aurie

THIS WASN'T HIS bed.

the sheets were too soft. the mattress seemed to be sinking in beneath him. the smell of toasted cinammon lingered in the room, as well as the rather grating scent of sweat.

and there was someone laying beside him, an arm around his waist.

hitoshi shinso never flew out of bed like he did this morning. he launched himself out of the sheets, away from this unfamiliar body, into the freezing air of his room - which was also wrong. he kept his home a respectable temperature. unless his thermostat broke?

but no, this wasn't his room. not at all.

that wasn't his bookshelf, lining the windowed wall. that wasn't his monthly calendar pinned above the bed. that wasn't his closet door.

and there was a man in his bed. a man he'd never seen before.

hitoshi set his hands on his hips for all of two seconds as he tried to deliberate what exactly was going on, before he realized these weren't his hands. they were too small.

wait, what?

it took longer than it should've to find the bathroom. longer than it should've to find a mirror. and way longer than it ever should have to realize that not only was he in the wrong apartment.

no, he was in the wrong body.

you, on the other hand, had been sleeping very peacefully beside your latest one-night stand. he'd been a hair or two above average, but at least he wasn't a dick.

and now? you were laying on your back on some rooftop, feeling like the breath had been knocked out of you. some kind of scarf thing was wrapped around both your neck and your hands, and a mask encased the lower half of your face.

what on earth..?

something told you to roll. so roll you did.

not half a second later, some lady wrapped in some superhero garb landed right where you'd been laying, looking more than a little amused. a purple mist was seeping out from her skin, and you felt recognition seeping through you. but how? you'd never met anyone with a mist-based quirk.

"looks like it's working~!" sang the lady, who was advancing towards you way too quickly for your liking. you clambered to your feet - a lot more agilely than you thought you were capable of - and instinctively swung a roundhouse kick at her so she'd back off. but when had you learned how to kick like that?

she dodged, annoyingly enough, and cartwheeled into your immediate space. like you were on autopilot, you engaged her in hand-to-hand; a jab here, a punch there, your body moving instinctively to minimalize your injuries and maximalize hers.

"what? unhappy with the results?" she cooed, dodging another one of your punches. "and here i thought such a lonely hero would be happy to find his soulmate. shame, really."

"what?" you finally asked, catching her wrists and slamming your head into hers in an attempt to slow her down for a moment. you felt the dull ache of your head, but it didn't hurt as much as you thought it would. "what are you talking about? who are you?"

she was dazed for all of three seconds before a grin split her face. "oh, it's worked." she seemed excited, almost, and slipped out of your grip like a newly-caught fish. "enjoy your new life, then!" she added before cartwheeling away.

you stared after her, dumbfounded, for all of three seconds. "h-hey, wait!" you yelled, running after her.

until she hopped off the roof you two were on and onto another one. then you stopped short and questioned exactly how much wine you'd drank the night before.

after a much longer period of time than strictly necessary, you finally found your way off the roof (you knocked on the door to the stairwell for almost a half hour in increments before a worker inside came up and unlocked the door for you). you had no idea how you'd gotten on the roof, of all places, especially when your last memory was of your ceiling.

"nighthide!" you heard someone calling as you ambled down the street. the phone in your pocket wasn't yours, but you recognized this street. a little farther and you'd get to the trains. "nighthide!"

you figured it was some hero attracting attention; as in, none of your business. but it was getting kind of annoying.

"nighthide!" was a lot closer than before, and you glanced over your shoulder - just to alleviate your curiosity. only to barely dodge a young boy as he barrelled into the space you'd just been.

you stared down at him for a minute. he couldn't have been much older than.. what, 7? 10? you hadn't a clue. he had a mop of brown hair, the brightest yellow eyes you'd ever seen, and hands covered in dirt. yuck.

"nighthide!" he exclaimed again, staring straight at you. you turned to look behind you; nothing. and when you turned back to the kid, he was still staring at you.

".. me?" you asked, pointing to yourself. and when he nodded? you felt a few grey hairs sprout. "uh.. what's up?"

"can i get your autograph!" he yelled, shoving a black marker and what looked like a trading card into your hands. at first, you had half a mind to yell at him.

.. but it was just a signature. right?

with your absolutely incredible muscle memory that you'd been blessed with (very randomly, might you add), you autographed this small child's trading card and shoved it back into his hands.

and then you quite literally ran away. down the street. to your train station.

getting back to your apartment was hellish, truly. people kept stopping you, calling you nighthide, thanking you for things you distantly recalled doing but also had no clear memories of. and then, on top of that, you couldn't find your keys. great! just great!

but, opportunistically enough, your door flew open just as you were approaching it, and out came your date from last night, hastily dressed and clearly distressed.

and.. right behind him was.. you? shoving him out? and yelling at him to never show his dick here again?

you stood frozen in place for less than two heartbeats before you were storming up to- well, to you.

"oi, dickhead!" you called. you - your body, rather - turned to glare at you (damn, you looked mad when you glared). and then your lips - not yours, your body's! - parted, most likely in shock. "what're you doing?"

your body looked rather offended at your question. "what am i doing?" it asked. ew, was that what you sounded like to everyone else? "what are you doing? that's- you- that's my body!"

by now, you'd reached your door. you felt a teensy tiny urge to sock yourself in the face, then thought better of it. your body seemed to come to a similar conclusion.

".. get inside," said your voice. you crinkled your nose and obeyed.

the next thing you knew, you were laying on the floor of your kitchen, your head aching like hell. above you was a purple-haired man with the most prominent eye bags you'd ever seen.

all the grace that had blessed your body before was nowhere to be found. you scrambled to your feet, managed to hit your head on your table, and promptly toppled over again.

"fucking hell," you groaned, gripping your head where you'd hit it.

"hey- hey, just chill," said the man, which only made you less chill.

"chill?" you screeched, scrambling to your feet again (and managing to avoid the table this time). "you- how'd you get in? no, nevermind, just- out! get out!"

mister eye bags seemed not to take too kindly to your orders. his left eye twitched. "first off," he said, raising his thumb to count whatever the hell his problem was, "i woke up here. in your body, which, i understand, is less than ideal, but-"

"don't care," you cut in, striding past him to wrench open your door. "out. you're gonna scare away my date. fuck off." (not like you weren't gonna ghost your date in all of six hours, but you might as well enjoy what you've got while you can.)

mister purple hair looked pissed. "would you just listen to me," he stressed, glaring at you. ooh, his eyes were pretty. shame they were on him. "i woke up in your body. and i'm pretty sure you woke up in mine. right?"

you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "so what?" you snarked, folding your arms. "you were in some fight with that lady. probably just her quirk. get. out."

his soulmate echoed in your head annoyingly loudly as the purple haired man glared at you. or maybe his face was just like that. you ignored the memory and his face.

"door's open, dickwad," you insisted, gesturing to the hall. he shifted his weight, then scoffed and made his way out of your apartment.

as you were closing the door, he said "my name's hitoshi shinso. call me when you're done whining."

you never did call him. yes, you looked him up, found out he was a ua graduate, found out he was a pro by the name of nightshade - explained that kid - as well as some other basic information, but nothing too interesting. nothing you cared for.

nothing that'd tempt you to lower a wall. he was, after all, just a man.

which is why you were pretty ticked off when you woke up in a bed that wasn't your own.

you figured this was how he must've felt when he woke up in your bed all those weeks ago. you flxed your - his - hand, staring at the numerous calluses. then you tsked and sat up. might as well do something with your time.

his room was kept relatively clean; a hamper in the corner of his closet, a nightstand beside his bed, which was tucked into the corner of his room; a cat tree in the opposing corner; and a calendar with a cat of the month pinned above his nightstand.

your - his - eyes stung; they felt dry. how long had you slept? the clock read six thirty-two, and you swore you'd gone to bed at a reasonable time, but your - his - body felt sluggish, like it'd gotten too little or too much sleep. eyedrops sat on the nightstand, and you supposed taking care of his body wasn't too much to ask for.

his fridge was pretty empty. a lot of pre-made meals, half a quart of milk, a nearly empty 8oz bottle of orange juice, and a few different kinds of soy sauce were scattered among the shelves.

men, was your only thought. you shut the fridge. mister dry eye could feed himself when you two swapped back.

a small, warm, furry body rubbed itself along your - his - calf, making you jump half a foot in the air. an almost scraggly tabby cat mewed up at you, and you squinted back.

"what?" you asked, crouching beside the cat. it probably wouldn't scratch you. "you want food?"

it rubbed itself against your dangling hand. probably wasn't good enough odds for you.

the cat food was in the cabinet above the sink. stupid, in your opinion, but you were tall enough to reach in his body. and you had the biceps to lower the bag.

the rest of your time in hitoshi shinso's body was spent sitting on the floor beside his cat as they - she, actually - ate happily away. and then you were waking up in your kitchen chair, in your kitchen, in your apartment, spoon in hand and a bowl of cereal in front of you.

again, your only thought was, men. it summed up your feelings perfectly. nevertheless, you ate your cereal, then went and made a proper breakfast of eggs and toast.

it wasn't until you were in your bathroom, brushing your teeth, that you saw it; a note stuck to the mirror. you squinted at it.

hi stranger, it read in surprisingly small and legible letters. i'm hitoshi shinso. my phone is xxx xxxx xxxx. please call or text me.

you stared at it. took it between your thumb and pointer finger to pull it off the mirror. then tossed it in the toilet. you'd flush it later.

swapping bodies with hitoshi shinso became a regular event sooner rather than later. every time it happened, you dismissed the memory of his soulmate. you finished whatever he was doing and patiently waited for you to return to your own body. you started timing it; exactly an hour. sixty minutes. thirty-six hundred seconds.

and for some stupid reason, there was no rhyme or reason to when it would happen. while you were on the toilet. in the middle of a grocery run. while you were sleeping. while you were having a one-night stand.

hitoshi shinso liked to leave notes. he liked scrawling his oh-so-important words across yellow sticky notes and sticking them everywhere. your mirror. your toaster. your oven. the underside of your toilet cover. your front door. your forehead.

you never wrote anything back.

you still learned about him. and very unwillingly so, if anyone asked. you learned his cat's name was mochi. that he'd rescued her from a dumpster. you learned he was a pro hero. that he was friends with the recently returned number one, deku.

you learned he liked sweet tea better than black. that he was an insomniac. that he didn't like being on meds since they "slowed him down". that he listened to white noise or asmr youtube channels to fall asleep. that he, like you, collected cds.

and, in turn, as much as you tried to prevent it, he learned about you. about your on-again, off-again friends. your lack of a quirk. your tendency to pick up one-night stands who you seemed to hate, most of the time. your reluctance to let anyone get close.

and, most importantly, the apparent problem you had with him.

you destroyed every note he gave you; shredded them, flushed them, set them ablaze (over a bowl of sand; you weren't insane). sure, you read them, but he didn't need to know that.

hiya, read this one. you do realize we're kind of stuck together? have i done something to offend you? i'd like to get to know you. please.

"'s not anything you've done, you sensitive fool," you muttered, tearing said note to shreds. "kindly fuck off."

unfortunately enough, it seemed like the universe was against you, and you specifically. not a full minute later, someone was knocking at your door annoyingly loud.

"coming!" you called, taking your sweet time getting off the couch and making your way to the door. where you peered through the peephole. and immediately recoiled.

"hey!" hitoshi shinso called as he repeatedly knocked on your door. "one-timer! i know you're here!"

the nickname had been born from one of his first notes - where else? not like you two knew each other - where he'd called you a "one-timer" for having three different one night stands in the same week. you'd swapped bodies during the buildup, during the main event, and a few hours after in each respective incident. and thus your nickname was born.

"one-timer!" hitoshi shinso called again. his knocks slowed. you stayed quiet in front of the door, like it'd deter him. ".. please."

unfortunately for you, you were a softie. sometimes. and hearing such a broken, desperate please tugged at your heartstrings.

hitoshi shinso stumbled forward as you opened the door. you didn't say anything, just stepped aside so he could come in. his eyes, still the prettiest purple eyes you'd seen, were so big. big enough to get lost in.

needing something to do with your hands, you began to make tea for you and hitoshi shinso - better to detach yourself with his full name. his clinical name. not your friend. not your anything - and as you set it on the dining table, you realized you'd made sweat tea. habitually. tch.

he didn't drink his tea at first; merely swirled it around and around, those pretty eyes trained on it. maybe watching the dregs float around?

"was there a reason you were stopping by?" you asked, swirling your cup once and lifting it to your lips to drink.

"yes," he whispered, his voice so gruff your eyes widened. he sounded exhausted. "i- i needed to.. wait, you don't.. feel it?"

you swallowed your mouthful of tea and lowered your cup. "what are you on about?"

you watched gears turn behind those pretty eyes of his. "you really don't feel it?" he asked again, looking pained. "i- you-"

he cut himself off and dropped his cup back onto your table. you jumped at the sudden movement, but you really should've held your surprise, because not two seconds later was hitoshi shinso on his feet and rushing out your door like he'd forgotten his stove on.

*clears throat*

SO as we know carl did not have the best childhood. he's referenced it before but nothing is ever confirmed. now, due to the way he acts in therapy, we can begin to paint a picture. everything below is my own thoughts and interpretations! they are not canon! feel free to disagree and we can ofc discuss :)

. as you said, i do believe one or both of his parents was involved in a case of some sort

. as standard as it is, i think his father used to beat on his mother

. until, ofc, something happened to his father

. carl is very violent - he had to learn this from somewhere. he does attempt to practice patience (the tennis balls!!!) but ultimately, a punch solves a lot more than squeezing a tennis ball

. i 100% believe that he picked up the fighting from his father, but not in the way you think! i think he picked it up to defend his mother from his father

. morck senior likes to throw fists around, yes? so ofc morck junior is going to understand that violence is the way of the world (and at a pretty young age, it's hard to unlearn stuff like that)

. ngl i also believe that carl used to call the cops whenever morck senior would beat on mrs morck - however, abusers are (unfortunately) pretty clever

. as in, he'd hit her in ways it wouldn't leave marks

. which is very possible! i speak from experience! i've been in a few fights in my few years lmao!

. so when the cops did show up, they would file a report but would have no evidence

. which meant they couldn't forcibly remove morck senior from the premises

. which also meant that they couldn't really file a restraining order

. oh oh oh BONUS POINTS if morck senior was an upstanding member of the community

. when i say abusers are smart they are SMART

. my own father (the dickbag) was a bit of an abuser and he knew how to play it UP every time the cops showed

. wasn't until my brother whipped his phone out in the middle of a lil altercation to record it that we got him out lmao

. BUT BACK TO CARL. i 100% believe he used to listen to his mum ("don't disagree with him" "don't make eye contact with him" "listen to your father" "don't make him upset") because he was scared of his mum getting hurt

. but when the police, who were supposed to protect them, couldn't do shit?

. yeah no he learned to throw a good fucking punch

. now i don't think he continued to call the cops after he learned to fight

. he just took matters into his own hands and knew the cops would get in the way

. so if morck senior tried to beat on mrs morck, carl would get in there and would go down swinging

. now this explains his tendency towards violence

. let's discuss his trust issues

. i don't think it started with his ex (it's been a while so i forgot why exactly they broke up) so that means it started somewhere between his violent childhood and his violent adulthood (being an officer ain't all sunshine and rainbows lmaooo)

. THEREFORE i think it's because of the cops. quite frankly

. like imagine being afraid for your life and your mother's life and calling for help from the people who are supposed to help you

. only for them to have you fill out some paperwork and leave you in the lion's den with the realization that no, nobody is coming to save you

. you'd develop a few problems with trusting people, eh? especially authority after that

. which ties into his superiority complex - these adults who were supposed to care for him and take care of him can't do their jobs

. and here is this very young child (idk how old i would picture him around when he started swinging back; maybe right around puberty?) who can do what none of these adults can

. and then throw school and friends into the mix? lmao bye

. imagine (or don't) how isolating it would be to hear your friends talking about their home lives and what their dad did for them and what their parents are doing for their anniversary and yadda yadda yadda

. and carl's just sitting there like 🧍‍♂️ "my dad taught me to fight." (not the way they think)

. so over time i definitely believe (i be speaking from experience lmaoo) due to him having to mature faster than his peers (because of his wonderful home life) he slowly began to think that he was in fact better than them because of how much he could deal with

. i do believe his mother died when he was young

. somewhere during his highschool years

. i don't believe it was because of his dad; at this point morck senior has learned to stop beating on his wife and son

. i think she got sick and passed when he was in his sophomore year

. which lead to silence in the morck household

. carl wouldn't talk to his father; his father wouldn't talk to him

. they barely saw each other at this point

. carl goes out and gets a job at a gas station where he picks up smoking because the packs are cheap and they let him stop feeling for a little bit

. graduates and stays home with his dad while his peers all go off to college or different jobs

. he keeps working at the gas station for a while more

. in his twenties, he has a near death experience on shift

. robber comes in, demands all the money from the register as well as a good few packs of cigarettes

. all the years carl's been there he's never been robbed

. he was a little slow in doing it so the robber shot a warning round

. definitely freaked carl out

. when the police finally got there after the robber left, carl had a moment where he was like "man they suck at their job so bad that i could do better"

. and then he paused. and he was like. wait.

. so he applied for police academy. passed. became a detective ( i know nothing about police rankings even though im at the station once a week for a volunteering thing lmao)

. worked his way up. hated the fact that he was becoming what he hated - just another officer who just so *happened* to be late. who couldn't do anything because of the law. because of case precedent. because of assignments. because of precinct. he hated it

. so when the position opened up to investigate murders; as in, shit that had already happened, shit he couldn't fix or reverse, but shit he could at least help find the culprit, of fucking *course* he snatched that shit up

. which lead to him meeting hardy. and soon after, his ex wife

. i think he met his ex at some bar he and hardy were supposed to meet together at but hardy ended up blowing him off because he forgot he had a date

. so morck is all by his lonesome at the bar, watching some game he doesn't care about, sipping slowly at a cup

. victoria takes the empty seat beside him

. they get to chatting

. eventually yk they get married

. victoria's mother disapproves HARD of carl bc of his job

. (ngl fair i dont trust cops all that much either but then again i live in america lmao)

. i think their divorce had a lot to do with victorias mother as well as victoria's insane schedule being a flight attendant

. there was definitely passion and definitely some level of love/care

. but unfortunately disney did lie to us and love does not solve all problems

. so, victoria and carl went their separate ways

. and then the events of department q began :)

YOU WERE STRESSED.

nothing was fitting right. this shirt’s fabric was too scratchy, that one was too slippery, that one was too warm - your mom always blasted the heat in her house - that one was too thin, and that one-

“love?” came a familiar, gravelly voice from the doorway of your shared room. you froze where you’d been tossing another shirt to the floor, as if you’d just been caught doing something you shouldn’t be. “are you.. okay?”

after a beat, you straightened, still holding the shirt you’d been about to discard as another reject for the night. “.. yeah,” you mumbled, rolling your shoulders back to loosen them. “just, uh.. trying to get dressed.”

you heard him hum in acknowledgement. you didn’t look up at him; he knew you too well. one look in your eyes and he’d have you figured out.

“i’ll be a few minutes,” you continued, all-too-aware of his footsteps in the carpet as he approached. “if you want to wait in the car, i’ll be out-”

his hand came up to trace the line of your jaw, and you - momentarily - forgot how to form words. he was gentle, so gentle, in the way his fingertips brushed over your skin, coming up to lift your chin so you’d meet his gaze.

at first, you pointedly kept your gaze on his neck. there was a dot of moisturizer he must’ve forgotten to smooth out, which you now wanted to rub into his skin. but then he brushed his thumb over your cheek, and your eyes snapped to his.

tomura shigaraki was not known to be a patient person. not by his friends, and definitely not by his estranged father. but with you? he’d wait forever.

so, he waited for you to explain. the way your gaze kept dipping from his told him you didn’t want him to know, and the mess of clothes on the floor and the bed said enough about your nerves for this dinner. one that you’d warned tomura about a good six times already.

“need help?” he murmured, a slight rasp accompanying his words. he was already dressed; dark slacks, a light blue sweater, and a black jacket he’d probably end up discarding as the night progressed.

you jerked your head to the side. “no,” you muttered. you could at least dress yourself. this wasn’t even the hardest part of the night; if you couldn’t pick out your own shirt, how would dinner go?

tomura hummed, raising his other hand to take the shirt you’d been gripping from you. “well, i think you should wear the blue sweater i got you,” he said. “so we can match.”

you huffed a short laugh. “thought i just said i didn’t need help,” you said, shutting your eyes so you wouldn’t have to meet his. “.. where’s the sweater?”

you knew he was smirking just by the sound of how his lips curved around his words. “under the tree,” he said, pulling one of your eyes open like he knew it’d piss you off. “want to open a few gifts early?”

an hour an a half later, after opening a few more presents than strictly necessary, a mug of hot chocolate, a few too many pictures taken on tomura’s cracked iphone, and a car ride of cheesy christmas carols, you were on the doorstep to your parent’s house. snow drifted down lazily, blanketing the ground and catching in yours and tomura’s hair.

he rang the doorbell, since both of your hands were occupied with the cake you’d made together. inside, you heard music and voices overlapping, which were only amplified as your cousin opened the door, offering a smile and gesturing you both inside.

general chaos ensued once you had entered. from setting the cake down, finding a spot to put both your shoes and coats, finding a spot to sit only to get up immediately to help set the table, following your grandmother’s directions for a few last-minute dishes, and to finally collapsing into your seat at the table beside tomura, who was already watching you with those worried eyes.

beneath the table, his hand found yours, interlacing your fingers. internally, you thanked every deity there was for his presence beside you; it was like his existence just fixed things for you. even the headache that had begun to build behind your eyes was starting to abate. or maybe it’s because dinner had finally begun, and you were free to eat.

which more than a few people took note of.

“my, are you really going to finish all that?” asked your aunt, sitting three seats over from tomura on your left. “leave some for us!”

you felt your cheeks heat as laughter echoed around the room. you dropped the serving spoon back into the pan, suddenly feeling your appetite vanish into the air. you knew she meant it as a “joke”, but really? she had double on her plate!

“you seem to have more than enough already,” came a cool voice to your left, making your attention snap to your boyfriend. his red eyes seemed almost on fire as he glared at your aunt, daring her to drop another comment. “i’m sure half the dish is on your plate.”

silence ensued for more than a brief moment. “tomura!” you hissed, all-too-aware of the looks your parents shared; disapproval. “i’m sorry, he didn’t-”

“i meant it,” he cut in, reaching under the table to set his hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing into the fabric of your pants. “don’t comment on their food when you’re stuffing your face.”

your aunt’s face was a beautiful shade of cherry red. her mouth opened and closed just like a fish as she tried to find a rebuttal. she was saved by her husband, who asked somebody how their college courses were going, and the spell of silence was broken.

“tomura,” you immediately whispered now that the attention was off the pair of you. “what was-”

“she was insulting you,” he said, the fire gone from his eyes, instead replaced by confusion. “you didn’t notice?”

your heart seized in your chest. he was so wonderful that it hurt. “i- i did, i just mean- we normally just let her say what she wants,” you clarified. hints of that fire began to creep back in, and you quickly turned back to your plate. “this is.. uh.. normal.”

tomura’s hand squeezed your thigh reassuringly. “doesn’t make it right,” he grumbled, lifting a spoon of mashed potatoes to his lips with his unoccupied hand. he grimaced at the taste. “what is this?”

you bit your lip to stifle a giggle. “mashed potatoes, hun,” you said, well-aware your youngest cousin had been in charge of that dish.

“this is a crime against potatoes.”

“a nine-year-old made it.”

“and you didn’t tell me?”

but, of course, your laughter wasn’t meant to last. your and tomura’s smiles caught the attention of your uncle; not your aunt’s wife, but your father’s brother, who’d had six kids from five different one-night-stands, and who all never made it to christmas dinner.

“so!” your uncle said, dropping his fork on his napkin and smiling - falsely - at you and tomura. “how did the two of you meet? i’m assuming at work, since they never go out,” he chortled. his current girlfriend (of three weeks) sat on his right and giggled along.

you would’ve mumbled a half-hearted response if you could’ve, but suddenly everyone’s attention was on you and tomura again. really? and you knew they wouldn’t approve of how you two had actually met.

(you had logged onto fortnite for the first time in years. some of your coworkers had been raving about the new update, but they were still highschoolers, so you’d dismissed it at first. but it’d begun to pique your curiosity, so here you were.

you’d never been a duos player, but you wanted to try it for once. was it easier to win this way?

you matched with some player with the tag kittenlitteryum and classified him as either a middle schooler or a highschooler. but when you joined the voice chat with him, you were pleasantly surprised to hear a much more mature voice than you were expecting.

for the next several weeks, every day after work, you logged into fortnite and played a few rounds with kittenlitteryum. the two of you got to chatting, and you realized you didn’t live all too far from each other.

so, like any self-respecting adult, you set up a day to meet your online friend.

you’d met in a coffee shop a few blocks over from your apartment, just in case he turned out to be a psycho. but, he turned out to be quite normal. and sweet. and kind.

before you knew it, you were crushing on your duos partner. who, as it turned out, was also crushing on you. however, neither of you had the balls to ask each other out, and it wasn’t until you met some of his friends that anything really happened.

“how do you know tomura?” you asked, accepting the mug of mint tea mister compress offered you. he didn’t give a hint about his first name, so you just assumed maybe the mister part was his first name.

he shared a look with a scarred man who’d introduced himself as dabi. “school,” said dabi plainly. “worked on a humanities project in sophomore year and we’ve stuck together since.”

“cool,” you murmured, severely out of practice with making new friends. you’d had your coworkers and your old friends from school for years, never bothering to inch out of your comfort zone. “.. does he only play fortnite?”

dabi laughed. “nah, man’s obsessed with gaming in general. so, are you his fortnite spouse?” he asked, shooting you a smirk. “he never shuts up about you.”

heat rushed to your cheeks. “w-what?” you asked. “that’s- he’s called me his fortnite spouse?”

tomura, who’d been about to enter the room, slammed the door open before dabi could say anything else. “out,” he grumbled to his two friends. “there’s a cat in the alley for you to feed.”

dabi, smirking all the while, sauntered out the door, followed closely by mister compress, who fanned his cheeks as if he were flustered and then pointed to tomura - who slammed the door behind them as they left.

“.. ignore them,” he said after a few beats of silence. “that’s not- i- i wanted to ask you properly, but of course dabi’s dumbass had to go and fuck it up-”

“ask me what?”)

“we met at my work,” tomura said, responding so you wouldn’t have to. “i’m a coffee shop barista. they were in my line, and i thought they were cute, so i gave them my number and we started talking.”

beneath the table, he continued rubbing small circles into the fabric of your pants, soothing your nerves without needing to be asked. you reached down to interlace your fingers with his, thankful for his presence.

“you work at a coffee shop?” asked your uncle’s girlfriend. “in this economy? don’t tell me you’re on foodstamps, too.”

anger boiled in your stomach. “shut up,” you snapped at her. “at least he doesn’t live off of daddy’s money, like someone else.”

“that was rude,” interjected your aunt, who then turned to your parents. “where did we go wrong? i swear they weren’t like this before they moved out.”

“not a clue,” said your father, who was glaring at you. your stomach turned. “they used to be such a good kid.”

before anybody else could add or take from the - incredibly pointless - argument, tomura’s warmth vanished from your thigh as he shot up and slammed his hands down on the table, rattling the dishes.

nobody said anything. his shoulders raised and lowered as he fought to calm his breath, gripping the wood of the table like he’d snap it in two again.

“say another word about my partner again,” he began, his voice low but the threat obvious, “i’ll do a lot more than ruin your precious christmas dinner.”

he shoved his chair out and offered his hand to you. “come on, time to go.”

you hesitated. as much as you loved him, as much as you hated your family, you still felt.. tied here. they were your blood.

“love,” tomura insisted quietly, and you had all the convincing you needed. you hurried to your feet and accepted his hand, and he tugged you closer to him.

“merry christmas,” tomura grunted to your family, leading you out of the dining room by your hand.

the next thing you knew, he was buckling you into the passenger seat of your car. you had no recollection of putting your boots back on, or your jacket, or bringing your cake back, which you saw in the backseat.

“tomura, i can drive,” you protested, knowing he hated driving. especially in the snow.

“shush,” he said, kissing your cheek and shutting the passenger-side door. you watched him as he walked around the front of the car to the driver-side door and climbed inside, adjusting the seat before he started the car.

the christmas carols you’d been playing on the drive over started as the car turned on. they felt unbearably cheerful in comparison to your tumultuous feelings after that dinner party. thankfully, tomura took notice, and he turned the radio off.

“.. thank you,” you murmured. he hadn’t pulled away from the curb yet; his eyes were on you. the fire from earlier had dimmed, and worry was all that you saw. “we can, uh, start heading home now.”

“are you sure?” he asked, reaching across the console to take one of your hands in his. “do you want to talk about it?”

you pursed your lips. “not, uh.. not really,” you mumbled.

tomura squeezed your hand, dropped it to shift the car into drive, and then reclaimed it just as quick.

after you’d gotten home and put the - untouched - cake away, tomura busied himself with cozying up the living room. the unopened presents were set on the coffee table for ease of access, a few candles were lit and filling the room with the smell of cinnamon and peppermint, some cheesy feel-good christmas movies had been queued on the tv, and the blanket collection had been broken out, covering the couch.

he sat you down on your preferred side and wrapped you in two blankets before he left your side, only to return a few minutes later carrying a tray he set on the table; two mugs of something steaming, two plates of leftovers from your christmas eve dinner the night before, and two slices of the cake you’d made together.

“eat,” he said simply, handing you your plate and a fork. his eyes stayed on you as you pushed your food around. “babe.”

“i’m not hungry.”

“your aunt’s a piece of shit. eat,” he insisted. when you still didn’t, he took your fork from you and scooped some (edible) mashed potatoes off your plate. “open.”

you frowned at him. “i’m not a toddler,” you said, jerking your chin away as he tried to force the fork into your mouth.

“you can feed yourself,” he grunted as he caught your face, prying your lips apart with his thumb and forefinger as he tried to force the potatoes into your mouth, “or you can let me feed you.”

you grunted as he pried your mouth open, the pair of you stubborn as a pair of rocks, but he ultimately won.

once tomura had satisfied himself with feeding you, he pulled you into his lap and played the first movie in the queue.

thirty minutes in, tomura finally said something.

“no offense,” he began, which meant he was about to say something offensive, “your family sucks ass. i dunno how you put up with them so long.”

you snorted. “that’s supposed to be not offensive?”

he hummed. “not to you. your uncle’s girlfriend’s a dick. and your aunt. and the rest of your family.”

another laugh squeezed its way out of your throat. “you’re ridiculous,” you muttered shaking your head and cosying into tomura. “.. thanks. for getting me outta there.”

you felt your boyfriend stiffen beneath you. his hand came up to cradle your head, rubbing the pads of his fingers into your scalp.

“never thank me for that,” he whispered into your temple. “also, we’re not doing that again. i’ll change your number if you need me to. you don’t deserve that bullshit.”

your heart squeezed. you had no idea what you’d done to deserve this blessing of a boyfriend, but you were glad you did it.

“okay,” you whispered, hiding your smile in his sweater. “.. merry christmas, tomura.”

a soft kiss was pressed to your temple. “merry christmas, my love.”

YOU WERE STIRRED from your fitful sleep by a rapid knocking on your door. you groaned, tossing your arm over your eyes.

“can you leave my assignments there, ochaco-chan?” you called, your voice raspy from a lack of use.

the knocks quieted. then, “i’m not ochaco-kouhai, but i don’t mind being called mirio-chan!”

you stiffened. fuck. “togata, i told you not to skip class,” you scolded weakly. a throbbing pain that shot through your head had you inhaling sharply, and you prayed he didn’t hear. you cleared your throat. “togata, i’m fine, really,” you mustered, propping yourself up on the bed and facing the shut door.

“[name]-channn,” mirio whined from the other side of the door. “can i come in? please? i dont want you to be sick alone.”

for a moment, you remembered a different time. when you were young, still new to the neighborhood, and you were so homesick that you were bedridden for nearly a week. and during that time, mirio, your brand-new classmate, who had taken to walking home with you after school, stopped by and visited every day that your grandfather would let him in. and when you got better, he would pick you up from your house every morning and drop you off every evening.

“door’s unlocked,” you muttered. the door swung open, revealing mirio with a crease in his brows, a few crinkled bags in his right hand, and his school bag thrown over his left shoulder.

“you should’ve texted me the moment you realized you were sick,” he scolded, toeing off his slippers and hurrying to you after he’d closed the door. he set the bags by the edge of your bed and kneeled beside you. “what hurts? i got a few different kinds of medicine, and i know you don’t like soup but this is the chicken-noodle one my dad makes that you like, and-”

“mirio,” you whispered, and he stopped immediately. you offered a weak smile, propping yourself up a little higher. “i’m alright. you didn’t have to go and get all this for me.”

you saw his annoyance in the way he stiffened. in the way he smiled tight enough it looked like a grimace. in the way he refused to meet your gaze, instead staring hard at the pool of blankets around your waist.

instead of responding, he inhaled deep enough his shoulders moved, then reached up to check if you had a fever. he relaxed - just a little - once he felt that you didn’t, and pulled back enough to glare at you.

“how many times have i told you to stop saying stuff like that?” he sighed, dropping his hand to cup your cheek. “just- let me take care of you, yeah?”

guilt twisted your stomach. after how much you'd worried him with your part in the kamino incident, especially with your lengthy hospitalization after going toe-to-toe with all for one, you should’ve realized he’d be a little more sensitive, especially when it was considering you.

fuck it, you thought. what was the harm? you were sick, not in the midst of a fight. and mirio already had the patience of a saint when it came to you; who knew when he’d grow tired of it? of you?

“just this once,” you muttered, but the way he grinned was as if he’d just won a billion yen in a scratch-off. “mirio-”

“nope!” he said, scooping you out of bed with an arm under your knees and the other around your back, paying no mind to the way you shrieked and grasped at his shirt. “i’m gonna take such incredible care of you that your germs will run away!”

mentally, you facepalmed. but you let him have his moment.

thirty minutes later, mirio had finally calmed down - he’d been forcing spoonful after spoonful of chicken noodle soup down your throat until you threatened to throw up on him - and had wrapped you in a blanket burrito and set you sideways on his lap. you knew he was clingy, but you figured he might be a little extra right now due to you being sick and all.

he was fiddling with his phone, but you didn’t care to squint at the screen. he was warm, and solid, and it had been a while since you’d been held like this. so you shut your eyes and leaned into him, letting yourself relax for once.

after a few moments, soft piano music began to play. you squinted up at mirio, pulling back to look at him, but he just tugged you back to his chest.

“mirio?” you asked, stifling a yawn against your hand. “why’re you playing piano music?”

you felt his chest vibrate beneath your cheek as he hummed. “it’s sleep piano music, sunshine,” he corrected. the endearment made your stomach flip, but you ignored it. “so you can sleep your germs away.”

as he spoke, he moved you both so you were laying down. he laid behind you, one arm tossed over your side to pull you into the warmth he radiated. “and,” he added, nosing into the crease of your neck, “to help you relax. you’re always so stressed,” he chided.

“’m sorry,” you mumbled, squirming a little at the feel of his breath on the back of your neck. you knew he wasn’t saying it to criticize you; moreso to just.. to remind you that he was here. and that he wanted you to be safe and to be cared for, even if you saw it as unnecessary. “i don’t mean to be.”

“said the student who throws themselves into every school incident they can find,” mirio muttered, his hold around you tightening for a split second. “you- you scared me, sunshine, y’know?” you felt more than heard his breath catch, and you felt your heart crack. “just- watching that screen, and seeing that villain throw you like you were nothing, and your scream, my gods-”

you turned in his hold before he could stop you. you could feel his shoulders shaking, his breaths coming out in short puffs. mirio togata, the boy you’d always thought could hold the world in his hands from sheer determination alone, was crying. because of you.

“mirio, wait, i’m sorry-” you whispered, cupping his cheeks and trying to thumb away his tears as fast as they came. “i didn’t- i didn’t mean to worry you, i just- i had to help, and-” gods, could you be any worse at this?

“and now you’re sick, and you still don’t tell me stuff,” mirio continued, reaching up to hold your hands in his. he shut his eyes, those beautiful blue eyes you’d come to look for whenever you walked into a room, and tried to catch his breath. “you just- gods, sunshine, please, if not for yourself, then for me, please care of yourself,” he gasped, squeezing your hands. his next words were whispered, like even he didn’t want to hear them. “i can’t bear the thought of- of you not being here one day. i- i lost you once-” the memory of your first and stupidest fight with mirio resurfaced, alongside the pain of the silent treatment you’d given each other for over two years until you’d reunited at ua “-and that tore me in two. don’t-”

“i won’t,” you rushed, cutting him off and brushing your thumb under his eye, collecting the tears yet to fall. “i won’t, mirio, i-”

what could you say? what were you going to say? “i can’t lose you too”? “i care about you”? everything you and your oldest friend had been through, and you still didn’t know how to comfort him in moments like this, rare as they were (but getting more frequent with your increased risk-taking).

“i love you,” you whispered, shutting your own eyes. you felt his shock in the way he froze, the way his hands loosened around yours. “i- i get into those fights because it’s.. it’s easier if i have to deal with it. imagining you in my place, in any of those incidents, it-” your voice caught. “i can’t. i- why do you think i call nejire by her name, and tamaki by his, and i- and i always call you togata?” you asked, snifling and coughing a laugh at the same time. “i.. i love you. and i don’t want you to have to fight*,”* you finished, keeping your eyes shut as if it would protect you from his rejection.

-which never came. no, what came were his arms around you, pulling you into him so tight you lost your breath for a moment. your eyes flew open, instinctively, but he’d hidden his face in your shoulder.

“you idiot,” he laughed, keeping you pressed tight against him. “you sick, lovable, idiot.”

“i said i love you, and you call me an idiot?” you protested, trying to pry him off. he only laughed again.

“you’re an idiot because i,” he began, before moving so his lips were pressed to your ear, “love you too.”

you shivered. he’d whispered them into your ear, as if he knew it’d mess with you more. “yeah, yeah, good for you,” you muttered, attempting to wriggle free. “let me- mirio!”

“nope,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “you looove me, and i’m never gonna let you forget it,” he teased, finally falling back onto your bed and - gently - tugging you with him. his hands came up to cup your face, his palms warming your cheeks. “you’re my sunshine, yeah?” he asked, and his expression was just so.. so bright, you had to squint.

“.. yeah,” you muttered, feeling your cheeks heat. if anything, he’s the sunshine. or the actual sun. “.. can i sleep now?” you asked.

as horrible as your timing was (mirio really wanted to cuddle for a few hours out of joy, or maybe go spar tamaki to work off some of this energy), all he did was laugh. “yes, sunshine, we can sleep,” he said, still grinning.

so, you settled back beside him, your face tucked into his shoulder, and his arm around your waist. his thumb rubbed arcs back and forth on the skin just beneath the hem of your shirt, helping to lull you to sleep.

while you slept, mirio typed one-handed on his phone in all caps to both tamaki and nejire, letting them know he was “DOIN GIMPROTANT STFUF” and to “LET SNESEI KNWO IM BUSY”. he received a concerned response from tamaki, an okay from nejire, and then promptly shut off his phone.

everybody else could wait. his sunshine mattered more.

CYNTHIA DIDN’T REMEMBER the walk up to the stool. She didn’t remember climbing onto the old, magically reinforced wood, and facing the four House tables. She didn’t remember feeling the leather slip over her head and obstructing her vision.

Instead, all she saw, all she remembered, all she felt, was the way she had when she was here merely twenty years prior. Same stone floors. Same wooden steps. Same Headmaster, smiling down at her with eyes that sparkled brightly enough nobody suspected the horrors within. Same Deputy Headmistress, holding the same Sorting Hat and calling names from the same enchanted parchment.

Slytherin? Cynthia heard in her head, and a jolt ran through her body as she snapped back into herself.

Hat? she mustered, unable to keep her mental voice from sounding small. I.. hullo again.

He was silent. She already knew he was searching her memories, already knew he was trying to figure out what had happened. What had gone wrong.

“Do you mind not telling him?” asked a seventeen-year-old Mia Stoll, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she spoke to the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. “I know you don’t like him either. I just wanted to- to try the Hat on again,” she said, acting as though she felt displaced in Gryffindor. “I’m just curious.”

Said portrait peered down his nose at her disapprovingly. “And why would I keep any secret from the Headmaster?” he asked. Mia sighed quietly. She should’ve known that turning his stairwell to a stone slide was a bad idea, but Tom had pissed her off and she had needed to do something.

“Because I’m your favorite student?” she tried, clasping her hands together to plead and smiling as innocently as she could up at him. “And.. uh.. I’m friends with your grandson?”

Friends didn’t quite cover it. Not in the way he had-

Slytherin, said the Hat, making Cynthia jump in her seat. What happened? You told me- we spoke only- I saw you thirteen years ago. His voice was quieter now, like he was.. sad. You said you had a plan.

For a moment, Cynthia didn’t say anything. She just.. let herself remember. Remember the joy she’d felt when Sirius had- when the Marauders had proposed a new idea. The hope she’d felt that maybe this was the last time. The way she’d been so jubilant, all she could do was race to tell the only soul who knew any of the truth.

“I did,” she whispered, her eyes shut tight as the memories of her last life flashed through her. “We did. It.. it didn’t work.” She huffed softly. Something we all should’ve expected, no? she remarked. I’m immortal, after all.

The Hat was silent. Cynthia couldn’t tell if he was flitting through her memories again or if he was processing. But what was there to process? She should’ve known better, especially with her track record.

It’s nineteen ninety-one, said the Hat. Cynthia felt herself sit taller. Twelve years she’d been gone. Twelve years since.. since that fight. Even if, to her, it was a handful of minutes.

Ninety-one, she repeated. Then a pit dropped into her stomach. James and Lily are okay, right? Tom’s- Tom’s gone. They’d never send Harry here if it wasn’t safe.

It wasn’t a question, but she needed to know. Twice she’d managed to evade Tom. A third time was unlikely. But James- James and Lily and Sirius and Remus and Peter- they had to be alright. They had to be. Sirius would’ve moved on.

Don’t insult the boy, said the Hat, and Cynthia winced. You and I both know how strongly he felt towards you.

I’m not insulting him, she defended. He- he deserves better than to wait around for me.

She felt the Hat scoff. He knew what he was getting himself into, he chided. And.. yes. Riddle is gone. And the Potter boy is safe.

Relief had Cynthia sagging in her seat. If Harry was alright, then so where James and Lily. And by extension, Remus, and Peter, and Sirius. So all she had to do was get to them.

Alright, she said, a newfound determination making itself home within her. Slytherin, right? We just finished another cycle.

The Hat didn’t respond immediately. A familiar spike of worry made itself known in her stomach. Why was he so quiet? Normally they talked for a little while- and normally he was the one trying to convince her to give it another go.

Hat-?

“Slytherin!” he called before she could finish her question. McGonagall plucked the worn leather off Cynthia’s head, and any questions she had, any worry building in her gut, fell away.

I’ve got this, she thought to herself, striding to the Slytherin table and dropping into the first empty seat she found. She’d get through dinner and write a letter to the Marauders. Maybe she could talk to Harry - but what would she even say? Hi, I’m your long-lost godmother, I know I look younger than you, but technically, I’m-

The blonde boy seated across from her cleared his throat rather rudely. “Was that Potter who you were talking to?” he asked. Cynthia’s brows furrowed. He sounded.. familiar, in a way.

“I was,” she responded. For some reason, that seemed to attract a lot of eyes from her neighboring Slytherins. How do they all know him? Did James do something stupid? “Why do you ask?”

Before the oddly familiar blonde could answer, a general hush fell over the Great Hall. Cynthia turned to look for the source and couldn’t resist the distasteful curl of her upper lip when she saw Dumbledore standing at the head of the professor’s table.

“Wizened old prick,” she muttered, quiet enough nobody near her caught it.

“Welcome!” called the old man, throwing his arms open and beaming down at the Hall full of students. An unnervingly happy smile sat on his lips, like nothing brought him more joy than being here. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!” A pause. “Thank you!”

Before he’d even taken his seat again, Cynthia had already turned back to her plate. She was half-tempted to Accio the food from the kitchens up, but it would only be a few more seconds.

“Hey,” came that familiar voice again, and Cynthia’s grey eyes slid up to meet a very similarly colored pair of eyes peering at her. They belonged to the blonde boy that Cynthia was certain she’d seen before.

“Hey yourself,” she said, drumming her fingers on the table as she waited for the food to appe- and there it was. She didn’t spare the blonde a glance as she began to load her plate. Nothing too much, just enough that she wouldn’t have to eat breakfast tomorrow. She’d probably spend the night in the library, catching up on the time she’ been gone by reading old Daily Prophet editions.

Midway through Cynthia taking a bite of a chicken leg, the very same boy leaned across the table towards her. “What’s your name?”

She fought the urge to sigh. They’re kids! she reminded herself. It’s not like they even listen. “My name’s Cynthia. Barker.”

Although her introduction was stilted, it wasn’t the reason the blonde’s eyebrows narrowed. “Then why’d you get Sorted after Zabini?” he asked.

Cynthia tried for a nonchalant shrug. “Dunno. Thought they forgot about me for a second,” she joked, wiping her hands on her napkin.

.. Of course, it fell flat again.

The blonde wrinkled his nose, then sat back. “I’m Malfoy,” he introduced, sticking his hand out across the table to shake hers. “Draco Malfoy.”

“What’s your name?” asked the boy. He stuck his hand out to shake hers. She merely stared at it.

The memory disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Cynthia forced a smile and reached over the table to take Malfoy’s hand in hers, giving it a quick shake.

Wait, Malfoy? she thought, her eyes widening the slightest bit. “I’m sorry, you said Malfoy?” she asked. Last she recalled, he was dating that Black. What was her name? It sounded like “narcissist.”

Malfoy looked exceptionally proud of his last name. “I did say Malfoy,” he agreed, releasing her hand and sitting back on his bench. “You’ve probably heard of my father. He’s made massive contributions to the Ministry. He’s a personal friend of the Ministry, y’know?”

Cynthia nodded along, feigning interest. “Sounds very interesting,” she said. “What kinds of things can he do?”

Since everyone and everything seemed to enjoy interrupting Cynthia’s conversations today, it was no surprise when McGonagall sidled up behind Malfoy, making direct eye contact with Cynthia.

        The boy with the black hair and grey eyes wouldn’t stop staring at her.

        It was unnerving; why was his gaze so focused on her? She knew she didn’t recognize him. Not at all. Did he know her, somehow? Had he seen an old portrait? But she’d been careful to avoid them!

        Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a flicker of movement - and there was a lot of movement in this large crowd of first-years - as he nudged the bespectacled boy beside him and nodded at her. And now they were both staring at her.

        “Black, Sirius!”

        The name of such a prominent family caught her attention, and she watched as the grey-eyed boy clapped his friend on the shoulder and made his way up to the stool.

        So that’s what a pureblood looks like. .. And Tom cared about this because..?

        To her dismay, Black’s friend took three steps towards her, stopping merely a foot away. She lifted her gaze to his, resisting the urge to glare. She’d nearly died merely five minutes ago. And now she was surrounded by children. If he got on her nerves bad enough, maybe she'd hit him. And then Obliviate him afterwards.

        “What’s your name?” asked the boy. He stuck his hand out as though to shake hers. She merely stared at it.

        “Why do you want to know?” she asked. Did Black actually recognize her? Was one of her old names what he’d whispered to his friend?

        The boy grinned like he knew something she didn’t. Shit, was her first thought. The second was that maybe he was just cocky and she was getting worried over nothing.

        “James Fleamont Potter,” he introduced, even though she hadn’t asked. When she lowered her gaze, she saw that his hand was still outstretched. If she shook his hand, would he leave her be? Maybe. But even if he was just cocky, why did he look like he knew her?

        “Sleekeazy’s Fleamont Potter?” she asked. “And your hair still resembles an angry porcupine?”

        She winced. Bad. No. Don’t be-

        The boy - Potter - laughed, finally dropping his hand and instead running it through said messy hair. She stared at him blankly. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure him out.

        “I think Sirius was right about you,” he said, setting his hands on his hips. She felt her nose crinkle at the comparison, both in annoyance and in concern.

        "About what?” she asked before she could stop herself. She fought a wince. Boys, she thought to herself. Always a hassle.

        He didn’t answer her with words; he merely smirked. She rolled her eyes in response and turned away from him. As much as she needed to know when she was, she’d rather sit through Arithmancy again than talk to him.

        Somehow, he didn’t register her dismissal. He stayed standing merely a foot away, that same stupid smirk lilting his lips.

        “Can I help you?” she bit, refusing to look at the infuriating brunet. She’d only spoken with him for five minutes, but it felt like half an hour.

        “Of course you can,” he said cheerily. “We could start with your name, miss..?”

        She pinched her brow. “Seriously? You can’t wait five minutes for McGonagall to call out my name? You need to know now?” she asked.

        He shrugged. “What? Can’t a bloke ask for your name?” he asked, setting his hands on his hips and looking remarkably proud of himself. For what, she had no clue - it wasn’t like he’d done anything.

        “Potter, James!” rang through the Hall, pulling a sigh of relief from her. Finally, the boy would be gone.

        He shot her one last smile before turning to McGonagall and prancing up the steps to the stool, where he sat like every first-year before him had. The Hat had barely brushed over his ears before he was Sorted into “Gryffindor!”

        Now that there was nobody bugging her, she allowed herself to relax - as much as someone could after nearly dying not even an hour prior. She observed the Sorting impassively, then skimmed her gaze over the table of professors. When her grey eyes met a pair of twinkling blue, she subconsciously formed fists.

        Prick, was her only thought. Before she could sink herself further into the familiar loathing she had for the man, “Stoll, Mia!” was called.

        Mia broke eye contact with the Headmaster to make her way up the steps to the all-too-familiar stool and Hat. She took a seat, much like Potter had, facing the four House tables. McGonagall lowered the worn leather over her head, the too-wide brim slipping over her eyes and obstructing her vision.

        Hullo, Hat, she thought as the familiar consciousness of the Hat brushed against hers. How long’s it been?

        Atop her head, he was silent. She got the feeling he was rifling through the nine years since she’d sat on this stool. Well, it’d probably been longer - she wouldn’t know until she figured out the year.

        Hat? she asked when he stayed silent. She felt a seed of worry begin to take root in her stomach - if the Hat were gone, if her one constant were to disappear, after the past millennia, she didn’t know what she’d do. Are you there?

        A beat. Then; Your humor could stand to improve.

        Regardless of her situation, of the worry that had begun to claw at her, a small smile lifted Mia’s lips. What, you’re not happy to see me? she asked. You haven’t missed me, not even a bit? Cruel Hat.

        If the Hat had eyes, Mia knew he would have rolled them. Oh, very funny, Slytherin. I was talking about your attempt at humor with Riddle, right when he-

        Don’t, Mia cut in. The memory was fresh in her mind - two rough hands closed around her neck, a thumb pressing on the divot of her throat- Don’t. You know I prefer to forget my.. past lives.

        The Hat was silent. She felt him digging through more memories and sighed. Really, Hat? You can’t just ask me? I’m literally right here.

        You said you didn’t want to talk about it, said the Hat, and Mia rolled her eyes for the second time that night.

        I said I wanted to forget it. Feeling you rifle through those memories only keeps them playing in my head.

        Then what do you want, Slytherin? he asked.

        Mia paused, her lips quirking. No offense, she began, and she felt him sigh as he realized where she was going with this, But I’ve been remarkably obvious about what exactly I want-

        If I could’ve broken your curse by now, the Hat interrupted, You never would’ve passed Arithmancy.

        Very funny, she parroted. Then she shook herself. She’d forgotten she was sitting in front of all of Hogwarts; by now, she was sure to be a Hatstall. We’re going with Gryffindor, right?

        She felt the small thread of agreement stretch from his consciousness to hers. Yes, we’ve almost finished a cycle, no? he mused. Hm.. I think this time will be different.

        Mia snorted. Yeah, loads more annoying. You met that Potter boy, didn’t you?

        He wasn’t so bad, he defended. Maybe you need some.. liveliness in your life.

        She rolled her eyes - third time. Maybe an immortal life is lively enough, eh?

        Maybe, he agreed. But, regardless;

        “Gryffindor!” the Hat called aloud. Mia stayed put as McGonagall plucked the worn leather off her head. Once she was free, she slipped off the stool and made her way to the cheering Gryffindor table, pointedly ignoring James Potter and Sirius Black gesturing for her to sit beside them.

        Instead, she found a seat beside a girl with long dark red hair, bright green eyes, and soft pale skin. The girl - also a first-year, based off her grey robes - offered Mia a smile, which she took as an invitation to sit.

        “Hi,” Mia said, offering her hand to the redhead and pointedly ignoring the mock-offended gasp of James Potter, which she could still hear across the table and several students down. “I’m Mia- Stoll.” She refrained from wincing at her slip-up. What person forgot their last name?

        “I’m Lily!” introduced the redhead. “Lily Evans. Isn’t this place amazing? I never thought magic actually existed- and in a giant wizard school, no less!”

        Muggleborn, Mia recognized. Lucky. Imagine what I’d be like if I never knew a thing about this world.

        “It is amazing, yes,” she said, plastering on a smile. “Have you looked into any of our textbooks yet? I’m really looking forward to Defense Against the Dark Arts - everybody should know a counter curse, especially these days.”

        She hoped she was subtle enough. She had to find out when she was; had to find out if Tom had succeeded or not.

        The uneasy glances exchanged by nearby students didn’t escape Mia’s notice. So there was something going on. Perhaps Tom? The last she’d seen him, he was hunting down trinkets belonging to the Four Founders.

        “Have your parents told you about what’s going on?” asked a small, sniveling boy across the table from her. Mia tilted her head to the side as she took him in. He reminded her of a mouse.

        “Just bits and pieces,” Mia fibbed, shrugging a shoulder like she was above it all. “You know what it’s like. Mum gets worried over anything these days.”

        “She’s right to be,” interrupted Potter. Mia slid her gaze to his. “The paper’s been calling him the next Grindelwald.”

        Mia hummed. “Guess I should start reading the paper,” she said, propping her head up on her arm. “What’s this one called?”

        A hush fell over their part of the Gryffindor table. She kept her surprise hidden. Sure, Tom could be a little scary, but to elicit this response? What exactly had she missed?

        “How long’s it been since Grindelwald?” she asked instead, scrunching her brow together in faux confusion. “The way my parents talk about him is like he’s been around since the dawn of time, but there’s no way he’s that old.”

        Black raised his brows but took the bait. “I mean, him and Dumbledore had that big fight in.. what, forty-five? Forty-six? So at least twenty-five years.”

        Finally.

        Mia made nodded thoughtfully. “Seems a lot more realistic than forever,” she said, half-joking. As expected, it fell flat.

        After a moment, another girl, this one with long black hair tied into two pigtails, leaned closer to Mia. “They say this one’s a descendant of Slytherin,” she stage-whispered. “And he used to go to school here.”

        Mia was careful to keep her smile plastered on her face. Internally? Fuck. Everything she’d tried to do to stop him, all the people she’d pleaded with for help once she realized how far he’d gone-

        “Sounds.. far-fetched,” she mustered, fighting to keep her expression clear. Freak out later. You can freak out later.

        Unbeknownst to her, across the table, Black’s eyes were trained solely on her; the way she stiffened, the way she tucked her hands under the table, the way her pupils shrank. He didn’t say anything, just.. observed.

part one:

        SHE HAD BEEN taking a walk down an empty park path. The breeze blew her hair into her face, only adding to her anger. Why couldn’t he get it? Why wouldn’t he hear her out? She felt the hairs on her arm stand on end, but dismissed it to the wind.

        And then she walked right into a man- no, a boy. His youth was apparent; skin smooth and seemingly unblemished, bright green eyes hidden behind a pair of taped-together spectacles, and black hair that refused to lay sti-

        Wait, James?

        “Prongs?” She asked incredulously, catching herself as she stumbled back from the force of their collision. What was he doing out here, on her walk? Had Sirius sent his best mate after her?

        That’s when she realized she wasn’t on the park path anymore. Her heart began to pound, that familiar feeling of terror crawling up her spine.

        No. Please, no. I.. no.

        She was standing in the midst of the Great Hall, surrounded by first-years waiting to be Sorted. And the boy before her- not James. No, James’ eyes were hazel. She’d known the idiot long enough to know what color his eyes were.

        So.. who..?

        The realization splashed through her like a bucket of ice water down her back. She’d spent merely a handful of weeks with her godson before the Potters went into hiding, but she knew his eyes. Knew they were the same vibrant shade of green as Lily’s.

        Gods, no, let this.. tell me I hit my head, please tell me I hit my-

        “Finch-Fletchley, Justin!” 

        The sound of such a familiar voice had her both terrified and thankful. Terrified of what had happened, but thankful for a small dose of familiarity. Unlike the boy that stood before her, still staring at her with a curious look on his face, too similar to who she’d known and too far from him at the same time.

        “Are you.. okay?”

        The sound of her godson’s voice had a few tears springing to her eyes. The last she’d seen him, he could only babble incoherently. And now..

        “Fine. Just.. mistook you for somebody else,” she said, turning her head to the side and taking a deep breath. Freaking out wouldn’t help anybody. She had to figure out when she was, what had happened in the time she’d been gone, and what had happened to send her forward, all as quickly as possible.

        Her godson nodded, looking as though he didn’t quite believe her, but the calling of the names soon had his attention redirected.

        She muttered a quiet prayer in thanks and slipped into the crowd of first-years, leaving her godson to observe the Sorting. She needed to get her name on that paper, and fast. Thankfully, she had her wand on her, but she hated coming up with a name on the spot like this. It always stressed her out. And her Muggle wear? It had to go before more people noticed.

        “Malfoy, Draco!”

        That name caught her attention. She remembered his father; he’d been a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. So, of course, Sirius hated him. She, however - and every other girl in Hogwarts - had found him quite attractive, even if his personality made her want to rip her hair out.

        She shook her head and focused again, swapping her Muggle clothes - she mourned the loss of Sirius’ old ABBA shirt as she Transfigured it - for the Hogwarts uniform. And then she began to wrack her brain for a name.

        “Thomas, Dean!”

        “Turpin, Lisa!”

        She cursed as the crowd dwindled to her and two boys. She’d zoned out of her godson’s Sorting entirely and knew, should James find out, he’d take her by her shoulders and shake her, but she couldn’t think of anything. Nothing came to mind! And now the ginger was being Sorted, and it was just her and the other boy, and she knew McGonagall had seen there was only one name left and two students standing.

        To hell with it.

        She’d have to reuse one. It should’ve been long enough away, anyways. So she lifted her hand, careful to keep her wand concealed as she pointed it at the parchment, and murmured the name beneath her breath.

        It was a horrible name. There was a reason Tom had figured her out so quickly. But if her godson were here, that meant Tom was dead - surely, James and Lily wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave hiding if they still weren’t safe. 

        “Zabini, Blaise!” stood after the Hat had made its decision. The cheering of the Slytherin table was reduced to background noise in the mess of her mind. She was too nervous that her name hadn’t shown up, that McGonagall would pull her aside, that-

        “Barker, Cynthia!”

since you'd started dating carl, saturday movie nights had quickly become your thing. between your hectic work schedules, jasper, and his biweekly therapy sessions (he'd recently graduated from once every week!), the one weekend night was your most guaranteed way of seeing each other.

it was on one such saturday that you and him - on opposite ends of the loveseat, snacks and takeout stacked between you - that you noticed him reaching forward to pull the coffee table closer.

you thought nothing of it - maybe he wanted to kick his feet up - until he started moving the food (your food, mind you) to the table. your gaze slid from the tv screen to him, observing quietly.

when he finished moving the takeout and the snacks, you were pleasantly surprised as he shifted closer, lifting a corner of your blanket to tuck himself into your side.

in all the time you'd been dating (two months, one week, and three days, if you asked him), he'd never initiated contact like this. in fact, this was the closest he'd gotten - before this, the furthest you'd both gone was a smell peck on the lips. but somehow, this was more intimate.

"... hi?"

he gave a noncommittal grunt. you stifled a small laugh and slipped your arm around his neck, resting your head against his.

"miss me?" you teased softly, smiling as he took your free hand in his and intertwined your fingers.

"shut up," he muttered, pulling a laugh from your throat. he merely sunk deeper into your side, his head against your shoulder.

cute, you thought, looking down at the normally broody detective as the tv screen illuminated his features.

you must've said it aloud, because he seemed to redden, and you felt his fingers tighten around yours. "stop staring," he grumbled, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours. you merely smiled back.

"why should i?" you teased, running your hand through his hair. a soft groan escaped him, much to your amusement and to his dismay.

"don't. say. anything," he muttered immediately, leaning into your touch. "i don't want to hear it."

you smiled and hummed instead of teasing him, quieted to let him rest against you. "fine, fine, i won't. just 'cause i like you," you muttered back.

after a few minutes of you both adjusting to cuddling for the first time, carl's focus returned to the tv screen. yours, however, remained on the moody detective beside you; he could be a real sweetheart sometimes, even if he hated showing it.

you raked your nails against his scalp and all but grinned as carl went lax in your arms, much like a cat when you scratched beneath its chin.

"you like that?" you murmured, ducking your head to kiss his temple. he grunted again. "i'm not teasing," you clarified, pressing another kiss against his skin. "really. you like this?"

"do i have to say it?" he asked, almost pouty. the mental image of him pouting - you couldn't see his expression all too well in this position - had your smile stretching.

"yes. you do. i can't read minds," you reminded him. "i'm not telekinetic."

he stilled, then pulled back a little to give you an odd look. "what?"

you looked back at him. "what?" you asked. "what did i say?"

his brows narrowed. "you said telekinetic. telekinetics don't read minds."

you waved him off. "same thing, just come back and watch the movie with me."

he still stared at you, as though he was offended at your disregard for the proper word, then tentatively moved back to you, tucking himself back into your side.