Chapter Text
When Jake Peralta finally learns what it’s like to have a crush on Amy, it goes something like this.
After the end of fourth year, each and every Santiago brother approaches him. The messages are practically identical, and Jake starts to recognize a pattern the time Luis gets to him.
Part 1: enthusiasm. “We approve of you and Amy dating, one-hundred percent. Don’t worry, we Santiagos don’t hold any prejudices about blood purity. You’re already like family!”
Part 2: insight on Amy.
“She’s my sister, duh! I can tell when she likes someone.”
“I heard from our family friend Rosa. We used to be neighbors back in New Hampshire.”
“Y’know, I snuck a peek at an old letter she wrote home to Mom. The feeling’s mutual, trust me.”
Part 3: the non-disclosure agreement. “Listen, this talk never happened. I’ll deny it to my grave. You can’t tell anyone else, especially not a Santiago. Got it?”
Each time the furtive discussion takes place, Jake simply nods along. What’s he going to do, say no? It’s all starting to feel like the universe is playing a cosmic joke on him. What are the odds of seven separate brothers giving him romantic advice, when he’s never even had a relationship?
Jake doesn’t yet know about the Santiagos’ bet, isn’t privy to their conversations. It’s lonely, going on like this.
Whenever Jake prepares to tell Amy, it usually feels like this’ll be the time. He can get through the initial awkwardness if it’ll set him free from wondering. In the back of his mind, Jake even starts to gather his suspicions that Amy might genuinely like him. Sometimes they’re talking, and she’ll give him this slow glance that, to him, can only mean adoration, confession, and the whole nine yards.
Amy always looks away, and the streak of pride drifts out of Jake’s reach. She’ll turn back to her coursework or wave hello to a friend, and the moment falls apart.
It hits Jake, every time, that this is probably in his head. Amy Santiago is his best friend, his partner in crime, and she’s got a magnetic field that’s simply too strong. It’s his fault for reading into things. Rather than complicate things, Jake continues acting like he has before, for he won’t jeopardize anything.
As Jake can’t bury his thoughts, they go on.
Every once in a while, Amy’ll smile just so, and it makes Jake want to buy her flowers and give her compliments until she’s sick of it. He’d like to take her to Flourish and Blotts, like to listen to her opinions on colored tabs and new non-spill inkwells until she runs out of words, like to take anything she’d give him.
In his head, Amy always likes him back. Nevertheless, reality’s awfully sobering when it comes to the long list of things you can’t do because you’re not dating someone.
Jake spends handfuls of his nights thinking about Amy. Sprawled onto his bed, arms crossed on his pillow, she’s hyperfocused in his mind. On those starlit evenings, he usually wonders if she’s still awake. He hopes so. Dreams come back to him, washing over his thoughts and keeping him carefully balanced on the tightrope between yes and no.
Like he said, pondering is a tricky game.
The end of fourth year is rather smooth, considering how much effort the students put in. Amy moves into the library for the last two weeks of classes and her hair becomes a heap of stress-braids. Jake’s mom sends him a care package from Starbucks, and he spends a half-hour trying to ration his various amounts of caffeine after giving Amy half the box.
“Thankyouthankyouthankyou, you’re such a lifesaver, I love you-”
Jake rakes a hand through his hair, sheepish to move forward. “Whatever you say, Ames.”
No one else in Gryffindor studies as much as they do, Amy out of ambition and Jake out of a need to prove himself. He’s relentless, paging through books until his eyesight blurs and sleeping underneath the tables.
“Get into the tent, nerd.” Amy rolls her eyes. “I borrowed an extra sleeping bag and everything.”
It’s a little strange how well-furnished the Santiago family tent is; nobody would think to expect a fireplace and twinkly lights strung along the walls. Amy’s dad bewitched it so there’s more room on the inside than appears on the outside. Jake excitedly starts talking about the Tardis, and, soon enough, he’s launching into a plot summary of Doctor Who.
(Thus began the two weeks when Jake woke up, freaked out, as Amy cast spells in her sleep.
“Alohomora … wing- wingardium leviosa…”
“Amy! Get us back down on the ground, where it’s safe!” Jake yelps, clinging onto his blankets.)
It isn’t until the end of term that they read their exam results. By this point, they’d already hugged Charles and Gina and Rosa goodbye, packing up their satchels and suitcases. Jake had glossed through the Santiagos’ old workbooks for covert cleaning spells that Tony swore wouldn’t tip off the Ministry.
Test results arrive via owl once more, the flaps of their wings creating a much-needed breeze in the damp summer air. Jake and Amy are sitting in the treehouse, legs swinging as they shiver gently. Amy’s pushing the frames of her newly-purchased glasses up the bridge of her nose, remnants of anxiety creeping into the frame.
This is the precise moment when everything goes a step further.
The letters are crisp, the wax seals crumble as the papers open, and Amy bites her lip, afraid to tear the sheet.
“These aren’t our course reports!” she exclaims, running a finger over the words as she skims over them. “Is it a mistake?”
This is the night when Jake and Amy are made prefects, two crimson badges illuminated by the sunset. The clouds are mellow tonight, and the heat is thick. Beneath them, the ground cracks apart with thirst. But here, safe between the steadfast walls of the treehouse, life flourishes, and Jake now has one more thing to add to the Peralta Achievement Binder.
Amy elbows him, already clipping the Gryffindor crest to her sweater. “See, I told you, it was never about blood purity. You can do anything.” She beams. “Always could.”
Jake keeps his head down and reads the letter twice more, the second time slower than the first. The paper is unevenly dark under his heavy shadow. Jake forces himself to ponder each word, not wanting this to be some fever dream. Maybe it’s all a trick of the light or some vapor-thin fantasy, for their world is magic, after all; it's difficult to take any truth at face value.
And then he comes up for air.
Amy’s grin is crooked, bringing out that dimple on her left cheek. The outer edges of her hair glow auburn, lit by the dying sun (and Jake knows that’s hard to explain, but you’d have to be there to define it.) The autumn halo, changing with the sky, keeps Amy glowing. The prefect badge rests straight on her peter pan collar, and she rubs the lion emblem with thumb and forefinger until the metal must have warmed a degree or two.
“So, on to fifth year, huh?” Jake asks, tugging at the manila envelope frozen in Amy’s grasp. He wants his badge, too.
This was worth the blisters and nicks on their hands, worth nearly getting diagnosed with carpal tunnel from a disapproving Madame Pomfrey, worth late nights when the lanterns blew out and four AM study sessions when they could hardly keep their eyes open. This was a dual sacrifice, undiluted and white-hot with newness. This was the idyllic checkpoint on the way to the finish line, marked with red pennants all the way home.
“Definitely,” Amy says. “Remember, I said I wasn’t going anywhere if it wasn’t with you?”
“Yeah. You know I’ve always got your back.” Jake bites his tongue as he finishes. The Santiago-to-Peralta relationship advice sessions come back to him, an echo in his mind.
Tell her she’s got skin like moonlight, Tony had advised. Girls love hearing that stuff. Tony’d rolled his eyes, thinking about the ‘hypothetical’ crush Jake wanted to compliment.
Jake’s sitting in the treehouse once more, resting his chin on one hand as he thinks about the way Amy looks in her new glasses. She’s only worn them a handful of times, and she’d vanish them if not for the Ministry of Magic’s statutes. They’re about three sizes too large, and she half-hates them. The other half is simply necessity.
Jake doesn’t think the glasses look bad at all. He likes her eyes, dark like charcoal. Now, if only he could get that message across instead of what he actually said: ‘hey, just like Einstein! Very particle-yer,’ because Amy has no clue about twentieth-century muggle physicists, and then he had to explain the pun, but Jake doesn’t actually know that much about Einstein, either, so then it was-
He sighs, still looking at her. Jake’s never done this before, and something in his chest tightens with that notion. He’s balanced on a tightrope, and he might be throwing everything away. They have every chance of breaking apart soon.
“You okay there?” Amy asks, turning her head. Her legs swing in the breeze. “You’re being awfully quiet.”
The sun has nearly set by now, still hinged on a few spare seconds.
“I, um, I-” Jake drags his fingers over his knuckles, scraped from knocking into the Santiagos’ bookshelf last week. He centers himself on that memory, dusty volumes forming rows and rows of history. And yet, it doesn’t make this any easier. Jake still finds it hard to breathe. “This is really hard to say. But I’ve been alright for a while now, and I think I know who to blame for that.”
Amy comes up for air just then, too.
She catches on faster than Jake might think.
And so, gathering every drop of bravado she can muster from the hidden chambers of that ruthlessly good heart, all fifteen years of innocence leading her here, she responds. “You may have taken the words right out of my mouth.‘Cause I was about to place the blame on you, you know.”
“Um, uh, romantic-stylez, that is?”
Her laugh is the kindest thing he’s heard in a long time. “Yeah. Romantic-stylez. With a ‘z’ and everything.”
Amy leans into his lean frame, legs crossed, and Jake gingerly takes her glasses off. It’s dark now, anyhow, and he folds the lenses with a cautious touch.
“You sure about this, Ames?” Jake’s hands drift to her sides.
“Hundred percent.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Hey, don’t go bringing up your grades when we’re having a serious talk!” Jake says, mock-surprised. The sky is a deep-ocean blue at this point. “Wouldn’t want to pull out the Amy Santiago Achievement Binder, volume forty-seven, and have to add some extra information.”
Amy chuckles in that miraculous way, moving one hand to cup Jake’s cheek. She's biting her lip again. “Nerd. Even I couldn’t inspire forty-seven binders. Five or ten, maybe-”
“Nah. All forty-seven and counting.”
Their first kiss is giggly and inexperienced, both of them unsure as to where to put their hands, yet far more determined to appear knowledgeable in this one matter. It’s a tricky bluff to continue. Jake pulls apart after thirty seconds or a minute or half a lifetime, one hand on Amy’s thigh 一oh, he’d just die if one of Amy’s brothers or, g-d forbid, her father walked in on them right now 一 and Amy murmurs something about practice making perfect. She always knows exactly what to say.
Needless to say, fifth year is fun.
(Somewhere in the Santiago household, Camila is cheering like there's no tomorrow, and her sons have gone nearly bankrupt from losing the Jake-Amy bet.)
Twelve Years Later.
Professor Jake Peralta insists on giving his students a free period each Wednesday to vent about personal matters and to relax from their other classes. (He used to call it “transfigure out your life”, but Rosa convinced him to stop doing that with a single disapproving eye-roll.) As per his weekly tradition, Jake moves to pull down the blinds before realizing he can do it with a spell. He mumbles “half-bloods, am I right?” under his breath.
Old habits die hard, he thinks, as the first student raises her hand.
“Professor Peralta, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s the deal with you and Professor Santiago?” Marcia Nott asks, sitting in the front row of the transfiguration classroom. Most students can’t help but notice the flyaway glances and casual mentions they often stare. In fact, Professor Santiago hardly goes a single potions class without talking about him, and vice versa.
Marcia’s best friend Wendy also raises her hand. “Yeah, I see you two flirting all the time! Do you like her?”
“I should hope so.” Jake laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose. He sees some of the class whisper among themselves, and he plays with his ring, still loose from sheer newness. “Otherwise, our wedding would’ve been a real surprise to her,” Jake adds.
“You’re married?” Marcia asks, eyes wide.
Jake frowns, watching the other students look at each other in confusion. “Yeah, I mention her all the time, figured it was obvious.”
Marcia shrugs. “I assumed you were good friends.”
“And there’s a picture of Amy on my desk!”
“Again, friends,” Wendy adds.
“I didn’t spend years liking her for people not to-” Jake sighs. “So none of you knew? I’m kind of hurt!” He leans against his desk, crossing his arms. The class only gets one day off per week. Jake thinks about professional discretion, about maintaining boundaries with a group of sixteen-year-olds, about Headmaster Holt’s policies.
“Amy’s my best friend. She’s also my wife,” Jake says, lips upturning with that last notion. He wants to be mature about this. “Enough said.”
Despite what he insists, Jake ends up spending the rest of ‘transfigure of speech’ 一 yeah, he’s still working on the name 一 dropping Amy’s name left and right. She’s threaded into his life, it seems. The students, Marcia and Wendy included, give each other looks when Professor Peralta spends ten minutes telling a story about the time he learned the confetti charm from her. That doesn’t even cover his speech about the NEWT exams.
“You know, I got mostly Es and a few Os, but Professor Santiago got nearly all Os. She’s so smart, you don’t even know-”
There’s a slam against the wall, and the class looks up.
“Heard you were saying nice things about me.” Amy steps into the classroom with a swing of the door, her tie neatly dimpled and her robes crisp despite it being the last period of the day. She beams. “Wives have a sense.”
“Soulmates. Telepathic connection,” Jake calls to his class and points to Professor Santiago with finger guns, the words loud enough for even the half-asleep students at the back to hear. He puts his arm over her shoulder as they walk out of class, the bell ringing with perfect timing. “Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite person?”
Amy shrugs. “Only like, every other day.”
Three Years Later.
“Okay, what about Elvendork? Works for a boy or a girl,” Jake suggests, his pointer finger running down a sheet of Amy’s favorite stationery. He’s seated at the dinner table with her, poring over their to-do list before work from Amy’s latest binder overwhelms him.
She looks down to her baby bump, stroking it. “Your father’s out of his mind, hon. He’s always been bad with names, I should tell you. He named your grandma’s car ‘The Delorean.’”
“Ouch, bad-mouthing me to someone who doesn’t even develop ears for three weeks. Hitting me where it hurts,” Jake murmurs, rolling his eyes. He takes his oldest quill and crosses yet another name off the sheet. “Fine, if you’re going to be so picky, try Nakatomi. Imagine, here comes the newly elected Minister of Magic, Nakatomi Peralta-Santiago. Am I killing this or what?”
“So you’re going to make our baby’s middle name Plaza?” Amy asks, shaking her head. “We need a better name than that. I might just come over there and snap that quill before you have a chance to write anything else.”
“Hey! This was a Christmas gift from you when we were, like, ten!”
She leans forward in her chair, jaw dropping a few degrees. “You still have that? Quills have an average lifespan of four years and ten months!”
“Of course you’d know that,” he grumbles. “Besides, they last longer if you keep getting them fixed.”
“Is that why you used to be way better at Reparo than the other charms?” She gasps, pointing at him. “And why you’d always sneak into Flourish and Blotts without me during our Hogsmeade trips?!”
“I had a crush on you! Couldn’t stand to throw away something you’d given me,” he counters, the look in his eyes remaining soft. “I even made up a spell to fix it myself. Reparo aeternum.”
“Oh. That’s really sweet.” Amy tilts her head, dark hair falling down the slope of her shoulder. She makes a point of reaching out and holding his hand from across the table. “You invented a charm of your own? That’s kind of hot, too.”
He smirks. “Yeah?”
“You want to...” she flips the binder cover shut with ease, “take a break from this?”
“I will if you will.” Jake gets up from his seat, caught in her orbit. His hand drops to the small of Amy’s back as they rush out of the kitchen and to their room, steps crooked.
“One condition, though,” she says, giggling, pressed against the doorframe. Her hair tangles as Jake peels off her t-shirt. “No baby names from Die Hard.”
“Not even for Holly Santiago-Peralta? We can put your last name first!”
She makes for the collar of his flannel shirt. “Not on your life.”
Sometimes, things do work out exactly like in the movies (not that Amy really knows what movies are, and she still believes that Orville Redenbacher and Stan Lee are distantly related, which is neither here nor there, but anyways-)
Sometimes you get to marry your best friend, and sometimes she’s that lonely girl next door who never seems to celebrate birthdays. If it weren’t for Jake’s insistence (his mother just assumed the Santiagos were Jehovah’s Witnesses - apparently they’re not allowed to celebrate non-religious holidays?), he wouldn’t have invited her year after year. If it weren’t for those invites, he wouldn’t have known her name. And if it weren’t for a handful of quarters and an ice-cream truck on a hot summer day, he wouldn’t have met her and asked if she were the Amy Santiago.
“This isn’t How I Met Your Mother! You can stop narrating that dramatic monologue!” she calls from the next room.
“Just recording the important details, Ames!”
“I heard what you were saying about Stan Lee! He is too a Redenbacher, maybe like a third cousin thrice removed or something. Maybe he’s quadruple removed!”
“Sure thing, nerd.” Jake rolls his eyes. He’s known her for decades by now, he’s fully aware some things (like the rubber duck argument to Amy’s parents, and the Redenbacher-Lee family tree to his and Amy's family) are off-limits.
“Hey, did you arrange the muggle coins for the kids’ show-and-tell?” Amy calls.
“Nope, I’m on it. I’ve got, like, six quarters in my desk, I can put those in.”