dirtyhands.

You’d seen enough of them in Rafe to know that one of you dabbling in drugs was enough.

As per usual, you gradually slipped into your party persona as soon as you found your friends — a few Kook girls you were lucky weren’t obsessed with boys and maxing out their daddies’ credit cards.

Megan and Bailey came back from the in-house bar with everyone’s drinks, both of them slowly sashaying towards the edge of the pool where the other two of you were gathered.

“Time to get wasted, baby!” Charlize, who was seated beside you with her legs in the water, whooped excitedly, accepting the glass of champagne from Bailey (as per her request).

You shook your head despite your hearty laughter, amused by Charlize’s dramatics. “You’re gonna regret that tomorrow morning,” you reminded her as you always did, reaching out to take the glass of cheap beer Megan had retrieved for you.

Bailey tutted loudly, settling down to your left and fixing you with a mock disappointed gaze. “Always thinking responsibly,” she sighed dramatically, taking a sip of her tequila. “You’d think dating Rafe Cameron would ease you up a little.”

You found your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your friends always found a way to tease you about Rafe. After all, the two of you made quite the couple.

“I’m driving us home tonight, you dipshit,” you retorted lightheartedly, taking a long sip of your beer. The sting in your throat was perfect. You’d take it easy just for tonight.

Your friends stared at you like you’d grown antlers. It was unusual for you to sit out on drinks at parties, though you barely needed anything in your system to hype everyone up. Still, you normally just crashed at the party itself (being friends with quite literally everyone), or Rafe would drive you home.

But Rafe would be busy getting high tonight, and you weren’t sure he’d be a very safe driver with dilated pupils and white powder beneath his nose.

“You guys should really get your own boyfriend to worry about,” you chuckled at their silence, pushing yourself up on your feet and passing your drink to Charlize. “Now I’m gonna go liven this party up. It’s pretty boring, don’t you think?”

Megan, Bailey and Charlize peered up at you with puzzled expressions, but you were already moving back into the house. It was only when you disappeared at the staircase that Megan realised what was going on.

“Ah, shit,” she laughed, leaning back on a hand, bare legs kicking inside the cool pool water. “I’ll bet ten she’ll do a backflip this time.”

Bailey sighed when she, too, registered what you were up to. “Think she’ll keep it simple. Cannonball or some shit.”

A loud protest came from Charlize. Clearly, she’d had some booze already (she stole a long sip of vodka from this dude in the corner). “She’s gonna fall backwards! I’ll bet twenty on that.”

Then the girls fell into their typical bickering over their bets, coming up with more absurd ways of how you were about to “liven up the party,” as you said.

──────

It was half past twelve, and Rafe was boasting a handful of cash.

He spread out the bills between his fingers, admiring the load he’d earned just from little baggies of white powder alone. He was really getting better at this negotiation thing, never mind the discreet marketing.

He’d done some of his own lines, maybe two or three after business was getting a little boring. Rafe promised you he wouldn’t go too hard tonight, just in case you gave into the alcoholic cravings and got fucking wasted.

Shit, he was really missing you. Your arm slung around his shoulders lazily, body fitting snugly into his side like the perfect angel you were. You never judged, even as you watched him snort up some lines, even helping him wipe some strays off the tip of his lip whenever he got a little messy.

You were perfect. He loved you — there was no denying that.

Fuck. The coke was getting to his head. He couldn’t ditch his spot right now just to find you. You were probably having fun with your girls, floating about somewhere in the pool, enjoying the party music without him.

Rafe wanted you to have your fun. You were always glowing whenever you partied like you did, smile bright and laughter echoing off the walls. It was addictive.

Which was why he suddenly stood, deciding the thick wad of cash in his hand was enough for the night. Money was worth very little when he could have you instead.

“Hey, dude! Where you goin’?” Some partygoer druggie bumped into Rafe’s shoulder, holding his hands out and frowning at Rafe’s departure. The boy had a bunch of dollar bills in his hand.

Irritated, Rafe reached into his pocket and chucked a few bags of coke into the boy’s hand, then snatched all of the cash away — a sum more than enough for what he was giving.

“Now fuck off,” Rafe spat at the boy, ignoring the puzzled look he gave. He was more focused on stashing the money and extra baggies away in his car, then seeking you out for your tender touches and sweet, sweet voice.

“That your dad?” Charlize called from behind you as she floated closer to the edge of the pool.

You chucked your phone back onto the lounger and pushed yourself up onto the ledge. “Nah, it’s Rafe. He’s gonna join us in a while.”

Charlize made a face of surprise, which you cocked an eyebrow at. What’s so surprising about that?

“I know what you’re thinkin’,” she drawled, reaching out for her drink and downing the rest of it (it was her third drink of the night). “Just thought he was gonna deal for a while longer.”

Oh. Well, that was warranted. Rafe usually dealt for the majority of the party due to the number of customers he got — which was not a small amount, considering the average age of all attendees.

“I’m gonna go grab him a drink,” you announced with a quick smile, standing slowly to avoid slipping. You grabbed your beach skirt and put it on before padding back into the house, heading straight for the bar to get Rafe’s whiskey.

“What can I get for the pretty lady?” the bartender asked you casually as he did up a drink for someone else, a dude who looked a few years your senior who was chatting up a pretty blonde. She didn’t seem to be very interested.

You grinned at the bartender, leaning your forearms against the counter. “Whiskey on the rocks would be fine,” you replied in kind, eyeing the pair to your right. The blonde was from Kook. You recognised her from your geography class.

You almost intervened and approached the two of them when the bartender interrupted your thoughts, “You look more like a Jägerbomb kinda person, no?”

You had to hold in a surprised laugh at that. How did he know? Did you even know this guy?

“I seen you around, Regina George,” the bartender snapped you out of your thoughts, a light chuckle leaving his lips. “You look like you know everyone. Surprised you ain’t have someone by y’side right now.”

He finished the other dude’s drink quickly and slid it across the counter over to him, flashing a charming smile. Then he turned back to you, still awaiting a response.

Oh, right.

“Everyone worth talkin’ to’s already by the pool,” you noted smoothly, finding this conversation easier to indulge in than with other strangers. “And I’d be chattin’ up that blondie if the fucker wasn’t annoyin’ her.”

Shrugging casually, you raised a hand and pointed your thumb to your right. The dude was so distracted that he didn’t even catch your hand.

The bartender laughed — a good, hearty laugh that made you smile — and started making Rafe’s drink. “So what’s with the whiskey? For your friend, or ‘cause of the vibe? Or maybe I’m readin’ you wrong and you’re actually a whiskey person.”

“You’re pushin’ it, Sherlock.” A roll of your eyes pulled a smug smirk from him. “It’s for my boyfriend, actually. Whiskey’s his go-to. Got the shit all stocked up at home, y’know?”

The bartender’s expression seemed to falter at hearing about your boyfriend. Huh. Maybe he was thinking he could snag a girl tonight.

It wouldn’t be you, though. You were just being friendly.

Rafe slammed his truck door shut and locked it, wiping the back of his hand over his nose to clear any stray powder that might have stuck and degraded him in your eyes. He didn’t want to look like some coke addict to you.

With a sharp breath, he began walking back towards the house, footsteps heavy and mind buzzing with the approaching high.

Sooner or later, he’d be hearing everything, feeling everything and smelling everything, as if he was on fucking cloud nine.

Good. By then, he’d be by your side already, one possessively arm around your waist, nose stuffed into your wet hair. He’d be smelling you, his favourite scent, and he’d be touching you, his favourite feel. Fucking perfect.

But you weren’t responding to his texts. Usually you replied back pretty quickly because your phone practically never left your side, being the social butterfly you were (as much as Rafe didn’t want to admit).

Maybe you accidentally left it behind when you went to grab his drink. Yeah, that was it. You weren’t ignoring him. You couldn’t be.

So Rafe decided to head straight to the bar to check if you were there.

On the way, he bumped into a few completely fucking wasted dudes who apologised through incoherent mumbles. Rafe only scowled at them and pushed past. He wasn’t going to waste time on beating them up.

But when he reached the open bar and saw you talking to the fucking bartender of all people, his fist clenched so hard there were nail imprints in his palm. It didn’t help that you were laughing, and the bastard was grinning like he won you over or some shit.

“That bakery’s the fuckin’ best, lemme tell you,” Rafe heard the bartender saying. Fucking Maybank. Was he flirting with you? “Old Agatha’s the sweetest baker in town. Gives you discounts if she remembers you. Poor lady’s got amnesia or some— Hey, is that Mr. Whiskey?”

Rafe watched as your head tilted to the side, then turned towards him. His heart fluttered at the smile that spread on your face, and a matching one appeared on his, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Baby!” you greeted him in surprise, sliding off your seat to welcome him into your warm embrace.

Rafe melted a little against you, arm sliding to your back, lips finding your temple in a greeting kiss. Though his gaze never strayed from Maybank. “Hey, pretty girl. You got my drink?”

You nodded in that adorable way of yours and jerked your head in Maybank’s direction. Your hand reached out to grab the glass of whiskey, which was condensing on the sides.

“So Cameron’s the boyfriend?” Maybank noted in amusement, but Rafe could see the evident jealousy pooling in those blue eyes.

The confusion that flickered across your face made the possessiveness in Rafe flare up. Then realisation flashed in your eyes as you looked between him and Maybank.

“Hey, you’re JJ!” you finally pointed out, recognition in your smile. Rafe clenched his jaw a little harder. “Aren’t you a little underage for this bartending shit?”

Good, asking the right questions. Soon enough, you’d be realising what a dipshit Maybank was and pulling Rafe away towards the pool, where he could finally indulge himself in you.

Maybank only flashed a smile that irritated Rafe to no end. “No one cares, long as I get the job done,” he chuckled, wiping his side of the bar with a wet cloth. Then the fuckass Pogue dared to lock eyes with Rafe. “How’s the party, Rafe? I see you were havin’ some fun, huh?”

And then Maybank gestured subtly to his nose, and Rafe almost leapt over the counter to break it.

You huffed out an awkward laugh, head dipping to look at your feet. Rafe felt your hand tugging at the hem of his polo, but he still spat, “Mind your own goddamn business, JJ.”

You tugged again, grip tightening on the glass of whiskey and pulling him away from the bar. Rafe smirked when he realised you didn’t even say goodbye to Maybank, arm moving to wrap around your shoulders, bringing you close to press a kiss to your cheek.

“You didn’t see my texts,” he mumbled lowly into your ear, accepting the whiskey from you as you led him out to the backyard. “Left your phone behind?”

The sheepish smile on your face made Maybank’s irritating smirk disappear from his mind immediately. “Was just gonna grab your drink and come back. Didn’t plan on talkin’ so long. Also, you didn’t have to be so rude to JJ,” you chided him in that cute way of yours, your brows stitching together slightly.

Rafe only shrugged and took a sip of whiskey.

“He’s an underage Pogue at a party with adults and alcohol.”

You shot him a look of disbelief. “That was once you, baby.”

──────

“One more round, baby, I swear,” you promised Rafe, clutching at his polo tee’s collar while subtly dragging him to the table in the middle of the room.

He sighed but followed you anyway. “Alright, pretty girl. You better win or we’re walkin’ home tonight.”

You only flashed him a grin that made him channel all his confidence in you. He was sure you’d win — after all, you’d been to too many parties not to.

Rafe stuck by your side (literally) as the round of beer pong progressed. He kept his arm slung around your shoulder, cheering you on as you went back and forth with your opponent.

So far, you were winning — by a landslide. More than half of your opponent’s cups were emptied and tossed in the trash.

But he noticed you were getting a little too tipsy to drive the two of you home, so when your opponent scored in the next turn, Rafe offered to down the beer for you.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll drink it,” he murmured low in your ear, reaching for the red solo cup filled to the brim with beer before you even moved towards it.

Just before he took a sip, the loud protests from your opponent made him pause.

He lowered the cup, raising an eyebrow. “What’s your problem?”

Your opponent, a tall, lanky dude Rafe vaguely remembered dealing coke to, laughed dryly, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Y’all hear this?” he announced to the whole fucking party, pointing exaggeratedly at you and Rafe. “What’s my problem, Cameron? My problem’s that your girl’s the one playin’, not you! So let her drink, yeah?”

Your eyes narrowed and you immediately defended Rafe, much to his delight, “Don’t think we made rules before we played.”

“You were drinkin’ fine, beautiful!” That little nickname made Rafe’s hold on your shoulder tighten. “What? You got a drink limit? Daddy and Mummy ain’t allow you more than five shots?”

And then he dared to laugh. The fucker dared to laugh at you, about something that wasn’t even true. Rafe knew your parents didn’t care about that kind of shit, only that you took care of yourself and didn’t get into trouble.

But, oh, trouble was coming.

In the form of bloody fists and screams.

You didn’t even stop Rafe when he started stalking towards the other end of the table. That asshole deserved to have his nose punched in. He made shit up, unprovoked. And one thing you hated with your entire gut was spreading lies.

“Ooh, the guard dog’s boutta pounce!” the bastard laughed loudly, clearly drunk off his mind, then whistled as Rafe came closer and closer. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe the dude was just stupid, but he didn’t look one bit afraid of Rafe.

But everyone else watching? They were all taking slow steps backwards, unwilling to be caught in the crossfire.

Not you, though. You were satisfied watching from your very up-close position.

“I remember you, Gale,” Rafe said lowly, nodding his head a little as he gripped Gale’s chin and turned his head harshly. Then his voice dipped even lower, into a whisper that could only be heard by them both, “Twenty bucks short but I still sold to you. And you wanna talk ‘bout my girl like that? Okay. Sure.”

Splat.

Or crack?

Whatever it was, you were sure it was somewhere in between.

You had to stifle a laugh when Rafe’s fist pulled away to reveal Gale’s crooked nose and the blood flowing down his nostrils. His eyes were blown wide with fear, as if he hadn’t expected the punch (stupid boy).

“That was for last time,” Rafe drawled once more, stepping closer again, clenching his bloody fist. Then he threw another punch straight to Gale’s gut, which pulled shocked gasps from all bystanders, even you (except yours was more of an amused laugh).

“That was for my girl.”

It should have ended there, with Gale spitting out blood onto the ground. It was going to, because Rafe was already walking back towards you with that smug smile, but Gale’s friend decided to throw a punch at your boyfriend when he was unaware.

Which led to Rafe ending up on the ground with a growing bruise at the corner of his right eye.

“You think you’re so manly, huh? Protecting your little girlfriend?” the friend mocked, gripping Rafe by the collar. Rafe quickly regained his balance and sent a punch straight to the guy’s jaw.

The crack you heard was satisfying enough to let you know it was broken.

At this point, people weren’t even backing away. They were getting closer, trying to capture every detail of the fight on their phones. While you stood there watching, arms crossed, wondering when you should intervene.

You knew Rafe would whine nonstop if you dragged him away before he got to properly do the asshole in, so you let the fight continue for a while.

It was only when you heard your name that you perked up.

“With a pussy like that, no wonder you’re so keen on keepin’ her around,” the friend snarled as he got up from the ground, sporting a bloody lip, broken jaw and a bruise likely forming on his abdomen.

He didn’t even see you coming.

You stalked up behind him, so silent that not even Gale was able to warn him before you were kicking under his legs, making him lose his balance. Your hands gripped his shoulder and arm and pushed him to the ground, pulling a loud groan from him.

He stared at you like you had six pairs of eyes.

“You wouldn’t be able to lock a pussy down if you tried,” you spat at him where he lay on the ground, leaning down to punch his nose in. The crack you heard made you smile, and you were about to go in for a second punch when Rafe wrapped an arm around your waist.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered in your ear, tugging you away from the guy on the ground.

The crowd made way for the two of you, fists bloody but smiles wide.

And the party continued like nothing had happened.

──────

You drove the truck, of course, back to your place. Rafe had the privilege of being your passenger princess for a good twenty minutes, rambling on about how hot you looked standing over that guy, and wishing that it was him you were on top of.

He was so engrossed in complimenting you that he didn’t even realise you reached your parents’ driveway.

“Babyyyy, it’s three AM,” Rafe pointed out as you opened his door, seatbelt still buckled. His hair was falling over his eyes, strands that fell out of their gelled position on his head when he got into that fight. “Your parents are gonna kill me if they see me like this.”

He swore you were an angel with a halo for a second. He could see it when you smiled at him. He could.

“They won’t, Ray, I swear,” you reassured him in that velvety voice of yours that made him melt. Rafe slipped out of the passenger seat very ungracefully before falling into your warm embrace.

Just what he wanted.

But then you were groaning under his weight, and he was forced to hold himself up in fear of injuring you. He never wanted you to get hurt because of him — which you were right now, with your split and bloody knuckles.

Rafe mumbled a whole lot of bullshit as you supported him towards the front door, arm wrapped protectively around his waist. It was more because of the alcohol and coke in his system than the injuries he sustained.

“If my parents wake up, just tell them what happened, okay?” you murmured softly, guiding him up the stairs one step at a time. You rolled your eyes when you realised he didn’t hear you and was fully focused on your face. “Hurry up, handsome. Before I leave you on the stairs and lock you out of my room.”

That snapped him out of his daze. He blinked quickly and started rushing up the stairs clumsily, almost tripping on the very last step of the landing — but you were there to save him before his face hit the ground.

“M’saviouuuur,” he slurred as his forehead fell to your shoulder, nose twitching as he inhaled your scent deeply. “Mmm. You smell like heaven, angel.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that grew on your face as you dragged him towards your room (which took a lot less time than you expected).

Once you shut the door, Rafe was already lying on your bed, legs dangling off the edge like a child, mumbling incoherently, “… I die? ‘S feels … heav’n … Mmph, they got dogs in heaven …”

A soft laugh escaped your lips as your golden retriever, Theodore, snuggled up to your boyfriend as soon as he lay down on your sheets. Theo basically flattened Rafe to your mattress, pinning him down with his fluffy body.

“Careful, Theo. Ray’s injured,” you warned your dog sternly, to which he let out a soft ruff in response. He wasn’t being rough with Rafe, just providing the affection the boy desperately needed.

Rafe grinned giddily like a child who got his favourite you, wrapping his arms tightly around Theo. He was about to smush his face into the golden fur when you stopped him with a gentle hand.

He melted back into the sheets obediently.

“I gotta clean you up, pretty boy,” you chuckled in that angelic voice of yours, and Rafe found himself listening to your every word. He was in no position to fight back. Besides, he was very much content with his life right now.

In your bed, with your dog, in your house, beside you? Yeah. He could live like this forever.

You patiently helped Rafe up your bed, then left him to grab the first aid kit you kept somewhere in your room — courtesy of the many fights both you and your boyfriend got into constantly.

Minutes later, you were seated cross-legged between Rafe’s legs, tending to the bruise at his right eye, his aching hands tracing gentle patterns beneath your shirt. When you hit the trigger spot of the bruise, Rafe flinched a little, and you immediately pulled away.

“No, no, wait—” Rafe scrambled out, one hand lifting to grip onto your wrist, preventing it from getting farther. “‘S okay. I’m fine. Continue, please.”

With the way he said it? Soft and gentle, so unlike the usual intimidating Cameron persona he usually wore? You couldn’t do anything but heed his words.

“‘M sorry we left so early,” he apologised after only three seconds of silence. He could never stand silence, even with you.

“It’s alright. I was tired anyway.”

“No you weren’t. You just didn’t wanna deal with my bullshit anymore.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m dealing with your bullshit as we speak.”

“That’s different,” Rafe retorted with a deep frown, bright blue eyes fixing you with a heatless glare. You had to stifle your giggle at how adorable he looked, hair all tousled as he tried to be angry with you but failed miserably. “This isn’t bullshit. This is real shit.”

Now, that? You couldn’t hold back your laughter at that. A smile split your face as your head fell, soft chuckles bubbling in your chest as Rafe pouted hard in your peripheral vision, bottom lip jutting out dramatically like a petulant child.

He was muttering something about not understanding what you found so funny when you interrupted him, “You’re not making any sense, handsome. Maybe just stick to sitting pretty while I fix you up, yeah?”

The teasing twinkle in your eye didn’t go unnoticed by Rafe. He almost let out a pathetic whine, but he held it back for his dignity.

Many minutes passed — maybe ten, at least — and you were finally done fixing him up. You’d applied some cream to his eye bruise and split knuckles, then bandaged those knuckles for him (albeit with some struggle, since Rafe couldn’t seem to stop reaching out to touch your waist).

Then suddenly, Rafe spoke, “So you think I’m pretty.”

Your eyes snapped up at that. You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow subtly. Of course you thought he was pretty. Rafe Cameron was always pretty.

“Yeah, baby,” you acknowledged his words with a tender squish of his cheek. He didn’t scrunch his nose at you like he usually did — that kind of set off a few alarms in your head. “Is there something wrong with that ... ?”

Rafe immediately shook his head, so fast in the action that he almost got whiplash from it. It made you all the more concerned for him.

“No!” he seemed to protest for the second time that night, clinging to you tightly like you’d disintegrate if he let go even a fraction. “No, baby. You— You said I should just ... stick to sitting pretty.”

A long pause which made your heart beat faster.

“Do you like that?”

“What?”

“Do you like it when I sit pretty for you? I know you love posting me on your Instagram. So I thought you must really like it when I sit pretty for you.”

Your expression was now one of amusement. A smile was begging to be released onto your face, evident in the way your brows furrowed like you were trying your hardest to restrain it. Rafe only looked at you like you hung the stars — fuck, he was so, so, so high off his mind.

Then you laughed. A low, chesty laugh that had your pathetic boyfriend grinning wildly like he just won a million-dollar lottery. All because you laughed.

“You’re fucked, baby,” you sighed with a fond smile, shaking your head as you dragged Rafe further down the bed so he could finally sleep. “So, so fucked in your head. But yeah, I love it when you sit pretty. Especially with your hair all messy, lips swollen, clothes off—”

“Babyyy,” Rafe whined lowly, snuggling up to you under the covers and burying his face into your neck. He inhaled deeply, his body relaxing entirely at your comforting scent. “Don’t start things you can’t finish.”

Instead of humouring him, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, cradling his head closer to you, fingers scratching gently at his scalp. He released a soft sound at that, something that resembled a moan, if you listened closely enough. A smirk tugged at your lips.

“Go to sleep, Ray. You’re tired,” you insisted when he clung tighter to you, nibbling lightly on your collarbone. You knew he just needed to feel you close.

Rafe didn’t respond for many long moments, so long that you thought he’d fallen asleep already. But suddenly, he shifted.

“I’m hard. Jerk me off?”

“No, baby. Go to sleep.”

A huff. “Theo?”

“In his bed. Sleep, darling.”

“Jerk me off first.”

“No.”

“Please?” God, he sounded like he was going to cry.

“You’ll get over it.”

A groan sounded, his hips rolled into yours, but he didn’t say anything else.

Thank God he fell asleep.

EXTRA SCENE !

EARLIER, BEFORE THE PARTY …

It was a huge, fucking relief that the kid had inherited his biological mother’s shamelessness.

Mattheo pushed past only a few irritated students and parents on his way to you. Sirius’ words were as clear as day to him. They ignited a flame that wasn’t known for its swift ceasing.

“Who are you to be the judge of that?” he gritted out, fingers clinging onto yours by habit. You smiled down at him, wrapping your arm around his shoulders. “Last I remembered Mum telling me, you ditched her after graduation and never reached out. You have no right to even be speaking to her.”

Your son’s words sizzled a hole into your heart. You hadn’t expected him to remember the measly details about a man who was irrelevant in his life. The last time you’d mentioned Sirius, Mattheo was merely five. He’d asked, “Mama, why don’t I have a dad?”

How could you not answer him?

Eighteen years ago, you would have laughed if someone said you’d be a single mother. Sixteen years ago, you would have laughed, along with Sirius, at the prospect of being parents.

Ten years ago, you held in your distaste for children and took in a three-year-old.

And you wouldn’t let the man who’d left your heart in pieces disregard the hard work you’d put in.

Sirius’ dry laugh left you clenching your teeth, hands itching to curl into fists and punch him square in the face. “Stay out of this, kid,” he snapped, not even bothering to glance at Mattheo.

You sent him a right hook straight to his chiseled jaw, hearing a soft crack sound at the impact.

Silence fell over the courtyard like a thick, suffocating blanket, but not before gasps echoed from every corner of the open space. Sirius held trembling fingers to his left jawbone, lips parted in absolute bewilderment. He stared off into the empty space beside Mattheo.

A few rustles sounded as someone shoved past students clad in their black robes. Harry froze, halting just before he ended up in the middle of the ongoing catfight.

A dazed Remus materialised from behind him, eyes widened as he took in the scene.

“YN,” the lanky man rasped, eyes flitting between you and his best mate. Sirius still had his hand pressed to the side of his insolent-looking face, but now he was glaring you down, brows virtually stitched together. “YN, you’re here.”

Mattheo tugged on your arm and you stepped back, the greater distance between you and your ex clearing the haze from your mind. You tried not to roll your eyes at Remus’ quite apparent observation.

“Yes, I am, Lupin.” The edge in your voice gave way to pure rancour, eyes hardening when Sirius righted himself with a groan. You had half the heart not to utter the next few words. “You’re not the only one with a child.”

By now, the prying eyes of passers-by had redirected somewhere else, no longer interested in your dispute with two of the Marauders.

Remus’ gaze lingered on Mattheo — his dark curls, his defined brows, his nose, the scar that marred his cheek intimidatingly. He looked close to nothing like you, save for his body language, graceful yet sharp, and his clothing choices, casual yet sophisticated.

Even if the kid wasn’t your blood, it was painfully blatant that he was raised by you.

The professor swallowed the lump in his throat. “Riddle’s yours?” The question was stupid, but he was too dumbfounded to think of another one.

Sirius groaned, running a hand down his face. You relished in seeing him wince at the pain that struck his jaw. Mattheo, on the other hand, seemed more than ready to rip him apart.

“You might wanna stop there, Moony, or she’ll have you puking out your guts,” Sirius sneered, the unfamiliar sound sending a tremble down Harry’s spine. His godfather had never been so agitated before. It might’ve just been your presence that irked him, given the woeful tone Sirius would adopt whenever he shared stories about your relationship back then.

You couldn’t help the scoff that left your lips. “You wouldn’t know what it’s like to have someone claim your son isn’t really yours, would you? Because Harry isn’t your son. He’s your dead best friend’s son.”

A brief flicker of hurt crossed Sirius’ grey eyes. It tugged at your heartstrings, but you shoved the feeling aside. You had no compassion for him. He’d shattered you — how could you possibly go back to him?

Mattheo turned to you with a plea in his eyes. While he normally would contribute with some snarky comments of his own, he didn’t want you getting into a brawl. Especially when this was the topic at hand.

“Mum,” he tried, voice firm but holding a semblance of vulnerability he’d only ever show around you. “Don’t do this. He’s not worth it.”

At that, Sirius whipped out his wand and jabbed at your chest with the tip. Mattheo almost broke the man’s ribs, but you pushed him aside before he could get caught in the altercation.

The former Gryffindor looked nearly like a rabid dog with the way he snarled and growled, wand tip digging painfully into your collarbone.

“Not worth it? That’s what I was to you? What you told your son I was?” His voice sank deeper than the depths of the ocean. Harry didn’t recognise the man who looked like his godfather.

You gripped his wand tight, nearly snapping it in two if Sirius hadn’t yanked it away harshly. “The moment you abandoned me on my own doorstep, you became a stranger!” you raged, keeping your volume in check before another crowd formed. “When you didn’t call, or even send a bloody letter, I gave up waiting on you. What could I do? Cry all night because you weren’t there to hug me? Trudge around my house blindfolded because everything reminded me of you? I knew better than that. I moved away, and you weren’t there to stop me. So why are you here now, claiming my kid isn’t mine and acting offended that he thinks you’re of no worth to me?”

Mattheo held his breath when you spat the words you’d been holding in for years. He knew you were tenacious and resolute in all your glory, but he’d never witnessed you so livid. He had little to no knowledge of how Sirius had left you so wounded and exposed, though now, your words began assembling the puzzle pieces he’d collected over the years.

He noticed whenever you stopped for a moment, looking longingly at an object that meant nothing to him, but a lot more to you. You would sometimes, subconsciously, style his hair differently when it grew too long. Right now, as he glanced between you and Sirius with his waves, he realised why.

“Seriously, Sirius?” He heard the crack in your voice when your ex didn’t respond. Out of guilt or fury, he didn’t know. “You made your decision, and I have made mine.”

You shoved the dark-haired man off of you, causing him to stumble backwards and lose his footing. Remus darted forwards, barely managing to catch Sirius in his arms, sparing him from the unforgiving impact of the ground. Hushed whispers were exchanged as the latter righted himself, sending you a glare while holding his injured jaw.

It was only after a quiet, indignant huff that you turned to your son and placed benign hands on his shoulders.

Leaning down slightly, you brushed a stray hair away from Mattheo’s forehead, smiling as tenderly as you could. “Are you ready to leave, Theo?” you murmured sweetly, a stark contrast to your previous bite. The sudden shift in tone induced whiplash.

Mattheo flashed a charming grin that reminded Remus of your own. Whatever Sirius had said about the Slytherin boy not being your son was possibly the most erroneous statement ever uttered.

You mirrored his expression, though yours was gentler and didn’t reach your eyes. Your son’s enthusiasm flickered for a moment, but when you stood to your full height and led him away, Mattheo began cheerfully rambling about the recent happenings at Hogwarts and his own escapades.

Sirius couldn’t believe that he’d just seen you for the first time in more than a decade. He especially couldn’t fathom the fact that it had gone terribly.

He shouldn’t have said Mattheo wasn’t your kid. That isn’t something you say to your ex you’ve been thinking about for sixteen years after you ditched her. Now that he’d put it that way, he realised how horribly he had acted towards you and your son.

Your son. It was a foreign term to him, principally when it came to you. The you he’d known in Hogwarts had an unyielding repugnance for children. But, he figured, you were really only averse to the toddlers who didn’t listen. You must have raised Mattheo well.

“That was awful,” Harry quipped, raising an eyebrow at his godfather. Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face and wincing when his jaw decided it was too much.

He sighed, brows stitched together. “I know.” But what did it matter?

Remus patted him on the back. “If you’re lucky, you might see her again,” he reassured his friend, though skepticism snuck between his words.

“If she even wants to see me again.”

Harry had a feeling that you didn’t.