Kat

And now, here he is. Sitting across from you, the angel from his dreams. Your hair is perfectly styled, and your outfit genuinely made Johnny’s jaw drop when you first walked in. Hughie has his arm around you, and it’s taking all the self-control Johnny has not to explode.

Usually, Johnny is the epitome of self-control. He exerts an extraordinary level of discipline with his diet, and his training at the gym. But when it comes to you, it’s almost like he’s been put under a trance. He can’t stop thinking about you. He curses life everyday, wishing he was the one who asked you out first.

You had come new to Tommen that year, and had quickly peaked the interest of almost every guy at school. After befriending Claire and Katie, you were enveloped into their friend group. Johnny had fallen hard. And fast. Within weeks he was hanging off of your every word, and following you around like a pathetic puppy. He had just been working up the courage to ask you out when Hughie beat him to it.

“You okay Cap?” Hughie asks, arm still around you. Johnny swallows at the sight of the genuine concern in Hughie’s eyes, guilt curdling low in his stomach.

“Fine, yeah,” he says, barely managing to give Hughie a tight smile.

Hughie breaks into a wide smile. “I know your problem Cap, you haven’t had a good shift in too long,” he laughs.

Johnny gives a half smile back, nodding slightly. “Yeah, maybe,” he says, accepting the excuse and making it his own. It’s not so much that Johnny hasn’t kissed someone in too long, it’s more that the girl he wants to kiss is sitting across from him, practically sitting on the lap of one of his best friends.

“Babe, why don’t you set Johnny up with one of your friends?” Hughie asks, he says it with his mouth against your ear, giving your temple a kiss afterwards. Johnny nearly vomits at the sight.

“Yeah, I have a friend who would be perfect for you Johnny,” you smile brightly. “She’s single right now, if you want I can text her?” You offer, head leaning against Hughie’s shoulder.

“No!” Johnny blurts out, before he can stop himself. “No, I can find myself a date, thanks,” he tries to recover. He fails miserably. Hughie gives him a look and you look down at the table.

One of your friends walks into the bar, and you go over to greet her, grateful for the distraction from this awkward moment. The second you leave the booth, Hughie turns to Johnny accusingly.

“Lad, there was no need to be so rude to her,” he berates Johnny, who hangs his head shamefully. He can’t tell Hughie how much he loves you. He can’t tell Hughie the reasoning behind his strange behaviour.

“I’m sorry,” Johnny mumbles, unable to look Hughie in the eyes.

“Seriously, what’s wrong? You can tell me, whatever it is,” Hughie implores.

Johnny takes a deep breath. Could he tell Hughie? Maybe he would understand. But no, he can’t. Johnny would never be able to divulge his greatest betrayal to Hughie.

Thankfully, you come over before Johnny had to think of an answer. Sliding back into the booth, Johnny sees you take Hughie’s hand, before your faces connect. Hughie has a hand at the back of your head as he kisses you hungrily, making Johnny literally stop breathing, fists clenching involuntarily.

Just then, Gibsie walks in, bellowing through the bar, the usual loud, Gibsie-like entrance. However, when he sees the nauseous look on Johnny’s face his grin drops. Gibsie looks between Johnny’s plain anguish and you and Hughie’s interlocking faces. Somehow, he understands immediately. Clapping a sympathetic hand onto Johnny’s back, he sits down next to Johnny, clearing his throat loudly.

“I think you have a Hughie on your face,” Gibsie shouts dramatically, until you and Hughie part reluctantly, smiling sheepishly.

“Hey Gibs,” you smile at him and Johnny’s jealousy immediately rears its ugly head. How can Gibsie be so cool and suave around you whilst Johnny is a blubbering idiot? Why does Johnny have to watch Hughie practically suck your face off whilst all he could think about for weeks is you?

“Hey sweetheart. I feel like I have to warn you, having Hughie on your face for prolonged period of time may lead to psychological affects,” Gibsie jokes, reaching across the table to grab the basket of chips in front of you and Hughie.

“I think she’ll be fine,” Hughie replies, pulling you closer to him protectively.

“Right, I’ll buy us a round,” Gibsie says, before stalking up to the bar.

Hughie stares at Gibsie as he makes his way to the bar. “I think he has a thing for you,” he mumbles before turning to Johnny. “What do you think Johnny?”

“I don’t think he does,” Johnny defends his friend, knowing that Gibsie was only trying to lessen Johnny’s pain.

“I don’t want you near him on your own anyway,” Hughie says, pulling you closer to him still.

You roll your eyes. “You can cut the possessive bullshit Hugh. I’m not going to jump on Gibsie the minute your back is turned,” you giggle and Hughie smiles. Johnny can feel his heart drop as any chances he has with you fall lower and lower. Of course, you would never cheat on your boyfriend. Not that Johnny would ever ask you to.

Suddenly, Hughie gets a text on his phone. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath as he stands up. “I have to go. Claire needs a lift from the swimming pool.”

You turn to him. “Why is she there so late?”

“They have adult lessons that start at 10 every Friday,” Hughie explains, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek before making a hasty exit. Johnny can see you watch Hughie leave, your eyebrows drawn together.

“What’s wrong?” He asks quietly, concern ringing his eyes.

“Claire is at a hockey dinner tonight,” you murmur, still staring at the door which Hughie had left from.

Johnny’s eyes widen. It’s a horrible, horrible thing, but he feels a tingle of excitement, deep in his gut. It’s such an ugly emotion, and he’s ashamed of himself for feeling it. But maybe this could all work in Johnny’s favour. Maybe Hughie is cheating on you. Maybe you would both break up and Johnny could show you how he would be perfect for you.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Johnny decides that he’ll at least pretend to try to reassure you.

“I bet he’s with Lizzie,” you sigh sadly. Hughie had been with Lizzie almost constantly recently, he’s always more concerned with her than he is with you.

“You think so?” Johnny asks.

“He’s still in love with her,” you stare down at your hands on the table. Johnny can see this moment for what it is: an opportunity.

He gently takes your hands in his, making you look up at his face. You’re shocked at the genuine concern in his eyes. Johnny looks at your face, the pain and humiliation plain on your face, and realises that he has two options. He could be a complete dick, and try to hit on you right now. Or he could be a genuine friend, and do his best to help you.

He knows what option he has to choose. “Look, Lizzie and Hughie went through a lot of things. He still cares about her. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. I see the way he looks at you, and, it makes me wish I had that kind of love. Just talk to him, I’m sure he’ll explain everything,” Johnny advises you, ghosting his thumb over your knuckles soothingly.

“You think so?” You sniff, and Johnny sees your eyes have been welling with tears.

“Of course,” he says, getting up and moving to your side of the booth, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting hug. You lean your head into him, and Johnny has to resist the urge to smell your hair.

He hates himself. He could have told you that Hughie is a huge dick, that you deserve better. He could have made subtle hints to show you how he would be a much better alternative. But he couldn’t do that to Hughie.

———————————————————————

Johnny manages to avoid you for three days. Three torturous days where he doesn’t see you or your smile. But it’s for the best. At least, that’s what he tells himself. The guilt is practically eating him alive. He’s trying to get over with you, he really is, but nothing has worked so far.

Three days doesn’t last long. On the fourth, during a gruelling hour of rugby practice, Hughie runs up to Johnny, face flustered and red.

“Can I ask you for a favour lad?” Hughie puffs, wiping his hand across his forehead.

“Sure…?”

“Can you pick up my girlfriend and bring her home after school? Lizzie needs me and I have to go,” he explains. He doesn’t even wait for an answer before he dashes away, leaving an open-mouthed Johnny behind.

Needless to say, you are not happy with these arrangements. When Johnny meets you outside of his car, your eyes are teary, your arms crossed. He’s unsure if you’re upset or just plain angry.

Johnny says hello. You don’t reply. The entire car ride to your house is spent in silence. You stare out the window the entire time, tears rolling down your face. Johnny wants to comfort you, he just doesn’t know what to say.

When he pulls up beside your house you just sit there, stagnant, for a moment. Then, you turn to him. “Do you think some people are destined to be together? That even if you’re with another person, you just can’t be with them fully, because your heart belongs to someone else?”

Johnny finds himself nodding wildly. Could you be talking about him? Do you feel the same way? Maybe everything will work out.

“Definitely. I believe you just have to follow your heart,” Johnny whispers. Almost subconsciously, he starts to lean in, until you feel his breath fanning on your cheek.

“Is that what Hughie feels for Liz?” You question and Johnny stops in his tracks. Of course. Of course you were talking about Hughie. Not Johnny. Why would you have been talking about Johnny? He feels so stupid, and his heart pangs miserably.

“It must be,” Johnny replies after a moment of wallowing in his own self-hatred.

“Can you come inside for a while? I just want someone to talk to,” you sniff, wiping stray tears from your cheeks. Johnny nods enthusiastically as he unbuckles his belt.

You lead Johnny upstairs to your bedroom. When Johnny enters your room he notices how clean it is. Everything is arranged perfectly, pens in a little pot on your desk, stuffed animals set neatly on your bed.

“Is it me?” You huff, falling into your bed. “Am I just so unlovable? Or is Lizzie Young just this irresistible Goddess?”

Johnny is shocked to hear you even suggest that you’re the problem here. “You’re fucking gorgeous girl,” Johnny says, sitting down on your bed beside you, immediately flushing red when he realises just what he’s said.

“Are you sure?” You ask him, wide eyes staring up into his.

“You’re beautiful,” Johnny says, honestly, genuinely. He speaks so softly he thinks you may not have heard it, that is, until you sit up on the bed, face close to his.

Almost subconsciously, Johnny starts to lean in. This time, you don’t pull away. Instead, you let his lips meet yours. It’s slow, sensual, at first. Then Johnny realises just what he’s doing and instead of pulling away, like he really, really should, he kisses you deeper, faster. More passionately.

Suddenly, he’s on top of you on your bed and he’s everywhere and it’s so perfect, so perfect you almost forget about your boyfriend. Johnny’s mouth is hot on yours, the heat warming up parts of your body that have been cold for months. Your heart is beating madly, and the way Johnny is kissing you isn’t doing anything to help it.

“We can’t do this,” Johnny exclaims.

“But it’s so perfect,” you reply, and the feeling of your hot breath on the side of Johnny’s face only does more to convince him to shut up, and kiss you whilst he can.

“But Hughie-” Johnny starts but you cut him off by kissing him again, and any qualms Johnny had are definitively quashed. He kisses you with a passion Hughie never has. With a love that scares you.

When you finally stop, it’s you who pulls away, not Johnny this time. “You’re right. This is wrong.”

Johnny nods, a terribly guilty expression comes over him. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He exclaims, standing up and running his hands through his hair in exasperation. You stand up to comfort him, hands wrapping around his arm and Johnny jumps away as if you’re poisonous.

“Don’t. I can’t. If you hold me like that darlin’ I won’t be able to stop kissing you.”

You smile, a little awkwardly, and step back. Johnny gives you an apologetic one back as he starts pacing the room. Up and down and up and down. He’s made a distinctive trek in your fluffy carpet. You just let him wear himself out.

Eventually, he stops, before spinning around to you. “Do you like me?” He demands, arms crossed. For someone who just kissed his longtime crush, he looks quite worried. And… angry?

You flush, swallowing down any embarrassment as you nod. “Yes. I mean, I never thought about it until a week or two ago. Since then, I’ve been infatuated.”

Johnny sighs, exasperated. “I’ve liked you from the moment I met you. I just never thought you liked me back.”

“So… what do we do now?”

“We bury our feelings and pretend this never happened,” Johnny says firmly, nodding like he’s a politician who’s just won over the hearts of the nation.

“We can’t do that,” you whisper, standing up and looking Johnny in the eyes. His blue eyes betray his true feelings: heartbreak, longing and desire.

“We have to. I can’t do this to Hughie,” Johnny sighed sadly.

“Johnny I can’t ignore the way I feel about you.”

“You have to,” is all Johnny says, before leaving your room.

———————————————————————

Johnny is panicking. He’s really fucking panicking now because he has a gym session with Hughie in less than an hour and all he can think about is the feeling of your lips against his, the heat of your body, the soft look on your face right before you kissed him.

He won’t be able to act normal around Hughie. The guilt is tearing up his insides. And not just for Hughie. But you too. He left you there, without even saying goodbye. Without telling you that he loves you. So fucking much.

There’s a knock on his door. Fuck, it’s Hughie. Johnny answers the door with an overly bright smile, waving at Hughie like a creepy man in a horror movie.

“Hey! I hope you’re ready to pump some iron!” Johnny announces, cringing even as the words come out of his mouth. Hughie merely gives Johnny a strange look, before straying to walk over to the garage, with all of Johnny’s gym equipment.

Johnny knows this isn’t going to work. Within the first half hour he makes at least 5 out of character comments and Hughie can tell his whole vibe is off.

“Are you alright lad? Is this about the whole you-need-a-shift thing? I get that it wasn’t that funny but I was being serious lad. There’s talk on the team that some girl broke your heart and that’s why you’ve been a little… weird lately,” Hughie explains as he spots Johnny on the bench press. Johnny is just thankful that the weight is heavy enough to warrant him not replying immediately.

“Yeah… I guess that’s true,” he grunts as he slots the weight back into the stand.

“Look, if you need anything, I’m here for you.” Hughie claps Johnny on the back and gives him an awkward smile.

That’s it, Johnny can’t keep lying to his friend anymore. “I kissed her!” He blurts out, burying his head into his hands, unable to look Hughie in the eyes whilst he admits his crime.

“Kissed who?” Hughie asks.

“Your girlfriend. I’m so fucking sorry lad. I just- I-” Johnny stammers, unable to come up with an explanation.

Hughie freezes. He doesn’t know what to say. He can see the pain and self-resentment on Johnny’s face, but he is unable to comfort him. He’s unable to think of a reply, or even process the information Johnny just presented him.

Hughie walks out, shutting the door behind him.

———————————————————————

Hughie shows up at your house in a state of shock. You’re sitting on your bed with a jumbo tub of ice cream and a spoon, watching dirty dancing in order to make yourself feel marginally better after the whole Johnny-storming-out ordeal.

When Hughie shows up your heart almost stops. You open the door cautiously, ready for war. Hughie stands there for a moment, still shocked, before his eyes come into focus.

“You kissed Johnny,” he mumbles numbly.

“I did,”’ you reply, waiting for the inevitable nuclear bomb fallout.

“I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“Have you kissed Lizzie?” You ask.

“No. But I’ve thought about it,” he says honestly.

“Then problem solved! We’ll just break up and be with who we actually want to be with.” You clap your hands together as if that just solved everything.

“I’m still not happy with Johnny,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “I can’t believe he would kiss my girlfriend.”

“I’m the one who cheated. I’m sorry Hughie.”

“No, I get it. I mean I’ve been a dick to you. Running around with Lizzie. Basically emotionally cheating. I’m sorry. And if I’m honest, apart from feeling betrayed, I felt kind of relieved when Johnny told me.” He shrugs guiltily.

“Awkward goodbye hug?” You suggest and Hughie nods, wrapping his arms around you. You both pat each others’ backs at the exact same time, leading you both burst out in a fit of giggles.

———————————————————————

Hughie didn’t speak to Johnny for a week, before he spontaneously decided to forgive him. He wasn’t actually that angry at all, probably because he got with Lizzie less than a week after the two of you broke up.

Much to your horror, Johnny didn’t immediately ask you out. You couldn’t understand it. Hughie has a new girlfriend, and had already forgiven Johnny. What is his problem? Maybe he doesn’t like you like he claimed he does.

The truth is, is that Johnny is having a moral dilemma. Hughie basically gave him the green light but he still can’t shake off that lingering sense of guilt. And what sort of way is this to start a relationship with you? Hughie said he is okay with it, but would he really be when Johnny actually asks you out?

It takes a little over a month for Johnny to wise up. You’re watching another Patrick Swayze movie when you hear a knock at the door. It’s giving you such Deja vu you almost don’t answer it. However, when you do, you come face to face with a grinning Johnny Kavanagh. He’s holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers which he holds out to you.

“Go out with me?” Is all he says. You laugh at his bluntness before pulling him in for a deep kiss. In your head you pretend it’s raining for dramatic effect.

“I love you,” he whispers against your ear.

“I visited Lucinda today,” you tell him, still playing with the food on your plate.

“Ah,” Tom smiles slightly. “How is she and Abraxas?” He says pleasantly.

“Good… they have a little one on the way,” you get to the crux of your aggravation. Tom pretends not to notice the jealousy tinging your voice.

“Lucinda is pregnant? How lovely,” he comments as he finishes his food. You nod in agreement, as you take yours and Tom’s plate, carrying it into the kitchen yourself. Your eyes trail the ground; you cannot hold your head up as you bring out your plate nearly full of a bland, tasteless meal.

Your head remains down as you reenter the dining room. Tom can see your hurt, your pain. He takes your hand in his as you take your seat. “It will happen for us soon sweetheart. I just need to keep working. Charlie said that he believes I may be up for promotion soon.” He smiles at you, thumb rubbing over your hand soothingly.

You give him a half-hearted smile. It’s been two months since you married your high school-sweetheart Tom, and moved into your house. It has been hard. You come from a rich, pureblood family, and this drab lifestyle didn’t suit you. Your house was cramped and small. No house elves helped you clean it.

You even had to cook. Imagine, a girl of noble bloodline like yourself, cooking! It has led to countless tasteless meals that Tom politely forces down with a smile. You don’t even bother to eat it most days. Even with the help of spells and magic, nothing could improve your cooking.

Tom is ambitious and hardworking. You know that he will climb his way up the ladder. It angers you, that he hasn’t received the promotion he so rightfully deserves yet. With his grades, he should have been starting at the ministry several positions up, but was unfairly discriminated against because of his background; an orphaned halfblood.

Although Tom has brains to burn, he’s also rather stupid when it comes to money. He believes that a promotion would put you both in the financial position to have a child, what you want most in the world. What Tom doesn’t understand is how much more you would like before you have a child.

Your requirements for having a child are wildly different than Tom’s. You would certainly need a larger house and a much more lavish lifestyle before you would even consider trying for a child. You want your child to grow up as you did, without want for anything.

“I’m sorry Tom. You work so hard and I’m so ungrateful.” You feel wretched. Tom works so hard for what little you have and you hate him to see you so. You spend most mornings in tears when he leaves for work. You do try, you’re just not used to having so very little.

“It’s alright, my love,” he raises your chin so you must look into his eyes. “I know how much you gave up when you agreed to marry me, and I promise, you will get it all back,” he leans over and brushes his lips against yours softly, before pulling away and smiling softly.

That’s what hurts the most. How content Tom is. How he can make do without luxuries because he has you. Shouldn’t love be enough? You do love Tom, you do. That’s why you did it all. Didn’t go through with the arranged marriage your father had set out for you, rejected the life of luxury you could have had.

“I’m sorry I’m so agitated. It just bugs me that two of my friends are having children now. And my father is visiting tomorrow, and you know he wanted more for me,” you say, as you get up and sit on Tom’s lap. His arms circle your waist.

“Do you want me to take off of work tomorrow?” Tom’s eyes search yours but you shake your head.

“I can deal with him,” you whisper.

———————————————————————

As it turns out, you cannot deal with your father. He comes in and surveys your sparsely furnished living room, you can see how he tries not to judge. Your father, in all fairness to him, has tried his best to support you.

“Are you happy sweetheart?” He asks.

You begin to nod, but tears well in your eyes. “Oh daddy, it’s just not what I thought it was going to be like. I love Tom but it’s just hard. I’m not used to living like this,” you gesture to your drab surroundings.

“Sweetheart, I promised that if you were happy, I wouldn’t say anything. But I can see that you’re not fully happy. So… I have a proposition for you,” he sits down beside you on the small sofa.

“What is it?” You lean against him. You’ve always been close to your father. Being the only girl in the house always meant you were his favourite.

“I contacted Darius Malfoy. He said that he would still be willing to marry you, if you wanted. It would be like all of this never happened,” he gestures around you. Your breath stutters. Darius was Abraxas’s older brother. He was wealthy, charming, a pureblood. He was everything you had ever dreamed of growing up. And yet… he wasn’t Tom. You’re about to say so before your father interrupts you. “You don’t have to make a decision right now,” he says calmly. “Just let me know. Here’s a letter Darius wrote you,” he hands you a letter. It’s elegant, stamped with a golden wax seal.

You shove it into the deep pocket of your skirts. It almost burns against your leg. Shame eats at you but you push it down. “If you don’t accept it, I have an additional offer. Those house elves I bought you as a wedding gift are still at the house. You’re free to have them,” your father says, rubbing your arm soothingly.

Your father had tried to gift you with two house elves as a wedding gift, but you could tell Tom didn’t want you to accept them, so you didn’t. Tom was proud and always rejected any offer from your father to help. He thought your father was condescending and didn’t think Tom was good enough for you. He would never accept something like a house elf from your father.

“I couldn’t…. But maybe one could come over and teach me a recipe or two? That would be wonderful,” you smile gratefully as your father nods.

That night, you and Tom have a good dinner for the first time since your wedding reception. Mouth-watering chicken, with a creamy pepper sauce and potatoes. The house elf, Mindy, had definitely helped your cooking skills. Tom wolfs it into him like a man starved. Which, you suppose, he is. He tells you that he buys lunch at work everyday, but you know he doesn’t. He saves his money instead. To keep a roof over your heads, food on your table.

“This is delicious dearest,” he says in between bites. “Did you find a new recipe?”

You smile. “My father told me an old charm for cooking, looks like it worked,” you shrug easily. Your stomach is full for the first time in months. “Any more news on that promotion?” You smile, rubbing Tom’s knuckles from across the table.

Tom frowns, a dark look crossing his face. “Julius got it.” He looks thunderous, briefly, and it reminds you of the Tom you know exists under his usually calm exterior. The one you haven’t seen since your schooldays.

Tom was bullied, briefly in school. Briefly being the key word because the boy mainly responsible for it all went missing only a day after placing a malicious charm on Tom. You generally tried not to think about that Tom. The one people talked about in the school halls, whispered behind semi-cupped hands about dark magic and evil intentions. Your Tom wasn’t like that. He was just ambitious. People just didn’t understand that.

“Aw sweetie, I’m sure you’ll get there soon,” you comfort him the best you can. Once again, you find yourself wishing desperately that things weren’t this way. That Tom came from a noble bloodline like your own, or that he had more luck when it came to his job, or that he would accept your father’s charity.

Tom’s eyes are still faraway. “Tom, my father would gladly help us out for a month of two,” you try again. Tom’s hand tightens around yours, eyes hardening.

“We’ve talked about this. I will make our living. One way or another. We do not meet your father’s help.”

“Tom it’s been months since we married, and there is still no improvement in sight. All my friends are getting pregnant and having children. I just, I want us to be a family Tom,” you plead.

You immediately regret it. Tom looks heartbroken. “If I am not enough for you, then, by all means, go marry someone else,” he whispers. Cold. Hard. Hurt.

“That’s not what I mean. I’m sorry Tom. I’m so so sorry. I don’t want anyone else. There’s only you.” You walk around to his side of the table, sitting on his lap. Tom stiffens, but you persist, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love you so much,” you whisper.

“I know, love. I’m sorry I haven’t managed to make us a better living yet. I just need to work harder. There are some… opportunities that I hadn’t previously considered. But I shall do everything I can for us to have a family, darling. I promise.”

“Thank you Tommy,” you whisper against his hair. You don’t ask about the ‘opportunities’ that Tom hadn’t previously considered, knowing that you would probably disagree with whatever it is.

Later, after Tom had went to bed, you burned the letter from Darius without even reading it.

———————————————————————

It only takes another month for Tom to, miraculously, get promoted to a deputy head of department position. For weeks Tom has been meeting with several powerful pureblood families. He’s been… rallying them, or something similar. He hasn’t told you all the details, but it reminds you of how he used to go around in school, a friend group of powerful purebloods around him to protect him and follow his every whim, of course.

It makes your stomach turn, but you know you’re better not asking questions.

Gibsie is annoyingly cheerful. Once again, you wake up to find him peering over you, like a vampire from a low-budget horror movie.

“Morning!” He chirps, moving to open the curtains further. You hiss in pain in response, rolling to your side and clutching your head. Gibsie shakes his head disapprovingly. “Self-inflicted pain won’t get you any sympathy around here,” he tells you, leading you to give him the middle finger.

“Fuck off,” you mumble, sitting up on the bed and appraising his room again. He must have cleaned it this morning, because it’s a lot tidier than it was last night. There’s still pens and bits of paper everywhere, but all the clothes seem to have found another home in his drawers.

“Touchy, touchy. You’re a walking don’t do drugs advert,” Gibsie waggles his finger at you, which you immediately slap away. “I made you breakfast,” he adds to which you give him a smile. “But first you need to shower, because you seriously smell.” He scrunches his nose up exaggeratedly.

He points you in the direction of the shower and nearly throws some towels at you. The water in the shower is lovely and warm, washing away your sins. Shane never lets you take showers this hot, and it’s a luxury you allow yourself to enjoy.

When you get out, you sit on Gibsie’s bed for a moment, thinking of what you were going to say to Shane when you inevitably went back to his house. Would he suspect that you stayed with Gibsie? Or would he be eager to make you forget your argument, and let it all slide? Shane was as unpredictable as the weather in Cork.

Gibsie has left you clothes out on his bed, which you gratefully accept. Your own stink of weed and sweat. He’s left you a pair of loose shorts and a Gaelic jersey. It’s too big on you, but it’ll do for now. Your head feels clearer today than it has in months, your brain relishing in this rare moment of clarity amongst the usual drug-induced hazes.

Suddenly, a large boy bursts into the room. He has straight brown hair and a rugby build like Gibsie’s. You shriek in surprise and turn around, still only half-changed. The boys eyes widen and he spins around, marching out of the room and shouting for Gibsie.

Gibsie pops his head around the corner, holding a comically large wooden spoon. “Hey Johnny, I didn’t see you coming in there,” he greets cheerfully, as if there is nothing strange about the current situation.

“I came upstairs because you’re usually still snoring at this stage,” the boy- whose name must be Johnny- says. He gestures to you, waiting for Gibsie to explain himself. “Looks like you had a good time last night.” Johnny raises his eyebrows pointedly at your attire- Gibsie’s clothes.

“It’s not what it looks like!” You blurt out, face reddening horribly. Johnny looks at you skeptically, turning back to Gibsie, a smug expression in his face.

“She- she was just-” Gibsie starts stammering, his ears turning a marvellous shade of scarlet,

“I was just leaving,” you say, slipping into your shoes and brushing past Johnny and Gibsie. Gibsie throws Johnny a dirty look before chasing after you.

“Wait up!” He shouts, running down the stairs to catch up to you. “Fuck, I am not made for cardio,” he pants at the bottom of the stairs.

“Aren’t you a rugby player?”

“Shut up,” he pants. “Why are you leaving? I was making pancakes. I NEVER make pancakes, I usually just have coco pops,” he complains.

“I need to go. Shane’s probably already text me like a hundred times,” you say, stomach churning as you think about how angry Shane will be when you go home later. Fuck, you really need some of Shane’s drugs.

“I have your phone, and I’m not letting you have it until you eat something,” Gibsie counters and you groan, putting your forehead in your hands.

“Fine,” you grumble, stalking past Johnny on the stairs to get into the pocket of your jeans. Where you left the small bag of pills Shane gave you last night.

It doesn’t take very long. Within two minutes, you’ve swallowed two pills and your head is feeling… better. Your brain calms and your Shane-induced worries seem to float away. When you go downstairs Gibsie hands you a plate of pancakes, along with a a jar of chocolate spread. Johnny is sitting across from you at the kitchen island, and narrows his eyes skeptically at you.

“So you two just… went to sleep last night?” He asks, eyebrows raised in a way that clearly says I don’t believe you.

“I have a boyfriend,” you mumble, spreading chocolatey-goodness onto your pancakes. You take a bite before immediately feeling nauseous, pushing the plate away with a sigh.

“Is there something wrong with them?” Gibsie asks, concern ringing his deep blue eyes. If you let yourself, you know you could drown in them. Drown in him, and his kindness and genuine care. But that’s not how this story will play out.

“I’m just not hungry,” you reply, resting your head on the counter as a wave of nausea fatigue hits you.

“What did you take?” Gibsie’s voice is suddenly hard, cold. He stares down at you, disgust and disdain written clear all over his face. There’s still a trace of concern there, but not enough to outweigh the overwhelming negativity radiating out of him.

You shrug helplessly. “Pills?” You offer. Gibsie doesn’t crack a smile. He doesn’t laugh, or playfully shove you. Johnny stands stock still, like one of those stone guards, forced to watch this interaction awkwardly.

“What did you take?” Gibsie tries again.

“I don’t know!”

“You should know!”

“Sorry, who’s your boyfriend?” Johnny interrupts you and Gibsie’s bickering.

“Shane Holland,” you whisper, ready for the instant recognition, followed by the usual horror and shock.

As expected, Johnny’s mouth falls open and he stares at you for a moment. “That’s Joey the Hurler’s dealer.”

“Lynchy?” Your interest piques.

“You know him?”

“He’s at my house all the time.”

“Your house?”

“She lives with Shane,” Gibsie replies, still staring hard down at you. “I thought you were done with drugs. And Shane.”

“When the fuck did I say that?”

“I just thought- when you didn’t go to him…” Gibsie looks genuinely crestfallen. He sweeps his dirty blonde hair out of his eyes before turning away, making more pancakes with his back to you. You immediately feel the loss of his eye contact, and his attention.

“I better go,” you mumble, sliding off of the stool and giving Johnny an awkward smile.

“I’ll leave you over,” Johnny offers and you nod numbly. You’re not completely sure what you did to upset Gibsie, but your heart pangs nonetheless. Gibsie wordlessly hands you your phone, not even looking you in the eyes as he does so.

When you get into Johnny’s car- it’s even fancier than Gibsie’s- he turns to you, a serious expression on his face.

“Is something going on between you and Gisbie?” He asks, eyes intent as he starts up the car.

“No,” you say, shaking your head vehemently. “Why?”

“Because I know him, and I know when he’s in love.”

———————————————————————

Johnny’s words are still ringing in your ears when you step into the house. It’s quiet, scarily so, and you pray that Shane is asleep so that you can have an hour of peace before the inevitable fallout of what happened last night.

Unfortunately, life is not so kind. Shane is sitting on the sofa, eyes bloodshot, staring straight ahead. Your best guess is that he’s high out of his mind, and you’re in for it. When he sees you he goes still, before getting up, walking quickly over to you, until his face is less than an inch from yours.

“Where the fuck were you?” He questions you, spit flying from his mouth in his anger. Your heartbeat nearly doubles as you consider your options. Shane doesn’t even give you a chance to reply before he’s accusing you. “What the fuck are you wearing? Is that another man’s clothes?” He’s gotten very close to you, and you nearly stop breathing as your mind tries and fails to come up with an excuse.

“I… I stayed at my house. I had no clothes, so these are ones my dad didn’t bring to England with him,” you finally spit out.

“Are you sure?” Shane is out for blood, and seems almost disappointed now that he won’t get it.

“Of course baby. I would never cheat on you. I love you so much.” You work to appease him, wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him your best gooey love eyes. Shane melts a little, his ego getting the better of him.

“Nobody else can love you like I do.”

“I know baby. I know.” You kiss him hard then, it takes Shane by surprise. You kiss him to wipe away the look of hurt on Gibsie’s face, to erase his blue eyes from your memory, to erase Johnny’s words from your mind. Shane is, as always, more than willing.

Half an hour later and everything is back to normal. You’re wrapped up in Shane’s arms, lying in his bed, high out of your mind. Shane presses kisses against your neck as you lie there, motionless. Your thoughts can’t escape Johnny’s words. It’s stupid, right? Gibsie can’t possibly be in love with you. He barely knows you.

Your thoughts are rudely interrupted my your phone ringing. Picking it up, you realise it’s your dad. Guilt gnaws at you. You’ve barely spoken to him in the last few months. He doesn’t know about Shane, or the drugs, or just how bad your mother’s alcoholism has spiralled. He doesn’t know that you don’t even live in the house he’s working so hard to pay for.

“Sweetheart?” You hear him say when you pick up the phone. “I’m coming home! There’s a big job happening in Dublin, and I’m coming home!”

Your heart drops. Shit.

Notes: sorry this one is short, thank u so much for reading! There will be DRAMA in the next chapter.

Masterlist!

Thomas: Hey, I just wanted to text u to let u know I’ve lost feelings for u. I think we should break up. Sorry

Your heart stops beating. You knew your relationship with Thomas recently hasn’t been perfect, but you still never imagined this was coming. Six months down the drain. Tears well in your eyes, blurring Thomas’s heartbreaking text.

You can only think to call one person: Johnny Kavanagh. He has been one of your best friends since you were both spotty first years joining Tommen. Clutching your phone, you dial Johnny’s number. He picks up after two dials.

“Hello?” He calls down the phone, his deep voice a comforting sound in contrast to the sound of your sniffles.

“Hi Johnny,” You sigh, holding the phone right up to your ear, like a lifeline.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Johnny immediately senses the tone in your voice. He’s been always good at that. You’re immediately flooded with a mix of embarrassment and relief.

“It’s, um, it’s Thomas,” you sniffle into the phone, tears now running freely down your cheeks. “He broke up with me.”

“Fucking bastard,” you hear Johnny murmur under his breath. “I’m coming now,” he says then. With that, he hangs up and you’re left alone again.

It takes Johnny twenty minutes to pull up to your house. You’re in convulsions by the time he gets there, shoulders wracking, nose running, tears streaking down your face, sitting down on the sofa in the living room.

“What took you so long?” You sniff as he walks in.

Johnny smiles apologetically, holding up a white bag. He takes out a tub of chocolate ice cream (best flavour), a box of tissues and your favourite sweets. You smile up at him as he gets a spoon for your ice cream.

“Tell me everything,” he says gently, sitting down next to you and handing you the carton. You dig in immediately, talking in between mouthfuls.

“He just text me saying he’s not into me anymore? And that he thinks we should breakup,” you sniff, and Johnny hands you a tissue.

“He didn’t even have the balls to say it to your face?” Johnny asks, outraged. “Have you replied?”

You shake your head. Johnny motions for you to hand him your phone and you pass it over numbly, licking ice cream off of the spoon. The sugar is starting to make its way into your system, making this whole situation seem incrementally better.

“Talk to me pretty girl. Just let it all out,” he says moving to wrap you into his strong arms. He holds you close as you take another spoonful of ice cream, before starting to explain.

“Things haven’t been great lately. With exams neither of us have time to hang out and honestly I’ve been dreading seeing him. We used to have such a connection but now our relationship is just awkward. Well, was awkward I guess,” you explain, taking another generous helping of ice cream. Johnny simply nods, holding you close to his warm chest. His solid mass is more comforting than anything else could be right now.

“So did you even want to be with him?” Johnny asks.

“Not really. We just didn’t know how to be around each other anymore. I just miss our connection. We used to be so in sync. And he broke up with me!” You cry, burning your head into Johnny’s chest.

Johnny kisses the top of your head. “Don’t cry, pretty girl. He was a dickhead. I mean, he broke up with you over text. And he didn’t deserve you in the first place.”

“Johnny, my boyfriend said he’s not into me. That hardly screams that I was the one out of his reach,” you huff sadly.

“Don’t listen to that dickhead. He just doesn’t know what to do with a girl as beautiful as you,” he says, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“Ugh and he didn’t even have the balls to do it in person. I hate him so much. He’s such a coward. But he was my coward.”

“Do you even hear yourself? He was a piece of shit. I’ve told you that from the start,” Johnny comforts you.

“Maybe you’re right. But I think I need to eat a lot more ice cream before I start feeling better,” you take another spoonful.

“You eat as much of that as you want,” he laughs, his deep rumble sending soothing reverberations into your body.

“Thanks Johnny,” you murmur, snuggling in closer to his chest. Some people might find your relationship with Johnny weird, but it’s never been romantic. You’re always there for each other, no matter what. Even if that means loads of cuddles.

“Do you want to talk about it anymore?” Johnny asks, taking a spoonful of your ice cream.

You think about it. You aren’t crying anymore. Feeling Johnny’s deep, soothing breaths have slowed your own down. You don’t want to think about Thomas anymore, you just want to be comforted.

“No,” you reply. Johnny simply nods and continues to hold you. “But I do want to watch some romcoms now.”

Johnny smiles down at you, getting up and putting in the nearest dvd from the pile in the corner of the living room, sticking it into the player. How to lose a guy in ten days. Perfect. You sigh happily as the film starts.

Soon enough, you fall asleep on his chest. Johnny smiles down at you, now sleeping peacefully. You groan a little in your sleep, and he brushes your hair out of your face.

“Shh… you’re okay, you’re going to be alright,” Johnny whispers. Then, he gets a text through on his phone.

Gibsie: Where r u? Coach is mad. Get here soon.

“Shit,” Johnny murmurs. He gently lifts you off of his body, shifting you into the sofa and standing up. He writes a quick note, saying that he’s gone to practice and he’ll be back soon.

An hour later, you wake up on the sofa, eyes heavy from sleep. You shift, realising Johnny isn’t here. Sitting up slowly, your eyes catch on a note on the table. Johnny has gone to practice. You know he’ll be back straight after. Probably with flowers and more confectionary.

Yawning, you realise you never text Thomas back. When you pull out your phone however, you see that there’s already a message after Thomas’s.

Thomas: Hey, I just wanted to text u to let u know I’ve lost feelings for u. I think we should break up. Sorry

Me: That’s a real dick move, asshole. You don’t deserve her at all. I’m glad she’s finally free of you though. Next time you break up with a girl, do it in person you dickhead.

Smiling softly, you roll your eyes. Thomas would definitely know who sent that message. Johnny has definitely overstepped there, but you don’t mind. He’s right anyway, what kind of asshole breaks up with his girlfriend over text?

• He never smokes in front of you. Like ever. He’s a social smoker 100% and always has a cigarette in hand at parties, but when you come over, he’ll fumble like a child caught with candy and thrust it into the hands of whichever of his friends is closest. It’s led to you believing that Johnny has a serious smoking problem that he’s hiding from Shannon.

• He loves Madonna. Unashamedly. No matter how much he’s made fun of, get into the groove is always blasting in his car. He says that he loves her message: to dance. He even makes you learn a dance routine with him to Vogue.

• He loves dancing. If you’re upset with him, he will perform a dance . Whether it’s a magic-mike type one or just him bouncing about to the newest Britney song, he always manages to put a smile on your face.

• He will let you do his makeup. Anytime you want to. And he will go out in public with it. Everyone is starting at him (it’s cork in the 2000’s) as he saunters into the chippy with a full face on, followed by an almost-hysterical you.

• He loves karaoke. Every party, he’s up there with a microphone, singing along to literally whatever is there. He doesn’t care. Gibsie was born to perform, and that he does. Although, he really, really can’t sing. Everyone’s covering their ears as he’s doing the worst rendition of Eminem ever.

• He does literally whatever you want. You decide where you go for every date, what movie you’re going to watch, what you two should do when you’re at each others’ houses. Sometimes he tries to stand up for himself but the minute you look even slightly annoyed he gives in and does whatever you want anyway.

• This has become an issue during your friend group’s bi-weekly movie night. It always ends that the boys want to watch some dull action movie and the girls want to see the new Patrick Swayze movie. The tie always breaks when you frown at Gibsie, and he’ll immediately back up whatever option you want. The boys always groan and call him whipped, but Gibsie doesn’t even care.

• He purposely sleeps over at your house on days where he’s meant to get up early to go to the gym with Johnny. Johnny will arrive at Gibsies house at 5:30 only to realise he’s not even there. It’s come to the point where he’ll just show up at your house, beeping loudly every other morning. You’ve threatened to kick Gibsie out several times because of this, but you can never follow through.

• He cannot handle his drink. Like seriously. He’s a header when he’s sober and he’s even worse when drunk. The stories of Gibsie’s legless adventures have spread far and wide. He doesn’t know this, but after a certain stage during a party, you start switching his beers to non-alcoholic, trying to minimise the damage he’s done.

• One time when he was full, he stole someone’s chicken drumsticks at the bar. The man he stole them from reported him to the bouncer. Gibsie then stood arguing with the bouncer with said chicken drumsticks, until he waved his arms about so much that they flew out onto the road, and a car ran over them. Needless to say, he’s now banned from that bar for life.

• On top of this, he always vomits when he’s drunk. He’s vomited in your house, on your shoes. One time he boked in your bed. Your bed. He was in the doghouse for a week after that, and you made him wash your sheets himself. He had to buy you a big plushie for you to finally forgive him. From then on, he sleeps over at Johnny’s after a night out.

• He is 100% the type to call you his wife long before you’re married, or even engaged. Your friends get really confused when you both refer to each other as husband/wife and act like a married couple out in public. He will ask you what you should buy the kids for Christmas and you just go along with it, whilst Hughie and Johnny look at you both like you’re mental.

Notes: sorry this is short, I have SO many requests at the minute so they will be slow guys, sorry. I hope you enjoyed this! The chicken drumstick story may not make sense but it is based on smth that happened to a friend of mine…

• He’s very flirty. Always. Constantly. Before he started going out with you, he was always trying to chat up every girl in school. After that, he flirts with you like his life depends on it, even though you’re already going out with him.

• He has a thing for kissing just behind your ear. All the time. When you’re alone, in front of his friends, in class when nobody is looking.

• He has issues with Hughie meeting girls he likes (cough cough, Katie), so he doesn’t introduce the two of you until you confront him on it. When you do meet Hughie, Patrick makes a big show of keeping you close, arm around your shoulder, letting Hughie know he wasn’t getting anywhere near you.

• He has field parties in mid-July. Where everyone comes down and gets stupid drunk. At the last one, Gibsie wandered off and ended up covered in cow dung. They’re notorious for people hooking up randomly in the hay bales in the shed.

• He finds it very hard to open up to anyone. When you first started going out he was so surprised when you asked him just basic questions. He couldn’t believe that someone wanted to know how his day was, or what his favourite pastime was. Basic questions that should have been normal felt intimate and off to him.

• Bro is an alcoholic, and let’s not romanticise it. Literally nobody knows about this, not even you. He hides it so well, and only drinks when nobody else is around. It’s not like his father bothers checking on him much.

• He can never believe that he actually has you. He is the #1 yearner and is still trying to woo you well into your relationship, he just can’t believe he acc bagged the huzz.

• On that topic, he really is a yearner. He has severe, painstaking crushes for months and years. He thinks about his crush all the time. It’s like a sickness. He falls in love with every one of them.

• Again on this topic, he writes crappy, often cringey songs for whichever girl he currently loves. But he never shows them to anyone. He burns the last when he writes the next. Each one is individual and unique, and beautiful in their own way. When he starts dating you, he writes dozens in secret. These ones, he keeps in a box under his bed.

• He does believe that his music taste is superior to everyone else’s but he shows it subtly. A small huff when you stick on Britney. A raise of his eyebrows when you turn his music down. He’ll silently swap out your cd’s in your car for his own.

• He HATES watching movies for some strange reason, but he’ll watch them for you. He’ll never tell you how much he hates sitting and watching Patrick Swayze dance across the screen, all he cares about is how it makes you happy (and that you snuggle up to him of course).

• He tries to act cool but he’s a lover boy at heart. In school, he has a player-boy reputation at school, but as soon as he finally starts going out with you? He doesn’t so much as look at another girl. He’s uninterested. Completely.

Your patience is wearing thin. Not that you had much to begin with. Johnny had promised to take you to this new, fancy, restaurant in Cork city because you were pissed at him for spending so much time playing rugby. How much time does one person possibly need to spend practicing for a stupid sport? All you really need to do is run around with a ball anyway.

And now he’s late, and you would bet money that he’s still at rugby practice. You had even bought him a Dairy Milk bar because you had felt bad for nagging at him. Sighing, you look at your watch. Forty minutes. That’s it.

Slamming the chocolate down on the counter, you grab your keys and head out to the car. In five minutes you’re at Tommen, high heels clacking against the pavement as you storm over to the rugby pitch, handbag swinging in your hand.

There he is. Running a drill with the rest of the team. Usually, you might focus on how hot Johnny looks right now: jersey stuck to his muscular arms, hair tousled and looking just the right amount of sweaty. But you’re not focusing on that.

It’s Patrick Feely that notices you first. “Hey cap, your girlfriend’s here! She looks pissed,” he calls over his shoulder.

Johnny freezes. You can see him realising what time it is as he turns around, face cringing in apprehension. He knows he’s a dean man walking. You finally reach the pitch, making a beeline straight towards Johnny. Several of the lads give out low-whistles.

“You’re dead Kavanagh!” One of them calls.

“Fuck, she looks bloody pissed,” another remarks. You give them the middle finger without so much as looking their way.

Gibsie steps forward, valiantly protecting his friend. “Look, it was my fault, don’t blame Johnny…”

“Don’t make excuses for him Gibs,” you say, walking around Gibsie until you come face to face with a sheepish Johnny. “Explain yourself,” is all you say.

Johnny takes a deep breath. “Look baby I’m so fucking sorry, okay? I didn’t realise that practice would run so late. I’ll make it up to ya, yeah?” He says, big hands circling around your wrists soothingly. He starts to pull you in but you put a hand on his chest, pushing him back.

“You’re all sweaty and I spent an hour and a half getting ready.”

Johnny nods. “I’ll leave right now. I’ll be ready in like, forty minutes, yeah?”

You pause. You’re still angry, but merely seeing Johnny has taken most of the flames from your fire. Originally you had planned to say that he was too late, and to make him regret being late by showing him how good you looked right now. But now, you just wish he’d been there in the first place.

Johnny can see your hesitation. “Please babe. Just let me make this up to you,” he murmurs against your ear and you shiver at the heat of his breath against your neck.

“Okay,” you concede. “But you’re paying. And you need to make it up to me,” you cross your arms. Sometimes it’s easier to demand things from Johnny than to tell him the truth; that you feel forgotten and insecure, that you feel like maybe he just doesn’t like you anymore.

“Of course baby. I’m so fucking sorry, love. I’m such an eejit, especially when my girl looks so beautiful.”

“Mhm you don’t deserve any of this,” you whisper against his lips. Johnny moves to kiss you but you turn away before he can, sauntering away with your handbag still swinging. You can hear Johnny groaning behind your back. “You can wipe that smirk off your face,” you warn Gibsie, who has a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Yes ma’am,” Gibsie replies, moving back towards Johnny.

True to his word, Johnny is at your house within forty minutes, dressed in jeans and a designer jumper. When he arrives, he even presents you with a bouquet of your favourite flowers. It even draws a smile from you.

“I ate your chocolate,” is the first thing you say to him as you take the flowers and put them in a vase.

“What?”

“I bought you chocolate but then you were late so I ate it,” you explain as you walk outside and step onto his car.

Johnny looks like a wounded puppy. “You ate it?” He asks, looking truly heartbroken.

“I don’t know why you’re so upset, you’re all into healthy eating anyway. You rarely eat chocolate anymore,” you defend yourself as Johnny begins driving.

“I would have eaten it if it was from you.”

“Well it’s too late to cry about it now. But I am sorry. Kind of. It was really scrumptious,” you shrug.

“It’s okay babe. I shouldn’t be eating any of that anyway.”

“Johnny do you think I’m a bitch?” You ask suddenly, looking down at your nails. They’re sharp, like claws. You frown, picking at them.

“What? Of course not,” Johnny replies without hesitating.

“I know what your friends say about me,” you huff, looking out the window.

“All they say to me is that they don’t know how I managed to pull a girl like you.”

“Johnny that’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard. They’re always talking about how I ‘run a tight ship’ and everyone knows that’s code for ‘your girlfriend’s an annoying bitch.’”

“Baby I don’t care what they think. I love the bones of ya. You’re not a bitch. You just care more than people realise.”

You sigh, still looking out the window, still unsure. In your own mind, your behaviour is perfectly reasonable. All you do is hold Johnny to a reasonable standard. But that’s not what everyone else thinks and you know it.

Johnny can see your insecurity plain on your face. “I love when you boss me around.”

“What?” You turn to Johnny in confusion.

“I think it’s really sexy that you know your standards and hold them. I love that you’re confident enough to not put up with any bullshit,” he explains, putting his hand on your thigh.

“You’re sure?” You ask, hesitating.

“Of course baby,” he confirms.

“Good because your hand is sweaty and I’m wearing wash off tan,” you delicately remove Johnny’s hand from your leg. Johnny simply laughs and places both hands on the steering wheel.

Draco gives you the dress he promised you. It’s gorgeous; black with delicate lacing. He didn’t appreciate the hair dye, claiming that he’s never ever dyed his own “virgin” hair. Anyone with eyes wouldn’t believe him.

It’s strange, being in Malfoy Manor without Lucius Malfoy. Quieter. Colder, somehow. The life and soul seems to be sucked out of Draco just by being here. Under the overwhelming weight of his new title and of his father’s absence. You’re both forced to go to two different deatheater meetings, where your father announces how you have successfully charmed “the Potter boy.”

Your father calls you in on Christmas evening. He sits on a throne-like chair at the end of the Malfoy’s dining room. The table that usually sits in the centre of the room has been removed, along with the chairs, leading to a dark, airy feel to the room.

“I am pleased with you, my daughter. I do hope you will continue to please me throughout your school year. Also, I forgot to tell you that I expect you and young Mr Malfoy to share a room, at Lucius’s request. He wishes for you two to begin your romance.” Your father’s free hand absently strokes Nagini, the snake he loves more than you.

“Yes, my lord.” You bow your head slightly.

“Do not disappoint me again. Oh, and tell the young Malfoy his time is almost up.”

You nod quickly and leave in a hurry. That night was terrible. When you walk into Draco’s room he’s sitting on the bed, staring daggers at you. He must have been staring at the door for a while before you came in, because his eyes have a sort of glazed look to them.

You don’t bother to say hello. “I’m taking the bed,” you announce, flopping onto the spongy mattress. “Omg Draco this mattress is so comfy,” you sigh, snuggling into the blanket.

Draco has his best, I’m-a-Malfoy, outraged look and just shoves you off the bed. You land hard on the carpeted floor.

Oh game on. You roll and get to your feet, launching the nearest pillow at Malfoy before dodging his returning projectile. However, you’re not fast enough to dodge the second and you quickly fire it back at him.

After several minutes of this back and forth you both come to a standstill. “I pull rank over you. I get the bed,” you finally demand, holding your status as your father’s daughter over him.

“It’s my room,” Draco retorts, eyes staring hard into yours.

“Why can’t you just go somewhere else?” You complain.

“Because your father would kill me for disobeying him!”

“Fine. We’ll just… share.”

“Share?” Draco looks truly disgusted now.

“We’ll set up a barrier. Divide the bed into two,” you suggest, beginning to arrange Draco’s ridiculous amount of pillows into a barrier in the middle of the bed. His bed is more than big enough that it still provides sufficient room for both of you.

Draco nods reluctantly after a moment and starts to help you, before turning away from you, signalling that he’s ready to sleep. It’s only now that you realise how sparse his room is. It used to be filled with Slytherin memorabilia and quidditch posters. Now, it’s almost laid bare. Clean and minimalist. You can still see the corner of one of his posters, the rest of which had clearly been torn off of the wall. It was safe to say that Draco was wholly disillusioned with petty house competitions and sports now.

You could almost swear you could hear him crying in the middle of the night.

On the night of Boxing Day you decide to go for a walk. It’s cold, so you wrap up in a scarf and a cosy jumper. Harry would have given you his scarf. You find yourself missing him, and, with little thought for the consequences, you apparate to the Weasleys. Screw the trace.

Harry had given you the Weasley’s address in passing conversation several weeks ago. High grasses conceal you as you look into the Weasleys’ kitchen. Ron and his family are sitting around the table, laughing and passing plates around. It fills your heart with a biting envy, seeing such a happy family.

You see a silhouette against one of the windows. Moving closer, you realise it’s Harry. Grabbing a stone, you throw it against the window. Harry turns around, startled. His eyes widen comically when he sees you.

A minute later, Harry sneaks out the door, shutting it quietly behind him. “What are you doing here?” He asks, taking both your hands in his.

“I missed you,” you whisper against his ear.

Harry looks concerned. “You still have the trace on you!”

“My father got rid of that years ago. I can do magic as I please. He didn’t want me being tracked whilst he was encouraging me to preform Unforgivables,” you explain.

Harry looks sympathetic until you bend down, bundling up the cold snow and launching it at him. Harry stares, dumbfounded, before laughing and starting a counter attack. Running into the tall grass, you’re out of breath by the time Harry catches you, he stuffs a handful of snow down your back. You squeal and push him away, to which he wraps his arms around you and hugs you close.

“I missed you too,” he breathes. His lips catch yours in a deep kiss. You hold onto him tightly as his tongue collides with yours. Harry’s kissing you like a man starved. His warmth melts your coldness.

After snogging for a substantial amount of time, Harry takes you on a walk around the countryside. He tells you funny stories of Christmas at the Weasley’s. Your heart burns with jealousy so poignant you almost choke on it.

Harry gives you his scarf, as is your tradition. “I’m going to start keeping these,” you tease him, snuggling in closer to the soft material.

“Take it if you want,” Harry laughs. “You’re like a cat. Always snuggling up to whatever’s warmest.”

“That is offensive. Cats eat magpies,” you say in mock outrage. Harry raises his hands in surrender.

“How was your Christmas?” Harry asks.

“The usual. Spent the day with Severus and Draco. Draco got me this gorgeous dress,” you sigh happily.

Harry’s grip on your hand tightens. “Does Malfoy often get you presents?”

“Are you jealous?” You grin.

Harry shakes his head casually. “No, I’m just wondering. Do you spend a lot of time with Draco?” He asks, the way he enunciates Draco makes you giggle.

“So what if I do?”

“I’m just being friendly. You know, I’m interested in Malfoy. He plays Quidditch. Maybe next game he’ll fall off his broom and plummet to his death.”

You elbow him. “Don’t be mean Harry.”

“I’m just saying, that would be a terrible accident,” he says, smiling as if imagining Draco suffering a terrible injury.

“You are so jealous!” You exclaim. “You do realise if I was interested in Draco I would be with him and not you right now?”

“Maybe you’re two-timing us.”

“Don’t be silly. I don’t have time for that, I’m a busy girl.”

“I imagine being a deatheater could be quite time-consuming,” Harry remarks and you give him a dirty look.

“Ah yes, what with all the kids I’m murdering everyday,” you say sarcastically.

“Has your dad tried to make you do anything over the holidays?” Harry asks, taking on a more serious tone.

“No. He’s actually pleased with me at the moment. He believes I have successfully ensnared the trust of the chosen one.”

“That you have. You could stab me right now and I wouldn’t believe that you’ve betrayed me.”

You frown. “Harry you shouldn’t trust me. I’ve told you a hundred times. I’m a death eater. Sooner or later I will hurt you.”

Harry shakes his head. “That’s just something you say because you’re scared.”

“Harry I can’t betray my father.”

“You can. You just need to wake up and realise you have free will. You can do what you want. Follow what you believe in.” Harry’s eyes implore you, begging you to see reason. Gently, you push him away a little, creating some distance between you.

“Harry I’m already doing things. Bad things. Things I can’t tell you about,” you whisper.

Harry takes your hand defiantly. “I don’t care about what he’s making you do. Some day you’re going to defy him. I know it,” his fingers ghost over your knuckles.

“You have too high an opinion of me.”

“No, I just know a good person when I see one. You don’t realise it, but you’ve already defied him. By being with me. By opening up your heart to me.” With that, Harry takes your hand in his, fingers ghosting over your knuckles.

He pauses for a moment. “My godfather, Sirius, you remind me of him,” he whispers, voice choked.

Squeezing his hand tightly, you allow him to come closer to you yet again. “I’m sorry that he died.” You had heard the news of Sirius Black’s death from Bellatrix, who gloated her triumph over her own cousin.

Harry simply nods, unable to bring himself to speak, the scar of Black’s death still an open, infected wound. After a moment, he heaves a deep, shuddering sigh and begins to speak. “His family were pureblood elitists. He didn’t share their values. He ran away at sixteen and joined the Order along with my father. He defied them, all of them, for his beliefs.” A singular tear runs down Harry’s cheek. You wipe it away with the pad of your thumb.

“I wish I could be brave like that,” you whisper.

“You can,” is all Harry has to say. ———————————————————————

A week later you’re back at school. Draco is looking worse than ever. Slughorn was meant to give the mead to Dumbledore already, yet he wasn’t yet dead. Neither of you know if Dumbledore had even received the present yet, and, if he had, had he realised it was laced with poison?

There seems to be an invisible clock following the both of you around, reminding you that your time to kill Dumbledore, and also your time with Harry, was coming to a close. Harry was growing more and more suspicious of Draco, and it was hard to try and curb his suspicions.

One cold morning, you’re studying in the library. One thing that’s surprised you about school is how much you’ve loved doing your schoolwork. You enjoy classes, learning even more than Severus ever taught you. It feels good to study for class tests, even if you know you won’t be here next year to complete your N.E.W.Ts.

You’re in the middle of a particularly grueling DADA homework when Hermione comes over, dropping a heavy tome onto the table in front of you. She looks frustrated, and you immediately hope that it’s not you she’s angry at- the young witch could be quite formidable when upset.

“What’s up?” You ask cautiously.

“It’s Ron. He’s still going out with that- with that- horrible toad!” She decides on. Your eyebrows fly up, that was quite strong language for Hermione. Then, her eyes meet yours in a sudden manner. “What should I do?” She pleads.

You pause. This was surreal, someone was asking you, of all people, for relationship advice? Hesitating for a moment, you try to think of what to say to her.

“Have you tried telling him how you feel?” You offer.

Hermione slaps you lightly with your homework. “I can’t do that! That would be catastrophic. How on earth did you get Harry, with that kind of attitude?”

You consider it for a moment. “I kept pushing him away, but he kept pursuing me. And eventually, I let him in. Although I do still tell him not to trust me.”

“Why can’t Ron just chase me?” She groans. You offer her a sympathetic smile, when, suddenly, an idea occurs.

“Make him jealous!”

“Already tried that. It worked but nothing happened.”

“Oh,” you sigh, deflated. Hermione changed the subject, asking you about your homework and you gladly start discussing it.

After a while, Harry joins you, and you help him with his potions. He’s not very good at it, despite being the one to win the liquid luck in class. It only confirms your suspicions that he had copied all the tips you had shared with Hermione.

Draco comes in, and eyes you and Harry, before retreating further into the depths of the library. Your heart pangs in sympathy, and you get up to follow him. Draco had begun to isolate himself from all his other friends, unable to share the burden that he was carrying.

You find him in the back corner of the library, breath coming in quick, sharp gasps. Sitting down beside him, you place a hand on his shoulder.

“Breathe in, one, two, three, four,” you begin to guide him as Harry did for you that fateful night. Slowly, Draco’s breathing begins to slow, his eyes look slightly less panicked.

“We don’t have much time left,” Draco breathes, eyes looking desperately into yours.

“We’ll figure it out, Draco. Don’t worry.” Your assurances seem false and futile. You should both be worrying. Your father would no doubt kill Draco if he fails this task. He might kill you too.

———————————————————————

The weeks pass in a blur. Harry has been so sweet to you that it breaks your heart. He takes you out to Hogsmeade almost every weekend. Your drawers of full with an array of fancy chocolates that he’s bought you. Hermione informs you that he has been really nervous about dating you, and has constantly been seeking her advice on “what do girls like.” Apparently not all famous people have natural boyfriend-skills.

The tension between Ron and Hermione has risen to the point where she can’t be in the same room with him, she’s so angry, which has led to her spending more time with you. It’s nice, to have a girl friend. Another plus is that Hermione is an absolute brain wave, and is always willing to help you with your homework.

Dumbledore still isn’t dead. It was becoming increasingly obvious that Draco would have to kill him face to face. Or you would have to. The time you’re not spending with Harry is spent with Draco, devising futile plans that both of you know will never work.

One cold February morning, you’re sitting in Harry’s dorm (he snuck you in under his cloak), and you accidentally let slip to Harry that you were made to share a bed with Draco over the winter holidays. He stares at you for a solid minute before clearing his throat.

“Yeah, I mean that’s cool. Like I share a bed with Hermione all the time. It’s such a normal, friendly thing to do,” he says, though his eyes seem almost greener with jealousy.

“Harry don’t be jealous. My father made us. We even set up a pillow barrier between us and trust me, Draco’s bed is so big that we were nowhere near each other.”

Harry grimaces. “Now I have the visual of you, in Malfoy’s bed. I’m just going to drown myself in the black lake,” he surmises, heading towards decidedly towards the famous lake.

You grab his arm and he spins around, and you smash your lips against his own. Harry returns the kiss heatedly, pulling you closer to him. He’s devouring you, you can almost taste the jealousy on his tongue, along with something a lot sweeter: desire.

You generally try not to be too physical with Harry, because it unlocks a deeper desire within you. It makes you want him so much it scares you, because it hints at something real. Something permanent. Something that can never happen between the two of you. A lasting relationship is just about as likely for you and Harry as your father eloping with Severus in a flip flop shop in Hawaii.

But right now you’re not thinking about the fact that this relationship won’t last. You’re not thinking about the war, or your father. All you can concentrate on is the feeling of Harry’s lips on yours.

Suddenly, you’re on the bed, and Harry’s on top of you and everything is so hot. The heat if his mouth, the weight of his body. Before you know it, you’re unbuttoning his shirt.

Harry stops suddenly. His eyes look apologetically into yours. “Not- not now,” he says, shifting so that he’s sitting beside you.

“Why not?” You ask, humiliated and embarrassed. Had you misinterpreted his feelings for you? Was Harry not attracted to you?

“Because I know you. And I know you’ll regret it if we do this on impulse. You like to think things through. Overthink them, to be honest, and I know you don’t really want this to happen like this.”

“I think I love you,” you blurt out suddenly.

“I know I love you,” Harry says, taking your hand in his. In a way, you’re glad you didn’t lose your virginity on a whim on a random Thursday morning. Harry was right. Maybe he was right about other things too. Maybe thing would be okay.

You still highly doubted it.

Notes: Thank you so much to anyone who’s reading this. I’ve had this story in my head for a while, but I’ve decided to put it all down for anyone who’s interested. Also did anyone catch that reference? Also thanks for waiting so long for this! (Next part will take a while soz.)

• He will BEG you to go to the gym with him and when you finally agree he’s at your house at 5AM wondering why you aren’t dressed yet.

• He pays for you every time you two go out. Doesn’t matter how much you protest. Sometimes he’ll say that you can pay, only to sneakily pay when he says he’s “going to the toilet.”

• When you’re kissing he’s holding you against him like a man starved: one arm around your waist, holding you closer and the other entangled in your hair, pulling your lips closer to him.

• He gives the best sports massages. Any time you’re the tiniest bit stressed he just tells you to lie down on his bed. It’s genuinely heavenly.

• When you start going out with him he’s hesitant to show you how much he cares about you. Johnny’s always controlled, and never engages in PDA. That is, until after a couple of months, where he doesn’t hesitate to pull you onto his lap, take your hand, and kiss you anywhere.

• Johnny fully uses you as an excuse to not go to parties. He’ll make up some bc explanation, saying that you “didn’t want him there,” or that you “were in a bad mood,” so that he doesn’t have to go, even though you’ve said nothing of the sort. Of course, this breaks Gibsie’s heart.

• Because of this, Gibsie decides to corner you one day, asking you why you’ve taken his wing man away from him. After you explain that Johnny was bullshitting him, he huffed and ignored Johnny for the whole afternoon, until Johnny promised to go to Biddie’s with him.

• He panics when you’re on get your period for the first time at his house. I mean this man practically clears the shops for every type of period products, along with your favourite chocolate, of course. He doesn’t have a sister and has never had a proper girlfriend before you so he ends up accidentally getting you extra-big-super-absorbent-night-pads.

• After this whole ordeal he has a small basket of stuff for you in his ensuite bathroom, including mini deodorants and body sprays, pads/tampons and a toothbrush for when you stay over.

• The first time you meet his parents is a disaster. Johnny ends up inadvertently revealing that he lost his virginity atthirteen. After this Edel pulled you aside and gave you what must have been the longest conversation of your life about “the birds and the bees” and how you should stay away from her “delinquent” son.

• She also asks John to set up security cameras around the house so you can’t sneak in and Johnny can’t sneak out. John laughed and refused.

• He never chooses what film you guys watch when you go to the cinema or have a movie night. When you ask him he’ll guess options he thinks you want to watch and refuses to give any genuine answers. This means that you’ve both watched dirty dancing enough times to recite it line to line. Although he doesn’t like it when you stare a little to long at Patrick Swayze.

• He doesn’t like you spending too much time around Gibsie, claiming that he’s a bad influence on you. This mostly arised from the time you spend half an hour with Gibsie alone and came home with a bagful of condoms and a c.d with dirty songs on it.

• He throws birthday parties for Sookie, and everyone in his friend group is invited. She even has a little party cone hat and loads of doggie treats. He demands that everyone comes brings a present too.

• He LOVES pet names. I mean this man never calls you by your actual name, it’s always baby, sweetheart or the occasional love. He also gets slightly annoyed if you don’t call him baby often enough.

• He knows that when you get stressed you like your hair out of your face so he always has a hair bobble on his person, no matter how much the lads take the piss out of him for it.

Masterlist!