Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Edward knew he’d chosen wisely.

Parties were the best place to conduct business; drink flowed, and people were in good spirits and willing towards things they’d not be else. Such as agreeing to terms that they’d normally scoff at.

But the setting had to perfect, and the selection of people present was essential to creating the right atmosphere.

Astoria Greengrass was who he’d needed, and fortunately for him, planning such parties as he had in mind was something she enjoyed. It hadn’t taken much convincing.

He couldn’t say he had minded seeing her on a more regular basis, either. No man could complain about coming upon the image of a beautiful woman perched on the edge of his desk, legs crossed and flipping through her dossier while she waited for him. They were memories he was rather fond of as she always wore little dresses that tended to slide up her thigh.

He’d just arrived at the lounge, and as his gaze swept the dimly lit room he was pleased by what he saw. The low murmur of jazz music filtered through the room, overlaying the hum of conversation and adding to the intimate atmosphere.

Perfect.

An attractive waitress approached him and offered him the only contents of her tray, a highball glass whose contents was aged scotch on the rocks – his drink of choice. Edward’s lips twitched and he scanned the room for the woman who, of course, would have planned even his first drink to the last detail.

When he spotted Astoria, the smile that had been about to peek out disappeared. His gaze went focused as he took in the situation and found himself very much displeased for the first time that evening.

He did not like the way Kenneth Anderson was touching Astoria. The fingers tracing a light line down her bare arm as he leaned into her space and the slightly startled expression on her face did nothing to allay the irritation making his eyes darken as he moved across the room.

“Ken, good to see you could make it, though you’ve a bit of a cause to celebrate with the new acquisition,” Edward said smoothly, presenting a pleasant expression though his eyes were intent on the other man.

“Celebrate for a month after snatching up Prim Pram Publishing,” Kenneth replied with a chuckle as he shook Edward’s hand, though he was wary of the look in the other man’s eyes.

“As you should,” Edward agreed easily before finally turning to Astoria. He slid his free hand to the base of her spine, aware of the brush of soft, warm skin teasing a few of his fingertips from the decidedly low cut on the back of her dress. Her eyes were bright as she looked up at him and he was inordinately pleased when she seemed to unconsciously lean into him.

Edward’s gaze slid back to Kenneth then, intent. “And I see you’ve met my hostess for the evening. Miss Greengrass, Mr. Anderson – primary shareholder of Anderson & Anderson, Co. Mr. Anderson, Miss Astoria Greengrass,” he watched the other man and resisted the urge to let his hand slide across the silk of her dress and skin and curl around her hip, “my hostess for this party, but more importantly, a close friend of the Carmichael family.”

Not one of the party favors then, Kenneth thought as he took Astoria’s offered hand and chastely kissed her knuckles, releasing her a moment later. “Pleasure, Miss Greengrass. Now I know who to come to at the end of the evening to compliment for the wonderful time I had tonight,” he said genially, smile touching his lips as his eyes flicked from Edward to the beautiful young woman. No, Edward’s then. Good to know.

“I’ll look for you, Mr. Anderson,” Astoria replied, a small smile curling her lips. “It was lovely to meet you.”

It was taking almost all of Astoria’s concentration to carry on being the perfect socialite. Mr. Anderson had surprised her with his forwardness and she’d not had a chance to subtly try and disengage the situation before Edward had arrived.

She’d been immensely relieved that he’d take the time to come see her as she knew he had a plethora of people to converse with for the evening, but she’d not been prepared for the sizzling energy coming off of him as he’d neared. Edward’s touch on her back had fairly been a brand of heat and possession, and she’d almost lost all her focus except that he’d kept her there with his gaze steady on hers.

Unconsciously, she leaned back into Edward’s hand and smiled at the other man. “I do hope you have the wonderful time you expect,” she added.

“I’ve no doubt if you planned the evening’s entertainment,” Kenneth nodded before deciding it was time he made his exit.

“Do find me later, Edward. I’ve a proposition for you that I believe you’ll find most interesting,” Kenneth said before melting back into the crowd.

Edward followed Kenneth with his eyes for a moment before turning his gaze to the woman next to him. Only now did he take his time to appreciate the picture she made; deep purple silk, almost black it was so dark, draped elegantly and showing every soft curve to advantage. It made one think of running their hands over the soft, clingy fabric that would surely be warmed by the skin beneath; mapping her small waist, the gentle curve of her hips, the soft roundness of her breasts that were teasingly visible by the low gather of fabric that was apparently supposed to pass for a neckline.

“You look beautiful, as always, Astoria,” Edward said after the long moments of his perusal, voice low.

“Thank you,” she replied, if a bit breathy. A light flush was creeping over her as he looked at her, his gaze a heavy thing warming her skin.

Chapter Text

“Happy graduation, little one,” Roger grinned, tapping Astoria’s nose.

“Thank you,” Astoria replied as she crinkled her nose indignantly. It was never encouraging when a man one thought attractive tended to treat one like a little sister - a twelve year old little sister at that, despite his ‘happy graduation’ wishes.

“It was good of you to come. I know you’ve a game in France this weekend,” she continued a moment later, determined to at least sound grown even if Roger was insistent on seeing her forever as Michael Corner’s little sister, and therefore his own, as well.

“Couldn’t miss your party,” Roger replied, grinning down at the small girl – no, woman - before him. It had somehow escaped him that Astoria had grown up. The last he’d seen her, she’d been in her Hogwarts colors. However, seeing her out of such and in the current little silk dress she now wore was a forceful reminder that Astoria was most definitely graduated and not a girl anymore.

“And the free stout,” he added, grin going crooked as he saluted her with his beer bottle, albeit one as ‘fancy’ as they came. He was sure Michael had had something to do with their presence at all.

Eyes narrowing at Roger, Astoria said, “I was going to wish you luck, and was even contemplating on attending the match, but I think I’ll refrain from both now.”

“I didn’t mean it like …” Roger began, brow furrowed. Before he could finish though, a society matron with too many peacock feathers flouncing out of the bodice of her dress robes swooped in and ushered Astoria away with congratulations of her own.

Roger’s gaze followed her a long moment, eyes drifting down to the flounce of the silk hem against her thighs before he took a drink of his beer, confused frown still marring his features. Shaking his head at the puzzle that was little Astoria Greengrass, Roger ambled on in search of Michael.

Glancing back over her shoulder when she could, Astoria saw Roger walking away and she let out a defeated little sigh. She turned back to old Mrs. Kensington then, and offered a wan smile. “Yes, thank you, I …”

Chapter Text

As Astoria sat on the stool in the front of the Great Hall, all eyes on her, she could feel her hands start to tremble. Everyone was watching her.

It wouldn’t do to show that she was nervous and homesick already though. Especially not in front of her cousin.

Her big brown eyes drifted to the Slytherin table then, and found the blonde beauty in a moment – Daphne Greengrass, ice princess of the dungeons.

Astoria resisted the urge to crinkle her nose at her cousin’s haughty looks, and turned her attention to the Ravenclaw table where her brother sat. When she met his gaze, she could feel a smile wanting to burst forth, big and bright. Even though she was far from Mummy and Papa now, at least she got to be with Michael again.

It wouldn’t do to show her happiness in front of the whole of the school, either, though.

Astoria knew one must always keep up appearances, even if one was a first year that was about to be sorted.

“Are you ready then, dear?” McGonnagal asked her gently.

Big, dark eyes drifted up to the older woman that had spoken to her, and Astoria nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

Her heart pounded so that she was sure the whole of the room could hear it, and her fingers drifted to the hem of her pleated skirt, touching the fabric and the softness of her skin in turn.

Another Greengrass, hmm? You’ve a busy mind, my dear – hard working and loyal, Hufflepuff, perhaps?

Astoria frowned at the Sorting Hat’s comments. She would not be a Hufflepuff.

No? You’ve the spunk for Gryffindor, and your mind’s quicker than a whip, but I think you’ll have to be in… “SLYTHERIN!” the Hat shouted.

There was a twinge of disappointment that she would not be in Michael’s house, but Astoria was mostly as thrilled as could be. She’d show Daphne and everyone else that she was the best of snakes. That is, after she got over being homesick.

As she rose from the stool, Astoria smoothed her hands over the short, pleated skirt and raised her gaze to her House’s table. She didn’t dare think to approach her cousin on the first day. No, there was an order to things, she knew, and right now she was at the very bottom of the pile.

Her hands started to tremble as she realized she was on her own; no Mummy or Papa, no Michael and though she was familiar with many who sat at the table, they weren’t hers.

Raising a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, the long, silky fall not really needing the adjustment, she headed towards the snakes, her new ‘family.’ Gaze scanning quickly over all the occupants, her step almost faltered when she was caught by bright blue eyes intent on her – a boy who didn’t look much older than herself, though she could tell in a moment’s evaluation that he definitely wasn’t a first year, either.

His lips twitched into the barest of smiles and his brows rose at her as he nodded towards the seat beside him that was open.

Astoria looked between where most the other first years had congregated at the end of the table and back to the boy who had invited her to sit with him. Her expression didn’t so much as change, as brighten, as she changed direction and headed towards him. It was an excellent beginning to be noticed by an older student.

And he had really pretty eyes. And she liked his hair too – messy without being uncared for.

Settling beside him, it wasn’t until she was sitting next to him that she realized how much bigger than her he was; though everyone was bigger than her, so that couldn’t really be counted. He was still watching her intently though.

“You already know my name,” she pointed out quietly as the ceremony continued.

“I do,” he acknowledged, eyes amused.

The boy on the other side of her turned around then and glared at her, and Astoria’s gaze drifted to the Prefect’s badge on his robes. It was probably best if she didn’t get in trouble on her very first night at the castle.

She shifted minutely closer to the boy with the pretty eyes though, already quite put off of the older boy with nothing but glares for her.

Astoria wasn’t sure she liked this new family. No, not at all. She felt alone.

“Jason Harper,” came the whispered response, finally, just a breath across her ear. “Jace.”

Astoria turned her face up to him as he pulled back. That damn smirk was still playing at his lips, but he glanced down and then back at her, seeming to want to show her something.

Pulling her gaze from his, Astoria glanced down to see his hand held out. She looked back up at him again, suspicious. She thought she was covering her anxiousness at being here at all, fairly well.

Though there was a small curl to Jace’s lips, his eyes were open and bright, intent still.

He didn’t seem to want to be making fun of her, and Astoria hesitantly slid her hand into his and linked their fingers. When he didn’t do anything but give her small paw a gentle squeeze, Astoria finally relaxed and held onto him tightly.

“Thank you, Jason” she whispered, no more than a breath that only he would hear.

“Always, Principessa.”

Chapter Text

They traveled in packs. Girls. Or perhaps it was flocks, Blake mused.

Leaning against the archway of the Great Hall, he watched as a large group of Ravenclaws moved in his direction en route to dinner. There was Terry who was a little too loud, center of attention, to make up for his breeding - or lack thereof. And there was Michael ambling along to the side. Their gazes met and both boys nodded at each other. Michael was much more than his housemates knew, which amused Blake to no end.

There was also Morag scowling at Terry and turning to Anthony to make her displeasure known, the quiet Claw just nodding, derisive blue gaze sliding to his yearmate, and then to himself. A smile touched Anthony's lips and Blake nodded again, his own blue eyes dancing merrily.

Then there was Lisa, always smiling, Padma, nose stuck in another Jane Austen novel, and finally Mandy, flitting from one to the other, whispering, giggling and smiling with all of them.

As they walked through the arch and into the Hall, she was close. It was only the slightest shift of his hand and her hair slid through his fingers.

Soft, just as he'd thought.

Blinking, Mandy was distracted from whatever line of thought she'd been babbling at Lisa and turned to Blake.

He just smirked, hands finding the bottom of his pockets again.

Mandy kept on walking, but glanced over her shoulder once they'd sat down. Who was he?

Chapter Text

"Lola."

"What?" Bright blue eyes turned towards Emma, albeit an upside down pair.

"You're about to show you knickers to everyone!" Despite her protestation, Emma's smile was delightedly big.

"It's not as if everyone's hasn’t seen them," Lola posited, wriggling so that her skirt slipped even further down her thighs. In her perch upside down on the sofa in the library, legs tossed over the back, she was very close to flashing a good part of those present.

"How 'bout Graham," Emma suggested, "has he seen them?" A wicked little smile pulled at Emma’s lips as she met the Lola’s startled gaze.

"No. Graham Pritchard is the biggest arse of a shite pricking hippogriff,” Lola spat indignantly.

Emma giggled. "I don't think he'd mind."

Lola huffed, gaze irrevocably drawn to the object of their conversation at a table across the room. She absently turned a page of the book on her stomach (If she was turning pages, it counted as reading, right?).

"I don't think I'd mind if Blake Dunstan wanted a peek of my knickers," she said thoughtfully, gaze ticking from Graham to the older blond he sat with.

Emma wriggled down to lay next to her friend then, face cradled in her hands and Mary-Janes kicking in the air. "I don't think I'd mind if Blake Dunstan saw my knickers, either," she whispered.

Bright blue eyes flew to her and it was only a moment before Lola had slipped down to cradle her friend, grinning like mad. "Emma Jane Dobbs. I'm so proud of you."

Two male pairs of blue eyes flicked their direction as the girls giggled and rolled around in a kitten-pile on the sofa. Flashing knickers.

Chapter Text

He was supposed to be back at the family's London townhome now that football practice was over, was supposed to go straight back to the Slytherin common room. There wasn't anyone to tell him one way or the other though; Blake only saw his father during the Christmas holiday and they rarely spoke then as it was.

At Mungos he told the nurses he was her brother. How he got away with it, he didn't know. Katie Bell was as dark as he was light.

Hours. He sat at her bedside for hours and she never moved, her face always pale and unmoving. There was only ever the slight part to her lips and the gentle rise and fall of her chest from as she breathed.

She'd almost died from the cursed necklace, and as Blake sat and watched her sleep, he knew he was the closest to death he'd been since he'd seen his mother fall from her horse. Why he was drawn to Katie's room at Mungo's he didn't know, but after so many nights of resisting the call, he'd found himself at her bedside.

She was too young to die, too young to be here. His mother had been too young to die, too.

Blake reached out to run a lock of her dark hair through his fingers, so like his mother's.

It was time to go.

He pulled a single white winter lily from his football bag and put it in her hand. It would keep with all the charms he'd put on it.

Standing, he shouldered his bag, dark blue gaze never leaving her face. "You can do it, Bells."

With that, he turned and strode from the room.

Chapter Text

"Go on, open it," Lola encouraged, grin just a little too wide for Rose's comfort.

"Lola, I don't know ..." Rose replied hesitantly, gaze flicking from the biscuit tin Lola handed her, back to her friend.

"It's Christmas, Rosie. I made you deliciousness. Go on," Lola prompted, pushing the tin further into Rose's lap, even as she fidgeted in her seat in anticipation.

Rose eyed Lola suspiciously but pried the lid off the brightly colored Christmas tin anyways.

"Lola ... you didn't."

"I did." Lola's grin widened.

Rose tipped her head, eyes widening.

"Gingerbread men with all the manly bits," Lola supplied helpfully.

Pulling one of the man-shaped biscuits out of the tin, Rose's gaze was quite locked on the 'manly bits.'

"For nibbling," Lola added, giggling.

"Eleanor," Rose breathed, smile pulling at her lips anyway.

"I made some gingerbread women for Zach, too."

Rose squeaked, a wide grin pulling at her lips as she dissolved into giggles. She pounced on her friend. "Oh my goodness! Let me see!"

Chapter Text

Slipping through the sea of bodies, Lola easily slid into the small space between Seamus and the woman he'd been dancing with. The press of people around them, not to mention the blonde just behind her, made it all but impossible to do anything but mold her small frame to his.

Not that she minded. It's what she'd planned on, anyway.

Hips found the beat and Lola slid her hands up his chest, blue eyes dancing merrily as she met his gaze. "I think you deserve a reward Seamus Finnegan."

"Oh yeah?" he queried, hands sliding down her back, lingering at the peeks of skin her tiny top offered. The blonde was quite forgotten "For what then?"

Despite the heat of the club, gooseflesh followed his fingers. Lola fisted her tiny hands in his tee and tugged him down even as she tip-toed up to meet him. "Because I said so," she replied, breath mixing with his.

"I can work with that," Seamus murmured as his hands slipped beneath the folds of fabric at her back, pulling her flush to him. "What am I to receive then?"

"Me."

Chapter Text

"Astoria, what are you doing?"

Large brown eyes blinked up at the owner of the voice. She frowned. "What does it look like, Cousin."

Astoria curled further into the cushions of the sofa and more tightly around the sleeping kitten she'd absconded from one of her roommates.

"Like you're intoxicated and being indecent." The tall blonde beauty that was Daphne Greengrass sniffed. Where they not all pureblood? Should there not be some standard of decorum?

Her icy blue gaze swept past her tiny, dark cousin to the mêlée of inebriated Slytherins filling the common room. It was true it was the wee hours of the morning following a rather fantastic win against Gryffindor, but propriety was important at all times.

Daphne's gaze settled on Astoria again. Such a waste. Interested in nothing but gossip and shoes. "Your skirt is riding. Fix it, and go to bed before you embarrass the family further."

Tears pricked at Astoria's eyes and she nuzzled her nose against the soft, purring kitten hugged to her chest. She could never seem to make her gorgeous, brilliant cousin happy.

Laying a soft kiss to the kitten's downy head, Astoria gently put it on the sofa before swinging her legs off the cushion to the floor and turning her attention to her skirt - it had been riding up, and sometime that evening she'd lost her pretty shoes and knee-high socks. Little sniffles escaped as she contemplated shoeless, pink-painted toes, and Astoria wiggled them experimentally. It was decidedly odd the things one found interesting when just the tiniest bit saucy.

Feeling a gaze upon her, she frowned and glanced up to meet a familiar blue gaze. "She's a bloody shrew," she pouted even as she moved to stand.

Miles' lips twitched. Little Astoria Greengrass was three years his junior, but she was proving the most interesting thing in the room that evening.

There was a girl perched on either arm of the highback chair he sat in, both trying their hand at catching his attention. His hands roamed their backs, flirting with the hems of their shirts. He liked to touch, but their insipid attempts at conversation were most unwanted.

His gaze flicked from the small kitten she'd been cuddling most the night, back to Astoria as she carefully let the tiny painted toes touch the floor. Daphne was a bint, but this small cousin of hers was ... interesting. A smirk curled his lips as she tested the cool stone of the floor, delicate frown deepening.

As if sensing his expression, she turned her frown on him. "Oh, shut up," she grumbled. Even more amusing as her voice was small, just like the rest of her.

"Didn't say anything, kitten," he drawled.

Under any other circumstances, Astoria probably would have been blushing like mad - every girl in her year, and most girls in general, had a crush on Miles Bletchley. Just that particular moment, however, Astoria's tipsy mind couldn't find anything but irritation.

She scowled at him and stood fully.

And felt her head spin as the world tipped.

When she didn't feel bruises from falling to the floor (she had never handled alcohol well, much to her disappointment), Astoria's lids blinked open - to that maddeningly familiar set of laughing blue eyes.

She was snug in Miles' arms and quite safe from her own tipsiness.

She looked from her pink-painted toes again, extremely fascinating for some reason, back to Miles, and scowled. "I don't like you."

Miles nearly laughed. "I don't like your cousin," he said genially.

Astoria looked at him very seriously for a long moment, considering. "Me neither. You're pretty, but not so terrible I suppose."

A twitch of grin did touch Miles' lips then.

"And you can put me down."

"And if you fall?"

"Then you'll catch me of course. Down, please?"

Miles repressed a chuckle and set the tiny girl on her feet, steadying her until she didn't need to hold onto him.

She looked up at him and sniffed. "Thank you." And with that, she picked her way around the Slytherins crowding the room as she headed toward the girl’s dormitory.

"You're welcome, kitten," Miles murmured, amused blue gaze not leaving her figure until she disappeared safely up the enchanted staircase. Only then did he laugh out loud.

Still grinning, he turned back into the crowd. "Nott! Another bottle!"

Chapter Text

Dirty little secrets, dirty little lies …

Michael had taught Astoria about music.

It spoke to the soul, and if you knew how to listen, you could hear the life beating in each one. It called to some, it named some and it even claimed some.

Standing in the rain in just her night slip, Astoria reached up to brush wet hair off her cheeks as she tipped her face to the heavens, lids closing as she let the water wash her, mix with her tears, soak through her.

She was just wasn’t enough; easy to have, easy to leave.

Her body shivered with gooseflesh, visible even through the lavender silk stuck to her body like a second skin, and tears mixed with the rain.

There was a song in the air, his song. It pulsed through the fabric of their world and some other just beyond reach, a deep beat that caught her heart’s rhythm and made it his.

Drift among the faithful, bury your desires … do you remember me?

He had left once.

Gone so thoroughly Astoria had not thought to see him again, and just as all the other times she had been left behind, a small part of her broke and waited. Waited.

She never expected Miles to come back to her, had even seen his reluctance to be in her company the first they had run into each other, but he kept appearing.

His song preceded him, the pain echoing to those who shared a piece of it, and Astoria’s lids blinked open, lashes spiked with wetness as the rain slid down her body in rivulets.

“Miles,” she said, voice ragged with her tears.

I’m not Jesus, Jesus wasn’t there …

He was dirty. He wasn’t fit to be here.

Miles knew he definitely shouldn’t be looking at Astoria, something pure and beautiful – even his gaze would taint her, he was sure.

The pounding beat – native drums weaving a spell that made the world seem slow, thick, not quite real – had brought him here, feet leading him to her - a song from deep inside him.

He needed to be away, away. He didn’t even deserve her presence. He didn’t deserve anything, not after all that he had seen, all that he had done.

Her voice called to him, and the pounding, sliding beat of drums and something primal made his heart surge in time.

“Astoria.” Don’t let my weakness sully you. Go away while you still can.

When your world comes crashing down, I want to be there …

The song called to her, resonated through her – something she was sure should be audible, but it mixed with the gentle roar of the sluicing rain.

Almost as if stirring from a lifetime of stillness, Astoria moved towards him, bare feet padding through the puddles between them. With every step, she knew with a certainty that they were steps she couldn’t take back.

She didn’t want to take them back.

Her blood pounded beneath her skin, warming her as she paused just before him, close enough to feel his heat, but not his touch.

She ached to touch him. The song wanted to lay claim and it was calling.

Her breath had already quickened, lips parting as she raised dark eyes to his.

“Don’t leave, please,” was a ragged whisper.

No I won’t, no I won’t …

“I’m here.” I shouldn’t be.

He wanted to touch her. The song was thick around them, and still it rained, sluicing down his skin, and hers too. With her close, he could see how the chill air brought gooseflesh to every inch of her. Every inch. The silk nightie she wore did little to hide or protect her from the elements, from him.

“You should be inside, or you’ll catch your death out here.” I can do nothing but hurt and sully.

Miles clenched his hands into fists. They ached to trace the paths of the water on her skin, warm the chills away, see if she was as soft as she looked.

He knew he’d not be able to stop if he let himself. He couldn’t dirty her, not with the sins weighing on him.

When our world comes crashing down, I need you to be there … say your prayers and comb your hair, save your soul tonight.

He’d as much as told her to go away. Almost.

But his eyes said something different than the tightness to his body, as if he wasn’t sure if he should run or fight. He was fighting. Fighting himself.

“Or I’ll miss what I’ve been looking for,” she replied, knowing she shouldn’t do what she was about to, but not quite able to help herself. The song sang through her, wanted her. His song wanted her.

Astoria closed the small distance between them, pressing against him, lips parting on a soft exhale when she felt the heat of his body through the thin material of her silk and his tee. Small hands traced up his chest, the wet fabric rough beneath her palms, but delicate fingers etched the lightest of patterns over the skin of his neck and into his hair not moments later, tangling in the short strands.

She tip toed up, dark eyes going glassy to feel the heat and strength of him. The beat of the drums quickened, just as her pulse did, rabbiting beneath her skin and her fingers tightened in his hair.

“Miles, please,” she breathed. She met his gaze and whispered softly, almost too soft in with the drums and the rain. “Touch me?”

I’m not Jesus, Jesus wasn’t there … I want to be there …

He shouldn’t.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, a low growl slipped from him and Miles unclenched his hands, one twining in her wet hair, the other tracing down her back, the wet silk plastered to her body doing nothing to hide her from his touch.

It amazed him that the splay of his hand ran the span of her back, but as he reached the base of her spine, he brought her closer until their bodies were flush together, only the steady rain sliding between them, and the pounding of the drums, the insisted throb of the song rising to a crescendo.

It would be satisfied.

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” he said, voice low and gravely as he shared her breath, all too aware of the press of her, the heat of her, the silky slide of her hair between his fingers, the softness of her curves.

“I can feel you,” Astoria replied, fingers tightening in his hair as she felt his hand slide over her back, stopping just shy of following the curve of her arse. “And you make me feel. Miles, only you.”

Miles’ eyes went glassy feeling the tug of her tiny fingers, but it was her words that made some part of him break, something that had been waiting to hear just those words.

He was looking at her like the world was shifting, and Astoria could feel the pound of the song in her soul, insisting.

She stretched up and closed the last distance between them, pressing her lips to his.

And the world tipped on its axis.

Another growl rumbled through his chest and Miles’ hands clenched in her hair, against her body, and she opened for him. Amazement filtered through him, but it was distant as she sighed into his mouth, body softening into his.

It was as if the world held its breath, all for the slide of skin and tongues and the sharing and letting go of pain. And hope.

Chapter Text

Astoria was still in shock.

One night. One.

But sometimes that was all it took.

It had been over a month now, since it’d happened, and still another month after discovering the results of that one night that Astoria had been thinking about it all.

First there had been shock and disbelief. She’d not known whether to cry or laugh. In the end, she’d done a little bit of both. Then there’d been the fretting and worrying; what would she do? She wasn't fit for this.

And lastly there had been her temper. If she was going to do this, then she wasn’t going to damn well do it by herself.

She still needed to tell her parents, tell Michael. Her brother probably knew something was going on, or would, which was why she’d been avoiding him. Michael knew her better than most anyone, and even if she knew he’d never use his Legilimancy to read her thoughts, he’d still sense something different about her.

No. Not yet.

Soon.

But she had something to do first.

Brow furrowing in a delicate frown, irritation prickling across her skin like a buzzing thing, Astoria appeared with a soft ‘pop’ of Apparation outside of a beautiful, old building in Roma, Italy.

Her heels clipped on the stone stairs and the air was cool against her skin as she entered the building.

“Can I help you?” The receptionist was smartly dressed and pretty. Astoria’s frown deepened just the tiniest bit, her irritation piqued even more.

“Can you tell me where to find Jason Harper?” she asked, voice clipped.

“His office is down that way, but – you can’t just go! Do you have an appointment!?”

Astoria ignored the shouts from behind her. It would take the pretty woman a moment to get around her desk, and if she had to use her wand on the tart, then she would have to use her wand.

Clipping around the corner, Astoria’s gaze landed on the purpose of her trip to Italia and her eyes flashed as she advanced on him.

“Jason Harper.”

Jace had heard the clip of heels, a little quick, but his focus was on the vast model in front of him. It was almost ready for production. A murmured spell and a fine maneuver of his wand had the model building adjusting as he wanted, and even as he was straightening, satisfied with his work, a voice filtered to him.

A very irritated, heated voice that matched the piqued click of heels he’d heard but not paid attention to. Shite.

He knew he was in trouble.

Turning, Jace knew who it was before his eyes touched on the tiny, fired up brunette now before him. His eyes took in every bit of her, from the high-fashion Louboutins, to the little silk dress, to her flushed skin and finally the irritated dark eyes on him. Intellectually he knew he was in trouble, but he remembered what her skin felt like, could feel it now, even. “Principessa.”

Astoria frowned at him. “Don’t ‘Principessa’ me, Jason Harper,” she said, advancing on him again. She was pissed. So many years worth of frustration and ‘letting it go’ with him. She’d let Jace set the pace of their friendship, watched him leave over and over again for his adventures. She’d even ‘let it go’ when he’d left her after they’d finally taken their friendship to the next level last they’d seen each other, several months ago now.

But she was damn well done with it. Despite her pique, it didn’t stop her heart from skipping a beat, her pulse from racing.

“You are done,” she said, voice heated as she poked him in the chest, hard. “This coming and going you’ve been doing for the last six years is damn well over. We were friends and I never wanted to get in the way of your dreams by asking you to stay.”

Astoria glared at him, chin tipping up defiantly as she clasped his hand. “But it’s not just me anymore, Jason Harper. You’ve a child, right here,” she said as she pressed his palm to her abdomen with both of hers, “and if you don’t stay in one bloody place from now on, I will hunt you down and make your life miserable forever.”

Jace blinked. “You … we’re … having a baby?” He blinked again.

Astoria was pregnant. His Astoria was pregnant. Jace blinked again as he processed that, gaze going to where she was pressing his hand to her still-flat abdomen.

Astoria was pregnant with his child. As the realization hit him, despite the shock of her announcement, mixed with the desire he had for her, especially when she was as fired up as she was, Jace found that it was all overshadowed by something he’d never felt before, not like this.

Mine. Astoria was pregnant with his child, their child. “C’mere, Sass,” he said, other hand reaching to pull her close.

“Don’t ‘Sass’ me either," she said, lifting a hand to poke him in the chest again. “Am I hunting you for the rest of my life, or not?” Part of her was afraid that he might say no, that she - and their child - wouldn't be enough to make him be still, but the largest part of her was damn irritated at him. Six years. She’d been waiting for six years to say this.

Without warning, Jace gathered her close, an arm sliding around her waist even as he pulled her flush to him, lifted her so that he could steal her breath with his lips. He deepened the kiss when he felt her fingers rake through his hair, the sigh pass her lips to his.

The receptionist blinked at the scene before her. “I … I guess you don’t need an appointment then.”

Chapter Text

Bent over his guitar, Michael’s eyes were closed as he concentrated on the sound he was pulling from the instrument, tuning out much of everything else, though he was still aware of the movement of people around him, the murmur of voices.

His Mum and Darren had insisted on classical piano lessons when he’d shown an affinity for music, and then there’d been the organ lessons when he’d insisted. His Mum had wanted him to learn the clarinet as well, as it was the instrument she had favored as a girl, but though the sound was interesting for itself, it had never pulled at Michael.

But the guitar had, and it wasn’t until his tenth birthday that his Mum and Darren had finally gotten him his first one, an acoustic. They’d offered lessons, too, but after the first one with Mr. Paul Stevens, Michael had refused as only a stubborn ten year old can.

He already could read music, and he wanted to learn the intricacies of the instrument himself.

Needless to say, that first few weeks hadn’t been pretty, though Michael had always had an ear, and it smoothed out into something pleasing not too long after he took to the guitar in earnest. They were simple melodies, but not out of tune or off chord.

But on this particular evening in the Ravenclaw common room, he was attempting to teach himself another chord. There was a song inside of him that wanted out, and his experience with the instrument in his hands was limited to just shy of two years. He didn’t quite have every nuance of the guitar down, and likely wouldn’t for a long while, but at nearly twelve years old, he was rather intent on finding the sound he was looking for.

“Hiya, Mikey,” Mandy interjected into his concentration as she bounced down onto the sofa just next to him. “Want to come play exploding snap with us?”

Eyes opening, Michael’s bright blue gaze tracked to the girl next to him though his fingers didn’t stop moving. “What do you want for your birthday?”

It was an abrupt change of subject, but Mandy took it in stride. He would answer her question eventually, if in his own roundabout way. “A pony.”

Michael looked at her another long moment before his lip twitched. “What color?”

She bounced again on the sofa, testing the springiness of the cushions, a smile touching her lips now too. “Green, of course.”

“Bows?”

“No, I think she should have sparkles.”

Michael’s lips twitched again, and he nodded his head. “Alright.”

Mandy grinned brightly, and bounced. Michael wasn’t like the other boys. He didn’t tease her, or pull her ponytail. He was comfy, like a hammock. She knew he had a little sister that he was really close with, and thought maybe that was why. He knew girls, and was a good big brother person. That was her experience, anyways.

“I’ll be over in a few minutes,” he added, finally answering her question even as he bent his head over his guitar again.

“Promise, Mikey?” she asked, grin still pulling at her lips.

Michael glanced over and their eyes met for a split second. His lips twitched. “Promise.”

Chapter Text

Blake’s breathing was labored and his muscles strained. Glancing over at his running mate, Stewart, a smirk touched his expression when he met his friend’s gaze.

It was time.

Stewart’s own expression was focused as he turned his gaze forward and began to push himself even faster, and the two boys raced the final leg of their ritual morning run.

It was true that Stewart Ackerly, or Archie, as Blake fondly referred to him, was a year his junior, but the last summer had put a hand span of height on him and every step he took was signigicantly longer than Blake’s. He didn’t mind though; he was of average height himself, and if he ever wanted to play for the premier league, it was best to be pushed to one’s limits.

It was a bit of a pipedream at fourteen, but Blake played football in the premier league’s clubs and his father, despite their lack of relationship or communication in general, had gotten him access to the best. He’d done all the work himself, training and discipline, but it had never been a hindrance in this particular situation to have a father who happened to be the Duke of Derbyshire.

It grated on him every so often, but more often than not, Blake was inclined to use whatever available to him to get where he wanted to be – even if that meant using his status and the status of a father he rarely spoke to, to at least get a tryout with the best teams.

Hard work did the rest, and that was all him. It had nothing to do with who he was, or who his father was.

And just now, his own special gift, speed, was serving him well. Some days Stewart beat him to the Quidditch pitch, but most days Blake edged ahead despite the height disparity. He was the leading striker on his team for that very reason; he could go from standing to full speed in half the time that it took most people.

Both boys put everything they had into the last leg towards the pitch, but on this particular morning, Blake edged ahead and as they passed the stands onto the grassy turf, he slowed, breathing heavy and glanced over at his friend. “Bit …” he took in a lungful of air, “…slow today, Archie.”

“Not that …” breath “… you weren’t slow the whole way,” Stewart shot back, putting his hands up behind his head. “Don’t call me that, Dunners.”

“Should it be Archibald then?” Blake asked, dark blue eyes bright, lips curling into a delighted smirk as he called out his friend’s unwanted middle name.

“Shut it,” Stewart said even as he rushed the Slytherin, humor in his expression, and took him to the ground.

It was a fight of only a few minutes, and in the end both boys found themselves sprawled on the grass looking up at the sky. It was warm already, even early in the morning, and they would have to get back to the castle soon to shower and go to breakfast, but they had a few minutes yet.

“Isn’t that Bell,” Blake asked, blue eyes catching a flyer darting around the hoops across the pitch.

Stewart twisted around enough to see, and scowled. It was, indeed, the seventh year Gryffindor Chaser, Katie Bell.

“It is Bell,” Blake said, grinning as he looked at his friend. “Didn’t she score five times on you just a few weeks ago?”

“You’re such a pisser, Dunstan,” Stewart said even as he tackled Blake again, shouts of laughter and grunts of pain as an elbow connected with some one’s chin sounding as both boys wrestled, and not for the last time.

Chapter Text

Astoria had pronounced something different about his person on his return from a small tour around the continent, though his sister had not detected anything beyond her comments of ‘have you been eating enough? Your features are too sharp, Michael.’

Michael wasn’t worried about her knowing the truth, per se, but it was yet time to share what had befallen him. Or, in truth, what hadn’t quite happened.

That was the crux of it, though. Such things either were, or weren’t, and yet he found himself somewhere in the middle.

One would think that an encounter with a werewolf in Romania that resulted in a flesh wound would either turn a person, or it wouldn’t. Most of the time, it did, or if the wound was bad enough, they usually didn’t survive the first change.

According to all the recorded information available on werewolves, in any case.

However, three moons had been spent touring the eastern European countries as he promoted his debut album and not once had he turned.

The peculiar thing, however, was the changes he noted. His vision was different – he picked up on the heat around a person, now – and his sense of smell was exponentially better. His metabolism had sped up, which was probably why Astoria had been worried about his diet; he had to eat twice as much to retain his weight, and it hadn’t been until several weeks before he returned home that Michael had realized why he was getting leaner and leaner.

Astoria still looked at him cannily as if she knew weight loss wasn’t all that was different about him, but she’d not placed a finger on it, and Michael doubt she would. Not yet, at least.

Though he was still discovering the extent of changes in him, changes that didn’t result in a turn from man to beast on the full moon. Thrice he had felt the moon wax, felt his blood heat and race through his veins, had watched the silvery orb rise in the sky, felt the pull to run, and yet he had not changed.

And though he’d never had a quick temper before, Michael had felt the heated stir in him more, and only by force of will and his own innate calm did he tame it. But not wholly; he’d spied his eyes, a reflection in the glass, and they glowed blue. Glowed in the darkness as if peering from the brush, not quite his own eyes, but that of the beast he could feel beneath his skin, but which never spilled out to make bones change and fur flow.

He could smell it, the wolf. He was both him, and not, pacing inside, wanting out. Perhaps it was that he was a highly skilled Occlumens, but Michael was quite aware of the slightly different consciousness that was with him now. And yet, it wasn’t different at all. It was him, or his, or perhaps, of him.

There was nowhere for it go, though. It could not spill from him for its allotted night every month.

His steps were silent as he walked through the forest. Despite that he did not turn, Michael had found that he still wanted the night air on him, to smell the ozone that was thick with the moon’s pull, to run.

And he did, chest pale in the moonlight as he raced through the trees, lithe and quicker than any human, stronger than any normal man.

Bare feet carried him through the trees, shoes abhorrent for this, and he was a pale blur.

Run.

Under a branch, dodging between two trees, and vaulting over a log, feet touching the ground and never losing speed. Muscles bunched as he jumped.

He smelled her before he saw her, and his body twisted gracefully out of the way as a furred body brushed his in mid flight.

Michael landed in a crouch, a feral grin painting his features, dark hair askew.

Hunt. Fight. Dominate.

Even as he catalogued the primal urges of the wolf in him, Michael was conscious of them and they mixed with the questions – Man or beast? Who? What should be done?

She growled at him, a dark beast – bigger than any normal wolf – and paced before him, ice blue eyes peering at him almost angrily.

She. How had he known the beast before him was female?

Keeping his glowing blue gaze on her, Michael breathed deeply, scenting the air. Woman. Not beast, though she was clothed as one. Wolf. Werewolf, Michael concluded quickly enough, interest piqued even as his muscles flexed with the more primal instincts that had assaulted him upon her arrival.

Breathing deeply again, his eyes stayed on her, though he tipped his face to the slight breeze.

There were others, wolves or more, like the one before him, he didn't know. Upwind. That must have been how she’d tracked him given the direction she’d come at him from.

He had not thought to use his nose. If he was a man to berate himself over such things, he would have just then, but Michael just catalogued it.

He stood then, his only clothing the denims that hung from his hips, and watched her. She growled again, but her eyes were intent, cannier than any beast that did not reside in human form all the other days of the month.

Even as he watched, blue eyes glowing in the darkness, he watched her head cock, and though there was a still a growl rumbling from her, it was as if it was more of an afterthought than anything. Though she was not entirely in control of her thoughts as he was, Michael could see that she had caught his scent in its entirety. He knew himself; human, but also fully something else, wolf.

It was incongruous, not possible, and yet he was a man with silvery white claw marks down the length of his back, gift of a werewolf, and yet they were plainly visible under the light of the full moon.

They should be covered in fur.

Hearing a snap deep in the woods, Michael watched her tense.

The others were coming, coming to collect her some part of him volunteered, though Michael didn't intellectually understand the way of wolves just yet and why he knew that to be truth.

While he had strength, speed and quickness – seeming things that all the werewolves possessed in beast form – he did not have their claws or their teeth. He did have his wand in the pocket of his denims, but the logic of staying to face a pack of wolves as it were did not seem wise this night, not when he did not know the extent of himself yet, his own anomaly.

Breathing deeply again, he took in her scent. Her. He did not know her name, but he would know her anywhere now, even if she was in human form. She would not recognize him, not consciously. Full werewolves couldn’t remember the whole of their activities the night of the full moon, but he would know her.

Hearing them drawing closer, Michael’s muscles tensed and he made to disappear into the forest, but there was a visceral urge in him that demanded he did not run before this wolf.

Running was weakness.

Dominate. First in the pack.

Foreign thoughts, but they rode him regardless and without warning a growl rumbled from his chest even as he closed the distance between him and his wolf. His wolf.

He was quick. Very quick. The human side of his mind posited that perhaps it was something that was just his and his alone, but the wolf in him was entirely focused on the wolf they had pinned.

It seemed to easy, he thought distantly, though just as distant was the reminder that he was stronger now, much stronger, and this wolf, though strong too, was not large.

She bucked and she growled and flashed her teeth, but he had her. Part of him, the human part didn’t know what to do now that he had her, but his wolf sang through him and his eyes glowed almost from pure pleasure of letting the beast do as it pleased when he bared his teeth; a smile, enjoyment, but more.

Potential death, though not from teeth; hands, wand, intellect. But the wolf understood teeth and strength and she stopped struggling, breath coming heavily, ice blue eyes cannily peering at him, challenging still.

Some part of Michael, the wolf, could not abide the challenge. This wolf would be his wolf.

It was a surprise, and not, when he felt a change, not the change, but something. A surprise because everything was a surprise, but not, because he could not find it in himself to be truly astonished at anything that was happening to him. He was an aberration to the breed, an anomaly.

As if responding to the basic instinct to claim, to assert his dominance, to bring her to his pack, perhaps even to the threat approaching, Michael's incisors elongated. A vampire? his mind supplied, though it did not feel right. He was wolf.

Pinned beneath his body, his weight and strength holding her to the ground, Michael exposed her neck and she struggled. But she was not a match to his size or strength despite that she had all the teeth, the claws.

She was a small wolf.

The thick fur did not bother him when he bit into the soft spot of her neck. She struggled and as he pressed the sharp teeth that his wolf had willed into her flesh, not quite piercing. She stilled completely, all the tension leaving her.

His.

It sang through him, as if a magic bond snapping into place. Wild, instinctual, magical bonds. A wolf could not describe this, and neither could a werewolf who could not remember their nights, but it burned beneath Michael's skin like a living thing and he would remember.

He loosed his hold on her with his hands, holding instead of pinning, and Michael delved into her mind. Legillimens. He rarely used the talent, but she was his, and part of Michael was opposed to this, but it made sense to his wolf.

Stranger. It was what she called herself, but only in this form. Trees, night, the moon, scents - even his scent - he could see in her mind, but there was more. He could find her.

Other furred bodies, Leader. Leader was coming for her, and she did not like Leader.

Michael growled and she whined, though did not move.

Not Leader's. Michael's.

Pushing at the instinctual urge, Michael delved deeper. And then it was there, a name. Eloise.

He had to leave her now, and he knew that, but his wolf did not want to. He was not ruled by his wolf though, not in this form.

Releasing her, Michael disappeared into the woods, a blur of moonlit skin until the trees swallowed him up.

Eloise.

Stranger panted as she watched him go. Wolf, but not wolf. He smelled like pack. Her pack. It settled into her bones, in her very fiber, and it felt good.

It made her angry, too. She did not belong to anyone. Not to a wolf who was not a wolf.

But she was his, and he was hers. Alpha.

She howled, frustrated, and ran.

Chapter Text

Her skin was silk. It's ivory hues tinted an enticing rosy color when she was mad, or when she wanted, and as she looked up at him with eyes of fire, Jace knew it was a bit of both that lit her now and a smirk curled his lips as he dragged a fingertip light, so lightly, down the column of her throat, between her breasts, over her flat abdomen, into the hollow of her hip and then stopping.

"Jason," she breathed, passion and anger in the word. "Don't."

"Don't stop?"

Astoria glared at him, tugging on the silk scarves that held her wrists, the rosy flush spreading across the whole of her body now.

"Don't."

"Don't what, Mia Dolce?" His own eyes were dark as she arched involuntarily towards his touch when he pulled his hand away from her skin.

Dark lashes fluttered against her cheeks as a shuddering exhale parted her lips when he put the lightest pressure to her skin again. Brown eyes swirled as she looked at him, fire in the depths.

"Don't stop, Jason," she said, body arching into his touch even as he flattened his palm against her warm, slick center when she finally relented.

The shudder that went through her tiny frame at such a small touch made the smirk leave his lips. Mine.

"Please," she begged finally, voice a ragged whisper.

"Always, Principessa," he murmured as he slipped a digit inside of her, claiming her lips and the moan that slipped them.

Chapter Text

Michael had always had beautiful eyes, and whether she was looking with a professional eye or not, Reilly was quite aware that he was a beautiful man, the blue eyes only adding an extra sparkle to a physique that didn’t need it.

She was in the business of bodies, as it were, and she knew all kinds of beauty as every client had a different standard, but Michael would have been a popular employee no matter the varying degrees of taste that her clients exhibited.

He was tall and lithe, leanly muscular as a swimmer was wont to be, but without the extra muscle that too many hours in the water would build. He had just enough to make the eye follow the lines of muscle as they moved beneath his skin. Dark hair that was always a little tousled looking was a stark contrast to his paler skin that would only ever be kissed by the sun’s rays, not pinkened, and then red.

He was one of few men who was so very pretty and still entirely masculine.

Even in Reilly’s line of work it was a unique combination.

Had he not been the only person she could truly call friend, she would have lured him into her business long ago. Not that Michael could be lured, but she would have tried.

But he was the only person she could call friend, and the only way she could personally condone doing business with Michael was through his music.

She had bought the recording studio for him, after all. He had talent, but no drive. If it was just that, Reilly would have let it sit, but he was inspiring, beautiful to watch and he could captivate crowds without trying at all.

People loved him, and though Reilly was loathe to share him at all, sharing him with a mass instead of an individual seemed something closer to philanthropy than anything. His music was lovely, moving, intense, beautiful.

And so was Michael.

Sipping her wine in the back of the club, Reilly watched as Michael effortlessly charmed and seduced another crowd of people with nothing but his voice, his music and those eyes that saw everything.

As they found her in the darkness at the back, Reilly’s lips twitched. Those too-bright blue eyes even saw her.

Chapter Text

Heat.

It was part of her, or perhaps just the result of his lips on her skin.
Could he devote a thought for it, it would most definitely be a worthy subject of study, but when his name was a warm breath on her lips, there really wasn’t anything else to think about.

There was only her skin burning through the silk of her dress, hot, warmer still when he slipped his hand beneath the hem and slid it up her thigh.

Small. Tiny. Elfin. She was all those things, and his Keeper’s hands felt too big on her, but when she looked at him, eyes drowning and dark, asking for more, it didn’t really matter.

Tugging her to the edge of the desk, his hands cupped her arse, he brought Astoria up his body so that he could taste the lips he’d already made pink and full.

It was his turn to groan when her fingers slid into his hair, pulling, her mouth seeking his, wanting. Small, yes, but hot. Soft warmth. Addictive.

What a lovely way to burn.

Chapter Text

It was true that he was a first year and had only been in school for a few months – it wasn’t even Christmas yet, after all – but Michael had observed a great many things.

He’d noticed that Professor Sprout talked to herself when she thought she was alone, and that Filch had a tick in his lip that twitched when he was feeling especially vindictive. Michael had also noticed that Penelope Clearwater mumbled potions ingredients under her breath when she was particularly exasperated with her perceived immaturities of her yearmates, and that Head Boy Percy Weasley had a very big stick up his arse, indeed.

But Michael had noticed other things too. He’d noticed that Mandy was a little wibbly sometimes about missing her Muggle family, and that Terry Boot wasn’t especially fond of his sisters at all and that he knew how to get firewhiskey into the castle, or knew someone who did. He’d also observed, though, that Lisa Turpin looked especially melancholy every time certain songs came over the wireless in the common room.

It was something he’d paid especial attention to because he, too, found the tunes even amidst the scramble of voices and conversations. Sometimes he picked at his guitar and followed along as best he could – he was still learning, after all – but most times he just sprawled wherever there was a seat to be had for a first year, and watched and listened.

After a particularly upbeat and driving piano song though, Michael noticed that Lisa looked sad again, and as he concentrated on the emotions she was actually emitting (because he wasn’t skilled enough yet at actual Occlumency to probe a person’s mind), his suspicions were confirmed.

Without any preamble at all, Michael rose from his sprawl on the couch and walked across the room towards tiny blond Lisa Turpin.

“Hey Corner! Where you going? To talk to a girl?”

He ignored the chatter of voices behind him, not particularly concerned what his yearmates thought. When he came to Lisa though, he held his hand out to her silently, blue eyes bright, though otherwise his face was impassive.

She blinked up at him a long moment, surprised, and the other girls she’d been sitting with went silent but for a few giggles that escaped. No one from the boys table ever came over except to play jokes on them, but Michael standing there with his hand held out to Lisa caused a titter.

“I have to show you something,” he said simply, ignoring the girls giggling quietly, too.

A blush was tinting Lisa’s cheeks at all the eyes on her now, and she was very close to shaking her head, a little embarrassed at all the eyes and attention directed their way. Looking up at his clear blue eyes though, the steady expression on his face, in his simple actions, Lisa found that it wasn’t so scary as it had seemed at first.

Nodding, a soft “okay” passed her lips as she slipped her hand into Michael’s and let him help her up from the circle of girls on the floor in front of the grate. The giggles and quiet, but heard, comments made as she moved with him towards the exit made her cheeks tint again, but the gentle squeeze of her hand had her glancing up at the mysterious dark haired boy with such bright blue eyes, and focusing in his direction made it so much easier to push everyone else to the background.

As he led her through the castle, few students in the hallways now as it was past supper time, Lisa glanced over at the silent boy next to her curiously from time to time. She didn’t know much about him at all, really, except what she’d heard from other people. She knew he was halfblood, and that apparently he was related to the Greengrasses somehow, but why that was important, she’d yet to discern. She’d been told he had a little sister, which she thought was maybe why he wasn’t as awful as some of the other first year boys.

Glancing down at their linked hands, she had the thought that she didn’t feel nervous at all, but just right. He must have a little sister, and he must be a very good big brother too, she concluded.

Lisa had seen him with a guitar every now and again, something that had definitely drawn her attention, but he never played very loud and she’d yet to catch any tune, too intimidated by the boys he was usually in the midst of to get too close.

Glancing away from the enigmatic boy who was leading her through the castle, Lisa looked around and blinked a few times. “Where are we?”

“We’re almost there,” Michael replied, turning them both around and walking past the door she couldn’t see yet the third time.

“Where did that come from!?” she breathed, starting next to him.

“Magic,” he replied simply, lips twitching as he glanced over at her.

Yes, Michael had observed a great many things, even that the Weasley twins seemed to know how to disappear at the most opportune times, and that they could make doors appear in stone walls.

Reaching for the handle, he pulled it open and led Lisa inside.

“Oh,” she breathed, blue eyes widening as she took in the contents of the room. “It’s beautiful.”

Michael let go of her hand then and watched her walk in an almost daze towards the shining black piano in the center of the room. He’d thought so.

When she sat down on the stool, she didn’t touch the keys, her little hands hovering over them instead. They were too perfect to touch, though her hands longed to hear the sounds they would make if she pressed them down.

Sliding onto the stool next to her, Michael pressed the foot she couldn’t reach as her feet still hung in the air, and reached over to cover her hand with one of his and pressed her fingers to the keys, the first pure notes filling the room.

A smile bright and pure flashed across her face, eyes alight as she glanced over at him. It was perfect.

His own smile curved his lips as Michael released her hand and set his own to the keys, fingers itching to make sound, fill the room with music. “Let’s?” he asked, glancing over at her.

“Oh yes, please,” she grinned, no shyness or hesitation in her movements as she moved her hands into position, and in unison as if they’d done it for years, two sets of small hands stirred into motion at the same time, a song neither had ever heard before filling the Room of Requirement with a pure melody of joy.

...

Gaze flicking across the page, Lisa curled further in the sofa as she read the notes of Beethoven’s 9th. Michael had set it in her hands several weeks prior with nary a word, and though she’d looked at him quizzically, his lips had twitched and he’d gone off to fiddle with his guitar.

She’d listened to the symphony several times, and it was beautiful, but as she poured over the meticulous sheets of music for each part, she could see why Michael had insisted she look deeper than just the ear’s enjoyment; it was a genius’ masterpiece. Lisa had always enjoyed classical music, not as much as the moody blues and jazz she’d grown up on, but it was beautiful nonetheless, but as she poured through the sheet music, it was amazing how meticulously detailed it all was. Learning a piece like this would be a delicious challenge, teach her some note hopping she’d not even thought to try.

Brow furrowing at a particularly difficult piece, her thoughts were interrupted as a hand obscured her view of the book’s contents. Blinking, she looked up at its owner.

“I have to show you something, Sunshine,” Michael said simply, waiting patiently.

The words resonated with her, though she couldn’t quite place it, and Lisa tipped her head to the side even as she set the book down at placed her hand in his. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed as he helped her from the sofa, fingers linking with hers as he led her through the large penthouse flat.

If it was anyone but Michael, Lisa imagined she’d be frustrated that he wasn’t forthcoming in the least, but it was just him, and she liked him very, very much. He always revealed everything in his own time, anyways, and she’d learned it was no use to push him, and that really, she’d never felt the need to. He was himself, and she loved him the way he was.

He wasn’t leading her towards the entryway, or an Apparation point though, but towards a room they’d frequented often, and she glanced over at him. “I’ve think I’ve seen what’s in here before,” she said lightly, small smile curling her lips.

“Perhaps,” he said, lips twitching and blue eyes bright as he glanced over at her. Leading her towards the grand piano in the center of the room, he helped her to sit, a hand steady at the small of her back even as he bent to brush his lips to the hallow of her neck.

The intake of her breath at even such a simple touch derailed him for a moment, and still behind her, he brushed her hair to the side to trail his lips, feather light, down the column of her throat. He could feel the rapid beat of her pulse beneath his lips, and though he desired to finish what even just very light touches had started, he pressed a final kiss just beneath her jaw and moved to sit beside her on the stool.

Lisa’s breathing was uneven, color high in her cheeks as she glanced over at him, eyes a little too bright. She’d not wanted him to stop. “Michael –”

“Just look,” he said simply, voice somewhat lower than it was before, but expression just as canny as it’d ever been.

Ready to huff, though pushing at the urge, Lisa glanced down at the keys. “Oh.” Her eyes widened and her heart raced. “Oh. Where did that come from!?”

Michael’s lips twitched. “Magic, love.”

A smile tugged at Lisa’s lips and she’d the urge to swat him on the arm for that, but her hands were shaking too much as it was as she reached for the small black box resting on the keys and opened it.

Her breath caught and tears stung her eyes, though a brilliant smile lit her face as she glanced up at him from the shining diamond nestled in the tiny pillow of the box.

Leaning over, Michael’s lips covered hers and he cradled her face to drink of them. Only when both their breathing was uneven did he pull away, the ring now in his possession. As he slid it on her finger, he looked up at her, blue eyes sparkling bright, lips curling slightly. “Lets?”

It was then that the moment hit her for the echo of their past, and her smile brightened. It was how they had begun once, sitting on a piano stool, learning each other’s song, and it was how they would begin anew, learning their song. “Oh yes, please.”

Chapter Text

Mira’s face screwed up in confusion. “Why do you need this?”

Glancing up from the pedicure she was giving herself, Cassie caught sight of the stiletto heel Mira was holding up, the delicate strappy thing hanging from a single finger of her twin. “Boys.”

“Boys?” Mira asked, eyes moving from the uncomfortable looking footwear to her sister. “What do these have to do with boys?”

Eleven and Very Wise in the ways of the world, Cassie explained patiently. “They make you more feminine. And it won’t work on the boys our age,” she said, face screwing up in disgust. “It’s the older boys they’re for.” Cassie would never admit it, but she’d paid very close attention to their older sister, Alexis; the snooty ginger she had to claim as a sister was a pain in the arse as far as Cassie was concerned, but she did know more than a thing or two about boys.

Mira eyed the shoe skeptically, wondering how on earth her twin would walk in them, let alone ‘get boys’ with them, but she brushed such thoughts away and set the stiletto carefully back in the tissue paper.

Glancing at her sister, mischief played in her eyes and a small smile curled her lips. “You’re beginning to sound just like Alex, you know.”

The sharp intake of breath was exactly what Mira had been waiting for, accompanied by the shocked glaring blue eyes – the same blue eyes all the sisters shared. “You take that back, Mira Sophia.”

“Just saying. All she talks about is boys, too.” Mira’s eyes were twinkling. “Blah, blah, boys, blah, blah.”

Catching onto the tease, Cassie’s lips twitched. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to ruin my pedicure and have to come get you. I am older and bigger,” she pointed out.

“Two minutes older has never counted, and still doesn’t,” Mira replied, nose crinkling.

“And, what about Jeremy Peterman, hmmmmm? You never stop talking about him. Blah, blah, Jeremy’s hair looks really soft, blah, blah,” Cassie said, grinning.

The pink that tinted Mira’s cheeks didn’t stop her from tossing the stiletto she’d been so careful with earlier, at her twin.

A short tussle later, the girls were softly giggling and Cassie’s pedicure was Very Ruined, indeed.

“He does have soft looking hair.”

“I suppose so. Maybe you should wear my stilettos?”

Mira’s nose crinkled.

Cassie giggled and gave her an Eskimo kiss. “Okay, okay. No stilettos.”

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry.”

Katie blinked at him, unsure if she wasn’t too surprised to blow him off. “What?”

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be you.”

She didn’t understand why everything was so hard to grasp, but the edges of her vision were blurry and the boy? Young man? Evil cretin? That was standing before her was the only thing she could keep in focus. “What wasn’t supposed to be me?”

“The necklace,” he said, frustrated. He’d never tried this before. Maybe it wasn’t him; maybe she was just dim. “It was for Dumbledore. You weren’t supposed to touch it. I wrapped it three times!” he bit out as he paced back and forth before her.

“The necklace?” she echoed, frowning at him. “What in the bloody hell are you talking about, Malfoy?” It was frustrating that she couldn’t seem to grasp what it was that he was trying to tell her, except for the apology. She didn’t understand what it was for, but it was just off enough that she was beginning to realize there was more off about this situation. “Why can’t I focus on anything but you?”

“Sweet Salazar, Bell!” he exclaimed, scowling at her. “You’re pureblood. You know what a bloody sending is! Obviously your family failed to have you study the mind’s arts.”

He’d felt bad enough about what had happened months ago to the Chaser to track her down in her dreams – her dreams while she laid in St. Mungos in a coma – but it was just one prick among many. He just … had to make sure everything was right before he wasn’t able to anymore.

The thought was depressing enough that the frustrated irritation left him as quickly as it’d come. “You’re dreaming, Bell,” he said, resigned. “I came to tell you I was sorry that you’ve been dreaming so long. Your body is in St. Mungo because you touched something you weren’t supposed to, and it was my fault.”

Katie looked at Draco a long moment, unsure whether she was to believe him or not. It was too … out there. This kind of thing didn’t happen to people, didn’t happen to her.

But it was true that she couldn’t concentrate on anything else, and when she looked down at herself, she squawked. “I must be dreaming. What the bloody hell is this?” she asked, pulling at the tiny shorts that might have once been regular sized Quidditch trousers.

Draco scowled at her again, but color touched high on his cheeks. On anyone else it probably wouldn’t have been noticeable, but he was pale, even more so than normal. “It’s my bloody sending,” he said defensively.

Changing tactics then, he smirked at her. “Count yourself lucky you’re as clothed as you are.”

Snorting at him, Katie pulled her eyes away from what must have been the Playwizared’s version of a Quidditch kit. If she didn’t look at it, then it didn’t exist.

It did convince her that she was dreaming though and she considered the Slytherin before her. “Get out of my head.”

Draco scowled again. This hadn’t gone at all how he’d planned. He’d been trying for weeks to get into a dream, and only recently had there been enough energy coming from her to tap into. “You’re not going to accept my apology.”

“Accepted. Now get the bloody hell out of my head. If I see you again here or outside, I’ll not hesitate to rip you open, Malfoy. Stay away from me,” she warned.

Muttering to himself about her sour disposition and perhaps he’d wasted a lot of time thinking on her in Playwizard’s Quidditch kit, Draco waved a hand and everything started to go blurry. His voice filtered through the haze one more time. “Wake up.”

Lids blinking open, Katie could have sworn she heard a voice calling, but as she slowly looked around the white, sterile room, there was no one to be seen.

She felt groggy and exhausted, but even as her eyes completed their scan of the room, a million questions sprung to mind; why was she in a hospital? What had happened? Who had spoken to her?

Trying to speak, her voice didn’t work, and trying again, she got out a very weak, “Daddy?”

A head popped in the room, eyes wide. It disappeared again, but she could hear the ‘She’s awake!’ echoing through the hall. What had happened to her?

Chapter Text

He knew she hated him. There was no love, though it was the flip side of that very same coin. Perhaps a certain kind of fondness. Sometimes.

What Reilly Chambers had for him though, was a lust-filled passionate hate, and Blake enjoyed every damn minute of her ire.

It was devilish of him, he knew, but it was more satisfying than any encounter he'd had up until her to watch pleasure soften her features even as she raked bloody furrows down his back for doing so to her.

His breath hissed between his lips as the air burned against the grooves she'd made into his skin, and Blake's blue eyes turned to something closer to a black sapphire as the spice of pain urged on the pleasure he was holding off so carefully.

He'd been determined to make her fall first, both so he could watch every nuance of it - the half a moment when she couldn't control the lines of her face and her body as pleasure rippled down her spine, arched her off the bed - but also so he could do it again.

It would piss her right off that he'd not come with her, and it'd piss her off doubly that he was going to make her come twice.

Blake smirked down at swirling, irate green gaze looking up at him. "Enjoy yourself?"

Chapter Text

He was poetry in motion; Michael, himself, was aware of the fact.

Even as he moved swiftly through the throngs of people, all yelling and shouting and spurring on the fight in their midst, he knew he should be more careful.

It was all new though, the super-human grace, the innate ability to read the movement of muscle and just know the motion that was to be made next. It was why he slipped through the crowd so easily - too easily.

He should be more careful. The people here had been drinking though, and no one paid him mind as he moved by them too fast, effortlessly.

"Fuck you and the bitch that pushed you out!"

Michael's lips twitched. He'd never seen her face, not her human one, and he'd never heard her voice, but he knew that was her. When he'd felt Eloise as he strolled through the alley and moved into the ruckus pub, it wasn't until he was halfway through the throng that he realized that she was the fight.

Her opponent was easily twice her size, but they both looked to be roughed up about the same amount, and Michael's blue eyes - a little too bright now as his wolf sensed that which was his - twinkled.

Her words, though vulgar, seemed to have their desired effect and Eloise dodged the first rush, a quickness she likely didn't understand. There was sweat on her brow though, and she blinked too long as the tattooed bloke swung his fist.

He should be more careful. His wolf didn't care for such things though.

Michael was there before anyone had time to really process how he'd moved so fast, and he caught the fist mid throw, stopping it dead cold.

Their eyes met, his and the half drunk thug, and Michael looked at him passively as the crowd seemed to blink in tandem at this new development.

Squeezing the fist in his hand until he felt bones strain, his grin flashed sudden and bright - a show of teeth more than anything. "Mine."

Chapter Text

After a long, hot bubble bath, Astoria found herself ensconced in a mound of pillows and blankets in her bedroom, perusing the latest issue of Witch Weekly.

It was true it was nearing midnight and she should be well asleep, but the reality was that until the gallery reopened she would be pulling late nights at work and even later nights at home while her mind still ticked busily with all the things that needed doing.

Her lips pursed when a turn of the page revealed this week’s ‘Don’t Do This to Yourself’ article – full of photos of the most horrid fashion don’ts. She tilted her head a bit at a particularly ghastly hat – feathers, flowers and jewels, oh my.

“Am I interrupting something?” Michael queried from the doorway where he was leaning against the frame. The look on his sister’s face was priceless just that moment and his lips twitched.

“Hardly,” she replied, glancing up at him briefly before frowning incredulously again when she turned the page.

Shaking her head, Astoria looked up from the horrid pictures to her brother. He didn’t often seek her in her bedroom. The very oddity of the occasion made her look more closely at him. He wasn’t a man to twitch or betray an emotion, not even to her, but that he was here at all told her something, even if she hadn’t a clue what it was.

“Do you want to come in?”

Some of the furniture was gone already and though she was still at the Penthouse, there were small reminders that she wouldn’t be there for much longer. Most all was left intact, but her books had disappeared from the library and the crystal wine glasses she had always favored were no longer in the cabinets.

Michael would miss not having her with him.

Nodding, he moved into her room. She cleared a few throw pillows and as she tossed them on the floor, Michael sank down into the extra softness that only his sister could sleep on.

Astoria peered up at her brother. His features were sharp and beautiful – much of the reason why he’d been an internationally successful model. He didn’t do much modeling anymore, but he’d always had the face for it. “What’s wrong?”

Michael’s lips curled into a small smile when his reverie was broken, and he looked down at the interrupter. “Just thinking.”

She looked at him skeptically. “How long have you been ‘just thinking’?”

Michael’s lips twitched. “Several days. Nearing a week.”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed knowingly. “I thought so.”

His eyes were bright with amusement as he met his sister’s gaze. “Is that right?”

Expression lighting with an impish grin, Astoria’s eyes were bright when she responded. “I’m your sister. Not only am I to be an ever present, difficult thorn in your side, but I’m to know these kinds of things.”

“Yes, because you’re always so very difficult.” A smile played at his lips.

“I have my moments,” she replied, poking him lightly.

Grin fading, curiosity became the dominant expression of her features. “What have you been thinking about?”

“Friendships, Rors.” The conversation he’d had with Morag following the birthday party thrown for both her and Lisa had given him much to think on. He’d made a mistake and he’d done what he could to make reparations, but there were some things that had been revealed because of the succession of events that had put much on his heart and mind.

He figured out much on his own with few slip ups, but after what had happened he thought it best to seek an outside perspective. There was no on he trusted more than his sister.

“I need your insight,” he continued after a long moment, pulling his gaze from his sightless stare into space, to his sister.

Astoria’s brows shot up. “Me?”

“You’re one of the most honest people I’ve ever known,” he replied easily. “I trust you to tell me what I need to hear, even if it might not be what I want to hear.”

Astoria looked at Michael a bit incredulously. They had had their conversations over the years, but more often than not he was helping her work through something, or telling her what she needed to hear even if it was hard truths.

Her mind ticked busily as she waited for him to continue, to pull back what he’d said, but he didn’t. Michael just waited patiently as she worked through it all in her own head. He was lovely like that – patient.

Tilting her head to the side as she studied him, it occurred to her after the shock of his request had worn off a bit, that there must be something especially heavy weighing on him to come to her, to seek outside perspectives.

Her eyes widened a bit. It didn’t seem to happen often, but it dawned on her that Michael was in pain - emotional hurt. It was so hard to tell with him, and Astoria wished she could see these kinds of things in her own sibling without him having to all but tell her.

“Okay,” she began, just a bit hesitant. “Whatever it is, start from the top?”

Michael’s brow furrowed and his gaze drifted to a place that only he could see. “I’ve known since school that Morag didn’t like Lisa. It wasn’t something that was especially apparent, at least to me, until Lisa started dating Stephen. I’m friends with all of them, have been with some of them since before school even.”

When he glanced over at her, Astoria nodded. “The Cornfoots were friends of Mother and Papa.” They’d grown up on the same isle and had been childhood playmates, though they’d grown apart a bit at school. They did have history though. The MacDougal’s were from the north and they’d been part of pureblood society, though Astoria’s family had never socialized with them much. She was sure that Daphne’s family had, however. Lisa, Astoria had not known until Michael befriended her in school.

Michael nodded his confirmation of her statement before continuing. “Morag had always liked Stephen, and combined with whatever bothered her about Lisa – well, she was especially moody.” He glanced over at Astoria. “That was when Morag and I began sleeping together.”

Astoria resisted from crinkling her nose. She didn’t want to know about her brother’s sex life. It was apparently part of the story though, and he was sharing. She would not disrespect that.

“We were friends, she was emotionally upset about Stephen and Lisa being together, doubted herself, and we both wanted it,” he said, glancing down at Astoria. “It was more than just sleeping together though. She was a friend and in some way, I think I hoped me being there and wanting her would assure her that she was desirable even if the person she wanted was with someone else.”

Astoria nodded. “You’ve told me a million times, Michael – don’t use sex to fix hurts.”

Michael nodded slowly. “Yes, you’re right.” A cross between a sheepish and wry look crossed his face. “Or I’m right, and I should listen to my own advice, no?”

Astoria’s lips curled into a small smile and she slid her hand into Michael’s, lacing her fingers with his and holding it with both of hers. “You were only sixteen,” she pointed out.

“But I’ve not been sixteen for a long time,” he replied, squeezing her hand gently. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have done it in the first place, and I likely should have stopped a long time ago out of respect for her as my friend.”

“It’s not all that bad,” she replied. Astoria felt compelled to defend him where he would not defend himself, though the words he spoke felt right.

“It’s bad enough.” He went silent then, thoughts churning.

Astoria watched her brother, his face shadowed in concentration. There was more there, more he wanted to say; he hadn’t sought her out just to talk about something that had happened over ten years ago now. If she let him sit on it though, it was quite possible it’d be another week before he decided to speak again.

“So you and Morag have been sleeping together off and on for a long time, and it started because you wanted to comfort her when Stephen was dating Lisa – the man she wanted and the girl she never liked,” Astoria recapped to nudge him into continuing to speak.

Michael glanced over at her. “It started because I find her attractive as well.”

It was another of those moments when Astoria had to resist crinkling her nose. What she said was, “of course.” She ducked her head to catch his eye so he would not phase out into his thoughts again. “But what does it all have to do with today?”

“I hosted a birthday party for Lisa and Morag.”

Recalling the awkward feeling that had permeated the Penthouse, and that when she’d arrived late that Morag had already gone, Astoria nodded slowly. “Morag left early without saying anything to anyone and Lisa was a little … off?”

“And Anthony was miffed at me and both Padma and Mandy were upset.”

Astoria’s brow knit into a small frown. “Didn’t Anthony and Padma plan the whole thing though?”

“They did. Padma didn't know about Morag’s dislike. I did, and Anthony did.” His thoughts churned, much as they had been for the past several weeks. “I should have said no to the whole thing the night they came to ask to use the Penthouse, but I made a few miscalculations.”

Astoria just nodded, though her mind was ticking with all that Michael had said so far. There was something picking at her that didn’t sit quite right.

“I knew that Morag didn’t like Lisa, and I figured that having a party for both girls would go much like it had in school; neither would feel left out, and in Morag’s case, she’d be just fine sharing with Lisa for a few hours. She didn’t like Lisa, but she always seemed to have a decent time back in school, and Lisa never knew, so it was always more blissful ignorance for her.”

Michael wasn’t usually a talker, but he had made a very big tactical error and there were words weighing on him. He had come to a few unwanted and unpleasant conclusions in his mind. Before he acted and lived by his conclusions though, the adjustment to a truer reality, he wanted to make sure he was going in the right direction.

“You said you made a few miscalculations,” Astoria prompted when Michael lapsed into thoughtful silence again. There was still something just on the edge of her consciousness and she could almost taste it.

“Yes.” Michael brought clear blue eyes to hers. “I severely underestimated how much Morag disliked Lisa, and I somehow missed that she’s avoided every class reunion type party since we graduated where she might have to see Lisa.”

“How much did you severely underestimate her, Michael?” Astoria asked carefully.

“A fair bit, Rors. I’d call it hatred; though I’m hesitant to name such an emotion to anyone I care for.”

Both siblings went quiet for a long time then. Astoria knew the story wasn’t over yet, but he’d already given her a lot of insight into his life, into the lives he watched out for, and it all required a bit of thought.

Morag had always been infatuated with Stephen and she had never liked Lisa. Then Lisa started dating Stephen in Hogwarts, and Michael had opened his bed to Morag. Not the best decision in Astoria’s opinion, but she couldn’t throw stones; her own terrible relationship decisions were exponentially worse.

She tilted her head as she thought, gaze focusing on the soft, white pattern of her duvet, though her mind was a million miles away. It was not that she faulted Michael for sleeping with Morag – she was a beautiful woman – but the decision making process was definitely that of a sixteen year old hormone with a bit more thoughtfulness than all the other hormones in his dorm.

Skip forward ten years, and it brought them to a birthday party – one that should apparently have never happened if Michael had been paying better attention?

Astoria’s brow furrowed deeply. That just didn’t sound like her brother. He was one of the most observant people she’d ever known. He just saw things, knew things, that other people didn’t. But he’d admitted to not seeing the depth of Morag’s dislike, perhaps hatred, and the obviously subtle absence of the blonde woman at all Ravenclaw reunions.

As she worked through all that he had told her, the niggling thought finally spewed forth into something fully formed and Astoria turned her face up to Michael’s. “You said Anthony knew. Why in the seven bloody hells did he plan a party for both girls?”

“I can only assume that he was as in the dark as I was about the depth of Morag’s dislike, and I’m not entirely sure he didn’t just go along with what Padma wanted to do.”

“But he didn’t tell her?” Astoria asked, face slipping into something a bit incredulous as her emotions escalated. “He let Padma plan a party for them and didn’t tell her one time that he thought it was a bad idea? He may not have known, just like you didn’t, Michael, but that man is not blame free. You cannot take this all on yourself.”

“It’s not my place to point fingers. I can only take responsibility for my own actions. I should have stopped it when they came to my home, and it was a mistake on my part for not noticing that Morag had quite literally avoided Lisa for ten years.”

Astoria’s cheeks were pink with her ire. “Well, I’ll point fingers for you then.” She was not happy. She knew she’d not even heard the whole of what he had to tell her yet, but Salazar help her, she was angry.

“Anthony Goldstein knew and he didn’t say anything. You will not take the whole of this on your shoulders, brother mine. You will not bear burdens for cowards.” She internally winced as the words slipped from her mouth; she and Anthony had a past, but heaven help her, she would not let her brother shoulder the world for the other man’s cowardice.

Her little hands tightened around his and he squeezed hers back. “Someone must bear it, Rors. What’s done is done at this point, but that is the beginning and the middle. Let me finish it for you.”

Astoria took a breath and nodded. She had a feeling she would not like anything else he had to tell her.

“We had the party and as you witnessed yourself, Morag left without a word and Lisa was adrift. Padma came to me after, upset that things had happened as they had.” He turned to his sister. “She didn’t know, and she was upset at Anthony for not telling her.” Astoria huffed, but let him continue. “Mandy came by the next day, upset that she’d apparently missed the feelings of animosity from Morag to Lisa for the last ten years. She thinks she’s a terrible friend.”

Michael’s brow furrowed in concentration as he continued. “I dropped by Airy, but Morag wasn't in, and so I went to see Lisa. She was upset about other things, and I’m fairly sure she’s quite past what happened.” He glanced over at Astoria. “She didn’t get accepted into the Royal College of Music.”

Astoria nodded. For Lisa, that would be worse than an awkward birthday party could ever be.

"I went to Airy again this past Saturday. I wanted to apologize to both women in person for my lack of action in the whole thing." Were Michael a man to get frustrated, he would be so now. So much had happened and he didn't have a problem taking the blame on his shoulders and apologizing where apologies were due, but coming away from his conversation with Morag had left him with a conclusion he did not like. Not at all.

Watching Michael's expression darken, Astoria squeezed his hand, encouraging him to just get it out.

"I did apologize, but still after ten years of friendship she was unsure of me."

"How?"

"She told me she didn't think anyone cared." He had tried to be there for all his friends, always. "And that the group of people we've always spent our time with - our housemates - are not worth being around."

Astoria's vision tinted red.

"This woman does not know you," she breathed, tiny hands gripping Michael's tightly. She would not even say her name, not even think it. "If she didn't know you cared, then she doesn't deserve your care, or your thoughts. If after ten fucking years a woman did not know you cared, then you should not think on her anymore."

Astoria was livid. Her brother was one of the most fair, just and lovely people she'd ever known. He was a man of integrity and his care for those he considered his went so deeply, Astoria had never been sure even one of her feelings would ever be so weighty.

"And damn it all, Michael, anyone who then proceeds to disparage everyone you care about to your face with no fucking regards for your feelings is absolutely no friend of yours. It's called selfishness." Her breathing was quick with her anger, and she held his gaze with her own sparking dark one. "She has no respect for you, no thought for you, and brother mine," she scooted over to peer up at him, almost nose to nose, "that she devalued most everything you care about to your face is nothing more than what she thinks about you. She ascribes no worth to you, no consideration. Else she'd not have said such to you."

Astoria's voice was soft, but it was because she was so mad she was nearly beside herself. How anyone could treat her brother in such a poor manner - one of the most selfless people she'd ever known, ever - she almost couldn't fathom, but apparently it was possible.

She slipped her hands from his then and cupped his face. "I know I'm not the most stable of the two of us, but you have to consider cutting her from your life. I know you think most anything is forgivable, but Michael?" She lightly pressed her nose to his before leaning back to see though whole of his face. "You really are observant and you really do see people. That you missed her hatred - that was her choice. That she hid it from everyone, from Mandy and Padma and Stephen and everyone, and still played nice ... ?"

She could feel her fingers curling, her nails beginning to press into his skin and she drew away, fisting her hands so that she'd only scratch herself. "Gods Michael, she's been duplicitously playing most all of her so-called friends for years. Yes, you knew, but did Mandy? Did anyone else? You and Anthony. Who said nothing." She glowered. "I can understand wanting the best of all worlds - being friends with everyone and having no one know about her pet hatred, but it was only a damn flip of the switch for her to turn her back on half a lifetime spent with these people and ascribe them no worth. Michael, damn it all, she's thought it all along."

Michael had expected her emotions, but he'd not expected the waterfall of words. He was still calm, but some of what she'd said struck chords with some of the conclusions he'd come to, and his heart hurt that his thoughts had been vindicated.

She was nearly panting, but Michael tugged her into his lap, wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin atop her head. "I know, Rors."

Astoria shifted in his lap until she could wrap her arms tightly around his middle. He was hurting, and it made her hurt too. "Why did you tell me all of this then?" she asked, voice a little rough now as tears pricked at her. One torrid emotion to the next; it was how she'd always been.

"Because I needed to know for sure. A person doesn't alter their reality unless they're absolutely sure they're heading towards a truer one. I didn't want it to be like this." And he didn't. It would be different now. A person he'd known and been close to for most his life had told him, to his face, that most all he cared for had no worth.

If Morag had cared for him she'd not have said it. Astoria was right. He could forgive almost anything - and he had not cared that some of his friends had not liked each other. It was the way of the world, and he cared for them all despite. But he was not given the same considerations.

And that was something Michael could forgive too. But he would never let one friend disparge others without saying anything, and that such was said to him knowing that he cared for them all - Astoria was, unfortunately, right. He had no worth to Morag, or most all that he cared for had no worth to her, and to say such to his face was indicative of his import to a woman he'd cared for for a long, long time.

And his heart hurt.

"I love you, Rors." He held her tightly, body cradling hers as he lapsed into silence. His reality was a truer one, but it was not a prettier one. Better knowledge than ignorance though, no matter how painful it was. He would never be able to protect and care for the ones he loved if he didn't have a true grasp on those around him, and unfortunately, that truer grasp was one he'd hoped never to see.

It only hurt when you let someone close enough to give you joy. The people who gave you joy also had the power to give you great pain. He'd tried to make right the wrongs he'd done, but all it'd gotten him was an uncovering of something that hurt more than he'd ever thought could.

He'd told Astoria more than once over the years to protect her heart, but it seemed, yet again, that he needed to take his own advice.

Tears slid down her cheeks, ones that Michael would not ever cry for himself, and Astoria held on tightly to him as he did her.

"I love you, too, big brother," she whispered.

Chapter Text

His eyes glittered behind the mask. Astoria was unsure whether she preferred the partial screen to the intensity, or whether she desperately wanted it banished to feel his gaze unhindered.

Lucifer the Morning Star was all too apt for the man who's eyes peered out at her.

Entirely too apt.

A beautiful, dangerous temptation.

"I said only a single dance." Breathless. His fault. It irritated her enough to put color high on her cheeks, eyes defiant.

"You didn't say I could not persuade you after." Julian's eyes glittered. Beautiful prey. The irritation was bewitching, and he maneuvered her further towards the darkness afforded in the shadows.

"I did not say you could, either." She glared up at him through her own mask. Back hitting the wall, delicious fear spiced her veins.

He was hunting her.

"Do step away."

"You're quite lovely when your cross." Ignoring her order, he dragged a finger down the column of her throat, across the delicate edge of her collarbone, and over the dainty curve of her shoulder. Her skin was warm, but heat followed his touch and her scent filled his lungs on the next breath.

Intoxicating. He'd danced with her several times in the past, but not until this moment had he breathed her in. Every muscle in his body wanted to press into her in that moment.

He settled for lowering his head, barely brushing his lips to the softness beneath her ear. His next inhale brought her scent to him, severely more heady for being so near her. Jasmine. Soft, delicate and entirely feminine, but ... there, the warmth of vanilla, just barely.

"If you tell me to move, I will leave you." It cost him to say it. He wanted to run his teeth down her neck. He wanted to know her taste. He wanted to breathe her in - gods, he wanted more. He inhaled again.

Dangerous. So dangerous to her.

Astoria's pulse rabbited beneath her skin though, breath slightly uneven. He had her caged, and even as instinct told her to run, a more primal one told her to stay.

She refused to say it aloud, but her lids fluttered behind her mask even as she tipped her head ever so slightly, acquiescence in the exposure of the white of her throat where she would not utter it in spoken word.

The action was somehow more than anything she could have said and control slipped from him for the space of a breath.

Julian scraped his teeth on the soft skin offered him, restraint a foreign concept when she gasped. Her scent - sweet gods - and then his teeth sank further, marking the softness between neck and shoulder. Her little hand fluttered on his arm even as a tiny sound slipped her lips and Julian pulled her flush to him.

Mine.

His eyes snapped open at the foreign concept. Never for keeps.

But then the tiniest whimper slipped her lips, her scent filled his lungs and Julian's eyes darkened.

Chapter Text

"It's taken me this long, but I think I've figured you out ... you could tell me that your sorry, but I won't believe you, baby, like I did before ... you're not sorry ..."

Lucifer. The Morning Star. It's what she'd thought of him once upon at time. So beautiful. Compelling..

She'd been right.

She should have listened to her own reasoning. Astoria had never been known to let reason trump passion, though.

...

She'd invited it, this touch, but the bite of his teeth with no more preparation then the warmth of breath on her skin, the barest skim of lips against her throat had her tiny hand gripping his arm.

Astoria had never sought pain to spice her pleasure, but ...

Her lids fluttered as she was brought flush to him and a tiny sound slipped her lips.

He would be her final damnation.

...

Julian was beautiful in sleep. Arresting.

He was also duplicitous, ruthless and callous.

And she loved him.

Astoria licked her lips as her resolve stuttered, and she reached out, brushing her fingertips over his lips, the pad of her thumb brushing lightly over the stubble on his chin.

Love. It wasn't supposed to happen. They all knew better. She knew better.

...

"This doesn't mean anything." Despite the mark, his mark at the curve of her neck, Astoria's eyes were bright with defiance. "It won't happen again."

Julian smirked, though his gaze was dark, intent.

"Don't look at me like that." She licked her lips. She could already feel the stir of heat. He'd done nothing but mark her, breathe her in and yet ... she'd never let anyone mark her.

"Like what, mia dolce?"

She swallowed, lips parting as her eyes went a bit hazy despite her own irritation at herself. "Like you're hunting me," she said, breathless.

...

It wasn't enough. Desire. The hunt. The way he looked at her, the way he breathed her in, like he'd never be able to take in air again without her filling his lungs.

It just wasn't enough. She wanted to belong to someone, and Julian Vaisey didn't play for keeps.

She'd known better.

...

"Don't... "

He came to the end of her and Astoria arched into him, nails digging into his back.

"Don't what, mia dolce?" he murmured against her neck, nuzzling as he paused to do what he did most often - breathe her in.

She panted, lids fluttering as she brought her hands up to twine gently in his hair. "Don't stop ... just don't stop, Julian."

His touch was gentle then; cherished lover. His teeth grazed her neck as he moved in her again. "Never."

...

A single tear escaped. Leaning over him, Astoria pressed a kiss to his lips, lingering as long as she dared. "Goodbye."


"... could have loved you all my life, if you hadn't left me in the cold ... this is the last straw. There's nothing else to beg for."

Chapter Text

“Go ahead and undo the rest.” Or you could just take it completely off.

Michael went ahead and unbuttoned the billowy white shirt they’d dressed him in. His sister had suggested modeling and it suited him well enough, as much as anything else, really.

“Very good. Now go ahead and lean against the rail there. Good, good. Let the shirt fall open… very good.” Pirates. Hot damn. Who knew anyone could make it seem so damn sexy. “I want you to look straight at the camera,” she added, camera clicking as she took shot after shot. The man’s a natural. Smolders without trying.

Oh my gods.

“No, don’t move,” she hurried to say. She could feel warmth touch her skin, but her camera worked overtime. Lickable. Right in the hollow of his hip, down that line. Damn. The trou hanging off his hips is going to drive this campaign.

Michael lazed against the wooden rail, glancing down at the water below. How an old pirate ship was going to help sell Vetsch cologne, he didn’t really know. Didn’t matter though. It was a passable way to spend his time, and at least he was ‘doing something with his life.’

Gods, if I could lick the chords in his neck… “Back at the camera, Michael. I know you’ve heard it a million times, but your eyes are gorgeous…” As is everything else, holy hell. I wonder if … “… grab the consumer. Look at the lens like you’re reading my mind.”

Michael’s did indeed look into the camera like he was reading her mind. She’d all but invited it, and he called his Occlumancy to the fore and waited for any thoughts she was projecting.

His eyes were dark as he met hers through the lens, and his lips twitched. Is that right? Maybe we should go out after this…

Oh. My. GODS. The campaign was going to be an absolute smash with that last shot she’d captured – the eyes, the almost smirk, the body - but … “You didn’t say that out loud, did you?”

Michael’s lips twitched. “Say what?”

Chapter Text

Finally found a girl that you couldn’t impress
Last man on the earth still couldn’t hit this

“Am I to be impressed then, Edward?” Astoria asked, not looking up from the parchment she held in her hands.

“Well, I am quite impressive,” he replied, gaze watching for what she would do with his words. If he was more interested than he ought to be in the expressions passing across her delicate features, it was dismissed.

Pulling her gaze from the parchment, Astoria looked up at Edward, her brow arching. “I do suppose the only way to keep my job is to agree with you … boss,” she said dryly. “Though,” she continued as she set the parchments aside, stiletto clad foot tapping the air from her perch on his desk. “It’s not as if I need employment, and thusly do not need to be impressed by …” She sniffed. “You.”

Chapter Text

Katie frowned, brow knit in deep concentration as she looked through the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. The twinkling Christmas garland framed the contents merrily and she blew a breath out, snow crunching beneath her boots as she shifted, head tipping.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not going to find secrets of the universe in the window display, Bell.” Blake’s lips curled in a smirk as he sidled up to the brunette, his own eyes on the display. “I’m also pretty sure you’re not going to find that present you’re looking for out here, either.”

“Shut it, Dunstan.” Color touched high on Katie’s cheeks and her brown eyes flashed in irritation when she looked over at the sometimes charming, sometimes infuriating, always friend of one Stewart Ackerly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Except that he did. “I was just checking out the new Firebolt.” Not trying to figure out what to get your useless friend. The one who snogs exceptionally well. Nope.

Blake craned his neck, not even glancing at her. “Isn’t the Firebolt in the next window over?” His dark blue eyes shot to hers then, lips turned in a ruthlessly amused expression. “He likes the Bulgarian broom lines better, anyways.” Blake winked.

“I haven’t the faintest who you’re talking about,” Katie sniffed. She didn’t acknowledge the fact that the new Firebolt was, in fact, in the next window over. On the other side of the door. “And I really must be on my way. Do have a happy holiday, Blake.”

Blake grinned at the ruffled feathers he could practically see as she walked away, and called after her. “Give Archie a kiss for me! That’s all he really wants anyways.”

Her shoulders tensed and she paused half a second before continuing on, choosing to ignoring him, and Blake chuckled. “Happy Christmas, Bells.”

Chapter Text

Eloise glared.

“If you keep looking at her like that, she’s not going to like you any better.” Michael’s voice was amused as he watched his wolf across the room, curled on the sofa and eyeing them both with disdain.

“I think I’d like her a lot better in several pieces.” Damn cat. Pearl, he called her. Little orphan thing had adopted him. It was odd enough a domestic pet had come within sniffing distance of the place, let alone twined all about his person. Generally, house cats and dogs really didn’t like werewolves. Pearl seemed to have no problems with Michael though.

Eloise was not pleased with these developments.

Michael chuckled when Pearl hissed, her nails digging lightly into his shoulder as she sent a yellow-eyed glare right back at Eloise. He was fairly sure there was a Kneazle somewhere in her lineage given that she seemed to understand most everything he said cannily. “I’m fairly sure she wishes the same on you.”

“Yes, well, I’m bigger.” Eloise narrowed her eyes at the white fluff curling around Michael’s neck. Rubbing it in. “And on the full moon I eat little white fluff balls. Rabbits work, but I could make an exception.” She was more than a little pleased when Pearl’s hair stood on end.

“On every other night I have my fill of small black wolves,” Michael said, lips curling slightly, though the dark tint of his blue eyes spoke of more intimate things.

Eloise’s dark eyes shifted to Michael’s then, the damn cat quite forgotten at what she saw in his gaze. “There is that.”

Before either of them could react, Pearl darted across the room, pounced on Eloise, dug her nails in to leave little red marks and then streaked out of the room.

The words falling from Eloise’s mouth would have made any sailor proud, and she was already half over the back of the sofa to chase down the angelic looking devil when she found herself pinned and looking up at a pair of glowing blue eyes. The litany of vulgarity petered out.

Michael could smell the coppery tang of blood Pearl had drawn, and he kept Eloise’s gaze as he brought her wrist up, carefully licked the pinpoints of red where the cat had pierced her skin. Her breathing went shallow and he could feel the impatience building in her. His lips twitched.

“Now that we’re alone then…” He shifted completely over her then, body hovering, and slid his knee between her legs, movement faster than any human as he released her wrist and wound his hand in her hair, lips claiming hers. Mine.

Chapter Text

Edward knew who it was long before she said anything. Both the soft scent of jasmine and the irritated ‘click, click’ of her heels gave away that Astoria was stalking towards his desk.

His lips twitched and he set his quill down as he leaned back in his large chair. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Astoria?”

“I need you,” she said, shooting a dark glare at the smug look he gave her. “I need you to grind someone in the ground. I want Johan Noedel to hurt and I want every damn piece of art he makes for the rest of his life to be bound to my gallery.” There was color high on her cheeks from her pique and she all but slammed a portfolio down before him.

Edward took a quick moment to appreciate the picture she made, but business was business and he leaned forward to open the folder she’d put before him. “Blood thirsty looks good on you, but why, may I ask, am I to loophole this seeming bastard to you, and therefore myself?”

She watched his brows shoot up when he saw the first of the photos at the top of the pile and allowed herself a small moment of smug triumph. The man’s art was self-explanatory. Genius. Sculpture and paintings that were magnificent. Johan’s work dipped into the best of the past while turning its face to the future; absolutely unique. And beautiful. His art would sell.

“I see,” Edward said, closing the leather and looking back to the woman before him. “He’s very good. An asset.” He studied her a long moment, eyes lingering at the hollow of her throat before asking, “and why do you need me to close this for you then?”

The scowl she’d walked in with came back in full force. “He won’t speak to me. To a woman.” Astoria turned and stalked over to the cabinet against the wall and threw it open. She really wanted to throw something, preferably something breakable, but a bite of scotch would be a suitable replacement. “He will only answer Euan’s owls and when I went out to the bloody German wilderness in the damn middle of nowhere to meet with him and iron out some terms for showing his work at the gallery, he refused to talk business with me.” She poured a liberal amount of the amber liquid into a tumbler and shot the sip back, nose crinkling as it burned down her throat.

Preparing a glass for Edward, she turned and clipped back to his desk and handed it to him, dark eyes meeting his. “I want him to squirm. I want to own him.” Astoria chose not to mention that the older, chauvinistic man had come onto her, had frightened her with his advances. She shouldn’t have gone alone into the German wilderness where he sequestered himself to do his work.

Edward looked at her, expression canny, and chose not to point out that this Johan Noedel would, in fact, belong to himself. Whatever contract was made and signed would tie the artist to V, inc. Though, it was obvious that Astoria thought that hers as well and it both amused and pleased him.

There was more to it than she was saying, however; something personal. Astoria was a woman of many passions, but the vehemence, the almost anger and something else making her eyes just a little too bright – it spoke of something personal with this Johan Noedel, and it was that that made the barest stirrings of … something, something unpleasant, unfurl in Edward.

He sipped the scotch she’d handed him and nodded his head. “He’s ours.”

Relief was the first, but vindication followed quickly after. If anyone could make a person give over their livelihood and thank them for it, it was Edward Carmichael. Astoria met his eyes, her own fierce, steady. “Good.”

Chapter Text

She wasn’t sure what had happened. They’d had a conversation, then an argument and before she really knew what was happening his mouth was on her neck, his hand smoothing firmly down her spine and pulling her hips to the edge of the desk.

Push away or pull closer, she didn’t know. It was too fast, and oh my gods. Her head fell back, a small sound leaving her lips when Edward found the soft spot just beneath her ear. She didn’t know how, or why, but just that moment it didn’t damn matter. Her little hands reached for him, clutched at his shoulders, scratched up his neck until she felt his short hair running beneath her fingers.

Pant, Pant, Ohhh. His hand smoothed up her thigh, was not gentle as he pulled her around him, pushed the silk of her dress up. There was still his trousers, the little barrier of lace, but she felt him firm against her and a tiny shudder shook her small frame. Why? How? This was Edward, her would-be snake, her damn boss.

Why? Whywhywhywhy … and then she couldn’t even think that anymore, not when his lips had found hers, not when they drank the whimpers she couldn’t hold in, not when they demanded and took, claimed and devoured. Not when lips, teeth, hands and body said mine.

Chapter Text

Astoria knew his desire, and her own.

She'd felt his breath, a warm fan on her neck. She'd felt his hands trail lightly over her skin, heat blooming in the trails left in his wake. She'd felt the strength of his body as he pressed her to the wall.

All these things were but tastes, teases. Enough to get to the next hit, the next touch or breath. It was a way of satisfying the barest edges of want without crossing lines that would change everything.

So careful.

There were reasons. There were always reasons.

It was because the catch of her breath when he entered her that first time was an echo of not just that night, but many into a distance that could not be fathomed. It was because the rake of her nails, the shudder of her body against him and his name on her lips made the world a different place, one that didn't fit with everything he'd known prior. It was because when she was bare in his arms, beneath his body, arching up at his touch, his kiss, his, nothing else seemed to matter.

There were reasons. Julian wasn't sure he shouldn't have listened to them or not.

Chapter Text

Got me hypnotized, the city's your playground
Well, you're a hot mess and I'm fallin' for you
Cause you shake it, shake it, shake it, yeah you know what to do ...

Hips swayed and smooth skin warmed the silk covering young, lithe bodies in the Parisian club. Too many Cosmos buzzed through them, and the silk Astoria and Romy had arrived in littered the stage leaving only lace and too much skin behind. The night owned them, every glistening curve.

Chapter Text

She was alone. Draco had never been hers, nor had Jason. Roger had left her and Seamus … that had been a mistake. Miles, gone. Julian watched her as did Edward, though more like a wolf than anything.

Alone, and yet she felt anything but.

Somewhere along the way, Astoria had realized that she didn’t need them, any of them. She was her own woman, a whole person without a man.

Why it had taken her so long to realize she was the prize, she didn’t know, but with the shining realization tucked safely in her heart, everything looked different now.

Her heels clipped on the cobblestone, a confident ‘click, click, click’, and if a few heads turned, she paid them no mind. Anyone worth her time would work for it. No more settling.

It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life, it’s a new life for me … and I’m feeling good.

Chapter Text

I just want to catch you if I can
I just want to be there
I know you want to hear me catch my breath
I love you ‘till the end

Lola’s blue eyes watched him.

Graham knew she was there. Their eyes had met the moment she’d trudged into her uncle Prouty’s pub, throwing her ballet shoes about in frustration.

He hadn’t come up to say hello though. His lips had curled in an infuriatingly cocky smirk and he’d loosed his gaze from hers to chuckle at whatever inane thing the tart hanging all over him had said.

Lola glowered. She knew what Graham Pritchard got up to. Mostly what she got up to, but seeing him get up to it right in front of her … it just wasn’t okay.

Dumping her bag and wayward ballet slippers by the bar, she marched resolutely towards the bastard who she occasionally liked to claw up in bed.

Tapping the tart on the shoulder, Lola swung for all she was worth when the blonde turned around. She grinned just a little maniacally when she felt something crunch beneath her tiny fist. Hopefully it was the bint’s nose.

Only when the woman shrieked and backed away did Lola look down at her hand, red and swollen, and realize that maybe it was her that had crunched. “Ow.” She sniffled.

Chapter Text

He liked the way her pulse pounded beneath his hand. He really liked it.

Thump, thump, thump

“Adrian?” Her voice was breathless, dark gaze questioning, but hazy and warm as she searched his face. There was a cold calculation there she hadn’t seen before. She’d felt it, of course. Adrian Pucey was a true snake; chillingly manipulative and cunning. Ruthless. She had always watched him with a healthy amount of wariness. Just now, though, Astoria wondered at herself and the warmth she could feel tinting her skin. She should be more frightened than she was, and she most certainly shouldn’t be heatedly aware of him.

His grip was tight around her throat, but not so tight as to cause her to lose consciousness. Just tight enough that he knew the imprint of his fingers would be left on her milky skin, that he could feel her heart beat. Astoria was a tiny thing. It would be no effort at all to snap her neck or to break open the life-giving vein just beneath his fingers. Light eyes watched his thumb move slightly as her pulse pounded faster still, but her voice drew his gaze up – up to slightly parted lips, rosy cheeks and hazy dark eyes watching him. He’d not done enough to make her vision go black yet and his eyes narrowed slightly as he pressed his thumb down on her pulse.

Her breath caught and little hands fluttered to grip lightly at his wrist, but Astoria didn’t struggle otherwise. “Adrian?” It was more breathless this time. “That hurts.”

“Do you like it?” She was beautiful like this, he decided, and he brought his other hand up to lightly trace a finger down her cheek.

“I …” Breathing was not impossible, but it was more difficult and she did struggle a bit then. “I don’t know.” Her lids fluttered shut as he traced her skin and she settled into stillness again. “I don’t know,” she whispered, grip tightening minutely on his wrist as a tiny shudder went down her spine.

So easy to hurt, so delicate. He was barely exerting any pressure at all, and yet he could see as she struggled for awareness now. Bending over her, he brushed his lips to hers. Why, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps because he wanted to taste the breath he was stealing from her. The tiny gasp that escaped her blanked his mind for several moments though, and even as Adrian loosened his grip slightly, he pressed his lips more firmly to hers, something dark stirring in him when her nails bit into his wrist and she surged to meet him.

Some part of Astoria knew this was a very, very bad thing. Adrian was an assassin; many of his kills condoned and legal, even. But he was a sociopath. She knew this despite how well he presented. They’d shared a House, after all, and she’d made a skill of observing everyone.

This was bad. And yet as he released his hold on her neck and slid his hand roughly into her hair, Astoria found there were no more thoughts at all as she reached for him.

Chapter Text

It had been over a year since Roger had seen little Astoria Greengrass, but when he ambled into the kitchen and his eyes caught on a sparkly pair of heels attached to a very delicately built person in a teeny tiny bikini, dark hair trickling down her back as she reached up into the cabinet, Roger just shook his head. “Isn’t the point of a pool party to lose the shoes, little one?” he asked as he snatched the glass from the top shelf and held it out to her.

“There aren't any reasons not to wear fabulous shoes,” Astoria said, sniffing at him despite the pink that was tinting her skin. Her mind had supplied her at least one activity in which her stilettos might not be needed – though they’d be an excellent prop. Such thoughts should never be had in proximity to Roger Davies though, especially when he didn’t have anything on but a low slung pair of swimming trunks.

She turned on her stiletto and clipped towards the bevy of drinks scattered on the island and poured herself a margarita from the pitcher. “Don’t you have a … broom to fly, or some such?” she asked airily, snatching a lime moments later and dropping it into her glass.

“Season’s over and contrary to popular belief, I enjoy spending time with my friends. Who am I to turn down one of Michael’s pool parties?” he asked as he followed her across the kitchen. She was a lovely pink, but irritated at him for something. Roger didn’t have a clue what it could be, but as long as he’d known Astoria, she’d been irritated at him for something. It was almost comforting, in a way, as it seemed nothing had changed since the last time he’d seen her.

He leaned against the counter, blue eyes studying her. “How’ve you been, little one? Michael says you’re working for that magazine now, the … girl one?”

“Witch Weekly,” Astoria said dryly, brow rising at him before she took a sip of her drink. “It’s all still new, but I do love it.” Her lips curled up slightly then. “I have legitimate reasons to hit every fashion show on the continent now.”

Roger really had no idea what she’d just said, but he nodded his head, gaze tracking down to her mouth and back up her bright brown eyes. She rarely spared such glances for him and he found that he liked when she smiled – even almost smiles. “That’s really nice.” He tipped his head then, an idea springing to mind. “Say, you wouldn’t want to go-”

“Roger!”

A squeal followed, and moments later he was wrapped up in another small person; a late arrival to the party. Astoria resisted the urge to frown, and moved around the pair to clip back to the pool. If a small furl of irrational dislike for the Ravenclaw girl uncurled inside her, it was pushed far, far away. Roger saw her like a little sister and always had. Nothing was ever going to change that.

Roger watched her go, tiny frown pulling between his brows, but before he could give much thought to the confusion wrapped around his dislike for seeing her walk away from him, his attention was pulled elsewhere by the girl who was chattering at him now. An old classmate. Best to at least try to remember what she had just said.

Chapter Text

How had she missed this?

Pansy was usually aware of when a man was attracted to her. They watched her with possession, tinted with heat and want. They always found ways to touch her; lips lingering on her skin in greeting, hand sliding a little too far down her back. Pansy was intimately familiar with attraction, what it tasted and felt like, what it looked like.

Somehow, however, she had missed the warning signs in Michael Corner. He’d always watched her, but the look in his blue eyes was always unreadable, or perhaps, as if he was laughing to himself at everything around him. Pansy didn’t like it. She didn’t like that she hadn’t ever been able to read his gaze or body language– always close, but not close enough to interpret.

Pansy definitely didn’t like that he was nearly prettier than she was, either.

But as his musician’s hands kneaded into her back, fingers working the scented oils into her skin, Pansy found herself somewhat unconcerned. “Do you treat all your muses as such?” she murmured.

“I have endeavored to,” Michael said as he bent over her, lips ghosting over her shoulder as he smoothed his hands down her back, fingers skimming her sides.

A tiny frown pulled between at her brow despite the heat now sluicing beneath her skin at his teasing touches. “You are aware I will never be one of many, yes?”

“And you never have been,” Michael insisted as he brushed her hair off her neck. The steam from the hot tub moistened her skin, but it was the shadows and candlelight dancing over her nude back that drew his gaze. It was the spark sizzling just beneath her skin, the sliding, sumptuous melody he could almost grasp that had always drawn him, though.

His lips ghosted over her shoulder again, hands smoothing over her arms until he linked his fingers with hers above her head. “It’s always been you,” he murmured, breath warm against her skin. “You who I endeavored to seduce.” His bare chest pressed to her back, skin to skin, and he nuzzled his nose along her jaw. “You don’t want to be found or seen, and yet the melody still escapes.” Michael’s lips pressed just beneath her ear. “Every note wants to be more.” Her breath was uneven and Michael smiled against her skin. “I want to write a song for every tease, map every curve with my hands and mouth to feel and taste what you are so careful to keep closed inside.”

A frown pulled at her brows again. That was too close, felt too … real. The breath taken to speak against him, to end this moment that had devolved into her nearly nude form spread on towels near the heated pool as he massaged her back. Her lips parted for something quite different when teeth bit at the juncture of neck and shoulder. Such liberties, and yet her body shuddered.

There would be talk, but … later.

Chapter Text

He'd tried flowers and jewelry. He'd wined and dined her at the poshest restaurants all over Europe. He'd whisked her away to the Canary Islands, Fiji and Sumatra. He'd even treated her to an extravagant mass of gifts through the holidays; the 12 Days of Christmas with diamonds, rubies and Van Gogh.

He'd given her everything he could think of and it was with some amount of irritation and frustration that he finally snapped. "What the bloody hell do you want, Astoria? Haven't I shown you how much you mean to me? Haven't I proven you're the only one?"

Julian turned about and his pacing ceased, dark eyes finding her. Such a fit was not to be born in a man of his ilk, but it had been over a year and she was yet out of reach. She had let him lavish attention upon her, had been gracious upon receiving his gifts, but she had never let him venture beyond what was proper, would press her tiny hand to his chest if he was too forward.

She'd been forthright with him; he could not fault her for playing games. And yet he'd done everything he could think to woo her, pursued her with a single-mindedness he'd never put to anything else save his business.

"Are you not to be pleased? Perhaps you run me in circles, after all," he said, eyes narrowing at her. "Perhaps you never had intention of seeing beyond my past."

"Perhaps I have been waiting to hear," Astoria countered, pulse rabbiting at the dark look aimed at her. "You have given me everything, Julian, but until this moment, you have never told me who I am to you."

She tipped her chin up. "A woman wants to know for certain that she is one, and she is only, and that she is wanted above all others." Once, she had taken any attention, but somewhere between Draco's flippant casting off and Jason's forgetfulness, she had found respect for herself. Julian had been the first to come along and test that new-found empowerment. He could never know how difficult it had been to say no, to ward off his advances. She wanted more than that.

That's all? That's all she ever wanted? Words and intent? No, Julian realized, it was truth and promise. So elusive in the circles they traveled; priceless.

"You," he said, closing the distance between them, hands rising to cup her face. "It's always been you."

She was softer than he could have imagined, tasted sweeter. The tiny sighs that slipped her lips to his were more heady than the thousands before her, and when her little hands grabbed at him, pulled and tugged at his shirt, Julian felt like a man starved, Astoria his only sustenance. Only a kiss, only her lips moving with his, her diminutive form pressed against him, and yet it was more than anything before.

They both had everything, and yet all that had mattered was the truth out loud.

Chapter Text

“You’re going to be Sean’s godfather.”

Blake’s brows came together and he opened his eyes. The sunlight was blinding, but he squinted at the man sprawled out next to him in the grass.

“What are you bloody on about?” It couldn’t be.

Stewart just continued to stare up at the sky. It was robin’s egg blue and the clouds were like the cotton candy he used to get at the carnival when he was young. The whole day had something of a surreal quality to it. He and Dunstan had gone for a run like they had since they were boys, had raced to the end of the pier like always, had tossed each other into the water and attempted drowning one another in a race to the buoy… it was odd going through motions he had so many times before knowing that soon everything would change.

The dark haired man turned to look at Blake. “What do you think I’m bloody on about?”

“Fuck.” Blake’s eyes were wide as he sat up. “Katie’s pregnant.”

“No, Merlin is,” Stewart said dryly as he sat up too.

“Fuuuuuccck.” It wasn’t as if Blake had dismissed the idea of family and children completely, but it had always seemed something that would happen in the theoretical future – ‘someday’.

Stewart squinted against the sunlight as he turned to Blake. “Yeah.”

Blake peered at his friend for a long time before he spoke again. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“We should get pissed.”

Stewart’s lips twitched. Blake rarely drank. “Yeah.”

The blonde man set his arms on his knees and turned his gaze out to the water. “Sean, huh?”

“Katie wanted Megan if it was a girl, but I know it’ll be a boy. It’s my kid. He’ll be a stud.” A tiny smirk curled his lips. “I suggested Spike, but she wasn’t having it.”

Blake’s lips twitched. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“I guess it was bound to happen.” Not that it was a bad thing. When Stewart and Katie had gotten married, he had assumed they would have kids at some point. Blake just hadn’t thought it would be so soon. Spending time with the couple hadn’t been much different than when they’d only been dating, and he and Stewart hadn’t ever really changed – as Katie said, they still acted like twelve year olds.

Having a little someone around would change things. They would actually have to grow up. Hell, Stewart was going to be a father. And he was going to be a godfather.

Blake turned that around in his mind a long moment before flashing a grin at his friend. “I guess it won’t be so bad having a little bloke around to teach footy to.”

Stewart raised his brow. “You really think Katie will let her kids be anything but Quidditch stars?”

“You really think I’m not going to sneak him Chocolate Frogs behind her back?”

Stewart grinned. Maybe things wouldn’t change so much, after all. Maybe being a father would just be another, better adventure.

Chapter Text

Michael felt the wards signal her arrival and he cracked an eye open from his sprawl on the sofa. “Dove.”

“Hello, pretty man,” Emma said, dimpled smile curling her lips as she bounced toward him. “I’ve got something I wanted to try,” she told him as she sat next to him. “Not today, but maybe we can play something fun soon?”

Michael’s lips twitched and he tugged her atop him. “What’ve you in mind?” he asked as he sifted fingers through her hair, over her shoulder and down her back. She was still in her little dress from work and the fabric was smooth until his hand came to her arse.

Emma wriggled against him, not quite able to help herself, not with the heat of his hand bleeding through the silk. “Simon says,” she told him, voice slightly breathless. “I tell you what to do – like ‘Simon says to kiss me’, or you could be Simon and tell me to do things.” Heat tinted her cheeks at his amusement, and she tried to explain her fascination with the Muggle game. “I wanted to try telling, or being told. It sounds exciting.”

The tiniest smile curled Michael’s lips, and instead of speaking, he cupped her cheek and brought her lips to his. The little sigh and softening of her body lit the embers always banked in him, and his grip tightened on her arse even as he slid his other hand into her hair and deepened the kiss. When he felt her hands tighten on his tee, heard the little moan in the back of her throat, Michael slid his hand further over the curve of her arse, encouraged her wriggling until his fingers found skin, and he gripped her thigh, pulled her to straddle him. Emma never held back her reactions, something he especially liked about her. She rolled her hips into his, searching.

In a single move, Michael sat up and let his feet drop to the floor. When she was about to pull away in surprise, he nipped her bottom lip and slipped his hand between them to undo button and zip.

Oh. Oh. It wasn’t truly the reason Emma had come to visit Michael – not this particular time, at least, but now that she felt like every part of her was on fire, she realized she wanted exactly what he was leading them towards and moved to help him. A little shifting, just enough fabric moved to make it possible, then his fingers twitching at the lace of her knickers to pull a gasp from her, and he was inside of her. Emma thought she might die in the best way possible.

Michael found her lips again as he guided her hips on his. “What else does Simon say?” he murmured against her mouth.

“Huh?” Her gaze was hazy, lips parting moments later as he filled her again.

“I kissed you,” he pointed out, “as Simon said.” Michael’s lips twitched. “Can I make you scream now?”

Chapter Text

Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
So led by the light of a star sweetly gleaming

St. George’s Cathedral in Southwark was predictably sparse for the midnight mass. Few people ventured out of their homes so late on Christmas Eve, especially in the snow and cold. It suited Lisa just fine.

She glanced up at Michael and watched his blue eyes flick from the domed ceiling to the stained glass windows and over the ornate architecture. He turned, gaze following the sound echoing through the stone building.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Magnificent,” he agreed, gaze coming back to her. “I’ve not seen one quite like that.”

“They just don’t make them like they used to,” she said softly in respect for the few people kneeling in the pews, praying.

His lips curled slightly and humor touched the edges of his eyes, but Michael only squeezed her hand and turned back around to take in the organ pipes dominating the back wall of the balcony.

“Come on, love,” Lisa bid, tugging him lightly down the aisle. She knew Michael, born into wizarding traditions and raised as a pureblood, didn’t understand Muggle customs like Christmas Eve mass, but it warmed her all the same that he was with her. He seemed especially taken with the traditional music that the organist was playing in preparation for the service, and her lips turned up as they settled.

“Oh, holy night,” the choir began, their voices hauntingly beautiful in the dimly lit church. Lisa closed her eyes. Maybe he didn’t understand right now, but there was a long time to show him the source of her peace and comfort. The glittering engagement ring on her left hand was testament to that.

Sighing as the music breathed through her, Lisa lay her head on his shoulder. “I love you,” she whispered.

“And I love you,” he murmured against her hair. “Merry Christmas.”

Chapter Text

Michael peered down at her. She looked just like one of his mum’s china dolls, but bigger. And not breakable. Well, not the same way, in any case. His mum and Devon said he had to be careful because playing with little girls was not the same as playing with little boys like him.

He tipped his head, considered her sleeping features a moment longer, and then reached out and nudged her shoulder. She didn’t stir, and he nudged her again. “Hey. Wake up.”

Dark lashes fluttered. Her eyes were inky and dark, and not like his or his mum’s bright blue ones at all. He leaned down until they were nearly nose to nose to study the rich brown color.

“I no wants to wake,” the four year old told him, bottom lip protruding moments later. She pushed at him. “Papa no say I has to.”

Michael pulled back slightly so he could see her whole face. “But it’s Christmas. I got you a present.”

Astoria’s eyes widened. “Christmas!”

She darted from her bed and out the door, and Michael’s head tipped to the side as he listened to the patter of her feet. Ten steps, and then she recovered them, bursting back through the door in a flurry of rumpled hair and billowing nightdress.

“Come on, Mich’l!” she chirped as she skidded to a halt in front of him and snatch his hand. “Is Christmas,” she explained breathlessly, “presents for Mich’l too. Come on!”

A smile curled Michael’s lips and he nodded. He was pretty sure he was going to like having a sister during Christmases. “Yeah, okay,” he said as he curled his hand around her tiny one and let her lead him from the room.

Chapter Text

“You didn’t have to come, you know.” Penny was surprised he had shown up at her door. She rarely saw Michael these days, what with her schedule and his tendency to isolate himself with his music. When she happened upon his record store in Diagon, it’d been a surprise – though apparently he’d had the shop for nearly half a year.

She invited him to come caroling with her family on a whim. He liked music (obviously). She hadn’t expected him to actually take her up on the invitation.

Penny’s lips curled slightly as she watched him shrug and offer a twitch of a smile. “Wanted to come,” he said. “There’s music.”

Of course. Wherever there was music, there was Michael.

...

She knew all the carols. She’d been singing them with her family for as long as she could remember.

It wasn’t until Michael had raised a brow at her (after her mother had finally shifted away to gossip to her aunt about “Penny’s beau”. Ugh.) that Penny realized he didn’t know the traditional Muggle carols. It was true he was a half-blood, but he’d been raised in the purest of pureblood society. Of course he didn’t know Muggle Christmas carols.

“God, I’m sorry,” she said, eyes darting from family member to family member, hoping one of them had thought to bring a book or pamphlet - something. Blue eyes lit when she spotted just what she was looking for in her father’s mittens.

It was snatched, and all was forgiven with a kiss to his warm cheek.

Penny wasn’t surprised at all to find that Michael’s voice was clear and beautiful. If that’s what one called a man’s voice? Beautiful? Perhaps it was clear and manly? Michael laughed when she asked after the third house, and she blushed. It was a legitimate question.

She decided not to ask what the right adjective for his laughter was, though warm, inviting and lovely came to mind.

...

He gave her the music book back at the end of the night, and Penny ignored the pointed looks from her mother and aunts.

“Was fun,” he said as he brought his gaze from her family to her. His eyes were twinkling. Infuriating and charming came to mind for this particular look of his.

“It was something, at the very least,” she said. “Father sings loudly, proudly, and completely off key, my aunt has grand delusions of being worthy of the opera, and they were all ogling you like you were an exhibit at the zoo.”

“I noticed that,” he said, lips curling.

‘It’s a man! Penny’s managed to catch one!’ Her mother’s pronouncement upon their arrival had not been the most auspicious of beginnings. “Yeah, I’m really sorry about that.”

“No worries.” He shrugged again before reaching out and flicking a lock of hair out of her face.

It’d been on the tip of her tongue to turn the conversation back on him, to take the mikey out of him for his usual clipped answers, but she only found herself blinking up at him. Somewhere between one breath and the next, and the barest brush of skin from his fingers to her brow, Penny realized Michael was a man and not the boy she’d become friends with once upon a time at a magical school.

Michael tipped his head to the side and a tiny grin twitched at his lips. “I wanted to come,” he said, echoing his earlier statement at her door. “For more than the music.”

Oh. Oh. Penny blinked.

...

He was sure and confident in the way he held her, the way his lips pressed to hers. His hand at the base of her spine did not hesitate to bring her flush to him, and he did not pause when a gasp parted her lips. He was there, swallowing the sound, knotting his hand in her hair and tipping her head back to drink everything she would give.

Addictive. Heady. Life changing.

That’s what his kisses were, she decided.

Chapter Text

Perhaps it was because of the snow.

There was a certain whimsy to the first snowfall of the year, especially when it was most unexpected, and even moreso that it happened the night of the Greengrass’s annual Christmas party. The doors to the ballroom had been opened, warming charms had been cast on the balconies, and the brave gathered their cloaks and ventured into the gardens only lit by the twinkling lights on the trees.

Perhaps it was because of the timing.

Roger had come to greet her just as the announcement of snow had been made, and they’d been pushed along with the others towards the windows and doors. He’d put his hand on the small of her back and made sure she hadn’t been jostled, had given her a small smile and assured her that she would see the blanket of white beginning to cover her family’s grounds.

Perhaps it was because his touch had kept her warm.

Despite the warming charms, the balconies had been cool and Roger’s hand on her back had seemed particularly warm through the crimson silk of her evening gown. She’d been enchanted by the beautiful picture the snow was making of her home – it rarely snowed on the isle – but hadn’t been able to dwell on it long. He had slid his hand to her hip and drawn her close. For warmth.

It was definitely because of the mistletoe.

When she had glanced up at him, her gaze had caught on something hanging directly above them and he had shifted to see what she had spied. When their eyes met again, the question had been asked.

“For tradition’s sake, right?” He had said it nonchalantly, but there was intent in his gaze.

“Of course,” Astoria had agreed softly. “Tradition.”

They had done this before, a long, long time ago, and it was as if there had never been more than a breath between then and now. Their bodies remembered this, gravitated towards it as if it was essential.

He cupped her cheek and she rested a hand on his chest, and they met somewhere in the middle. There was a pause just before their lips touched, shared breath and beating hearts, and then he closed the distance. As it had always been, it was effortless this time too. Right.

It was need that changed everything.

He needed her sigh against his lips as her body softened into his, needed the tightening of her little hands on the lapels of his suit-coat as she pressed closer, pulled him toward her and opened her mouth to his. She needed the sound low in his throat as he threaded his hand in her hair, splayed his palm at the base of her spine and pulled her flush to him. It was only a handful of moments, forever and not enough time at all, but years worth of “I’m sorry’s” and “I miss you’s” were said.

Breath was essential, and he pulled away enough to allow them the luxury of it. Her scent of jasmine and rainwater permeated his senses, and he kept her close. How had he gone without this?

“We should try this again. Give us another chance.” It wasn’t a question. For once, Roger knew exactly what he wanted.

“Yes,” was whispered against his lips as she pulled him to her again. This was exactly what she hadn’t known she’d been waiting for.

Chapter Text

“You cannot keep doing this, Edward.” Astoria eyed the man on her doorstep crossly.

Edward grinned. “I knew you would come.”

“I’ve said no such thing.” She sniffed at him and crossed her arms over her chest.

“You said I couldn’t keep doing this, not that you wouldn’t do it tonight. The phrasing suggests you’ll capitulate, at least this last time.” He smiled at her winningly before holding up one of his offerings. “I brought Louboutins.”

Astoria’s gaze shifted to the glittering, golden stilettos dangling from his fingers. They were stunning.

She lifted her eyes to him and scowled. “What if I was to say I don’t have a gown to go with those? And what if those were the only shoes I’d be willing to wear?”

Edward’s expression turned triumphant. He held the shoes out to her and her mien was doubtful and suspicious as she took them. He only winked at her as he pulled a small package from his pocket, pointed his wand at it and murmured the spell to enlarge the item.

“Straight off the runway,” he said proudly as he held out the glimmering, silk gown. “Diane ensured the designer put sizing charms on it.” She had no excuses now. She would do what he wanted.

It was predictably gorgeous. Edward had magnificent taste.

Astoria snatched the gown from him. “This is the last damn time,” she said before turning on her heel and stalking toward her bedroom to change.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he called to her as he stepped through the door and shut it behind him.

He knew she’d come with him to the holiday ball – just like she’d come with him to every other holiday function he’d thought it prudent to attend. Business was booming, and he wanted to keep it that way. He needed to keep up appearances with his various contacts, and business was always smoother with a beautiful woman present – a beautiful, well-spoken, and captivating woman.

Pansy would have gladly been his companion for the evening, but Edward found he enjoyed imposing on Astoria. He demanded she be at his side for all events she threw at the gallery – his gallery – but he’d taken to demanding she accompany him to other events as well. She was always so put out, and it’d become something of a delicious game to see what it would take for her to give in.

“I want you to treat Pansy and I to dinner in Roma as well,” she told him as she came back into the room.

Edward turned at her voice, and a tiny smirk curled his lips when he saw her. She was exquisite. He’d known the gold would suit her. “Done.”

“Good. Now, button this for me, and then let’s be off.” She turned to expose the undone state of her gown. “I’m going with you, but I refuse to be up until all hours.”

“Of course,” he agreed amiably as his gaze fell to the expanse of exposed skin that dipped down to the small of her back. If he let his fingers brush unnecessarily against the warmth of her skin as he fastened the tiny buttons, he would never admit it.

When she turned back around, she was prettily flushed and glaring at him. He grinned and offered his arm. “Clock’s ticking, love,” he reminded her. “I’ve much to do and I’m on a schedule. Must have you home before the carriage turns back into pumpkin, after all.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You are wretchedly insufferable.”

Perhaps, but he’d gotten his way. She was his for the evening.

Chapter Text

Their eyes met over the damn contract, and it was in that moment Astoria realized how close they were. She could smell his cologne, and his breath warmed the air between them.

She felt a flush working its way up her neck and pulled back slightly. “I want fifty percent.”

“You need me to get off the ground. Thirty-five percent,” he countered even as he recovered those few centimeters she had put between them.

“It’s my idea, and I can do it on my own. Not the way I’d like, but I can. I don’t need you, but I’d like for us to do this together,” she told him, frustrated that her voice was somewhat breathless now. “Fifty-fifty, Edward.”

His gaze was steady on her, and he was so close - too close. If they talked this contract over any longer, she was going to combust. It was one thing to work for the man and only see him for regular reports, but it was quite another to lock one’s self away with him for an indefinite period of time until a contract was worked out.

He was stubborn and used to getting what he wanted, and she refused to give any less than her stated terms. The details had been argued to death and they had each conceded small things, but Astoria refused to be less than an equal partner in this start-up. It was her idea.

“This is a viable venture, and you know as well as I that it will take off,” she said. “I can go elsewhere to acquire additional funding.”

“No.” His voice was hard and his gaze was heavily intent on her. “You will not.”

Astoria tipped her chin up. “You do not have say over such things. If you aren’t willing to meet my terms, than I’ll find someone else who will.”

“You will not,” he said again, his voice different now. It was lower, final, and when he closed the small distance between them, Astoria could feel the warm puff of air from each word he said. “You are mine.”

The words were laden with more than their obvious meaning. “Edward, you cannot …” She pulled back again, couldn’t think clearly with him so close. “You cannot negotiate like this.”

“I can, and I will,” he said.

Anger sluiced through her, and without thought on the bad idea it was, Astoria grabbed the lapel of his jacket and pulled him down to her. On the sofa in his office as they were, it brought his body down to hover over hers as well, but just that moment she was too irritated to let it affect her.

“If that is the way it is to be,” she said, voice heated with her anger, “then know that I will do what is necessary. You are not the only one who has alternate tools to get what you want.” She glared across the mere handspan between them. “I want fifty percent, Edward, or so help me god, I will leave you right here, right now, and see how this works with the Jones Group. I’m sure Charles will be most pleased to negotiate with me and see the wisdom of my terms.”

His arm slid across the back of the couch and Edward pressed against the hand gripping his jacket, filled her field of vision completely. “Masterful,” he said, voice low. “I knew you had it in you.”

“What? Anger?” she asked, the words spit between them. “I have more.”

“I’m counting on it.” He smirked and his eyes were unreadable.

“Fifty percent, Edward, or I’m walking.”

“Fifty percent, Astoria, and you’re staying right where you are.”

Chapter Text

Everyone says that women are the objectified sex, but Zach knows differently. Women routinely undress him with their eyes. The tips of their fingers linger just a little too long when they touch him unnecessarily. Wanton invitations darken their gazes and purr from lips painted to entice.

They want him, use him. He fucking loves it.

Sex is sex, is sex; up against a wall, over the edge of a desk, at the back of a club, in an alleyway. The birds come in all colors and sizes, and they all scream for him. The life of objectification is a good one. The women are plentiful, the sex abundant, and the commitment nonexistent.

Astoria Greengrass though … Zach can’t figure her out. Maybe because the first time, he sought her out and not the other way around. Still, she’s like all the others. She now seeks him out just the same, wants what they all want. And yet she’s always reluctant. She appears out of nowhere only to seemingly lose whatever purpose brought her; good sense, he’s sure she calls it. She averts her eyes, makes excuses about how she should really be going, then blushes.

It’s the blush that always makes him decide he wants her. He knows she’s no ingénue, but that one thing sets her apart from the others. She wants him, but she feels self-conscious about that want. He likes that she doesn’t assume that want means have. He likes that her lips part when he grabs her wrist before she can skitter off, that she shivers. He likes that she still tries to insist she should go even though they both know it’s the last thing she wants.

Zach likes that she sees him as a person despite her baser urges to objectify him like all the others, that every time she appears it’s a war writ in her features, her words, everything about her, to treat him with respect even though she wants something that isn’t respectful at all.

It makes him want to unravel her until that want spills from her lips, makes her shudder and pant his name over and over.

The others leave their marks with nails and teeth, scream to various gods, writhe and demand, and sometimes beg if he wishes it of them. They do not cling to him, do not cradle his face in tiny hands and kiss him as if kisses actually matter. He’s found that snogs are not necessary for good sex, but with Astoria, she has to have them. It’s personal, and Zach likes that, too. He shouldn’t; sex is not personal, not for him. (But maybe it’s just nice to know that for one woman, he’s not an object. Maybe that’s just sentimental shite. Zach does not think overly much about these things.)

Still, when he’s moving in her harder than he knows he should because she’s so tiny and delicate, he can’t help but think that he could get used to this.

It only takes a single touch with intent to make her flush. It only takes the barest whisper of his fingers down the column of her throat to make her eyes go dark. He doesn’t even have to touch her to make her breathing quicken, only rid her of her personal space and fill it with the heat of his body. When he bends over her and breaths in the scent of her, something so soft you must be close enough to lick her skin, her dark lashes flutter and she whispers his name.

It’s not ‘please’, or ‘now’, or any other variation that women make known what they want of him. It is his name, and in it are questions and wants and other things that he can hear but not decipher. He likes fast and hard and satisfying, but this is heady as well. He knows that she is only with him.

When he closes the tiny distance, brushes his lips to hers, she comes alive. A little sound escapes as if she was waiting for permission, and then her small hands cup his face, slide into his hair and grip. This is when the soft kitten sinks her claws in, pulls him to her and can’t help but to ask for more. It is when he twines an arm around her waist and pulls her flush to him, feels the heat of her through the silk of her dress. This is when time speeds up.

He wishes it didn’t.

His shirt is gone, and so is her dress. Her skin is hot, soft in a way that only women of luxury can achieve, and the slide of it against his is maddeningly addictive. His hand grips her thigh as their bodies meet and he knows he will leave bruises. She clings to him, tries to muffle her whimpers and gasps into the side of his neck. She is tight, and Zach knows that he is the only one who has tasted her recently.

He likes this, though it shouldn’t matter.

It is when she is close, when he can feel that she is about to fall apart, that she looks up to him with wide, dark eyes. “Zach.” It is all she can manage, but he knows what she wants, needs. His hand tangles in her hair and he claims her lips even as he changes the angle of their joining and fills her completely.

He swallows her screams because it is what she wants; to keep it here, between them. She meets him on every roll of hips, trembles for it all, holds onto him as tightly as she can, and then her lips are moving against his boldly. She nips and sucks, and takes and demands, and moves with him, and he can feel that every shudder of her body is her pleasure, over and over, but she pulls at his hair and nips at his lips, and a panting breath is, “Zach, Zach,” and that is when he comes in her, bites down on her lip and tastes blood.

She does not immediately pull away. Neither does he.

Zach wonders why.

Chapter Text

“Come on, baby, let me see,” Graham Pritchard said again, voice wheedling. “What ‘cha hiding underneath, huh?”

Lola primly smoothed her hands over her standard issue Hogwarts skirt. For just about anyone else, she’d have given them a coy smile, played along, and perhaps tugged them to the nearest empty classroom to let them see, but Graham Pritchard got on her nerves and she wasn’t inclined to let him see anything.

“Fuck off, Pritchard.”

“Ah, come on, pidge.” Graham’s smile widened when she glared at him. He knew she hated that particular endearment, which was all the more reason to use it as often as possible.

He shrugged then, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Probably nothin’ to see anyway,” he said, affecting indifference now. “You still look like a firstie.” She didn’t. Tiny though she was, Lola Branstone still had plenty for a fifth year boy to look at. It was just that she had a temper, and Graham had learned exactly what would trip it.

She, predictably, sputtered, and her hands curled into tiny fists. Graham smirked and was ready to sidestep the swing she was sure to take – he’d been on the receiving end of the Hufflepuff’s right hooks in the past, and despite her size, they were best avoided – but when she instead snatched his green and silver tie and began dragging him down the hall, it was Graham’s turn to sputter.

“Hey… pidge?” Graham tried to pry her fingers loose.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” she hissed as she made a sharp turn around a corner to a less-used hallway and continued to tug him along behind her. A glance was spared behind her, blue gaze narrowed, before she violently swung him into a niche in the wall behind a suit of armor. Before Graham could put together what she was up to, his back was against the wall. She pressed her body into his and tugged his hands under her skirt to her arse.

She didn’t wear cotton knickers like the other girls who’d let him under their skirts. There was just skin beneath his hands. Very warm, soft skin.

He blinked, and realized moments later that he was panting, and that she was too. “I didn’t…”

“I am not a firstie,” she spat, though her words lacked their usual vehemence. Breathlessness apparently did that to a person.

Graham couldn’t help it. He squeezed the flesh under his hands.

Everything happened in very quick succession then. Her lips parted and a tiny sound escaped, two pairs of hazy blue eyes met, both shocked, and then all Graham knew was that she tasted sweet and spicy at the same time, and that the body pressed against his was very much not that of a firstie.

Chapter Text

“I hear I’m not supposed to talk to you,” Gracie said to the handsome pianist. A sly smile touched her lips as the burlesque dancer lay across the top of the instrument, elbows resting on the shiny surface so she could cradle her face.

A dark, elegant brow rose and an answering grin tugged at the edges of the man’s mouth. If he glanced at the lovely view made possible by her tightly laced corset and position on the piano, no one would have blamed him.

He flicked his gaze back to hers. “Oh?”

“Mmm,” she hummed in the affirmative. “Apparently you’re not just another handsome face in the house band pit.” Humor and mischief brightened her blue eyes. “Apparently you’re something of a rake. And the boss’s son. Dangerous to the integrity of a girl’s lacy knickers as well as the dignity of her livelihood.”

Carter’s lips curled. “Doesn’t seem as if any of the things you’ve heard concern you.”

“Well, I’m not one to let a little gossip get in the way of the potential defilement of my lacy knickers.” She grinned then, both friendly and flirty, and shifted to offer a small hand. “Gracie Flynn. Pleasure.”

“Indeed,” he murmured, humor twinkling in his gaze as he lightly grasped her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Carter Clearwater-Vaisey.”

Chapter Text

They made music together. They always had. He with his intricate melodies picked on his guitar and she with her sweeping crescendos on the piano, or both together, long, tapered fingers chasing each other back and forth over black and white keys.

Lisa hadn't ever thought to make this kind of music with Michael, though.

She couldn't have known of the song of the sycopated beats of their hearts as their bodies moved in tandem, or the perfect rhythm of sliding skin, panting breaths and soft sighs. She could have never guessed how the soft sound of their bodies rumpling the bed clothes could sound so sweet, a perfect accent to the music they made. Lisa couldn't have known how the cadence of his voice rumbling her name against her neck would make her flutter and pulse towards the crescendo, nor how the tempo of his hips rolling into hers would eventually make the whole world fade to nothing but pleasure and a perfect song.

They made music together. They always had. It was only natural they use their bodies as instruments, in the end.

Chapter Text

Astoria still couldn't really believe he was hers.

It wasn't so very long ago she'd done everything she could to hide her attraction, to try and let things stand as they'd always been; he, her brother's best friend, and she, the little sister he'd never had. To change that could have resulted in a change for the worse, losing what little of him she had, and that was something Astoria had never been willing to risk.

There was no accounting for her temper, however. He'd tripped it and they'd fought. Even now Astoria couldn't say how their lips had met, only that they'd been yelling and then his mouth had covered hers.

Now, here he was. In her bed, waiting. Or he had been, if the open book on his chest was anything to judge by. The international apparation station had been kept her and it seemed Roger hadn't been able to stay awake.

A small smile tugged at Astoria's lips as she tied her silk dressing gown with a loose knot and sat down on the bed next to him. The book was put on the nightstand before she reached out and traced a finger feather-light over his bottom lip.

He stirred. "Astoria?"

"You waited," she murmured, fingers slipping over to trace the stubble on his jaw as he turned his face toward her voice.

Blue eyes blinked open, lids heavy. "'course I did," he said, the words gravely with sleep.

Of course. Because he was Roger, and he'd always made her feel special.

Astoria leaned forward to press her lips to his. "Thank you," was whispered against his mouth.

"Mmm."

It was a rumble of a hum against her lips and it made her skin prickle in gooseflesh. Awareness.

As if he had an innate sense for it (perhaps he did), Roger's hands found her waist, and in a swift move that seemed at odds with his sleepy lethargy, he pulled her over him until she was on her back on the other side; his lips found the sweet spot just beneath her ear before surprise could really register and a soft gasp slipped her lips.

"Glad your back." The gruffness of the words only served to quicken her pulse, made her arch when he managed to untie her silk robe, slipped his hand beneath to splay across her stomach, smooth up beneath her breast to feel the staccato beat of her heart.

"Me too," she whispered before their mouths met.

There weren't anymore words after that. There was only the slide of skin, his hands everywhere as if he needed to reacquaint himself with the contours of her body. There was only want in how he tugged her lace knickers off, slipped his fingers through her curls and into slick heat, made her shake, made little sounds slip her lips. There was only heat when lips met and he swallowed the quiet whimpers his hands plied from her body, so much heat when their bodies finally joined and hips rolled over and over. There was only sounds of pleasure, feelings shared in a languid battle of lips and tongue, a slow intensity mimicked by their hips, I missed you's in the way tiny hands cupped his face and how he held her gaze as they neared the precipice.

There was only tenderness in the soft press of lips when they lay there naked and sated, and there was only love in the way they held each other when sleep finally claimed them.

Chapter Text

"No need to be so violent, pidge." Wait for it, wait for it…

"Fuck you." She glared at him over her shoulder. "Don't call me pidge, fucker."

Graham smirked. "Pidge."

The taunt only served to make the teeny tiny ballerina pull harder on his tie, all but kick his office door open, and then swing him around violently through the opening. The door slammed behind her as she stalked in after him.

Eleanor Branstone was small of stature, but he could personally attest to her strength. Feistiness gave her at least a few stone; calling the petite woman by her given name only made her all the more formidable. Given her current irritable state, her flashing blue eyes, Graham didn't think it'd be necessary to drop 'Eleanor' on his favorite witch this time.

"It's not pidge, or dove, or any other fucking bird name you use with the other bints," she was saying as she pushed him into his chair, nimble fingers pulling at his belt.

"Jealous?" Despite his taunting, nonchalant tone, Graham's hands were just as impatiently pulling her cardigan off. He lifted his hips when she tugged at his loose trousers and pants.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, love," he added, voice gruff now as he hooked his fingers in the hem of her tank and tugged it over her head. Her bun was already loose, but the action pulled the pins from her hair and it fell, tousled dark waves tumbling down like silky ink stains against her incredibly pale skin, the locks even teasing at rosy nipples.

She was devastately lovely rumpled and flushed and blazing with irritation and want. Want for him.

Two pairs of blue eyes met. "Fucker," she said again, though the irritation was gone. The word was soft, breathy.

He reached out, framed her elfin face with his hands, and her long, dark lashes fluttered when he pressed a light, chaste kiss to her lips. Time seemed to stand still as they breathed each other in.

But his Lola couldn't ever be still for long. She nipped at his bottom lip, twined her hands in his hair, and pulled herself onto his lap. "Patience is a vir--fuck, Kit."

"My knickers can't be in a twist if I'm not wearing any." A cant of her hips and he was inside her completely.

Chapter Text

They would light the bonfire soon. It didn't matter that it was summer; in Clovelly, in Devon, there was always a chill to the air at night, especially on the beach. That didn't stop the girls from wearing nothing but cut-off denims and bikini tops, a sort of fruitless hope that the lingering warmth of the sun wouldn't fade with the twilight, or disappear completely when the stars came out.

Cole just rolled the cuffs of his unbuttoned flannel down to cover his forearms; he didn't bother doing up the front. A flick of his wand and the pile of driftwood was ablaze.

From his sprawl in his beach chair, he watched the others, various cousins and other relatives, friends, begin to settle, bottles of beer in hand. His blunt was just one of many flickers of burning orange in the coming darkness.

"Hey fucker, pass me one."

The voice was loud and familiar, as were the other voices that piped up as a small group stepped out of the coming darkness into the firelight's reach. Cole's lips twitched and he reached down to the cooler next to him. A bottle of beer was tossed to Gabe Pritchard.

"Oi!"

Another was tossed to Alex Pritchard, and to Gabe's bird. (His, not his; it was all semantics. Annaleigh Cornfoot had been Gabe's girl as long as anyone could remember. Everyone knew the others had never mattered, and never would.) Cole's lips curled into a smirk when the smallest Pritchard pouted at him for not supplying her with a bottle.

"Come here." He flicked his blunt into the sand.

"None left for little ole me?" Gigi asked, the sweetness of her voice in contrast to the mischief in her eyes.

"Mmm," Cole hummed as he snagged her hand, tugged her down to straddle his lap. "Too many freebies," he murmured as his hands skimmed over her bare sides, one hand reaching up to grasp her chin, tug; her lips were a hairsbreadth from his. "You'll need to pay up."

"'s not fair," she breathed. Her hands slid beneath his open shirt, splayed over his chest before smoothing up his neck and into his curly hair, fingers tugging; she scooted closer until their hips aligned. Her breath hitched at his hardness pressed against her, even through his clothes, and hers.

"You don't really care." It was said low, only for her to hear. His lips skimmed lightly against hers, barely a kiss at all, but enough to make both their pulses race.

"No," she said, "I really don't." Gigi pulled at his hair then, and her lips slanted over his.

It was not a hurried kiss. Lips and tongues revisited places thoroughly explored in the past. It didn't matter that her brothers were on the other side of the fire; they were either doing the same themselves, or would be. All that mattered just that moment was her hands now cupping his face, the way her skin felt against his own, the temptation of pulling at the little bow of her bikini top (ignored, for now).

Eventually it was just small kisses, a sporadic press of lips until there was nothing but her soft smile, and his thumb brushing her cheek.

Cole's expression mirrored hers. "I suppose that'll cover it."

"You suppose?" Gigi poked him in the chest. "That's worth at least three. Give 'em, you miser."

Cole grinned. Three beers were procured from the cooler.

One more kiss was quickly pressed to his mouth before she was gone. His eyes followed her as she moved to the other side of the bonfire. A bottle was passed to his cousin and then Gigi settled down on the driftwood log next to Gracie with her own bottled treasures. The top was twisted off one and he watched her throat work as she tasted her just rewards.

His lips twitched. Shaking his head, Cole shifted to procure another joint from his pocket, and lit up. It was only an idle thought that she tasted like home.

Chapter Text

There were many things Julian knew about Astoria.

He knew her to be a lady, every inch of her poised and elegant. She was confident and composed, could hold her own with the women of society -- surpassed them in many ways, even. He knew she was a savvy businesswoman, had an eye for what would be in demand next, and was an adept negotiator.

He knew she reveled in her femininity, that she took care to be soft and lovely from silken hair to painted toes. Julian knew that her scent was delicate, a soft jasmine that begged a man to get just a bit closer to truly savor the fragrance -- something he enjoyed doing, frequently, if only for the slight intake of breath when he nuzzled his nose to the underside of her jaw. He knew her to be as passionate behind closed doors as she was in the boardroom; she never held anything back. Every shudder, whimper, and plea for more was given freely with abandon. (He loved when he drew her claws. He proudly bore the slight discomfort of scratches left on his back and shoulders the next day as a testament to a job well done.)

These were the things Julian knew. The things he had expected, even, when he had fallen into bed and a monogamous relationship with Astoria Greengrass.

He couldn't have accounted for her sense of whimsy.

"Did you… bake?" Julian blinked. He was quite sure he'd never seen her in the kitchen.

"I did. Bikkies." Her lips twitched, the shadow of a smile, and then she whirled around to turn off the oven, grab a few of said bikkies.

Not that Julian was paying close attention. His eyes were drawn to the red lace knickers she was wearing. The candy apple red heels. The happy black bow tied at the small of her back.

She was only wearing an apron, knickers, and heels.

"They're chocolate chip," she said, peeking over a bare shoulder at him. Her eyes were alight with mirth, and more. A tiny, secret smile played at the corners of her mouth.

When she turned back around, her nearly bare rear view was hidden again by the apron, and she held out a sweet. "Come to the dark side. We've bikkies."

The bikkies were ignored in the end. Julian was much more intent on tasting the chocolate remnants in her mouth, and letting his hands run down her bare back, grasp the curve of her arse, pull the bow of her apron free.

She got to keep the heels.

The bikkies were unexpected, but he was familiar with the press of stilettos into the base of his spine as he filled her again and again, right on the kitchen table. He didn't mind the smell of flour and vanilla clinging to her skin. It only meant he had more to taste.

Chapter Text

Luxurious, Zach thought that first time. Golden, fuckable.

Different than his usual. Soft. They were all soft, but she was a wonderland of sensuality. Flower-petal soft. Her hair, her skin, her lips, her heat. Silk through his fingers, beneath his hands, in his mouth.

Astoria tasted expensive. It was the best thing he could think for drinking of her, the smooth, silken, sleek contours of her body, the heady but soft scent that was only for those who were close enough to try and lick it from her. Intoxicating, as if there would never be enough.

Never enough, "Zach, don't ... yes" as she moved for him, danced beneath him, breathed him in. Never enough of the curve of her hip in his hand, never enough of the mark of his fingers there, never, never enough of the surprising bite of her nails or the hot spark of her gaze, passion or anger, irritation. It didn't matter.

Silky softness, tiny hands that still drew blood. Sighs and whimpers, anger and fights that tangled the sheets. Always beneath him, always, always.

Golden, fuckable.

Chapter Text

"I'm on the clock," he said by way of greeting as he stepped up next to her. This one was skittish and feisty, like a cornered cat. Ryan liked her.

"Bully for you." Eloise glanced briefly at him, hedged a half a step away, but inevitably her eyes were drawn back to what had made her stop in the middle of the sidewalk in the first place.

"Will you answer a few questions?" They'd had this conversation. She knew the man he was investigating. Ryan knew she didn't like him, but thus far she'd kept her lips sealed. He wondered if it had to do with pack politics.

"No."

His lips twitched. It didn't hurt to be straightforward. She might say yes at some point. In the meantime he'd just be forced to get more creative.

The scene before them suddenly changed and he tipped his head to the side, brows rising. "How is that possible?"

She tipped her head to the side too, as did the small crowd that had gathered around them. The muggle police were sure to show up anytime now.

"Know what happens to people who ask too many questions, Zeller?" Eloise wrinkled her nose at the turn of events before her.

"No, what?" Ryan blinked. The couple that was... coupling ...in the window display were certainly creative. They best hurry themselves to completion though. He could hear sirens.

"Damned if I know. Probably they get answers, and serves 'em right."

And then pair switched to a position that was just... too much ...and Ryan winced. Both he and Eloise turned around at the same time.

"Right," he agreed. He glanced down at the small woman next to him. "Coffee?"

"Yup."

Chapter Text

OWL POST: To Blake Dunstan

Blake,

Dad's being an arse difficult. Help?

Megan

OWL POST: To Megan Ackerley

Tell him you'll tell your mother about the Germans he met in Vegas. Should do the trick.

Blake

OWL POST: To Blake Dunstan

… the Germans he met in Vegas?

OWL POST: To Megan Ackerley

You don't need to know. He just needs to think that you know.

Blake

OWL POST: To Blake Dunstan

It worked a charm! Thanks so much! I owe you frosted bikkies.

Really though, what happ--

Dad may or may not have said that payback would be bitch. Sorry about that.

Love always,

Megan

Chapter Text

She sat on the roof of the tour bus next to Gabe. Their legs dangled off the side, just the same as when they were young and sat at the end of the dock in Clovelly on warm summer days.

"You're fucking brooding."

"Yup."

Gigi eyed her brother. They were on the last leg of their second international tour. Truth be told, Gigi was counting down the days until they got to go home. They'd spent the last eight months on the bus, at forgettable hotels, and everything was starting to blur together. Even so, it wasn't like her brother, especially this particular brother, to sit alone in the dark. It wasn't the first time she'd caught him off by himself like this either.

"You want to talk about it?"

"Nope."

"Too bad, 'cause I do," she told him as she laid down. When you weren't staring at the bright lights of the city, it was easier to see the stars. At home they were so vivid it looked like they were about to spill out of the sky.

Gigi glanced at her brother. His hair had gotten long'ish over the course of the spring, summer and fall, and now defied gravity in an impressive way. For all the fun on the top of his head, it was the expression on his face that gave him away. Intensely thoughtful. Serious. Gabe was really only serious about a few things, and only one of those few things was a loose end.

"It's okay to say you miss her, you know."

Gabe finally glanced at her, expression unreadable.

Gigi raised a brow at him. "I'm cute, not dumb."

One corner of his mouth twitched.

"You should just fuckin' make it official when we get home. It's not like you're catting around anymore anyway." They didn't dance around the obvious in their family, and the problem had been obvious to Gigi for awhile now. "It's not like she is either. Spending most your time solitarily writing shite isn't conducive to finding loads of bedmates. The wild oats have been fucked. Way I see it is you both are making yourselves miserable being apart like this, pretending like nothing's any different than the last time we were gone for this long."

It all made sense to Gigi. If you knew who you wanted to be with, and you were ready to be with them, she didn't see why you wouldn't just make it happen. In Gabe and Annaleigh's case she had a feeling it was just habit. They'd always been together, but never together. Gabe just needed a push. "Marry her. Bring her with us next time." Her lips curled. "I'm tired of finding you smoking weed by yourself on top of the bus."

"Fuck you." It wasn't said with any heat though.

He didn't say anything else for a long while, but Gigi wasn't worried. Gabe hadn't ever been one to talk a lot about his feelings. He was more of a doer.

Eventually he laid down next to her. "You're a fuckin' good egg, Gidget."

Gigi grinned and linked her fingers with his.

Chapter Text

He felt her lashes flutter, felt a warm puff of breath break the steady pattern she'd kept up the last hour. She was awake. Gabe pressed his lips to her hair.

Three o'clock in the morning. The occasional auto-buggy could be heard passing by on the street below, but otherwise, Gabe had found that three o'clock in the morning was the quietest that London got. It was that kind of quiet. The kind of quiet where he could actually hear the faint inhale and exhale of Annaleigh's breathing, could hear the brush of his fingertips against her skin as he traced patterns on her back. The air was cool in his loft, but he was warm with her half sprawled on top of him, and the blanket pooled at their hips. She was soft and warm, and his.

He pressed his palm flat against her skin and smoothed down, but couldn't go any further than the small of her back; his arm was trapped beneath her, and his shoulder was currently her pillow. Gabe didn't mind. He just smoothed his hand back up, fingertips dancing another patternless dance.

"Gabe?"

"Hmm?" He opened his eyes and could see her looking at him. The light coming in the window from the lamp post across the street illuminated the room enough that he could see her expression, brows furrowed ever so slightly.

"Do you do this with the other girls?"

The question was unexpected and he didn't answer immediately. They'd been it for each other for as long as he could remember. But knowing that at eight years old when she'd given him a shiner for an introduction, and eleven years old when they'd sorted into Slytherin together, and fourteen when they'd first kissed each other, and sixteen when they slept together the first time ... it was all just too early. They were both restless and reckless, thirsty for experiences. They both did what they want with as many other people as they cared to spend time with.

That didn't mean any of those people mattered. They hadn't ever spoken of it directly, but ... whenever he was ready, or she was ready, it'd just be them. No one else. He thought she knew that.

Gabe held her gaze, saw the hesitation there. She didn't show that kind of vulnerability very often.

But it was three o'clock in the morning and the quiet stillness was like a moment completely out of time and space.

"What girls?" There were no other girls. Only her.

Annaleigh's eyes warmed, and when she leaned toward him, his lips met hers halfway.

Chapter Text

It wasn't until their wives were long gone (Astoria's ladies only garden party. Pfft.) that Michael and Stephen realized they'd been duped.

"Well." Stephen surveyed the scene before them.

"Yes." Michael agreed, rubbing his chin. The few days growth prickling his fingers was a reminder he hadn't slept through the night in months. (And that he'd rather sleep when the opportunity presented itself than keep up extraneous grooming habits. Like shaving. It was an overrated custom.)

"Ideas?" Stephen glanced at the man next to him.

"Hmm," Michael hummed noncommittally.

"Same." Stephen glanced back to the topic of their conversation.

The twins were less than a year old. Both sets. And all four were bawling at the top of their lungs. Stephen had been a father of twins long enough to know that if one started crying and the other could hear, it wouldn't be long until they were both crying. It wasn't a huge leap of logic that the same would happen if there were four.

They hadn't been quick enough to isolate the instigator before the lot of them had sounded off. Stephen eyed his youngest daughter.

"No use separating them," Michael said at length.

"They'll all just get louder," he agreed. Experience had taught both young fathers much.

"Well." Michael said, echoing his long-time friend's earlier statement.

Stephen sighed. "Yeah."

They disabled the silencing charm and finally walked into the nursery.

...

"Aww!" Emma kept her voice quiet despite the desire to squeak a bit. They were just so cute.

Cassie's lips curled up slightly. It really was a picture perfect moment. Her husband and his friend were sprawled on the sofas in the family room, a twin cradled against each shoulder and sprawled their chests. The whole group was fast asleep.

She met her companion's gaze and hoisted her sleepy toddler higher on her hip. "I'll put Maddy down for a nap. Then shall we adjourn to the garden and not talk for awhile?" Her lips twitched.

"Sounds perfect." Emma liked Cassie. She understood.

One could not say the two young mothers had not learned the value of a few minutes peace.

Chapter Text

Lily is seventeen and she still does not understand what's so great about boys.

Boys are like puppies. They need constant attention and tending. More often than not they are ridiculous. Silly. Idiotic. They usually aren't the most hygienic, they generally have short attention spans, and they slobber all over you if given a chance.

No, Lily does not understand the lure of boys at all.

But love ... she does understand a little something about love. (Sophie would disagree, of course, but her youngest sister disagrees with her about everything on principle.)

Love was how her mum still fluttered over her dad even though he took too long to think about things, procrastinated on the things he did decide to do, was notoriously uncommunicative, and was a not-so-secretive pot aficionado. (And if her mum was anything to go by, he was also absolutely infuriating and annoying when he'd a mind to be. Lily could verify that this was true. He needled her mum all the time to see what might happen. He needled herself sometimes too. He was annoying.)

Love was how her dad would ruffle her mum's feathers and then stroke his hand down her arm, or give her That Look, and they'd stand there for the longest time having a conversation with just their eyes. Love was how mum would blush and how her dad's lips would twitch into a different kind of smirk, and love was the way he would snog her moments later.

Kind of like he was doing right now, she mused, as she observed her parents from her spot on the sofa.

The brunette witch's lips curled into a tiny, affectionate smile.

Like every other time this happened, Chase and Sophie loudly protested their parent's 'public display' and Pippa just crinkled her nose and went back to plucking at her guitar. And just like every other time, her mum threatened her twin and youngest sister with details of what else they could get up to in 'public'. The volume only increased.

Her gaze was then caught by the brightest blue eyes in the house.

Lily smiled at her dad. He winked.

And then he tugged her mum back toward him abruptly and snogged her again. Lily could only giggle at her sibling's look of disgust.

Lily is seventeen and she still doesn't understand what's so great about boys, but she does know a little something about love. Maybe someday she'll meet a boy that knows a little something about it too.

Chapter Text

Astoria eyed the desk outside Edward's office.

It was piled high with mail, paperwork and packages. The seat behind it was also conspicuously absent. Astoria wasn't sure she'd ever seen that seat empty. The desk itself was always immaculate and the woman who kept it always greeted the small witch with genuine warmth.

But today she wasn't there. And the desk was a mess. And only half the lights were on.

Venturing past the anomaly and through the door into Edward's office had her eyes widening.

Edward's desk was even worse. And the room was cluttered. And the man himself was barely visible through stacks of papers. What she could see was not what she was used to. His tie was loose and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. His hair was longer than she'd ever seen it. He probably hadn't shaved in days.

As she took in the entirety of the situation, understanding dawned and her features settled to something closer to exasperation. Now she knew why he'd asked her to come.

"I don't need to know what you did to piss her off," Astoria said, effectively announcing her presence as she clipped toward him. Her coat was deposited on the back of a chair, her handbag on a teetering pile of papers. "I know as much as I need to."

The imperious rise of the single brow he directed her way as she came around to his side of the desk was somehow less effective when he was so unkempt.

"Diane is one of the more tolerant people I've met." She raised her own brow at him. "You were obviously an ass of more epic proportions than normal and now she's on strike."

He opened his mouth to respond and she promptly covered it with her hand. His eyes narrowed at her.

"It was likely your mouth that got you into trouble. If it was enough to send Diane packing, then maybe talking isn't the best course of action right now." Astoria smiled sweetly at him. "Now, you're going to shower and shave, and then you're going to go get your hair cut. I'll call ahead since you obviously don't know how to make appointments for yourself," she said dryly as she eyed his hair. "When you no longer look like you were just revived from a four day bender, you're going to take the flowers, shoes, and chocolates I'm going to collect and go tell Diane you're sorry, that she's right and you're wrong, and that she can have a month off at her resort of choice after she finds a competent fill-in."

She removed her hand.

"I wasn't wrong." The tone was petulant and Edward glared at the petite witch.

She met his gaze without saying anything for a long moment. The spell was disturbed when she broke the eye contact and stirred into movement. "I suppose you won't need my help then." She picked her handbag back up.

He grabbed her wrist before she could take more than a step away.

She raised a brow at him.

His jaw clenched.

"Yes?"

"You stay. I'll shave," he finally said, the words stiff and stilted. It was killing him to capitulate. Edward was not a man who ever admitted he might have been in the wrong.

Only after he left to tend to his personal hygiene did Astoria's lips twitch into a smile. Hell hath no fury like a secretary scorned.

Chapter Text

It was only chance that she'd caught Penelope emerging from the nearly hidden doorway near the back of Pandora's Box, lips drawn tight with anger, expression turbulent. The mother of his children. The one who'd had him thrown in jail for trafficking illegal substances.

The adamantly single woman who shouldn't even be here.

Apparently, it was more complicated than that.

It wasn't really her business.

i took the stars from our eyes and then made a map.

She made her excuses to her girlfriends, slipped through that same doorway, found her way to the stairwell that would lead to the office she'd been to once before. No one stopped her. And then before she had a chance to rethink her course of action, that this wasn't any of her business -- that he wasn't her business -- she was pushing through the door.

Their eyes met, her breath caught, and time stood still.

i knew somehow I could find my way back.

For the first time since she'd come to know the enigma that was Julian Vaisey, what he was feeling was plain on his face, if only for a moment. Pain.

She knew he hadn't meant for her to see him this way. He hadn't meant for anyone to see him this way.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

… and then something shifted, and the tension from her unexpected arrival leaked from his frame. She had already seen it, after all.

"Come in." He sounded tired. Worn.

The door shut softly behind her.

then I heard your heart beating.

He turned in his chair as she came around the desk, let her step between his legs. She cradled his face in her hands and he let her. He let her see what he never let anyone see, his eyes dark and turbulent. His expression raw. He let himself feel, and he let her see.

When was the last time he had let down his guard? Had he ever? No man was meant to be an island.

"You fool," she murmured, and then pressed her lips to his.

you were in darkness too, so I stayed in darkness with you.

It was a soft kiss. Sweet. Meant to soothe what she'd seen in his eyes.

But then his hands found her waist and her lips parted, and he nipped. The gasp that escaped was the match that lit the fire.

He deepened this kiss and her fingers slid into his hair, and then it was lips and tongue, and harsh breathing. His hands were bold, splayed the small span of her waist, gripped her hips, found the short hem of her silk dress and then his fingers skittered over the bare skin of her thighs, up, up, up, and she made a small sound.

Julian growled.

And then pulled his lips away from hers, breathed harshly into the curve of her neck instead. His hands resettled on her waist and her lashes fluttered as her eyes shut. They breathed.

He nuzzled the line of her jaw, pressed his lips to her neck. "Thank you."

A faint smile curled her lips. "You're welcome."

Chapter Text

Astoria read the same line of the proposal for the third time and her brows furrowed slightly in frustration. At this rate it would take her all week to get through the document -- and the reason for her lack of focus was maddening! It shouldn't even matter. Edward could date whoever he wanted. And he could most definitely go on two dates with the same woman.

She was happy he felt comfortable enough to share the happenings of his life. That's what friends did, after all. (Never mind that no woman had been worth mentioning in the past. This one was special. Obviously.)

She was happy for him. She was.

… she needed to read the paragraph again. Dammit.

Her restlessness and tiny, agitated noises drew his gaze again. Edward didn't move more than his eyes when he glanced at his companion. If his gaze lingered on the exposed skin of her thigh, he couldn't be blamed. She was the one sitting on his desk with her legs crossed, skirt riding up, up, up.

"What did the Anderson proposal ever do to you?" he drawled as his eyes ticked up to her face.

Dark eyes shifted to the man working next to her. He looked amused and Astoria had the most childish urge to stick her tongue out. Her current state was all his fault, after all.

"It exists, which is quite enough." She eyed the document. "I don't know why I help you with these. They're digressive and lack imagination."

"Because I asked you to help me find good investments and you indulge me because you love me." He leaned back in his chair and grinned at her.

"Yes. Well." Astoria liked that he valued her opinion and had asked her help for something so important. Most thought her potential was nothing more than her ability to look pretty, spend her family's money, and someday marry well. She'd thought that. Edward had always believed she was capable of much more though, and she did love him for it.

She lifted her eyes up to his. "Is she special?"

Astoria hadn't meant to say that. They had known one another since childhood, and they were friends, and they had always been friends. Friends didn't ask questions like that, in quite that way.

The amusement faded from his expression and the levity seeped from the room. She felt his focus snap to her, felt the weight of his gaze.

"You don't have to answer that," she said a half a beat later. Her hands gripped the sheaf of documents too tightly. "Forget I asked."

"No."

She shot him an irritated look. "No, really, forget I sai-"

"No, she is not special," he clarified. He watched her go completely still, watched her grip on the papers in hand go tight enough that her knuckles turned white. He may have been hasty. But she had started it, had impulsively brought it up, had jumped to the most ridiculous conclusions. "She is no one."

"Oh." Well then.

She dropped her gaze and he watched a blush tint her pale skin. His lips curled slightly. It was his turn to rashly cross lines. "Why do you ask?"

Her eyes shot to his again. "I …" Astoria's breath caught when he traced a finger over the top of her foot and he watched her pulse jump. Edward could feel his own blood quicken.

"What was that?" he prodded as his hand wrapped around her dainty ankle. How many times had he thought about doing that? She was always sitting prim and pretty (sexy) on his desk, legs crossed and tapping her foot in the air to a beat only she could hear. He slid his hand up.

"I don't… Edward," she protested. It came out more breathy than she would have liked. She should stop this. Stop it right now. They were old friends. This was a line that they couldn't cross back over. Her lips parted on her next exhale when he smoothed his hand up the back of her calf.

She did not stop it.

"Edward?"

He had moved, was standing, caging her in with a hand on the desk on either side of her. His eyes were dark. Intent. "Tell me to stop. Right now, Astoria."

He was ordering her to save them both from making a mistake. Trying to respect her. Them. They were childhood friends. And they had diligently avoided this kind of moment all their lives.

She didn't say anything.

And then he was there, no more than a handspan away. Taking over her space. Taking over her world. Filling it up with the intensity of his presence. "Now, Astoria," he told her, voice low. "Tell me now."

"I asked because I was jealous." It was not what he was telling her to say now, but it was what he had asked before. Bloody hell. "I shouldn't be jealous. You aren't even mine," she whispered.

He held her gaze for what seemed a long time -- had she ruined everything? But then his hand was tangled in her hair gripping the long dark strands. Tugged so that her head tipped back, and then his lips were on hers. Hard. Demanding. Starving.

The Anderson proposal fell to the floor, forgotten.

Chapter Text

Eloise Midgen wasn't a Hit Wizard. She wasn't an Auror either. In fact, she wasn't employed by any part of the Magical Law Enforcement Department. (She'd been arrested a few times for disturbing the peace though. He'd nearly arrested her the first time they met.)

Technically, Ryan shouldn't be taking her to the scene. But he was of the opinion that, technically, his colleagues were being narrow-minded idiots. He needed fresh eyes. And her nose.

"Hiking through an overgrown jungle was not part of the deal."

A glance back over his shoulder proved her expression was as surly as her voice. Ryan grinned. "It wasn't excluded either." Technically.

He could hear her growl. It was fortunate she couldn't see his grin grow even bigger as she hiked behind him through the dense undergrowth.

"You owe me more than a pint for this. I want firewhiskey too. And dinner."

"Deal."

The area had been cordoned off to prevent accidental apparitions on the scene and evidence. Standard procedure, which was just peachy when the scene wasn't in the middle of a dense forest. They had to be getting close...

"Fuck, Zeller." Eloise stopped moving. "Examining dead bodies was definitely not part of the deal."

She'd picked up the scents from the scene. They were close then. "The clean-up team's already been through and the body's been removed." He heard her stir into motion again.

A few turns later they finally found the scene. Little numbered markers on the ground indicated the evidence collectors weren't quite done yet. He'd have to be quick with Eloise. Because she wasn't supposed to be there. Technically.

When he felt her step up next to him he started to talk. "The victim was a wizard, which is why we were called in."

Ryan watched the petite, foul-tempered brunette pick her way carefully around the evidence markers. Heavily lashed eyes flicked here and there, and her nostrils flared as she neared a particularly dense concentration of markers, and crouched down. She reached out, but didn't quite touch a sticky patch of half-dried blood.

"There's a pack of wolves that own these woods," he said. "They snag a sheep now and again from the farms that border the tree line to the east. The lacerations and puncture wounds were consistent with a wolf's. Seemed pretty cut and dry."

Dark eyes flicked up to meet his. "But the tracks leading away from the..." She waved a hand toward where a thick layer of blood coated the ground. "They're human."

"Right."

"And the full moon's tomorrow night."

"Right."

She scowled at him. "If this is some kind of sick joke..."

"It's not." And it wasn't. "I wouldn't ever do that to a friend." Not that she believed him when he told her he considered her a friend.

She peered at him. Judging him. Weighing him. She must have found what she was looking for because the tension drained from her small frame.

"Well, the answer is obvious," she said. "This murder was committed by a barefoot man carrying a wolf."

Ryan raised a brow at her, and she grinned.

Eloise picked her way back toward him. Her nose twitched again as she inhaled to scent the air. "Most of the blood is from one person, but some of it matches the scent on the tracks."

When she was next to him again she looked up at him. "There were wolves here, but they were the natural kind, not the cursed kind. I suppose there could have been foul play between the humans, but it also could have been a tragic attack and you've just yet to find the other injured witch, or wizard."

Ryan's lips curled slightly at the edges. "The marks weren't consistent with those of cursed wolves."

That hadn't stopped his colleagues from jumping to conclusions that had taken them off to harass the local werewolf community though, nor had the fact that very few werewolves could change shape on any other night but that of the full moon. Not that Eloise needed to know. Her opinion of Britain's magical law enforcement was low enough.

"Thanks, Midg." She dodged his attempt to ruffle her hair.

"Whatever." She scowled at him. "Now. Feed me."

Ryan grinned and snatched her hand before she could skitter out of reach. A tug and a quick move had her slung over his shoulder. "Sure thing."

He could feel her growling as he began trekking back through the woods, and her nails pressed warningly into his lower back.

"Hey, hey," he said, grin growing even wider. It was definitely a good thing she couldn't see his expression. "I thought you didn't want to hike through an 'overgrown jungle'."

"Fuck you, Zeller."

But she didn't demand he put her down, and didn't maim him. Score.