

Regulus and Sirius exchange a dark look, an old sort of connection she remembers the two of them sharing since they were children; they have always known best how to exclude others from their conversations without even trying. Sirius’s face remains for the most part impassive, but Regulus’s mouth twitches to the side.

“I’m not stupid,” Andromeda tells them, which they should already know. She was the mastermind behind most of their pranks in their youth, after all. “You’ve already done it now.”

Sirius sighs, a deep, long thing that seems at once strange and usual for him. “Fair enough,” he says, sweeping his hair out of his eyes with practised ease. It’s getting long again; Andromeda should make him sit down and cut his hair. “You should sit down.”

*********

Sirius brings a dagger that Andromeda’s seen in one of the display cases in the study and offers it to her. It’s goblin-wrought silver, he tells her, coated in basilisk venom, a thing a friend of his managed to procure for him. It is one of the few things that can destroy the soul inside the diary.

“Your honours, Dromeda,” Regulus says softly, standing against the wall next to the fireplace. She only now notices the golden chain of the locket resting against his chest, the shape of it obvious underneath his white shirt now that she knows what to look for.

“This is how we end it?” she asks, looking between him and Sirius, unsure at whom the question is directed.

But it’s Sirius, with his eyes like shards of ice, his back like a pillar of steel, that says in a firm, cool voice, “Yes.”

Andromeda nods, steeling herself, grips the dagger and stabs it into the middle of the leather diary. Black ink bleeds out, pulsing in time with the shrill, dull screams that tear out of it. Andromeda dives to the side, the dagger clattering to the ground as she covers her ears. Sirius catches her, pressing her against his chest with a quiet, soothing murmur, the sensation unfamiliar after so many years but Andromeda can’t look away from the horror before her, knowing that it’s a piece of someone’s soul dying, something she caused. Voldemort was, despite everything, human once, too.

The diary heaves one last spurt of black blood, then goes silent and lies there. The weight in the room lifts.

*********

“What else could be a Horcrux?” she asks Regulus the next morning. Ted and Dora are still asleep in their rooms and there’s no one else to overhear them.

Regulus looks up from his breakfast, swallowing before he answers, “Anything. Voldemort seems partial to sentimental items – his diary, Slytherin’s locket, Hufflepuff’s cup, his family’s ring.”

“Items relating to Hogwarts?” Andromeda muses, taking a sip of her tea. “Sword of Gryffindor?”

Regulus shakes his head, eyes sharp. Andromeda doesn’t doubt that everything she might come up with he has already thought of. “Only a true Gryffindor can get his hands on that one.”

“Ravenclaw’s Diadem?”

“In theory. But it’s been lost for centuries.”

Andromeda knows, of course, so she nods and doesn’t mention it again; but something trickles against her mind, an old memory, a passing thought, and it doesn’t let go.

*********

Regulus pokes Sirius, dozing on the couch next to them, while they file through different texts. It’s tedious and gruesome work, Horcrux hunting, and no one can blame him for not wanting to participate in it after having to deal with the Death Eaters for weeks. “How did you convince Narcissa?” he asks.

It makes sense that he would; if Sirius was Andromeda’s favourite cousin, then Narcissa was Regulus’s, the feeling no doubt mutual. Although years apart, they both found solace in the quiet things, the unassuming ones; they have always been the counterweights to Sirius and Andromeda. Regulus must have kept the worry for her despite everything that happened—or perhaps exactly because of it.

Sirius blinks open his eyes, languid. The dark bags underneath them are a horrible sight to behold but not an unusual one. “I mentioned Draco – that it might help keep him safe if she did what I asked.” He makes a face, absent. “I’m not proud of it.”

Regulus glances at him, then back down at the parchment in his hands. “Had to be done,” he murmurs.

“He’s a good kid,” Sirius says, a tinge of fondness creeping into his voice. “Happy.” He adds, to Regulus or Andromeda, she doesn’t know, “You’d like him.”

Andromeda knows he doesn’t mean to hurt them but it stings, the knowledge that he gets to know their nephew, gets to see him grow up while they are stuck here, grasping at dragon’s breath. The darkness rises up in her for a moment, two, then dies down. It doesn’t disappear exactly – but Sirius has sacrificed so much for them and still does, on a daily basis. Having that small reprieve, that one little gift, is the least that he deserves.

He’s happy. I can never resent him for it.

Besides, it is just a matter of time.

*********

Regulus turns twenty-one years old in the hottest week of the summer. Andromeda forgets sometimes, how young they all are, how much they have already suffered.

She bakes him a cake, the cranberry one he so adored as a child. Dora draws him a picture of him, Sirius and the three of them, prouder of it than she ever has been of any other accomplishment. Sirius buys him a set of books and even hugs him, a quick, brief thing that nonetheless makes Andromeda’s eyes sting.

He blows out the candles and Dora asks him, “Did you wish for anything?”

Regulus cradles the back of her head, fingers carding through the purplish hair there. “Oui,” he says, “I did.”

He doesn’t tell them, of course, and Dora is content with that, but he slips out of the house in the evening and Andromeda has an inkling anyway.

*********

Andromeda doesn’t look at the newspapers anymore. She stopped long before Bellatrix came crashing through her front door and the idea is to never start doing it again until she dies or until Voldemort is defeated, whichever comes first—and she’s having her doubts.

But it’s pointless not to look at newspapers when she can just take one look at Sirius when he comes through the door and know how bad it is anyway. Given the fact that most of the media is currently already controlled by the Death Eaters, that way is even more accurate than the Daily Prophet itself. She wishes she didn’t have to know, that she could just curl into the space between Ted and Dora and stay there forever, the rest of the world be damned.

There are people in the rest of the world, though, people she loves, people she knows, people she wishes she could make amends with. Sirius. Narcissa. Lucretia. Her classmates, her colleagues. They’re all fighting, in their own way, she’s sure of it. It seems unfair that she gets to step away from that.

The thing is, she could. Sirius is the Secret Keeper of this house and she knows he would let her if she asked; even if his cover was blown, even if he was tortured to death, she knows he would not give them up and they would all be safe for the rest of their lives.

But at the end of the day, Andromeda knows who she wants under the roof of this house if the worst time comes and it’s not just her small family and Regulus; it’s Sirius and Narcissa and a dozen people in-between. So she covers Regulus with a blanket, kisses the top of his head as he moves and murmurs in his sleep, and brushes Sirius’s hair away from his face, presses a kiss to the edge of the scar across his cheek. Then she settles against them, opens the book again and starts reading.

The war isn’t going to end itself.

*********

“He has the Ministry,” Sirius says with a hoarse voice on a November morning. He came sometime during the night, slept on the couch again. It’s the first thing he’s said since they woke up.

Regulus frowns. “There hasn’t been any indication—”

“Imperius,” Sirius says, shrugging. “Bagnold and most of her office – I don’t know exactly who, though. He didn’t put me on the job.”

“Who then?” Andromeda asks and dreads the answer even before Sirius’s eyes, dull and dark, catch hers.

“Lucius. Bellatrix. Rodolphus.”

“Why not you?” says Regulus. “We wouldn’t—” He rubs a hand across his face, makes a soft, agitated noise. “We were doing so well.”

“I know, Reg,” Sirius says softly. “Believe me, I know.” He worries his lip and sucks his cheeks in; they look even more hollow now, his face as white as death. “He’s sending me to the werewolves.”

Regulus blanches. “Again?”

Sirius’s nod is short, curt, like he’s already resigned. “He wants them ready. He has something up his sleeve, I don’t know what. He’s not telling me. I don’t think he’s telling Bellatrix either.”

One short conversation, a few scraps of information and the world is already infinitely worse than it was mere minutes ago. A lump gathers in Andromeda’s throat. The Ministry being done for was to be expected, of course it was, but it’s worse now that it’s actually happening, when the possibility of the people outside being protected is completely gone, not only because the government has fallen but because Sirius won’t be there either.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, trying for a reassuring smile but his mouth trembles. “They’re not such big bad wolves as they’re painted to be. Preferrable to the Death Eaters, really.”

*********

Dora cries when he tells her, throwing her arms around him and clinging to him long enough that Andromeda has to look away.

Sirius holds her, murmuring soft words to her, shushing and rocking her to the side. “C'est d'accord, ” he says, soft against the wild purple of Dora’s hair. “It’s just a couple months, Dora. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“But it’s your birthday tomorrow,” Dora tells him between sniffles. “I haven’t finished your present yet.”

Sirius blinks, mouth open, and Andromeda wonders if he even remembered – or maybe he didn’t expect that they would remember, that she and Regulus would care enough to tell Dora. Oh, Sirius. “Your presence is present enough, Dora,” he says finally, pulling her into another hug. His head is tucked against hers, his eyes closed, the gentle expression on his face at odds with the strength he’s holding her against him. “Besides,” he says, slowly drawing back, “you can give it to me when I come back.” He pokes her in the belly and that makes her crack a reluctant smile. “Gives me something to look forward to.”

*********

It’s worse, somehow. It’s not like he wasn’t gone before but at least they knew he was around somewhere. Regulus could reach him when the need called for it and it was a matter of days, or weeks, at worst, before he came home. Now, it’s months, an endless stretch of time that only seems to draw on longer with the lack of success their research offers.

Then Regulus says, “A Horcrux can be a living thing.”

Andromeda looks up from her parchment, the image of Ravenclaw’s lost diadem now permanently scorched into her mind, all too familiar, then blinks at Regulus. “What?”

He stretches across the coffee table to hand her the piece of an old text. It’s in Ancient Runes, her brain blanking for a second before it starts translating, but Regulus has already continued by the time she’s halfway through. “The soul can be placed inside a living thing – an animal, a plant, a human, probably.” His eyes are shining when she glances at him. “Sirius said Voldemort found this snake, Nagini. He always keeps her at his side and with his obsession with being the Heir of Slytherin—” He tilts his head to the side, like a cat, giving a slow one-shouldered shrug.

“He made her a Horcrux,” Andromeda finishes, her mouth tugging up at the corners.

Regulus nods, running a hand through his tousled hair. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes twinkling. “We’d have to check— Sirius would have to check,” he corrects, his forehead creasing up, his eyes blinking closed for a second, “but it’s likely.” He takes a quill and scribbles a quick message onto a small piece of parchment lying to the side. He slices the tip of his finger open and presses it to the top of the parchment, leaving behind a bloody fingerprint when he pulls it back. He taps his wand against it, once, twice, then sits back. The parchment disappears in a puff of blue-black smoke.

*********

“What will you do, Andi?” Marina asks, her voice velvet-smooth. She’s sitting on a throne in front Andromeda, leg crossed over the other, her sea-blue dress barely reaching the bend of her knee. Her chest is splashed with red, her brown hair tangled around her bruised face. A tiara rests atop her head, it, too, speckled with red.

Andromeda pushes back the urge to throw up. She’s dreaming, she knows she is, but Marina’s death is still an aching scar; she will never forget the emptiness of her eyes as they stared up at the ceiling painted in her own blood. “I don’t know,” she whispers.

“You? You, Andromeda Black, don’t know?” Marina says with a laugh, a high, breathy thing that sends chills down Andromeda’s spine; it is not the familiar, throaty sound she remembers. “I don’t believe it.”

“You know how you can help. Of course you do.”

“I don’t, I don’t.”

Marina shoots her an unimpressed look, eyes dark. She reaches up to move a stray strand of her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Where is it, Andi?”

A sob builds up in Andromeda’s throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Marina was always a sharp person, a no-nonsense kind of one, but she never demanded more of people than what she knew they could give.

She shakes her head, fingers gripping the edge of the throne until her knuckles are white as bone. “You know,” she says. “Now you just have to remember where it is.”

*********

They celebrate Christmas without Sirius.

Regulus, rosy-cheeked, drags in a Christmas tree, tall enough to reach the ceiling and make Dora jump around with glee, her hair changing colours every time her feet touch the ground. They adorn it with ornaments Ted and Andromeda, despite her wand acting up, manage to conjure up and spend the day before Christmas baking cookies. By the end of the day, they are all so full they nearly forget anyone is missing at all. Come morning, they are all starkly aware of it again.

New Year’s Eve comes around and that passes without Sirius, too. Regulus sits outside on the cliff until they drag him in and even then, his eyes seem hollow, his voice empty when he says, “I forgot—it’s been a year—more than—since—” He puts his face in his hands and whispers, “Evan.”

It’s a sombre affair, New Year’s Day.

*********

Dora’s birthday is looking to be the same kind of subdued when no one is around in the morning—just the two of them, curled up on the couch while Dora opens the gift Andromeda managed to get for her. Ted and Regulus disappeared down into the village a couple of hours ago.

It should be better, Andromeda thinks. It’s her tenth birthday, the last whole year before she’s set to leave for Hogwarts and she deserves better. The knowledge that she can’t give it to her presses down on her chest, too heavy.

“I love you, little one,” Andromeda tells her, kissing the crown of her head. At least she’s happier now, at least she’s safe this year. At least Andromeda can be thankful for that.

“Love you too, Mum,” Dora says back absently, fingers skimming over the Quidditch book she’s unwrapped. She smiles up at her, though, bright and sudden. “Thank you, I love it.”

Dora is not a naïve child, has never really been, but Andromeda sees how much calmer she is now, how much more she considers everything she says or does and it makes her want to get up and find Bellatrix herself – to do to her the unspeakable things that she did to her daughter, to show her that she took away something from an innocent bystander in the name of something as trivial as blood. But it doesn’t matter to Bellatrix, it never has, and it isn’t worth it, not when both Andromeda and Nymphadora would lose so much with it.

“We’re back!” Ted shouts as he wheels himself into the living room, his lap full of presents. He’s grown stronger in the past months, his muscles building back up once he started moving around; but more important than that, he’s happier and not resigned but at peace with this big change life has brought for him.

“We even picked up a renegade,” Regulus adds, following in after Ted and carrying a load of things, the beginning and end of which Andromeda cannot for the life of her figure out. He frowns at someone behind him. “He’s refused to help us carry the gifts.”

Sirius steps in after him, dressed in clean, pressed dark robes, everything about him sleek and polished. He shrugs, his too-long hair falling in his eyes, and says, “I am the gift.”

Dora shrieks and ricochets herself off of the armrest, slamming into Sirius with enough force to make him stumble back a step; and he is. He really is.

*********

Sirius bends down low over Regulus and her, each of his hands on their shoulders. He doesn’t look unwell, not for a man who was supposed to have been dealing with feral creatures for the past few months. “You were right,” he murmurs, low enough Dora and Ted won’t hear. Andromeda thinks Ted probably knows anyway. “Nagini is a Horcrux.”

*********

Sirius is sitting eerily still for someone who could not be forced to calm down as a child. Then again, there are many aspects in which Sirius has changed and settled; this can hardly be any different. He’s letting her cut his hair, which is, although soft and glossy for the most part, damaged enough she will have to cut off at least a half of it.

“Don’t the werewolves have any tools to keep themselves in order?” she grumbles, sniping off half of a strand. Once it falls in place, it just reaches his earlobe.

Sirius breathes deep. “They live in poverty, Dromeda,” he says, rolling his shoulders back. Through the thin material of his white shirt, she can see a scabbed wound stretching from one shoulder to the other. “They can hardly afford such luxuries.”

Andromeda has, as a principle, made it her main objective in the last decade to be as different from her family as possible. In large part, that involved successfully relearning every ideology Cygnus and Druella had done their best to instil in her. On the rare occasion, however, Andromeda, in her admittedly bull-headed pushing, came to the limits of her own morality, to the grey zone that she could not move out of solely on the basis of being far away from the Blacks’ mentalities. Werewolves and similar dark creatures fell into that grey zone because at the end of the day Andromeda, as a child from a deeply dysfunctional family, felt she didn’t have the ability to make the judgement for herself. She fears such moments most, when she realises that she can escape her family, but some shackles can never be fully stripped away.

Sirius’s voice is soft but rather lost, a boat far out in the open sea. “They’re not bad people, not most of them,” he murmurs into his hands covering his mouth. “Those that are, were bad people before they were ever Turned.”

*********

Andromeda stands in a vast room, with no end in sight. There are piles of trinkets around her, large piles of every little thing Andromeda can think of and yet larger ones of things she couldn’t name to save her life. They are arranged in lines, leaving narrow rows for passage in-between.

She steps forward, down one of those rows, her fingers skimming over the things scattered atop. A book, glasses, a quill. A frame, a wand, a tiara. A piece of string, a wig, a bust.

Marina appears in front of her, dressed as she was the last time, only her hair is woven into a crown of brown and red now, her fingers taut with dried blood. “You are far more foolish than I thought you were,” she says, looking down at her with hooded eyes and curved mouth. “I thought you were the observant type.”

“What are you talking about?” Andromeda asks. She’s tired of these dreams, these nightmares that plague her even in the daylight. If she’s not dreaming about them, she’s thinking of them. She wishes they stopped.

“Where is it, Andromeda?” Marina says, huffing impatiently but not in the way Andromeda is used to. “Where are we?”

Andromeda looks around. The ceiling of the room is high and dark, plain and unassuming, the walls too far away or too covered to be made out. She knows this place, she’s certain of it. She’s been here before. This meant something to her once, once, a long time ago—

And then it hits her. The seventh-floor corridor, the left one—the tapestry with the room that was never not there, the one she hid all the evidence of her relationship with Ted in, then later on of her plan to escape. I need a place to hide my things.

She turns, eyes searching for the thing she should have remembered a long time ago. The wig, the painting, the frame.

It’s resting on a precariously-put set of old, leather-bound books, covered in dust, all the glamour that should have been there long gone; but she knows where it is and what it is. She knows, she knows.

Marina has moved to stand next to her, her breaths steady. The blood has disappeared from her dress, has been washed out of her hair and off her hands. “I knew you’d remember eventually,” she says, fingers curling around Andromeda’s wrist. Her voice is once again the harmony of warm, raspy tones Andromeda knows. “It’s high time the war ended.”

Andromeda is stumbling out of bed before she’s even fully awake.

*********

Regulus grumbles when she shakes him and tries to burrow himself deeper under the covers. The sun is beginning to arc across the sky, far too early yet, but this is important. Andromeda cannot wait when she knows every minute wasted is a minute more that the people she loves have to suffer.

“I know where the last Horcrux is,” she tells him and he’s sat up within the next three seconds.

He looks up at her, grey eyes wide and just the little bit glassy, but his voice is strong. “Where?”

“Hogwarts.”

*********

Regulus sends a message to Sirius, the words smudged with sleep, messy with haste. We know where the last one is. Come as soon as you can.

After it’s disappeared in the burst of smoke, Andromeda asks, “What do we do now?”

Regulus sits down in front of the fireplace and opens a book, the picture of restrained calm. She shares none of it; her body is alive with the need to get up, to pace, to do something. “We wait.”

*********

Hours pass. Then days.

Sirius doesn’t come.

*********

The door to the terrace slips open so quietly Andromeda almost doesn’t hear it. She thinks for a moment it’s Dora or Regulus and she doesn’t even deign to open her eyes. Then she remembers Dora has taken off on a broom, diligently supervised by Ted, and Regulus is sitting next to her, gently rocking the garden swing they’ve settled on for the morning.

She stands up, just a second after Regulus, and whirls towards the door. She’s never felt anger like this before, pulsing in her belly like a fresh seal, scratching against the walls of her throat, as if it might tear them apart if she doesn’t let it out. She hides her trembling hands in the pockets of her dress.

Then she sees Sirius. His hair is a mess, haphazard around his face, his chest heaving with quick, rash breaths. The beat of his heart is not nearly audible but even so, Andromeda can imagine its fast pace just fine. He’s holding their message in one hand, his fingers dark with blood, a stark contrast to his pale face once he brings them up to it.

All the fight drains out of Andromeda.

Regulus doesn’t seem to share the sentiment. “Where have you been?” he asks, voice at once lower and louder than Andromeda’s ever heard him use. “We sent the message nearly two weeks ago.” He pauses, eyes flicking up and down Sirius’s body. “No matter.” He steps forward, grabbing Sirius by the shoulder and shaking him lightly. He cracks a smile, unsure in the face of Sirius’s indifference. “Sirius, we found it. It’s the Ravenclaw Diadem. It’s at Hogwarts.”

That does get Sirius to blink and shake his head, like a dog getting water out of his ears. “Oh good,” he says, voice hoarse. “We can kill two birds with one stone.”

Regulus’s smile fades as he steps back, his arms falling back to his sides. “What do you mean?”

Sirius clears his throat. He looks down at his hands, at the bloodied message, then up at Dora, laughing in the sky. Once his eyes move, they flick towards Andromeda, then settle back on Regulus. “Voldemort has had a spy at Hogwarts since September,” he says, his face crumpling with a desperation Andromeda hasn’t seen on him, probably ever, opening up like a chasm after an earthquake. “He’s going to attack Hogwarts at nightfall.”

#harry potter #sirius black #andromeda black #andromeda tonks #death eater sirius black #not really #but technically #regulus black #regulus black lives #ted tonks #nymphadora tonks #sirius and andromeda #sirius and regulus #sirius and nymphadora #in a world three degrees north

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gloves94 · 4 years

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To Be So Lonely [Draco Malfoy] 12

Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Draco Malfoy/OC

Chapter warnings: Angst!

Raised as an orphan, Nel Saintday, endured years of torture from the Slytherin House. The Dark Lord only allowed her existence for her to serve a very specific vile purpose for him. Her birthright dictates for her to choose a side in the Wizarding War… But what would happen if she dares defy the Dark Lord and his wishes? And what happens when she falls for her tormentor? Will Nel fulfill her life’s purpose? And what side will her tormentor, Draco Malfoy, choose? The light that calls to him or the darkness…

CHAPTER MASTERLIST MY MASTERLIST

Elowen could not stop crying.

It almost seemed as if everything she been bottling up for the past couple of years simply came spilling out in exhausting shivering sobs. "I-I'm so sorry," she tried to stop the tears, but they didn't seem to have an end. Professor Lupin sat on the edge of his desk simply observing the poor girl. She sat on his chair wiping away the tears with a wet hand. Lupin had dismissed Harry the moment he woke up. Harry had wanted to linger when he saw how hard the girl was crying, he had never seen anybody cry so hard before.

"Eat it, come on. It'll make you feel better," The professor encouraged signaling to the chocolate bar that she had been holding in a hand. She obeyed and took a small bite.

How mortifying was this. Crying in public and worst of it in front of a professor. She didn't want to burden him with his emotions. He probably had better things to worry about.

"I feel like there's a lot to unpack here Ms. Saintday," Lupin spoke in a calm voice. "First and foremost - Who did this to you?"

She remained silent as fewer tears sliding down her face.

"Nel," Lupin licked his lips. Despite her silence he was patient. "If you want me to help you, you have to cooperate with me. As a professor I have to report this. I can give whoever did this to you detention."

It was sweet of Professor Lupin to want to make things right, but a petty detention wouldn't do it. She was going to make them suffer just as much as they had made her suffer.

"Unless, of course, you'd rather take this up with Professor Snape."

Merlin. No. Snape would probably make Nel clean toilets for the rest of the year for this. Of course, it would only be a matter of time before Snape and the rest of Hogwarts found out just what had happened at the Three Broomsticks.

"I'll take care of it professor," she mumbled.

At this point she didn't care if she was cursed. She was sick and tired of those Slytherin bastards. She was sick of being looked down upon. She was sick of being told she didn't belong in the house. Of being the misfit the class. To make matters worse she felt so stupid and more than anything naïve forever trusting Malfoy. The arsehole probably didn't even know who had abandoned her in the abbey to begin with.

"Did they hurt you?" he asked concerned.

She remained silent. He could see the hurting reflected in her expression. The lust for vengeance that blazed in her dark eyes. She had spent the entire trip back to Hogwarts plotting the horrible things she would do to those boys. She'd make them with they were dead. She thought dramatically.

"Vengeance is not always the solution Nel. Fighting fire with fire is not going to solve anything," he said wisely. "Vengeance both poisons and drains the soul," he advised.

She fought the urge to scoff at his words. Of course, Lupin wouldn't understand. With his kind smiles, chocolates and easy nature. What would Lupin know about vengeance? The scars on his body made her want to think otherwise but his nature was contrasting to his rough appearance.

"I couldn't help it professor. They made me so angry. I was so, so angry. I was so embarrassed. I didn't even realize when - I closed my eyes and the next thing I knew. Everything blew up and everything and everyone was on fire," her voice cracked as she spoke. Lupin gathered her ragged appearance and her words and her words and putting two and two together put together an idea of what had happened. He had a feeling it wouldn't be long before found out.

"Does this happen to you a lot?" Lupin leaned down so that he was at eye level with his student. Magical outbursts induced by rage… His eyes focused on the moles that doted her face. There was something odd about them. He couldn't help but wonder if…

She nodded weakly.

Lupin seemed deep in thought still looking at the constellation of dots on her face. That was no ordinary birth mark. She had been branded with it. With this very powerful curse.

Considering the third-year's boggart was herself… Lupin sensed there was a hindering darkness inside of the girl. He knew she was a Parselmouth. He knew that her wand was made up of terrible omens of death and then there was the hushed-up fact that she could see Therstals. There was no explanation for it. The most Lupin had at this point was a weak theory that could explain the source of her curse.

"Your Patronus," he cocked his head brushing over to a different subject. "What memory did you use?"

She shook her head slightly. There wasn't one particular memory that brought overzealous love and joy to her. Maybe the first time she made magic at Ollivanders or the first time she walked into Diagon Alley. She could've thought of Lucy but thinking about her was too painful. Knowing she had left and never returned or even bothered to contact her had left a deep wound that was still fresh and aching. "I don't think I have one that's good enough."

Lupin hummed for a moment deep in thought. "Try focusing on maybe not on the memory itself, but on the emotion you felt. Seize that emotion and thwart it."

"Professor," Her eyebrows knotted in fear. "That black thing that came out of my wand- what was that?"

"I believe it was a corrupted Patronus," He began. "It's rare but some witches and wizards that are unable to cast Patronuses can instead sometimes cast these dark energies. I did warn you we were dealing with very advanced level magic."

She butted asking what that was. "I believe a corrupted Patronus has the opposite effect that the spell intends. Instead this creature drains the energy of a person and manifests darkness instead of light. It's what Dementors are made out of. Which would be why Harry fainted." He explained.

The two shared an uncomfortable silence.

"What if I can't cast one?" She asked weakly wiping her nose.

"You will," Lupin encouraged gently. "With time. Next time focus on something that elates you. Something that brings you joy." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "But you can't focus on hatred when you do. You can't choose anger and despair over love and joy. I know that sometimes we can't change our natures, but the few choices that we have, we must choose good and make do with the best we can be. Play at our strengths."

She marinated the professor's words taking them in. Looking into the advice he had given.

"Professor, why are you telling me this?" She asked confused. It almost sounded like he actually cared. Like he knew what he was talking about.

"Because like you, I know what it's like to want to be something else."

Nel was about to ask why he had specifically chosen to use the word something, instead of somebody. What did Lupin know? With his easy charm and kind eyes? Why on Earth wouldn't he want to be himself? Everybody (except Slytherin house) seemed to like him just fine.

"Professor Lupin!" A Hufflepuff prefect just barged into the office while rapidly knocking. "All students and teachers are to report to the Great Hall. Sirius Black is in the castle and has attacked the Fat Lady's portrait."

Xxxxx

All students were gathered in the Great Hall and instructed to spend the night there. Females would all sleep on the right and males on the left of the divided hall. The moment a swollen faced Nel walked into the hall she saw Theodore and Tracey exchange a look and rush to her with concern but before they could get close Snape seized the girl by the arm roughly and dragged her down the dungeons to her office.

"Two students are in the Hospital Ward and it is all your fault!" He scolded roughly as they walked his demeanor completely contrasting to Professor Lupin's.

Snape didn’t let her go until they were inside his office. He walked around his desk and picked up a folded newspaper that had a moving picture of the destroyed wall of the Three Broomsticks.

"Because of you two of my students were injured. Three if you include yourself!" He reprimanded. "Blew up the Three Broomsticks!" He shouted.

She looked at his angry face, at the way his pupils seemed to shrink with anger, and she could feel the tears beginning to swell again. "It-It wasn't my fault," she protested weekly her voice cracking.

"What were you thinking?!" He shouted once again slamming the newspaper loudly against his desk.

"I didn't mean to," She said weakly, eyes scanning around the room seeking for a way out. Almost praying somebody would pray come save her from Professor's Snape wrath.

"Madame Rosemerta is not pleased. Because of you the school has to pay for severe damages that were made to a historical landmark! You inconsiderate, thoughtless, irresponsible girl. You could've killed someone!"

She felt it again. That hot anger pulsing through her body. The type that made her hands shake and her head hurt.

"IT WASN'T MY FAULT!" She finally snapped.

Several vials in the room that held potions and other ingredients rattled for a second before exploding making glass shards fly everywhere. She looked at them fearfully. Her breathing harsh, small chest heaving as she was confused by her brief moment of rage.

"Just as I thought," His shoulders relaxed, and his tone became smooth. Just what was he playing at with his sudden behavioral change.

Once again, the tears had begun to stream down her face. She wiped them away furiously.

"It seems like your outbursts lead to an abrupt destruction of your surroundings… And those in them…" He lowered his head deep in thought a curtain of dark hair hiding his face. "I expect it has to do with your lack of self-control over your woeful adolescent emotions." "I didn't mean to…" She said more quietly. Her arms rounding around her body as she hugged herself.

Snape leaned over his desk. "Control your emotions," He said rather harshly.

"I'm just so angry all the time!"

"Apply yourself Saintday," He said sternly. It was a harsh slap back to reality after having come from Lupin's warm office.

"Sir, why am I like this?" She cried.

As always Snape dismissed her without another word. "We'll finish this conversation later. Elowen from now on you are to report to my office after class every Tuesday and Thursday." He said reaching inside of his dark robes and pulling out a handkerchief and handing it to her.

“I have also already heard Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Zabini’s version of the events that transpired at Hogsmeade. As a punishment they are to report to detention with me for an insufferable amount of time...” He almost made it sound as if it was more of a punishment for him instead of the two boys. “As to you, you are banned from all future trips to Hogsmeade and from the Three Broomsticks until further notice. Thank your lucky stars Madame Rosemerta has chosen not to bring this up with the Ministry of Magic or press charges and surprisingly neither has Mr. Malfoy…” Snape trailed off suspiciously as he looked down at his hand and opened and closed it in the oddest fashion.

It was no shock that Mr. My-Father-Will-Be-Hearing-About-This had already written to daddy dearest to inform him of whatever had happened at Hogsmeade. What was shocking was that Lucius Malfoy, the man who had personally made it his crusade to have Hagrid’s hippogriff executed, was not suing her. This man had decided to have a government serve capital punishment to a magical creature because it bruised his only son’s arm and he wasn’t going to do anything to the girl that actually set him on fire and almost killed him?

It was unsettling and out of character. So was his odd behavior towards her. His intrigue and fascination towards the young Slytherin. Which lead Ned to question and wonder just what exactly did Lucius Malfoy know that she didn’t?

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xathia-89 · 5 years

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A Change in the Mansion

This is the fluff I’ve been teasing you all with. @plumpblueberry to make you smile because we share the same taste in men. And to the anon who I thoroughly enjoyed answering the asks last night with.

The last of the summer sun waned over the balcony, warming Evelyn as she waited for the return of her lover. It had been a day where she hadn’t wanted to leave the room, she was feeling her roundness as the days passed by, and clothing was not flattering to her eye. Her silk robe was a modesty cover, mostly because if she didn’t wear it, then she would be banned from leaving his room otherwise. Her room was currently in the process of being converted into a nursery. Now that a spare room had been turned into a birthing suite. The idea being that it would save Sebastian from worrying about how much of the carpet he would need to get blood out of anyway. It would also mean that he could follow Evelyn about to make sure she wasn’t doing what she shouldn’t be.

She would have him pinned to be a more relaxed parent. Given that he had effectively fathered most of the mansion, but nothing had anyone prepared for the inevitable when a third missed period occurred. The whole estate and its inhabitants had changed swiftly in the last three months. None quite so much as the other expectant parent as the door to his room opened without ceremony.

It was always a welcoming feeling to be in his arms. It was something Evelyn had found herself to be craving more as the time passed, though part of her was still definitely mad at him. If he hadn’t gotten her so wound up that she forgot what time of the month it was, then this would definitely not be the outcome. The briefest of kisses graced her forehead, and his hand was splayed over her growing bump in greeting.

“You’re late,” she murmured, trying to sound cross instead of relieved as she nuzzled into his neck, a soft purr giving away how happy she was he was there.

“I was telling Leonardo off, I know how much the smell of his cigarillos upsets you and the baby,” his voice was muffled by her hair. He delivered soft kisses to her head as though trying to appease her, and ensuring her back was pressed against his torso. “He was smoking below the balcony again.”

“I still blame you both thoroughly,” she teased, tilting her head up into the crook of his neck.

“You enjoyed yourself as much as we did,” Le Comte humoured her, squeezing her gently.

“I’m not sure Leonardo would be as doting and controlling as you,” Evelyn’s laugh carried in the wind, referring back to the month-long bet that the Lady had ‘suffered’ through after losing badly to the two men. The two were stood in comfortable silence, watching the sky change colours as day gave way to night. The last slithers of the sun dipping below the horizon before the door opened again without any kind of warning.

“Leonardo would be upset to give up his cigarillos if it was his,” Le Comte was teasing his long-time friend. the Italian was refusing to learn how to knock to keep the two on their toes apparently.

“Scusa, if it was my baby then I would, if nothing else to make Evelyn happy,” Leonardo was like a duck to water when it came to these jabs. He then decided to abuse the fact that Evelyn’s arms were free and snuggled up to her, a hand on the opposite side of her stomach in amazement.

“You just regret it not being yours because it would stop all those proposals,” Evelyn laughed, kissing the Italian on the cheek in greeting.

The three were stood in content silence, the woman’s head resting against Leonardo’s chest as the city in view switched to night mode. Human lifespan seemed so finite in view of how much time had passed between the three of them, even more so as the bump stirred under the touch of both vampires.

#leonardo da vinci #le comte de saint germain #ikevam #ikevamp #Ikemen Vampire #ikémen vampire #fluff

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nightlight9 · 6 years

Text

Sterek Week Day One: Scooby Wolf

Title: I’ll Always Find You

—————

Stiles curls his body tighter around Derek, wishing that it was enough to stop the tremors rocking down his spine. Sensing that Stiles needs the comfort, Derek keeps his body still, only moving enough to press his snout into the curve of Stiles’ neck, scenting him softly. It shouldn’t be enough to calm the boy down, not after the close call that the team had, not while he’s waiting for his best friend’s body to knit itself back together.

But the connection that Stiles has with Derek has never made much sense, so with each calming breath that the wolf takes against his throat, Stiles feels himself calming down. “Malevolent spirits fucking suck,” he wheezes into Derek’s fur.

Off to one side of the room, Allison huffs out a laugh, genuine even as it’s strained from the tears she’s cried tonight. “You can say that again,” she murmurs finally, and even though Stiles really could, he keeps his mouth shut. Silence falls over the room again as they wait for Scott to heal.

Stiles isn’t sure how long it takes. The minutes pass in a blur of anxious thoughts and unsteady heartbeats. But finally Derek perks his head up, cueing Stiles in to the fact that Scott is blinking himself awake, groaning all the while.

Both Allison and Stiles are at the side of the bed before Scott has a chance to sit up, which Allison helps him do with steady hands. “Hey,” she says, soft as a whisper. “How are you feeling?”

Scott chokes out a laugh, real and whole and only slightly pained. “Like a lead pipe was shoved through my chest.” Then without missing a beat, Scott smiles. “So, you know, alive. And that's all that matters, right?”

With her own exasperated laugh, Allison folds herself against Scott, not caring about the blood matting his clothes. Stiles reaches an unsteady hand out to press against the exposed skin at Scott’s ankle, pressing hard enough that he can feel Scott’s pulse. Giving him a knowing look, Scott’s smile softens. “Hey, I’m alive. We got rid of the spirit, and I’m alive.”

Stiles huffs at him, pretending that the noise isn’t wet from his tears. “Yeah, well you tried really hard to change that, buddy. So thanks for that, you dick.”

Scott kicks at him playfully, and seeing him so relaxed is what finally releases the pent up tension in Stiles’ chest. Before he has a chance to retaliate, Scott moves his attention over to Derek, who perks up slightly when Scott looks at him. “Thank you, Derek,” he says, voice soft. “If you hadn’t stepped in like you did, if you hadn’t been there…” They all shudder at that thought, collectively knowing that if Derek hadn’t been there, Scott probably wouldn’t be alive. “I know that you don’t always feel like you’re a part of this group, but you are. We’re a team, a pack, and just because this is the form that you stay in, that doesn’t mean that you’re any less a part of this, okay. Just-. Thank you.”

Derek swallows in an entirely human way, nods once, and then clambers to his feet on his way to the door. The praise makes him uncomfortable, Stiles knows, especially because he’s still grappling with the guilt he feels over nearly losing his whole family. But Scott is right, Derek is pack. And he’s theirs, not Talia’s. He’s all theirs, all Stiles’.

Which means that, when he exits the room, unsure about how to feel about everything that Scott has said, Stiles gets to his feet to go after him.

“I didn't mean to scare him away,” Scott says, sounding kind of sad. “I just want him to feel like he belongs here, you know? Like he’s one of us, no matter what.”

Stiles snorts, raising one shoulder in an overdramatic shrug. “I know that, and he does too. But you know Derek; trying to get him to take a compliment is harder than getting him into a tub for a good bath. He knows that he’s a part of the team, Scott. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have stuck around with us for so long.” And that’s the truth. When they had found Derek all those months ago while working on a case in Colorado, Stiles thought that he would run. It was clear that he wasn’t ready to go back to Beacon Hills, despite Talia’s insistence. Hell, Stiles was surprised that Derek hadn’t left as soon as he heard his mother’s voice over the phone. After running away and hiding from his family for years, it wouldn’t have been hard for Derek to disappear again. And even though it was technically their job to hunt him down, Stiles and his group would have let him go.

Sure, looking for Derek was the reason why they all ended up on the road in the first place, driving across the country in an old van, helping solve supernatural mysteries and trying to do whatever they could to find Talia’s only son. But they wouldn’t have forced him back, just like they’re not forcing him to stay. Talia respected their decision. She knew that forcing Derek to return home wasn’t the right way to do it. Derek had to go back to Beacon Hills on his own when the time was right. She was just happy that he was safe with them.

Stiles was happy about that too. Even though he didn’t know Derek prior to the fire that had nearly wiped the entire Hale family out and caused him to run away, the connection between them was impossible to deny. Dr. Deaton, the Hale emissary, seemed to know that they would connect too. He had been the one to convince Talia to let Stiles and his friends go out and look for Derek. He thought that, together they would make a perfect tracking team. In his mind, two werewolves, an Argent hunter, a magickal Spark, and a banshee could form a great team. And, without giving anything away, he had told her that Stiles was probably the only person that could find Derek. Whether it was because of his magick or because of something else,Stiles doesn’t know. But Talia had agreed to send them out in search of her son.

Technically, in the end, Derek had found Stiles. Found him, and saved him from being dragged to the bottom of the lake by the sea demons they were fighting. And afterwards, when Danny found their next case, Stiles invited Derek to join them. He had climbed into the van, curled up with Stiles on the backseat. And he's been with them since.

Stiles knows, without a doubt, that Derek wouldn’t be with them if he didn’t want to be. Even though he’s never changed out of his wolf form, Stiles knows that he’s happy with them. Leaning down, he pats at his best friend’s leg reassuringly. “Try and get some more rest, alright. I’m sure your body could use some sleep.” Looking at Allison, he nods, the go-ahead to stay with Scott. “I’ll go check in on the others, alright? Rest.”

When Stiles pushes into the hallway Derek is nowhere to be seen, but he expected as much. No matter, he’ll hunt the werewolf down later. For now, he has to check on everyone else.

Danny is already asleep when Stiles peeks into his bedroom. The wound on his shoulder is bound tightly, and Stiles is glad that, whatever pain he’s in, it isn’t enough to stop his slumber. His laptop is still open on the bed beside him, and with a fond laugh, Stiles moves the piece of technology. Turning off the lights, he leaves Danny to his dreams and makes his way down the hall to check on the others.

Lydia is sitting up in her bed when Stiles peeks through her doorway, tucked carefully under the covers. The rest of the room is surprisingly empty. “I sent Jackson to get me some food,” she explains with a roll of her eyes before Stiles even has the chance to ask. “Surprisingly, having a malicious spirit try to possess you really makes a girl hungry.”

Even though her voice is light with sarcasm, Stiles hears the tremor within the words. Crossing the room, he takes the open spot beside her on the bed, pulling her in against his side. She folds against him without complaint, tucking her head into his neck, and they sit like that for a long while in silence. He wants to ask her how she’s doing, but knows better. Lydia is anything but a fragile thing to be doted on. No matter how shook up she might be about the near-possession, when she’s ready to talk about it, it will be on her terms. Stiles takes comfort in their closeness instead, pushing his magick against hers softly. Her aura is defensive at first, hesitant to unfold the barrier it has put up around Lydia herself, but eventually, it relaxes, sensing the good intention and familiar presence of Stiles’ charms.

Lydia rolls her eyes. “You’re not very subtle you know,” she says without pulling her head away from his throat.

Stiles grins, “Wasn’t really trying to be. Although, if you’d like something more dramatic, I can start chanting and get up to do a rain dance or something.”

He deserves the punch she delivers against his arm. “Jackass. You know that’s not how magick works. Besides, this is-. This is good.” Stiles preens when she says that, allowing the silence to descend over them again. It is good, being able to share energy. It’s healing and comforting in a way that is impossible to explain, and he’s so thankful that Lydia gets it. Their friendship has come a long way since they were in high school, and everyday Stiles is so glad that they’ve gotten so close. And he’s so grateful that she’s alright.

“I think it’s time we go back to Beacon Hills,” she says after a drawn out silence. Pushing against Stiles’ chest, she sits up and looks him in the eyes. “Not for forever, but-. This was close, too close. I think we all could use some time off, time with our families.”

Hearing her say that, Stiles knows that it’s the right course of action. Even if they could get back on the road in a few days, even if they found another case, they wouldn’t be on their best game. And, Gods, Stiles wants to see his dad again. He wants to lounge around on his couch without having to worry about what the next case will bring. He wants to go home.

There's only one thing. “Do you think that-,” he trails off, unsure how to phrase the question.

Lucky for him, Lydia already understands. “Talk to him. I can’t say that Derek is ready to go back to Beacon Hills, but even if he’s not, we need to. You need to. If he’s not there yet, he can always go off on his own for a while. Hell, he can even stay here if he’d like. Then, when we’re all ready to get back to the job, we can pick him up.”

Sensing Stiles’ hesitation, Lydia’s sharp gaze softens. “I know that you guys have connected, and I know that the thought of leaving without him hurts you. But Stiles, you don’t know that he’s going to stay behind.” The bedroom door opens, and Jackson steps inside, careful not to tip the tray he’s carrying that’s laden with food. It’s proof of how far that they’ve come that he doesn’t even blink upon seeing Stiles on the bed.

“Go and talk to him,” Lydia says, shoving at his chest in clear dismissal. She accepts the tray from Jackson, who settles in to the spot Stiles had been occupying. And Stiles smiles at the pair as he closes their door, glad that they have each other. Years ago, seeing them together would have made him cringe. But Jackson has matured a lot, and Stiles finally understands their relationship.

After he leaves them, it’s time to find Derek. Stiles doesn’t really have to search for him though. He already knows where Derek would have retreated.

Sure enough, when he goes to his bedroom down the hall from Lydia’s, the blankets are piled together in the center of his bed, and a thick black tail is poking out of the covers.

With a fond huff, Stiles rolls his eyes and kicks off his shoes. As soon as he’s settled on the bed, pressing his body between Derek’s and the wall, Derek whines low in his throat.

Curling his body around the mass of blankets and fur, Stiles closes his eyes and hums. “You know, you really should stop running away every time Scott gets sentimental. He can be kinda sappy, and as cute as you are buried under all the blankets, he’s going to get desperate enough to corner you one day.”

From beneath the blankets, Stiles hears Derek huff. It makes him laugh. “Trust me, dude. Scott thinks it’s very important that you know that you’re a part of our pack. I mean, if you want to be that is. No one’s forcing you, or anything.” Even though he’s saying it in a joking way, Stiles makes sure that the message in his words is genuine and clear. In response, Derek scoots forward enough to push his head out of the blankets, meeting Stiles’ gaze head on. Carefully, he presses his snout to Stiles’ chest. It makes Stiles smile, but then he remembers what Lydia said and his smile falls, giving way to nerves.

Making a curious sound, Derek pulls himself from the blankets completely, setting up so that he can look Stiles in the eye. Rubbing at his ears, Stiles exhales. “We need to talk,” he mutters, voice quite. Derek raises his eyebrows the best he can as a wolf, a clear indication that he’s listening.

“We need to go back to Beacon Hills.” There, he’s said it.

Derek’s ears flatten against his head, and he whines. It’s a question more than anything.

“This was-. It was too close. Lydia thinks that we need a break, and I agree with her. We need to go home.” Dragging one hand over his face, Stiles groans. “But I’m not going to force you to go back there if you’re not ready. That wouldn’t be cool at all, and you don’t deserve that. If you’d like, you can stay here, or in one of the other houses until we’re ready to get back on the road. Just don’t-.” His head falls and he closes his eyes. “Just don’t run. Please. I can’t-. Derek, you mean a lot to me and I can’t lose you. I won’t make you go back, but please don’t disappear without me.”

Whining again, Derek gets to his feet. For one heartbreaking moment, Stiles thinks that he’s going to walk out. Instead he uses his head to push Stiles down on the bed, curling his body around him and tucking his snout against Stiles’ throat. In turn, Stiles buries his hands in Derek’s fur, holding him close. As though it will be enough to get Derek to stay with him. As if it will be enough for Derek to stay.

————

They leave for Beacon Hills three days later, after finishing their reports and making sure that everyone is healed enough for the trip. Even though they’re all anxious about going home, they take their time during the drive. Their pace is almost leisurely as they make their way across the country, stopping at different places for every meal and getting motels at night instead of taking turns sleeping in the van.

Stiles knows without asking that they’re all giving Derek time to change his mind about going with them. Even though he has followed them without hesitation, they all want Derek to know that they’ll side with him no matter what. If it’s too soon, they won’t pressure him into returning to Beacon Hills.

Stiles loves them all a little more because of it.

Altogether, it takes them four days to reach California. It would have been easy for them to drive straight to Beacon Hills, but a few miles outside of town, Lydia pulls into another motel. Nobody protests the delay, gathering their bags and splitting up into their respective groups to their rooms. Technically, Stiles should share a room with Danny. But Danny likes to use their nights off to skype with his boyfriend, and after one too many explicit conversations, Stiles had demanded his own room. Now though, he shares with Derek, which suits him just fine. He’s used to having the werewolf in his space, and it’s nice having someone to talk to at night, even if Derek can’t talk back. And cuddling with him is a huge plus.

He takes his time getting ready for bed, making sure to shower so that he won’t have to worry about it in the morning. Derek is already curled up on the pillows when he’s finished, and he climbs in beside him, thankful that come tomorrow he’ll be back in his own bed.

He falls asleep hoping that Derek is ready to face his family again, hoping that they’re doing the right thing by taking him back.

Hours later, wakes up to the sound of running water, groggy and blurry eyed. Checking the time on the clock, he groans. 5:45 is not late enough for anyone to be up, especially Stiles. Relieved that he can get a few more hours of rest, Stiles rolls over on the bed and tucks himself against Derek.

Or rather, that’s what he tries to do. But the bed beside him is empty. Derek is gone.

That’s more than enough to wake Stiles up. He tumbles out of bed, heart racing. The room, like the bed, is empty. Derek really is gone. Hurt flashes through Stiles’ chest. How could he just leave, without saying goodbye? Without saying anything? Stiles understands that going back to Beacon Hills is a big deal for him, but he thought that Derek was ready. And if he wasn’t, Stiles thought that Derek knew that they would never force him back.

“Relax,” he breathes to himself, trying to calm down. Just because he isn’t in the room, that doesn’t mean that he’s gone. Maybe he just stepped out for something. Which-okay, maybe it would be kind of hard to open the door with paws, but obviously Derek figured it out. Maybe he’ll find a way back inside. “Maybe I’m dreaming,” is his next conclusion. Bringing his hands up, he stares at his fingers, counting and recounting them. Ten. It’s not a dream.

“Stiles?” The voice startles Stiles out of his panic. Standing in the doorway to the bathroom, looking sheepish and uncomfortable in clothes that are a touch too tight across his broad shoulders, is one of the prettiest people that Stiles has ever seen. Dark windswept hair, impressive eyebrows, and eyes that Stiles would recognize anywhere.

The anxiety leaves him in a rush. “You scared the shit out of me, Der,” he grumbles, slouching back onto the bed. “I thought that you had ran off.” Derek is watching him curiously, clenching and unclenching his hands where they hang at his sides. Stiles catalogues everything, the defensive way that Derek is standing, the fact that he must have taken some of Stiles’ clothes out of the duffle open on the floor, the clean-shaven edge of his jaw. He must have showered because there is a damp curl to his hair and steam coming from the bathroom. He looks good.

Finally, he cocks one eyebrow. “You have legs now,” he says matter of factly. Stiles always knew that Derek was a sassy little fucker, but seeing his impressive eye roll at Stiles’ statement makes him beam.

“I had legs before,” he grumbles, voice soft and rich.

Stiles bats away the statement. “Yeah, yeah. And paws and a tail.” Derek scowls. It makes Stiles grin wider, his excitement making his hands shake. “You’ve shifted. I-. Why? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s awesome being able to talk to you like this, and you are easily the prettiest person that I’ve ever seen before, but what sparked the change? I wasn’t even sure you could shift back, seeing as you had been in your wolf form for so long.”

Derek, who is used to Stiles’ drawn out tangents, barely blinks at the onslaught of words. He’s still holding himself back though, posture stiff and defensive, so Stiles pats the bed. “What are you doing way over there, dude? I’m not a stranger. Come sit down.”

Immediately, as though he had been waiting for permission, Derek’s posture relaxes. In four strides he’s across the room and folding himself, more delicately than Stiles ever could, down on the bed. Stiles has to sit on his hands to stop himself for reaching out for Derek, because even though they’ve gotten close throughout the weeks together, Derek isn’t a wolf anymore and Stiles doesn’t know how his touch would be received.

“See, that’s better isn’t it,” Stiles jokes, hoping to ease some of the uncomfortable energy lingering in the air.

Derek smiles thankfully at the attempt, lips curling up ever so slightly. “It was time to come back,” he says finally. “I-. I want to go back to Beacon Hills like this, walking back into town without hiding behind the wolf.”

Unable to help himself, Stiles reaches out and rubs Derek’s arm, hand lingering on the other’s wrist. “You don’t have to go if you’re not ready.”

The smile he gets in response is small but breathtaking. “I know. You-.” Taking a deep breath, Derek closes his eyes. “When I ran, everything was a threat and staying hidden was the only thing that mattered. The guilt eating me away was stronger than anything else, and being a wolf made everything easier. Even though nobody was hurt in the fire, and even though Kate was caught, it was still my fault that she was able to get close to the family. I was better off on my own, where I couldn’t hurt anyone.

“At least, that’s what I thought for a long time. But then you found me, and for the first time since I ran away, I didn’t want to be alone anymore. Everyone smelled like pack, even though I didn’t know any of you. And you all let me be myself. You never asked me to by anything more than just Derek, whether that was in my wolf form or not. Traveling with all of you helped me come to terms with what had happened. You knew everything about my past, but you trusted me anyway. You opened up to me, and let me be a part of your lives. It helped me overcome my guilt.”

Stiles swallows, stunned by the confession. Giving in to the urge to touch him, Stiles reaches out and tugs on Derek’s arm until he moves further on to the bed. Then Stiles pulls him into a hug.

“You trusted us too,” he says without pulling away from Derek. “We were strangers to you, and you still followed us and let us take care of you. I’m just-. Gods, Derek, I’m so happy that you found us that day. Not only because I would have probably been fish food if you hadn’t, but because it helped you get here.”

Derek is clinging to his shoulder, face pressed into Stiles’ neck. The position is a familiar one, and Stiles is glad that they can still have this. Because no matter the form that Derek is in, the connection between them hasn’t changed. They’re still just Stiles and Derek, and that’s all that matters.

Against his shoulder, Derek laughs. “You know, we’re like the Scooby gang,” he says, sounding content and sleepy. It takes a minute for Stiles to understand, but when he does he jolts upright.

“Oh my Gods,” he yells, batting at Derek’s arm. “We totally are, and I never noticed! We have a van and everything! And you’re Scooby! Oh Gods, I should get you a collar. Can I call you that from now on? Scooby wolf?” Rolling his eyes, Derek pushes Stiles back into the pillows.

“I will rip your throat out with my teeth,” he says, eyes glowing blue. Stiles bats at his face and laughs. Spread out on the bed, Derek thinks that he looks beautiful.

“Ooo, you’re so scary, Mr. Wolf. Grr.”

“On second thought, I don’t think it’s too late to leave.”

Laughing, Stiles latches onto Derek’s arm. “Nope! You’re stuck with me now, buddy. Try to run all you want, I’ll always find you.”

In the cold of the morning, sleeping in a strange hotel just outside of Beacon Hills, the words sound like a promise

#sterekweek2018 #sterek #my fic #sterekscooby #this was longer but my brain gave up #my writing #sterek week 2018

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