Archive of Our Own

Harry stood on the sidewalk, looking up across the road at the enormous red and gold phoenix that had stared through her shop window for the past year and a half.

The Rogue’s sign was painted above the windows, with the flaming wingspan taking up the entire width of the storefront and its tail curling just to the side of the door. It hadn’t been a surprise to learn that the mural was one of Leo’s designs.

She had always thought it was beautiful.

A breeze blew past, and Harry reached up to adjust her thick scarf so it covered the back of her neck better. A few burgundy leaves blew down from the little maple tree on the other edge of the sidewalk, and she pulled one out of her curls, letting it float down to the pavement.

There was a loud banging noise behind her, and she turned around to see Margo behind the window of Floral Enchantments, knocking on the glass. A vine from one of Harry’s hanging baskets hung over Margo’s head, tangling in her long ginger hair.

Harry held her arms out and raised her eyebrows in question.

Margo rolled her eyes and banged on the window again, then pointed towards The Rogue and exaggeratedly mouthed, “Just go!”

Harry shook her head and mouthed back, “I’m going!” She glanced at the thin silver watch Draco had gotten her for her birthday, startled by the realization that she’d been standing on the sidewalk for almost ten minutes.

Margo grinned and flapped her hands in a shooing motion. Addy appeared behind her, her face scrunched in confusion until she noticed Harry standing on the sidewalk. Her eyes widened, and she smacked Margo on the shoulder before hurrying away from the window and out the door, her arms wrapped around her chest to protect against the chill wind.

“Harry,” Addy said, her brow furrowed as she blinked up at her older sister, “are you all right?”

Harry nodded, leaning her elbow on her sister’s shoulder and laughing lightly when Addy swatted her away. “I’m fine.”

“You left the shop ages ago. Have you just been standing here the whole time?”

Harry hummed noncommittally, and Addy’s frown deepened.

“Harry,” she said, pausing until Harry met her eyes. “Harry, you know you don’t have to do this today, yeah? It can be another day. I know…”

“I knew what I was doing when I scheduled this,” Harry responded. “I want it to be today. I’m fine.”

Addy nodded, but the crease between her brows didn’t fade as she asked, “And you’re sure you don’t want company?”

Harry smiled softly and ruffled the fourteen-year-old’s hair, making Addy squawk indignantly. “I’m fine. Leo’s company enough. I’ll be back in the shop before you know it.”

“You’d better be,” Addy said with a snort. “The boys are meeting us at 2:30 to jam. If you’re not back to run the shop, Margo and I’ll just close it.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“We would! It’s been ages since Margo had time for the band; we’re not giving it up.”

Harry laughed and nudged her glasses up her nose. “All right, all right. I’ll be back by then anyway; you kids can have all the fun you want. Wish me luck?”

“Always, Harry. Can’t wait to see it!’

With that, the younger girl scampered back into the shop, and Harry watched as she appeared in the window once more beside a concerned Margo. The two teenagers spoke briefly, then Margo rested her chin on the younger girl’s shoulder and flashed Harry a thumbs up.

Harry rolled her eyes and shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, checking for incoming cars before crossing the road.

She paused a second longer as she stood in front of the painted phoenix’s fiery tail feathers, her hand held out an inch from the doorknob, shaking slightly in anticipation. Another loud bang from Margo on the shop window made Harry snort and shake her head as she finally turned the handle and walked inside.

Soft rock music filled the front lobby, a song Harry vaguely recognized from one of Margo’s playlists. The smell of ink, coffee, and rubbing alcohol made her nose itch for a few seconds before she adjusted.

The crimson walls on either side of her were covered in framed sketches from Leo and the other tattoo artists in the shop, as well as a few colorful photos of actual tattoos—a back piece of playing cards falling and curving along the client’s spine caught Harry’s eye before someone cleared their throat.

“I wasn’t sure you were ever coming in,” Rispah said from behind the desk once she had Harry’s attention, running a hand through her long red hair. Harry blushed slightly, and Rispah laughed brightly, tilting her head back and drawing Harry’s gaze to the stunning tattooed necklace of diamonds and an enormous teardrop-shaped ruby encircling her neck.

“I got a little lost in thought,” Harry said with a small, sheepish smile. She unwound her burgundy scarf and shrugged off her thick mint-green jacket, hanging them both on one of the black hooks next to the door. The shop was warm, which Harry was thankful for as she stood in a dark blue tank top, her arms completely bare. “I’m still early, though.”

Rispah laughed gently. “That you are. Nervous?”

Harry tilted her head slightly as she looked around the shop, her gaze settling on a board leaning against the wall with a few sketches of snakeskin and vivid green color swatches taped to it. She thought of the past two weeks she’d spent with Leo in Floral Enchantments, chatting in between bouquets and poring over the green paint chips Leo had gotten at the hardware store until she found the exact shades she wanted her ink to match.

“Not nervous, no,” she said, a fond smile playing across her lips.

Rispah raised an eyebrow. “You actually mean that. Huh.” Her lips quirked into a calculating smirk. “Not many first-timers are honestly not nervous.”

“I trust Leo to get it right,” Harry said with a simple shrug. “And I have a high pain tolerance.”

Rispah’s smirk slid away, her brow furrowing as she pursed her lips. “I’m not going to even ask how you know your pain tolerance if this is your first tattoo.”

Harry batted her eyelashes and pouted playfully. “A girl has to keep some secrets.”

“I’m sure you’ve got plenty,” a new, deeper voice said with a snort, and Harry turned to see Leo leaning in the doorway to one of the private rooms.

Rispah shook her head, her red curls bouncing, and said, “Don’t act like you never kept too many secrets, Leo Hurst. How many tattoos did you hide from your dad when you were a teenager?”

Leo raised an eyebrow and retorted, “How many of those tattoos did you give me?”

Rispah stuck her tongue out at him, making him laugh loudly, the sound echoing through the shop and drowning out the guitar riffs.

Harry pointedly ignored the way her heart softened at the sound of Leo’s laugh.

She’d been pointedly ignoring that and other similar matters ever since the Malfoy’s garden party a few months ago, when she first realized how important Leo was to her.

She loved their friendship.

She would not let herself ruin that.

“Harry?”

She pulled her gaze away from a sketch on the wall—a piece styled like stained glass, of a magpie with a pink dahlia in its beak—and found Leo staring at her questioningly.

“Sorry, what was that?” she said, blinking a few times to clear her thoughts.

Leo smiled gently and ran a hand through his hair, making the soft curls stick up. “I just asked if you were ready to head in.”

Harry nodded, waving goodbye to Rispah, who was pulling on her coat and getting ready to leave for the afternoon. She followed Leo down a small hallway into the room he’d prepared.

She faltered at the doorway, her feet suddenly heavy, but she took a slow breath and reminded herself that she’d been here before—it was Leo’s place; she was fine—and took the step inside.

The warm crimson walls immediately soothed her nerves—no dingy white with odd stains—and she relaxed further when she saw all the little touches throughout the room that were so obviously Leo.

Framed photos of his family were scattered across the wall, the largest frame showing his little sister, Cora sitting in her wheelchair under an enormous oak tree, with Leo hanging upside down over her, his legs hooked over one of the branches. The ten-year-old had her arm raised in the air, her fingers entwined with her brother’s, and they shared matching grins and bright gleams of glee and mischief in their eyes.

Harry’s fond smile grew warmer when she noticed the clothes Leo wore in the photograph—a dark grey, short-sleeved dress shirt under a vivid, crimson waistcoat, his full tattoo sleeves on display as his arms hung down on either side of his sister. The dark circles under the little girl’s eyes made more sense now that Harry realized when the picture had been taken.

The day of Cora’s surgery.

The day of the Malfoys’ Garden Party.

She forced herself to look away, reminding herself that she would be spending several hours sitting a breath away from Leo, and she did not need reminders of that tender moment from months ago running through her brain. Not when her thoughts were already a tangled mess that day, and she might blurt something out. Not when she might do something stupid and impulsive. Not when Leo was close enough to kiss.

She bit down on the inside of her lip and turned to look at an intricate ornamental dagger hanging on another wall. The handle was made of green glass and silver, twisted together like a braid until they fused together at the blade, its thin, delicate edge lined with emerald floral etchings.

“The full stencil needs to go on so you can see what it’ll look like complete,” Leo said, pulling Harry’s attention back to him, “but we’re just doing the lower half today, right?”

Harry nodded, glancing at the translucent sheets of paper Leo had just pulled from the dark wooden desk in one corner of the room. “Yeah,” she said dryly. “The thorns will be for another time.”

In the four months since she’d first told him of her desire for a tattoo, their collaborative design had changed, shifting slightly each time they’d sat in one of their shops huddling over a sketchbook. Her original plan of a half-sleeve, a simple boomslang encircling her forearm, had grown more complex—and larger.

Leo had a policy of not doing full sleeves for first-timers—it was too big of a commitment for someone with no experience with the process and the pain. But he worked with Harry to create a design that could grow over the months or years, starting small and steadily snaking upwards in later sessions without ever appearing incomplete. At any point, Harry could decide to call it finished, whether she left it at the elbow after this first session or continued all the way to her shoulder.

“Well,” Leo said, laying the stencil down on the desk and gesturing towards the large leather tattoo chair with a flourish that made the raven inked across his collarbones seem to flap its wings, “have a seat, Milady.”

“Why, thank you, Your Majesty,” Harry said loftily, tilting her nose up and sitting with exaggerated delicacy on the chair as though it were a throne. She held her arm out while he pulled on black gloves and grabbed a razor and shaving cream.

Leo knelt beside the chair and gently grasped Harry’s arm, turning it slightly and resting it on the wide, solid armrest. As he shaved the fine hairs, he asked, “You had something to eat today, right?”

Harry smiled and nodded, then remembered that he couldn’t see her face since he was so focused on her arm. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Addy spent the night, and Margo came over early this morning, so I made us all French toast and Addy made omelets.”

Leo glanced up at her with an exaggerated pout, saying, “And you didn’t invite me over? How rude.”

Harry snorted.

“I feel like those girls practically live at your shop,” Leo said with a fond smile. “I see them there more than I don’t.”

Harry smiled softly, her lips twitching at the ticklish feeling of the razor gliding over her inner elbow. “They pretty much do live there,” she said, brushing a dark curl off her forehead and tucking it behind her ear. “Ever since Sirius thought giving Addy a drum kit for Christmas would be a good prank on my mum, just about. Addy adored it, spent more time playing than she did doing anything else, so Mum’s grand scheme to get Addy out of the house for at least a few minutes a day was to put the drums somewhere out of the house.”

“And into yours?”

Harry nodded sagely. “And into mine.” Her solemn expression cracked as Leo wiped the last of the foam and hair off her arm with a cold wipe, and she continued, “I don’t really mind all that much, really. I love the little gremlin. Both little gremlins, I guess, although, I don’t know, Margo’s more of a goblin, don’t you think?”

Leo laughed loudly, tilting his head back as he stood and walked to the desk on the other side of the room. “A flower goblin who loves shiny things and food.”

“Exactly! Oh, and loud music,” Harry added. “You can’t forget Margo’s music.”

Leo lifted the long piece of thin stencil paper from the desk drawer and glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised sardonically and a fond smile playing across his lips. “How could I? I can hear it from across the street.”

“It’s quieted down since school started back up, at least; their little band doesn’t have as much time to spend in the back room of my shop.”

“I like hearing them, really,” Leo said. He held out the stencil with a flourish, again showing off the delicate curving lines of dark blue as he walked to Harry. “Ready?”

Harry nodded and held out her arm, letting him spread cool, coconut-scented cream over her arm. “I like it too,” she said, returning to the conversation topic. “They’re good kids, and they’re having so much fun, you can’t help but love it. Besides, anything that gets Margo out of her house is fine by me.”

“Hold that thought, and hold very still,” Leo said. He bit his lip in concentration as he carefully laid the bottom of the stencil over her forearm.

Harry glanced at the thicker, black lines on the stencil that marked the different stages of the full sleeve, her gaze tracing them down to Leo’s hands. She watched his fingers smooth over the paper, her eyes catching on the ink that covered the backs of his hands.

A replica of the shop’s mural was inked onto his right hand—or rather, the mural was a replica of Leo’s ink, as Harry had learned shortly after Leo first started buying flowers for his sketches. He’d told her how it was one of his first designs, originally sketched on the back of his algebra notes during high school, and how the phoenix had shifted and flourished over the years into a swirl of scarlet and gold against smoky background of black.

His left hand had a roaring lion inked across it, the tips of its mane nearly touching the dark cursive letters over his knuckles that spelled ROGUE in a swoop from thumb to pinky. The lion’s eyes were bright purple, seeming to glow when light and shadows hit his skin just right.

Leo’s hands inched upwards, gliding just past her elbow and beginning to wrap fully around her arm. He glanced up at her through his eyelashes, his hazel eyes shimmering. “All good?”

“All good,” Harry confirmed, and Leo flattened his palms over the stencil, pressing more firmly as he moved upwards, sticking the stencil all the way up to just beneath her armpit. In a few especially detailed areas of the design, Leo would linger, his fingers pressing deeper as they danced across her skin, trailing little lines of heat—Harry felt for a moment that the phoenix on his hand had come to life, its fiery feathers brushing over her like a blessing.

Too soon—not soon enough, Harry reminded herself, clenching her jaw for a moment as she tried to get a bloody grip on her feelings—Leo pulled away and straightened up, looking down at her with a crooked smile.

“There,” he said, his eyes glinting with pride. “How did you and the flower goblin meet, anyway?”

Harry blinked up at him, her mind taking a moment to remember that they’d been discussing Margo before he brought over the stencil. “Oh, uh. Hmm.” She frowned, then raised an eyebrow at Leo. “How much has she told you about her family?”

Harry knew the two of them talked together; Margo leaning over his shoulder to watch him sketch as they chatted about music, pastries, and the cool English teacher who gave Margo extra points whenever she doodled on her tests. She didn’t know how much Margo actually talked about herself, however, and she wouldn’t tell that particular story unless Margo had already trusted Leo with those pieces of her life.

From the way Leo’s face immediately darkened, however, Harry didn’t think she’d have any issues.

“Her foster parents? She’s said enough,” he said shortly. “Mostly that they’re dicks. In it only for the money. She’s got a food stash somewhere in her room for if they decide she’s grounded and lock her in.”

Harry sighed and ran her left hand—the one that was not attached to a stencil-covered arm—through her hair. “Yeah, that’s… That’s them. I met Margo when she was fourteen; she’d only been with them for like a month, I think she said. They made her get a work permit and then drove her all around town, making her go into every single shop and ask if they were hiring—and if so, she had to fill out an application. It was like five in the evening when she came into Floral Enchantments. The assholes were sitting in their car, watching her to make sure she actually came inside and talked to me. I don’t know how long she’d been at it.” Harry scowled. “To be perfectly honest, the only reason I hired her was because she looked so bloody miserable.”

Leo hummed sympathetically, his face twisted in a sad grimace.

Harry continued, “And I know they take everything she makes; she doesn’t see a cent of her paycheck. It’s why I set up the tip jar—I never used to have one. Its sole purpose is for Margo to raid it whenever she wants to buy something.”

“So you’ve had her for, what, three years now?” Leo asked. He smirked “Awfully long time to hang onto someone for mere pity.”

His tone was a little too light to be natural, and Harry quickly latched onto his more teasing turn in the conversation, not wanting her thoughts to travel too far down a shadowy, depressing tunnel.

She smiled softly, glancing down as she nodded. “It was a complete impulse decision,” she murmured. “But it’s one of the best ones I ever made.”

Leo gave a soft, lopsided smile, his eyes gleaming as he said, “She’s said the same thing, you know.”

“What, that hiring her was the best thing that ever happened to me?” Harry snorted.

Leo rolled his eyes and shook his head, a dark golden curl falling over his forehead. He brushed it away and said, “No. That you hiring her was the best thing to ever happen to her.”

Harry blinked, her cheeks heating with a blush as she stared at Leo for a moment. She cleared her throat and glanced down, then looked back up at him and said, “Wow.”

Leo laughed gently and began fiddling with a tattoo gun. “The two of you are good for each other.” He looked up from the machine and gestured toward her arm. “Ready to see how it looks?”

Harry grinned. “Absolutely.”

He put the gun down on the metal rolling table near Harry’s chair and pulled over a small folding chair, sitting on it as he grasped the edge of the stencil. “Here goes,” he said, gently pulling it off her arm.

Harry closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as the paper peeled off of her with an odd, sticky sensation.

After two heartbeats of silence, she heard Leo whistle lowly, and she opened her eyes.

She looked down at her arm.

Her breath caught in the back of her throat. “Damn,” she said, her voice hushed. “Leo, that’s…”

“Yeah?” His eyes shone brightly as he looked expectantly at her. “You like it?”

“It’s perfect.”

He broke into a wide grin, his shoulders slumping slightly with relief. He stood and offered her his forearm. “Good. Here, make sure you’re a hundred percent happy with the placement.”

She grasped his arm and stood, letting him lead her to the tall mirror across the room. She turned her arm slightly to look at it from different angles, smiling the entire time.

The boomslang didn’t wrap around her arm like she’d originally planned, but rather, it curved back and forth along the top of her arm in a wave, its pointed head coming just to the bottom of her wrist. The thorns began at her elbow, these curling all the way around her bicep like an armband of tangled vines, the gentle curves of the snake’s body peeking through as it wove in and out of the thorns, the very tip of its tail coming up to her shoulder.

When Harry looked closely, she could just make out the two sections of intersecting vines that created a little point on the snake’s body—one near the bottom of the thorns at her elbow, and one about midway up her upper arm. Leo had designed the tattoo so cleverly, those little points creating a tail for the snake where each stage of the tattoo would stop. Because the tail points were made by the crossing of vines above them, the lines wouldn’t break up the tattoo once Harry decided to continue to the next stage, but rather, the three different pieces would all connect seamlessly, giving off the illusion that the entire sleeve had been inked in one day.

Harry bit her lip and nodded to Leo, unable to think of any words she could say to him except I love you, which she felt was a little too much just then. Her gaze trailed all the way down her arm, watching the boomslang find its way out of the tangled thorns, and then held her arm out as he grabbed a baby wipe off metal rolling table.

“Cool,” he said, looking her arm up and down with a soft sort of awe shimmering in his eyes, like he himself couldn’t believe how gorgeous it was. “Let’s check out just what we’re working on today, yeah?”

She nodded again, still unsure of what to say.

“Sorry, this’ll be a little cold,” Leo said, then started to wipe the stencil ink off her shoulder, gently shifting her arm around to reach the thorns at the underside. He went through several wipes before he got to her elbow, dropping each purple-stained one into a trashcan on the floor. Once he was done, only the bottom of the snake remained, though it didn’t look as though it had been broken apart. The boomslang curved its way across her arm serenely, its scales outlined in thin, delicate curls, and Harry smiled.

“Leo,” she finally said, swallowing dryly. “Leo, this… It’s stunning. I can’t wait to see it with the colors.”

Leo grinned, the flush of his cheeks continuing down his neck, tinting the raven inked over his neck red. “If you’re totally happy with it, I guess it’s time to start stabbing you.”

Harry laughed brightly and went back to the chair. “Stab away!”

Leo snorted and picked up his tattoo gun, fiddling with it some more and then opening little cups of black ink. “Some people like to listen to music while they get inked,” he said, glancing up at Harry for a moment, “or watch a movie or something. Or we can talk, or just be silent. Up to you.”

Harry glanced down at the satchel she’d sat next to her on the wide chair when she’d first sat down, where she had snacks, a bottle of water, and her phone. After a brief moment of consideration, she shook her head.

“I like talking to you,” she said.

Leo looked up, his eyes wide for a moment before he flashed her a bright, crooked grin that made her heart tighten. “I certainly hope you do,” he said, his voice tinged with fond laughter, “considering how often you let me hang out in your shop just to talk. Don’t worry, I like talking to you, too.”

Harry laughed in response, her face scrunched into a playful, teasing expression as she said in a high-pitched, mimicking voice, “I certainly hope you do, considering how often you hang out in my shop just to talk.”

Leo let out a loud bark of laughter and shook his head. “Touché. He sat back in his chair, a tattoo gun in hand, and said, “Ready?”

Harry smiled. “Ready.”

The first thing Harry noticed was how loud the machine was, its buzzing filling her head and almost making her dizzy. Her mind felt empty all of a sudden, nothing there but the buzz. She shut her eyes, regretting it when the darkness filled that emptiness, amplifying the buzzing sound and making it seem to echo.

A light touch on her arm drew her away from the dark, and she opened her eyes to see Leo lightly holding her arm down on the cool stainless steel board that covered the armrest. “Stay still,” he murmured. “Here comes the stabbing.”

After another moment—a final opportunity for Harry to change her mind and back out, if that was what she wanted—Leo touched the needle to her skin, slowly and carefully tracing a curving line of the boomslang in black.

Harry stiffened slightly, as still as though she’d been turned to a marble statue as the pain hit her. When Leo pulled away, she opened her eyes, breathing out slowly as he wiped a paper towel across the small line he’d inked onto her.

“Ouch,” she said blandly.

Leo looked up at her from under his eyelashes, a small smirk playing over his lips. He raised an eyebrow. “Ouch? No shit, Harry.”

“I wasn’t expecting it to burn,” she said thoughtfully. “It feels more hot than anything, really.”

Leo nodded. “That’s a pretty common description I hear. More?”

“No, I just want a centimeter-long line on my arm, nothing more. We’re done here,” Harry said, tilting her nose up snobbishly until she couldn’t hold back her snort of laughter any longer.

Leo sighed, shaking his head exasperatedly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Never said I wasn’t.” Leo winked cheekily, then continued on the line once again.

Harry kept her focus on Leo this time instead of the buzz of the machine, watching how the sun made his hair glitter as he tilted his head and bit his lip in concentration.

“How’s Cora?” Harry asked, the heat of the needles gliding down her forearm like a cat that had dug its claws into her skin. “She’s getting out of the wheelchair soon, right?”

While the surgery and Seifer’s Solution had saved Cora’s life early last summer, the healing process was a slow one, and Harry knew it would take months for Cora to relearn how to walk, even once she regained the strength and energy required.

Leo nodded, his gaze fixed on Harry’s arm as he wiped ink off her skin again. “Next month, she gets crutches. She’s juggling again already, though.”

Harry smiled, thinking of the exuberant little girl her mum used to babysit and remembering the way Cora would juggle literally anything she could get her hands on—three apples,  stuffed animals, rocks she’d found in the Potters’ backyard, and, on one memorable and messy occasion, the salt and pepper shakers.

“Sounds like her,” Harry said. “I still can’t believe I knew you both separately but had no idea you were related.”

Leo laughed. “Seriously, what are the odds?”

From there, their conversation turned to unusual customers they’d each experienced, such as the client Leo had to turn away after he’d gotten a woman’s name tattooed on his leg, gotten a cover-up job on it a few months later, and then repeated this process two more times with new names.

“How about this,” Harry said around a laugh. “I had a jerk buy a dozen roses as an apology for cheating on his wife on their anniversary. I told him he was going to need a lot more than roses.”

Leo cringed, hissing through his teeth. “Watch it turn out it’s the same as my name guy.”

Harry giggled, shaking her head and completely forgetting the way the needles burned for a moment. “That would be crazy.”

A while later, when the outline and each individual scale had been completed, Leo released a heavy sigh and stood from his chair, turning the gun off and starting to switch out the needles. “So she was like eight, yeah?” he said, continuing a story about Cora’s childhood misadventures. “And she comes to my room and announces that she is going to run away and join the circus.”

“Oh, no way!” Harry burst out laughing, doubling over and resting her head on her knees as she fought to contain her laughter and catch her breath. When she looked back up, her glasses were crooked and tears blurred her vision. Still laughing, she wiped away the moisture and fixed her glasses, looking at Leo to see him pouting at her.

“I swear, I’m not making this up,” he said. “Seriously, she did.”

“No, no,” Harry said, taking a deep breath, her shoulders still trembling with barely-suppressed giggles. “I believe you, I do. It’s just… Archie did the same thing when we were kids.”

Leo’s jaw dropped open. “No way. What happened?”

“I supported him wholeheartedly in his endeavor to run off and become a trapeze artist,” Harry said primly. “I set off a glitter bomb in the house as a distraction—my parents and Sirius were too busy freaking out (or in Sirius’s case, giving me high fives) to notice Archie slip out the front door. Only problem was that I forgot about Remus. Not two minutes later, he came inside with Archie slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”

“I love that,” Leo said with a bright smile. “That’s amazing.”

Leo took his seat once more and started the shading, the machine buzzing loudly once again.

As the minutes went by—an hour soon gone—Harry began to feel its vibrations in her skull once more, her thoughts shifting closer to the darkness she’d been trying to push back all morning long.

She grew quieter, Leo leading the conversation as she merely hummed in agreement or occasionally laughed at something he’d said. She could feel the dull pressure of a headache forming just behind her eyes, and she pulled the bottle of water from her purse, taking a few slow sips.

“This part will probably be the most painful,” Leo warned, and she blinked blearily at him, glancing down at where he loosely held her wrist. The snake’s head was the only part that needed to be colored and shaded. “Lots of little bones here, and the less squishy areas tend to be the worst. It should be pretty quick, though.”

Harry gave him an encouraging smile, though it felt weak even to her. “Can’t be worse than that time I broke my wrist when I was a kid.”

Leo grimaced and clicked his tongue sympathetically. “How are you still alive? I swear, you go through more mishaps than anyone I know.”

His words cut into her mind and echoed through her veins, taking the darkness that had been lingering in her brain and carrying it down until her ribs ached and her stomach twisted.

Leo didn’t even know the worst of her mishaps. He didn’t know that she almost wasn’t—

She bit her tongue hard enough to stop that thought in its tracks.

“Well, I’m ready,” she said.

Leo nodded.

The machine buzzed.

Just as Leo had warned, the burning sensation increased as he moved the needles in tiny circles over her wrist, and for a moment, she thought she could feel its vibrations in her clenched jaw, rattling through her brain and down to her heart. She heard the rush of her heavy pulse in her ears, but even that couldn’t drown out the buzz, and soon, everything felt empty and blank once more.

The darkness began to creep inside, and Harry’s stomach tightened as she tried to think of something else, anything else that wasn’t a small, dark space with only a tiny crack of light coming in under the door.

The needle moved, jabbing right over a bone until Harry felt like her entire hand had been covered in a swarm of ants, biting and burning.

She gasped and squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden pain.

It was dark.

Dark.

Small.

She was going to die in there.

“Stop!” Harry gasped out, her voice barely more than a tight whisper.

Immediately, the pain eased, and the buzzing stopped, but the darkness didn’t recede.

“—ear me? Harry? Harry!”

She heard his voice as though from another room, or like she was underwater, but it was just enough to ground her.

She kept her eyes shut as she pressed a hand to her head, where pain had begun to spike with every heartbeat. “I’m fine,” she said weakly, though Leo’s concerned huff told her he didn’t believe a word of it.

“Are you going to be sick?” he asked, and she heard a lot of shuffling sounds as he presumably stood up and put the machine down. “You need some water, or… shit, you haven’t eaten anything since you’ve been here, is that what’s wrong?”

It wasn’t, but it probably hadn’t helped her situation, and eating something might help distract her from her memories, so she nodded, her eyes still closed. “Could you… in my bag, Margo took the liberty of packing my snacks for me.”

She felt the bag move away from her hip and listened to the soft sounds of fabric shifting and the items in her bag clinking together as Leo dug through it.

“Do you want an applesauce pouch or some candy?” he asked.

Harry grunted. “I’ve been stabbed hundreds of times today, I think I deserve some candy.”

“Fair enough,” Leo said, then he reached forward and gently pried her hand from off her forehead, placing a few soft gummies in her hand and curling her fingers around them with so much tenderness that Harry’s heart ached.

She lifted her hand to her mouth, popping the gummies in.

The sickly-sweet flavor of spearmint burst across her tongue.

Harry gagged.

She clapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes flew open, but she still felt locked in the dark, not really seeing the world.

A paper towel was pressed against the hand on her mouth, and she took it, spitting the half-chewed gummies into it and balling it up.

“Fucking mint,” she whispered weakly. “I can’t… I can’t—”

It was dark.

She was going to die in there.

She would never get out.

It was dark.

Nobody would ever know.

She was going to die in there.

“Harry, you need to listen to me.”

It was dark.

“Harry, please.” The voice was far away, hissing against her ears like a breeze.

She couldn’t get out.

“Harry, I can’t help you if I don’t know what—Harry? Harry!”

Leo.

Harry gasped, her eyes shooting open as she panted for breath. The darkness still pressed at the edges of her vision, still trying to creep its way over her mind again, but it had cleared slightly, a light in the smoke.

“Leo,” she whispered shakily.

She saw him now. His eyes shone as his face slackened with relief.

“There you are,” he whispered like a prayer. “Harry, you. How can I… Do you want something to drink? Get the mint flavor away?”

Just the word mint made Harry flinch, and Leo mimicked the movement, his eyes wide and wary as he watched for her response.

Harry swallowed, shuddering when spearmint still lingered on her tongue, and nodded. “Please,” she said.

“I’ve got Gatorade,” Leo said, standing from where he’d been kneeling beside her and taking a step backwards, still facing her, “or, uh, coconut water? Either of those fine?”

Harry took a short breath. “Uh. Coconut is… coconut’s fine.”

Leo nodded and rushed out of the room.

His absence left an emptiness.

The darkness pushed forward.

“No,” Harry growled to herself, clenching her fists until her nails bit into her palms. “No.”

She looked around, her gaze fixating on the family photographs—Eleni and the late Malcolm Hurst standing behind a teenaged Leo in his crimson high school cap-and-gown, Leo holding an impossibly tiny infant Cora, his grin so bright and real that Harry felt he might turn that smile to her, Leo hanging upside down from a tree, holding Cora’s hand on the same day Harry realized she was falling in love with him.

She was in love with him.

She wasn’t in the dark.

Leo was light.

She was safe.

Leo skidded back into the room, gripping the doorframe as he spun around the corner. His eyes were frantic as he rushed to Harry, kneeling down again and cracking the lid of a bottle open before handing it off to Harry.

She pressed it to her lips and tipped it back, the sweet, sharp taste of coconut water washing away the mint and refreshing her, its coolness helping her remember how to breathe and be alive.

She was alive.

It wasn’t dark.

Leo was right there, staring up at her with a scared look in his eyes that slowly softened as Harry finished the coconut water and placed the empty bottle on the metal table.

“I’m fine,” Harry said, her voice rasping.

Leo swallowed audibly, his throat bobbing. “I don’t’ think we can call what just happened ‘fine’.”

“I’m fine now,” she amended. When Leo’s concerned gaze didn’t change, she continued, “Sometimes I have bad days, and I just… can’t stand the taste of certain things. I never told Margo; haven’t had a reason to, really. She doesn’t usually choose my food.”

“You really should eat something,” Leo said. “I, uh, have granola bars stashed somewhere, uh…” He stood and opened a drawer in the large wooden desk and dug through it, a few things rustling loudly until he made a triumphant sound and held his hand up, something green and shiny in his hands. “Found them!” He looked at the labels for a moment, then looked back at Harry and asked, “Almonds or peanuts okay?”

“No almonds,” Harry said quickly, her words so rushed they started to slur together.

“Peanuts?” Leo asked, walking back to her. When she nodded, he handed her one of the bars and set the other down.

Harry’s fingers shook as she ripped the wrapper, but as soon as she took a bite, the crunch loud in the too-quiet room, she could feel the darkness start to retreat.

By the time she finished the granola bar, her pulse had slowed back to normal, her breath coming easily once more.

She looked at Leo, who had been kneeling by her side for the past—she glanced at a clock, blinking when she realized it was after 1:30 already—fifteen minutes or more. His hands twitched at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them, like he wanted to reach out to her but didn’t know if he was allowed.

Harry slid her arm off the chair, letting it dangle over the side until she was only an inch away from Leo’s hand.

He looked up at her with awe in his eyes, and slowly reached up to carefully lace their fingers together.

“You… you asked me once,” Harry said slowly, squeezing his hand a little tighter as she worked up the courage, “how an apothecary becomes a florist.”

Leo blinked and nodded, squinting at her. “And you said you weren’t ready to tell that story.”

“I suppose I’m ready now,” Harry said. He deserved to know.

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Harry.”

“I want to tell you.”

Leo closed his mouth with a little click, then stood just long enough to sit back down in his chair, still holding Harry’s hand. His thumb brushed against the inside of her wrist, near the unfinished head of her boomslang. “Then I’ll listen.”

Harry sighed, running her free hand through her curls as she thought of how to begin.

“Six years ago, I… ran away from home,” she said. She paused, then gave a low and bitter laugh, shaking her head slightly. “I mean. I didn’t run away; I was nineteen. I just… moved out. Spontaneously. Without telling anyone. Ugh, I ran away.”

Harry hated the way she stumbled over her words, embarrassed by her agitated state.

She started again. “I was just. I felt suffocated, at home. I just needed to get out. Get away. I rented the first available apartment I could afford, set up an apothecary lab that wasn’t technically legal in my room, and got a job brewing for a little clinic in the city. My landlord had one rule: don’t go to the third floor. So I didn’t. Until I accidentally pressed the wrong button on the elevator on my way home from delivering tonics, and I walked right into a drug deal.”

Leo’s hand tensed in hers.

“My landlord was apparently running a gang,” Harry said as casually as though she were remarking on the recent chrysanthemum delivery at the shop. “The apartments were a front, which would explain why I was one of like two or three people living in the entire building, I suppose. One of my landlord’s… henchmen, I guess you’d call him? He was running the deal. I panicked. He panicked. Next thing I know, I’m being dragged into an empty linen closet and I’m locked in.

“I’d dropped my phone,” she continued hollowly. “All I had was my travel kit of apothecary ingredients. I was left in there for… Honestly, I don’t even really know how long. I’ve tried to count backwards from when I… I just don’t know. Days, maybe a week, even?”

“God,” Leo rasped. “Harry.”

“I thought I was going to die in there.” She took a deep, rattling breath. “I sorted through my travel kit by the crack of light under the door, rationed out whatever was edible—dried ginger, almond paste, a fresh cutting of aloe vera—”

“Mint,” Leo interrupted, almost choking on the word the way Harry had choked on the gummies earlier.

She nodded weakly. “Yeah. I, uh, avoid those kind of flavors on bad days. Fortunately, a lot of what I ate aren’t typical flavorings—like aloe, yuck. Fresh stuff smells like a fart when you first cut a leaf, and it doesn’t taste much better. A slimy, bitter fart.” Harry shuddered exaggeratedly, coaxing a strained laugh from Leo.

Harry sighed and wiggled her fingers slightly, tapping her fingertips over Leo’s knuckles.

After a few silent seconds, she said, “When the door finally opened, I thought I went blind. It was so fucking bright. I thought I was dying all over again. Landlord tied me to a chair, gave me water. He’d found out I was an apothecary—the henchman who locked me in the linen closet recognized me.” Harry laughed sardonically, her lip curling in disgust. “You know how he recognized me? Because he was one of my dad’s best friends in high school. There’s a parallel universe out there somewhere where he’s as much my uncle as Sirius and Remus.”

Leo shuddered, his hand twitching in hers. His face had turned pale and ashy at some point, except for two deep red spots on his cheeks, and there was a deep shadow over his eyes.

She tried not to remember Pettigrew’s face, the way his pointy nose scrunched in confusion as they’d stared at each other. She tried not to remember the way she’d froze, startled and baffled into complete shock. She tried not to remember the roughness of the short carpet in the closet, or the thin crack in the corner of the drywall.

Harry cleared her throat as she tried not to remember. “I was given a deal. A recipe, actually. Their drug-brewer had died, and nobody else knew what to do.” Harry took a deep breath. She gripped Leo’s hand tighter. She pushed the darkness away. “I could brew them drugs, or I could be locked back in the linen closet.”

“You did what you had to do,” Leo said, leaning closer. A curl fell over his forehead, but he didn’t move.

Harry shook her head as she reached out and pushed the lock of hair out of his face, smoothing it down tenderly with the backs of her knuckles. “I didn’t brew the drugs,” she said. “I let them think I was. They didn’t know what the process was supposed to look like.” She swallowed thickly, grabbing her water bottle and taking a small sip. She looked down at their interlaced hands as she whispered, “I was brewing a bomb.”

The sudden silence clung to her like she’d been standing in a thunderstorm that poured quiet instead of water. She was drenched in it, drowning in it.

“Harry.” Leo’s voice was barely audible. His eyes had widened until Harry thought they might pop out of his head entirely as he stared at her like she was a ghost.

“I was going to bring the whole apartment building down with them inside it,” she said. She choked on her next words, almost unable to speak them aloud. “With me inside it.”

Her fingers tingled coldly, starting to go numb under the death grip Leo had on her.

“Leo,” she breathed, watching his hollow gaze snap to hers. “Leo, I’m okay, yeah? I’m here. I need you to understand something for me: I didn’t want to die. It’s really important to me you understand that, okay? I have never wanted to die.” She choked on the truth, the words coming out heavily. “I was just more afraid of being trapped in that linen closet again than I was of dying.”

Neither of them spoke for a long minute.

Finally, when Harry couldn’t stand the empty silence any longer, when she started remembering that crack in the drywall and the stale scent of dust and mothballs, she sighed, tilting her head down and rubbing at her temples.

“You’re here,” Leo said, squeezing her fingers lightly. He said it like a prayer, like it was a gift. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” Harry repeated, looking at him through the curls that had fallen over her face when she’d looked down.

“How did you…?”

“Get out?” Harry asked, and Leo nodded. She straightened up and rolled her shoulders back to relieve some of the tension she’d been carrying all afternoon, then leaned back in her chair and said, “I’ve told you about my old apothecary mentor?”

“The professor,” Leo responded.

Harry smiled. “Yeah, Professor Snape. After I graduated high school and got my mastery a few months later, he had a research trip, and we lost touch. But after I moved into the apartment, I reached out, and soon we were emailing back and forth. He came back to the city, and I invited him over for tea in a couple of weeks.”

“But then you were…”

Her smile turned bitter as she nodded. “He got worried about my sudden silence, and he came by the apartment. I’ll be perfectly honest, I don’t remember much about that day, but from what I’ve been told, it was a very dramatic rescue. He apparently could smell what I was brewing as soon as he walked in the front door. Went running through the building to warn any residents. He didn’t find any residents.”

“He found you?”

“He found me. Scooped me up and ran. The building blew a few minutes after we got outside. The man who locked me in the closet was in there. My landlord got away, but was arrested a month later. Really, I just remember waking up in a hospital room with my family all crowded inside. After that, I just... I couldn't, couldn't keep doing it. I couldn't brew. But I couldn't leave it completely, so I started working with flowers. Things got better, and I renewed my apothecary license, but flowers are still easier. Hmm. The, uh… the day…”

She trailed off and glanced down at her bag, where Margo had packed Harry snacks because she cared.

Harry blinked and said, “I walked onto the third floor on October 19^th.”

Leo stared blankly at her for a moment, and then all the color drained from his face, leaving him pale as a corpse. “We could have done this a different day, Harry.”

She smiled at him and lifted her free hand to brush her fingertips lightly over his cheekbone. “I know. I wanted it to be today. I thought… I wasn’t planning on a panic attack, trust me. I just knew I wanted this tattoo now.”

They both looked down at her arm at the same time, and Harry couldn’t help but soften as she saw the snake slithering down her arm, its vibrant scales as emerald as her eyes.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Leo asked, his voice more breath than sound. He looked up at her, his eyes glimmering brightly. “The boomslang coming out of the thorns, it’s you.”

Harry grinned. She’d discussed the design with others, family and friends, but Leo was the first to actually make the connection.

“Yes, it is,” she murmured. She looked into Leo’s hazel eyes and saw nothing but awe and admiration there—emotions she was sure were mirrored in her own gaze as she looked at him. “I’ve encountered a lot of thorns in my life, and I’ve made it through.”

“That you have,” Leo said. “You’re brave, Harry. And you have so much life. You’re something special.”

Harry flushed, her face hot and her heart fluttering wildly. Leo’s face was also tinted pink, but he didn’t break the almost sacred gaze they held together.

She watched as the emotions in his eyes shifted, until she was certain what she saw there was what she’d been fighting against since they sat together at the Malfoy’s summer charity gala.

She saw love in Leo’s eyes.

Her pulse quickened, but this time, no smoky curl of darkness crept in behind her. Instead, Harry’s heart was full of nothing but light, light she saw in Leo’s eyes as he watched her watching him.

Harry loved their friendship.

She’d told herself she wouldn’t risk it for anything.

But maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as big of a risk as she’d initially thought.

“Leo,” she whispered. She leaned closer until she couldn’t see anything except for his face. “Leo, can I…?”

Leo’s eyes darkened for a moment, his lips parting around a tiny gasp.

He backed away, their fingers slipping apart.

Harry flinched, immediately berating herself. She’d risked it.

She’d lost it.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Leo said, reaching out to take her hand again. “It’s not that I… Harry, look at me?”

She swallowed and hesitantly lifted her head to meet his eyes again. The love was still there, but it sat just beside a small glimmer of fear. She didn’t understand.

“I’m here for you, no matter what,” Leo said solemnly. “Your emotions have been all over the place in the last hour—understandably so—and I just don’t want… If it’s just because I’m here… Harry, I do not expect anything of you. You know that, right? You don’t owe me anything. If you don’t mean it, I… I can’t. I won’t.”

Harry sat there, staring dumbfounded at the marvelous, kindhearted, genuine man in front of her who could somehow be so lovely and so bloody dense.

“Leo,” she said, her lips twitching as she fought back a smile. “Leo, I’ve loved you since the gala.”

Leo’s eyebrows shot up, his mouth dropping open as he stared at her, completely baffled.

Harry gave a soft, fond laugh.

Leo shook his head slightly as though checking that he wasn’t dreaming, and said, “Harry, you…” he broke off in a short laugh and blinked. “I can google pictures of flowers to use for reference, you know.”

Harry cocked her head, startled. “What?”

Leo smiled, a soft, tentative thing that slowly grew wider and bolder as he spoke. “I’ve been in love with you since you introduced yourself by bringing three bouquets over here for The Rogue’s opening day.”

“That was almost two years ago.”

“Yeah,” Leo said sheepishly, ducking his head and rubbing at the inked wing that curled up his collarbone to his shoulder. “I have loved being your friend, Harry, I wouldn’t risk that for anything. I never expected anything.”

“I know,” she said. She shifted in the chair, twisting her hips and leaning closer to him again, touching the light stubble on his jaw. “Leo, can I…?”

He answered by closing the gap between them and kissing her.

Harry had never believed that you felt fireworks when you kissed the right person.

She was right. This wasn’t fireworks.

This—this felt like home.

Harry didn’t leave The Rogue until almost three o’ clock. After crossing the street, she glanced behind her to see Leo standing in the window, watching her leave with a grin that matched Harry’s as she waved to him and then went into Floral Enchantments.

There was nobody in the main room of the shop, and the lights were all out, but the deafening wail of guitar riffs and drums made it obvious that the teenagers were all gathered in the back.

Harry dropped her coat and hat on the counter, then followed the sound of rock music to the back, flipping on the hall light as she walked.

In the back room, in the middle of cardboard boxes filled with vases and foam, and more flowers that Harry couldn’t fit in the front of the shop, there was a large empty area with cords trailing across the floor to each teenager’s instruments and amps. Addy sat in the middle, behind her bright blue drum kit, with Henry and Jason on either side of her, each playing guitar. In the front and center of it all stood Margo, a microphone in front of her and her fuchsia bass hanging from her shoulder as she played a fast, dark melody.

Addy was the first to notice Harry’s appearance, and she immediately jumped up, tucking the sticks into her messy bun of red curls as she ran up to Harry. The rest of the music quickly faded away as the rest of the kids noticed her.

“Hey, Harry!” Jason called, tossing his pick in the air like a coin and catching it.

Harry waved at them all.

“You’re late!” Addy said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Harry ruffled her sister’s hair, ignoring the squawk of protest when she dislodged the drumsticks. “I know, I’m sorry.” Harry’s chest had tightened with guilt when Addy texted her while Leo gave her aftercare instructions for the tattoo, saying If you’ve been kidnapped again I swear I’ll kill you myself.

Addy huffed, but the scowl on her face was quickly replaced with eager curiosity, and she started to bounce on her toes. “Well? Come on, show me, show me!”

Harry laughed. “All right, all right, here.” She held her arm out, displaying the tattoo carefully wrapped in plastic.

Leo hadn’t wanted to finish it that day. “You just had a panic attack,” he’d said.

But Harry shook her head and gave him her arm again, insisting that she was all right now. “Just keep talking to me,” she’d told him. “I want this finished.”

Another kiss convinced him.

Her head had been so full of the feeling of his chapped lips against hers, his hands on her shoulders and sliding up to tangle in her short curls that there was no room for darkness. No room for mint, or a crack in the corner of the drywall.

Addy gasped as she gently held Harry’s arm and examined the ink, and Harry looked down at her arm, again admiring the intricate texture of shimmering snakeskin, the sharp angle of the boomslang’s pointed head on her wrist, the gentle curve as it slithered down her skin.

It was perfect.

“Harry, it’s gorgeous,” Addy said reverently.

The other kids had gathered behind her, and Margo pushed her way to the front, a wicked grin on her face as she looked at the boomslang.

“That is epic,” Margo said. Her eyes shone with mischief as she said, “Do I really need parental consent to get a tattoo?”

Harry snorted. “Yes. You’re just going to have to wait until June if you want one.”

Margo sighed. “Damn.”

She and the boys quickly went back to their instruments, but Addy lingered, concern etched in the crease of her forehead. “Harry, are you all right? You said you’d be back ages ago; did something happen?”

Harry pulled her sister into a sideways hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m fine now,” she said. “I did have a panic attack, though.”

Addy pulled away, looking up at her with wide eyes. “Oh, Harry.”

Harry shrugged, a small, happy grin playing over her lips as she said, “I’m all right now. Oh, and there was one other thing that took a while.”

“What’s that?”

Harry started to walk away, then glanced over her shoulder just long enough to say, “I got a boyfriend.”

A beat of silence.

“You, what—Harriet!”

Harry cackled and grinned.