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blueraineshadows · 6 months

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Life Blood Part One

Vampire Garreth Weasley x F!MC

NSFW 🔞 vampire violence, adult themes

This week's Weasley Wednesday theme in the Garreth's Groupies Discord: Halloween 🎃

This is an AU world where Garreth is a vampire. Old, dangerous, and very beautiful. He stalks a lovely librarian who has a secret of her own.

The shadows had become his friend over the years, his shield and his comfort, a cloak to cover his footsteps and hide his truth. Cities had many shadows, dark corners, and sinister alleyways that provided fruitful hunting grounds, opportunities to stalk and watch for the next feed.

For there was always the ravenous hunger, the dark and desperate need to satiate the craving for blood.

His awakening to his dark form had been a terrible and agonising horror that had ripped apart everything he had known about himself. Once a soft and innocent boy, his nature had transformed into something harder, darker, and instinctive. To truly be at one with this transformation, it had taken many years and the guidance of the one who had turned him.

Time had stretched, days were mere nothingness, now a drop in the ocean in his immortal life. It been a long time since he had seen his sire, no longer in need of the guidance, able to glide softly through his days and take what he needed with the blink of an eye and stolen whispers.

The vampire thought he had forgotten the boy he had been.

His eyes glittered in the darkness, the shadows no barrier against his sharpened sight. The mossy green of his eyes darkened and flickered with red, the pupils widening into dark orbs of hunger as his nose delicately picked up a scent. He paused and pressed up against the old brick of a building, ears trained for the sound of approaching steps. The scent carried on the air, filtered through the wafts of trailing mists that drifted from the old river. It teased at his nose, the steady warmth of its pulse making his mouth water, and the familiar ache in his gums made him press his lips together in anticipation.

It was a male. His scent grew stronger as he made the turn into the narrow passageway, the hint of sweat and alcohol combined with that heady, bitter call of his life blood. His footsteps staggered a little, and he cleared his throat. Drunks were not ideal, and neither were the sick, but when opportunities wandered so freely into his path, the vampire was not going to waste it.

As the figure of the man came into view, the vampire licked his lips, eyes narrowing as the blood lust flared with delicious heat. He stepped out from his shadow, steps silent, his hand reaching out to connect with the drunk man's chest. The steady thump of a heart beneath his clothing seemed to clash against the vampire's palm, the life force of a delicate human body. It fascinated the vampire. He could no longer recall how that felt. He had forgotten that warmth and the desire to feel it tingled on his tongue.

The gentle glow of moonlight lit their faces, the drunk was flushed and grizzled, a working man if his ruggedness was anything to go by. The vampire, in comparison, was immaculate in a suit, skin pale and dusted with delicate freckles, his hair a shiny golden red, the waves framing his eerily handsome face. The vampire was the image of a cultured gentleman, soft and alluring, but the eyes told a different tale. His hunger made a mockery of that soft imagery, deep and insatiable, his age adding a depth of wisdom to his powerful allure.

"Wandering alone in the dark?" The vampire spoke softly, a hint of amusement underlying the colder edge to his tone. "Tut, tut, sir. Have you not heard? There is a predator on the loose."

The drunk swayed on the spot, squinting through the darkness with his mortal eyes, his hand coming up to try and push away the vampire's cold touch and failing.

"What? Get off me," he slurred. "Fool."

The vampire tilted his head, the movement slow and deliberate as his mouth turned upwards in a knowing smile. Oh, how beautiful was his smile.

"It is not I who is the fool."

In a movement that was more of a blur, the vampire grabbed the front of the drunk's coat and pressed him to the wall, ignoring the mutters of complaint as he dragged back the collar to reveal flesh, the flutter of a pulse a vivid thing, and he bit deep. Sharp teeth broke through the sweat laced skin with ease, and immediately, the warm blood began to pulse onto the vampire's tongue, his eyes rolling at the delicious sweetness that tingled through him. He sucked with a ravenous hunger, drawing deeply despite only feeding a short while ago.

It had only meant to be a taste. A little snack if you will. But all too soon, the drunk became limp in his strong grip, the ruddiness leaving his skin, his pallor becoming a deathly white.

The vampire lifted his head, blood shining on his lips, his teeth bared as he breathed deeply in satisfaction. One look at the drunk told him he was dead. His body drained, his heart left with nothing.

Once, the vampire would have been overcome with guilt, he may have even sobbed at his actions. But the years had conditioned him to bear these burdens easier. The guilt was there, but he stored it away. Needs must and all that.

However, the vampire was not completely without morals. He set the man down gently. He straightened his jacket and put a gentle hand to his cheek. Perhaps someone would miss him, grieve for him. The vampire hoped so. But these were not his problems.

As he stood, the vampire took one last look at the victim's face and stored it away. He always took a last look. Then, he returned to the shadows. There were a few more hours of night time to wait through before the dawn, and he needed to make a regular stop.

He needed to go and see her.

....*....

In the six months of lingering in the shadows of the city, it had been easy to memorise the many twists and turns, the busy streets and local hot spots. Without the need for sleep, he had the time, and he had been to so many cities in the world now that he was beginning to realise that they were similar in lots of ways.

There was the theatre district, a plentiful delight of a place, the nights always busy with a myriad of scents to tempt his hunger. Taking in a show amused him, and he would peruse the gathered audience and pick out the ones that tempted him. The arrogant man with Daddy's money burning a hole in his pocket was a favourite, or maybe the lonely woman with tragic eyes. He was always drawn to those. Once, he had wanted to soothe them, take away the sadness in their eyes, but the hunger always won out in the end, and he would feed with ravenous abandonment.

The docks were often a good spot for a stranger to draw a feed from, travellers far from home that would not be missed so quickly. It was best to avoid the more opulent parts of the city, as satisfying as it was to drain the life out of a stuffy politician, they were easily missed. The vampire only took these risks when he was feeling particularly reckless or angry with his lot. Luckily, these episodes were few and far between as time progressed.

When he had been a young creature of the night, he had frequented hospitals and jails, taking the lives of the sick and the unworthy. His sire had mocked him for his kindness and urged him to embrace the beauty of what he had become. The vampire had resented this sentiment, and while the blood of the sick was not satisfactory, the vampire took it and suffered the bitter taste in order to bear the burden of his sorrow. Again, the appetite he harboured always craved more, and his hunting grounds had expanded. Slowly, he had begun to embrace who he was.

One area of a city that drew creatures of the night was the taverns, or pubs, frequented by whores. These ladies of pleasure were also creatures of the night, used to slake the lust of others. It may not be a feed of the blood letting kind, but it eased a hunger of sorts.

The vampire recalled his first whore as he moved swiftly through the shadows across the city. She had been young and beautiful, eyes dark and tempting as she offered him her body. The tease in her gaze had turned to cold fear when realisation had struck. The horror she had felt in those last moments had weighed heavy on the vampire, even though the thrill of her sinful blood had warmed him wonderfully, his own body still flushed from the sins of their joined flesh.

He had never forgotten her eyes, and had stayed clear of feeding from whores unless the need was desperate. After all, like himself, they had not chosen their nightly lifestyle, it was their only option. The men who went to them were often foul and disgraceful. The vampire was not above waiting outside the doors and pouncing on their lust eased bodies, draining them dry and leaving them to rot. The soft heart in him rationalised it as a way of protecting those beautiful, sinful creatures, just as he wished someone had been able to protect him.

As he approached the corner of the street he wanted, the vampire paused in the shadow of the building, his gaze surveying the darkened street. He came every night now. It was like a ritual, and he needed to stick to it. The risk of being spotted and recognised made his assessment of her street imperative. He did not want to lose the option of returning.

Slowly, anticipation lingering in his limbs as he neared her home, the vampire was glad of his recent feed. He knew that once he saw her, his hunger would flare, and he must reign it in. Her scent was intoxicating. It took everything in him to keep a leash on his restraint. He wanted to devour her, taste her flesh, and feel the warmth of her life blood on his tongue.

She was alluring and captivating, she plagued his daydreams and he ached to know her. But he could not. How could he? She would run from him, and he would not blame her. One so ethereal in her beauty and innocence would baulk if a monster such as he approached her. No. He had taken to watching her from afar, content for the opportunity to lay his eyes upon her. For now. The last few nights had seen him taking risks. Dangerous risks. Just to get a little closer. It was her scent, you see. She was irresistible.

The first time he had seen her, he had been taken back to those long ago days when he had been a mere boy. A boy who had delighted in laughter and pranks, living each moment to its fullest and just being young. There had been a girl at his school who had brought warmth to his cheeks when he looked upon her, her pretty lips and merry eyes had made his heart pound and his hands ache to touch the softness of her skin. The crush had consumed him, filtered through his dreams, and filled his waking thoughts until there was only her.

Years after his turning, he had tracked her down, a woman grown now. He had stood at a distance, not wanting to frighten her. He looked the same as he had the day he was turned after all, he had not aged a day, and he could not risk her recognising him as she read a story to her child before bed. Lingering at the window of her marriage home, seeing the child she had made through her union with her husband, it had made his cold heart remember that ache.

It was soon after this that he realised he needed to let go of the boy he had been. He was gone. That life had moved on, much like the delight of his boyhood heart. The vampire had a new life now, and he needed to embrace it.

....*....

When the vampire slid over the railing of the little window balcony, he paused, the window opening was ajar, the delicate night breeze teasing at the curtain. He planted his feet with predatory softness, moving lithely towards the opening and peering through into the darkened room. Moonlight lit the window behind him, his shadow cast across the floor of the room, the gentle sounds of a sleeping human in his ears as he paused. He had never entered her room before, only watching her sleep through the glass of the window in his promise to himself to not get too close. But, tonight, the window was open, an opportunity that had been sent to tempt him. If only he could make that final step and enter the sanctity of her room, but without an invitation from her own lips, he was stranded.

The minutes passed, and he remained, sat at her window, his eyes never leaving her sleeping form. Her hair was spread across her pillow, her cheeks delicately flushed in her slumber, lips parted with a tempting softness that stirred an old ache in his chest. She was so like the girl from a time long passed, that if he squinted his eyes a bit, maybe she could even be her. But, of course, that was impossible. She was long since dead now, a life lived to old age, and her bones already turned to dust. She was a fragment of his memory now, stored along with countless others, at least until he had laid eyes upon the girl in the bed.

She worked at a nearby library. He had caught her scent when she had left under the cover of darkness and trailed her through the city with the intent of feeding on that delicious warmth. One look at her face, however, had made him pause, his hunger abating a little as he stared. It had stolen his breath, frozen his limbs, and he had been unable to follow through with the hunt. The next night, he had returned to the library, and once again, when she had taken the steps down to the city street, he had followed her. It had been a month now, and he had followed her for many nights, even risking entry to the library itself to witness her beauty under the lights. At night, he would watch her sleep, fascinated, hungry, and oh so very lonely.

The vampire had not moved whilst he sat and observed from her window. He had made no sound, and so, when she opened her eyes and stared right at him, it had been a shock. He did not flinch nor make a sound, but if his heart had been beating, it would have skipped at the sight of her gaze. With eyes locked across the moonlit room, the vampire raced through his options. She had seen him.

He could disappear, jump back from the window, and land on nimble feet to run down the street, never to return. But, the thought of never returning made a chasm yawn empty and dark in his gut. The other option would be to tempt her to the window and drain her, take her life while he held her in his arms, and then try to forget that she had ever existed. But, forever was a long time to try and forget one so beautiful, and he knew from previous experience how difficult and mournful that would be. Every girl with similar eyes would haunt him. Girls with that shade of hair would turn his head and make him yearn. He did not want to take her from this mortal realm.

She sat up, her hair cascading over her shoulder, the bed cover slipping down to reveal the flimsy bed attire she wore. A hunger of a different kind swept over the vampire, his tongue slipping out to coat his lips as he eyed the smoothness of exposed flesh in the moonlight. Her beauty was outstanding, and his eyes were ready to become drunk on the very sight of it.

"I know you watch me," she said quietly. "It is why I left the window open."

His breath whispered softly past his lips. "Why would you leave the window open for me?"

One shoulder lifted, and she tilted her head, fingers toying with the bed cover. "I'm not entirely sure, but I know that you are not what you seem."

Her eyes met his. Curiosity and an eagerness lit their depths. There was no fear, and it made him consider her intently.

"I have been doing some research ever since I saw your face. I think I know what you are," she continued.

"And yet, you are not afraid? You open your window to me willingly?"

She took a deep breath and slid from the bed, her night gown dropping to mid thigh, his eyes following the curve of her leg as she walked to a desk in the corner of the room. The moonlight shifted the material of her nightgown, drawing it in tempting lines against the curve of her hips. His hunger was a tightly leashed beast, and he tensed as she approached the window, her scent so close that he could almost taste it. In her hands, she held a file, slipping out a sheet of paper that was a copy of a newspaper article. She held it up to him.

Bodies found drained of blood, the theories bandied about and the gossip rife. It was a familiar tale across many cities and years, and it was why he had to be careful. It was why he moved on and took turns in the cities of the world in order to stay one step ahead.

He looked from the article to her, his expression one of calm as he raised an eyebrow. She hesitated and then pulled out more and more clippings, older and older, pages of notes that she had taken in her research until she slipped an old photograph from a battered sleeve. This time, her fingers trembled as she held it up, her eyes shining as she stared at him, the flicker of fear there behind the unshed tears.

"It's you. It has to be."

The vampire stared at the photograph, the image so old and faded now but undeniably him, his youthful face so sincere as he posed for his school book entry. The innocence of his youthful gaze was a memory as faded as the photograph, and yet it made him hurt in ways he had forgotten. Pain that he had buried deeply seized him, choked him, and he turned away, unable to stare at that lost boy any longer.

"Perhaps I merely look like him," he said. He tried to put a cold edge to his voice, but he failed. His sire would mock him, call him soft, tease him for not being a better vampire.

"If there is one thing I pride myself on, it is my research," she said. She looked down at the photograph, throat working as she ran a finger tip over his face. "This has to be you, Garreth."

This time, the vampire did startle, his hands gripping the edge of the window, his eyes opening wide. Rarely did he reveal his birth given name to anyone. It wasn't worth it. Either he wouldn't be around long enough to warrant revealing it, or the person was about to die, and it was pointless. A very select few knew the truth, and yet his name had been spoken through her perfect lips, and she held his photograph in her hands.

Their eyes met, something tense and wonderful wrapping around the moment. It was more intimate than he had any right to. His nightly ritual had gone from observing her to hearing his name on her lips, and he found he rather liked it.

"How...?" He swallowed and looked at the photo in her hands. So many questions. "How did you come by that photograph?"

Her gaze was soft, full of wonderous curiosity as she looked at him. "I have wondered many a time what your voice would sound like, and to hear you speak now..." She smiled, a blush staining her cheeks as her words dwindled.

"My grandmother had this photograph inside a file of notes and papers. I found it when my family was clearing out her things after she died. I kept the file a secret and realised she had been following the trail of a suspected vampire. Research continued on from her own mother. I have always believed in things that go bump in the night, and I knew I had to continue on. It is why I took the job at the library."

"Your grandmother?" Garreth frowned in thought, wondering why these women in her family would care to follow his trail. He tensed and stepped back suddenly, a thought so cold and unwelcome entering his mind. "You're hunters?"

Her lips parted, face aghast at his question. "No!" She protested. Her hand flew out, and she reached for his arm, her fingertips grazing the back of his hand as he pulled back further. A shocked gasp left her mouth, and she snatched her hand back, finger tips rubbing together.

"You're... You're so cold... I..."

There it was. There was the fear in her eyes now. Realisation was dawning of what he truly was, and she trembled. His still, undead heart appeared to plummet, hating to see the fear in her gaze now when before she had been so soft and curious. But, it was inevitable, was it not?

"This is why you should not leave your window open, my dear," he said softly. "There are monsters in this world, and you are far too lovely to be pulled into such horrors. You must forgive me for coming here, I should have known better."

He leapt onto the railing, crouching with feline ease, ready to launch himself to the ground, but he couldn't resist one last look back.

"Garreth, please, don't go," she begged. She clutched the photo in her hand, her eyes desperate. "Or, at least come back. I have things I want to show you, I have questions. I mean you no harm... Please?"

The sweet sting of regret tore at him, sad green eyes lingering on the way the moon lit her face. So beautiful. And then he was gone. He leapt from her balcony, landing with effortless ease and then running. He was nothing but a swift, fleeting shadow as his feet ghosted the pavement, running from her, running from himself.

....*....

His dwelling place was nothing fancy, nothing that one would call home. Without the need to sleep, he didn't really require a home as such. There was no need to find a suitable place to lay his head. However, he did require shelter from the daylight hours. Garreth had read many, many books over the years, tales of vampires who lay stiff in their coffins an amusing image he often pondered over. He had yet to witness such a thing, preferring to avoid the trappings surrounding death considering the ease with which he dealt it out.

No, for him, sanctuary from the sun could simply be a cosy barn and a book. Perhaps a day inside a museum, or even exploring caves and mysterious forests under the cover of trees. A thick cloak on particularly gloomy days was often sufficient and offered him the chance to observe the world in its waking hours. Or, he would simply take a room and relax.

Today, Garreth did something that he did only on rare occasions. He opened a small chest that he kept inside his travelling trunk, a selection of old world potions and oddities inside that he procured from alchemists on his travels. He had a keen interest in such things and had an old friend in Italy who had taught him the science. If he were to truly settle in a place, then alchemy was high on his list of pass times to dabble in.

The potion was golden in colour, the liquid a shimmering sparkle under the lamplight. As he drank it down, it felt like sunshine itself spreading through his body. It had been months since he had last walked under the sun, and today, he was going to take that risk. A fool's risk.

Walking the city free from the shadows put a pep in his step, he tipped his head to a few lovely ladies, his smile so charming, the sunlight lighting the dazzling green of his eyes. With such a charming aura, one could almost ignore the pallor of his frigid skin, the slight darkness under his eyes. The red glow of hunger was firmly under control whilst he was in the company of mortals, playing the role of a gentleman on a stroll with practised perfection as he strolled towards the city library.

Despite his swift exit last night, he apparently couldn't stay away from the girl who had spoken his name. The library loomed up before him, his feet taking the stairs in a skip, and then he was strolling through the doors as though he had every right to be here. The scent of old books and parchment welcomed him, along with the aroma of coffee from the little café inside. The unrelenting scents of life blood was always present, the temptation of it curling like smoke through his body, his instincts on high alert as he navigated study tables and settees, huge bookcases stretching up and up towards the arched ceilings.

Where to look for his night time angel?

He could tell himself as much as he liked that he was doing this because he was curious what other information she held in that file of hers. His empty heart could deny the flutter in his chest at the thought of speaking with her again, to seek out the chance to look into her eyes and have her look back. His lonely existence craved such little things, and having gone so long without it, now that he'd had a taste, the craving was almost as thick as his lust for blood.

He found her in the back of the library, seated at a desk with piles of books stacked around her, her head bent over a massive tome, face set in concentration as she perused the page. The soft glow of the table lamp lit her face, highlighting delicate curves and the light of her eyes.

He stood and admired, drinking in the sight of human warmth and softness, the steady throb of her pulse teasing at his ears. His hunger lingered, prowling at the edge of his consciousness, and he regretted not taking a feed before coming here. As much as he desperately craved her taste, he was loathe to harm her. She had entranced him, swept him along on a tide of foolishness, and he found he didn't require saving. He was all in. She had spoken his name, she knew who he was, and he did not fear it.

Perhaps he should. Perhaps he should move closer and lock gazes with her, summon the masterful trick of compulsion and wipe her memory of him, remove all traces, and take the file from her possession. It would be as though he never existed, and he could vanish into the night, move on to the next city, and put it down as just another memory, a mere moment in a century.

He took a step towards her, silent and sure, and she lifted her head. Their gazes locked, the moment stretching with the same warmth from the night before, and he smiled.

"Good morning," he said softly.

There would be no compulsion tricks today.

....*....

For as long as she could remember, she had been obsessed with ghostly tales and monsters that prowled the shadows. She had delved into the minds of authors who wrote of such things, absorbing their characters set in worlds that were far more fascinating than her own. She longed for the darkness and lore that surrounded these fabled creatures, wished there was truth to the myths.

Her mother had sighed and indulged her love by handing her the books she so greedily consumed over and over again. But, her mother had warned her not to read too much into such tales, encouraged her to dwell in the real world more than in fiction. But she didn't listen.

Instead, she had been drawn into the aura of her maternal grandmother, rushing to her home after school to sit and chat about these myths and legends. Her grandmother had a twinkle in her eye, a love for the unusual, and encouraged her to look deeper.

Not everything is as it seems, she would say, her eyes full of excitement. The moment that she loved the most was curling up and listening to the stories that her grandmother would weave about a young boy who had been turned into a vampire, forced to change into a monster and leave behind the girl he had loved. It was her favourite story, and she had heard it so many times, savouring every detail.

Those memories were precious, and when they had laid her grandmother to rest, she had made sure to say a blessing over her grave to keep the monsters at bay. Her grandmother believed, and therefore she believed, and that belief had carried her through to her meeting with Garreth.

When she had found the old file in her grandmother's belongings, she had hidden it from her mother, knowing that it would be burned or thrown out as nonsense. Sorting through the many pages of notes, the newspaper cuttings, and detailed research, she gasped aloud at the sight of the beautiful boy in the photograph.

Her favourite bedtime story whispered to her in the safety of her grandmother's love, was true. The vampire boy was real, Garreth was real, and now she had a face in a photograph to put to the name.

Her job at the library had come about through her passion for the written word and her thirst to know more. Research was her safe place and she delved ever deeper into the lore of the vampire, every night going to her bed with tired eyes, but always taking a look at that old photograph before going to sleep.

She had memorised Garreth's face, she saw it in her dreams, and realised that a desperate longing had begun to grow within her. If he was real, then he was in the world somewhere. A real-life vampire. She wanted to meet him.

Why her grandmother had this research, and why her great-grandmother had passed it on to her, she had no idea. Her grandmother's passing had been sudden, and she wondered if there was a story to tell behind it all. Perhaps she would never know.

So, when she had left the library one evening, tired and ready to get home, she had not been prepared for the glimpse of a familiar face. It had been brief, so quick that she had almost thought she had imagined it, but it had made her heart pound.

The features had been the same, every line and curve she had studied and memorised so engrained on her brain that she was sure it couldn't have been anyone else. And yet, once home, she had begun to doubt it. The serious voice of her mother echoing in her thoughts, telling her that she needed to get more sleep, she needed to take a break from obsessing over a boy who was probably, in reality, long dead.

Her dreams haunted her. His face would appear, but not as a sepia toned image anymore, but a very real person. A young man with piercing green eyes and freckled skin, waves of beautiful red hair that curled with such softness. It had to be Garreth.

She saw him again, stirring from a dream, blinking into the darkness and seeing a silhouette at her window. This one she did put down to being half asleep and conjuring him into life. But, she just couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her.

In the corner of the library, a shape at the window, a blur on the street corner. Someone. Him. The vampire.

She took to laying awake, curled up beneath the blanket, waiting and watching. Sure enough, the shadow would appear outside the window. She would feign sleep, watching through lowered lids, and he came again and again. She left the library later and later, waiting for the darkness and strained to see and listen as she walked. Not every time, but many times, she caught glimpses.

Her passion and her stubbornness in refusing to give up on this vampire boy had paid off. The fear of the monster he could be didn't phase her. After all this time, she was ready to face whatever Garreth truly was. Her whole life had been leading up to that moment. She was certain of it.

And so, she left the window open. It was an invitation, a welcome. She wanted him to step from the shadows and come face to face with her. After years of longing for that something else, and months of staring at his photo. She wanted to finally see the truth.

He came, he arrived at the window, and this time, she chose bravery and she spoke to him.

....*....

Seeing the vampire in the familiar sanctuary of the library quickened her pulse, the soft lights reflected off his red hair, his pale skin flawless and dusted with freckles. Looking up at him from her seat at the table, her very breath was stolen at his beauty. It was like a magnet pulling her slowly from the real world into dreams as she found herself drowning in depths of green.

"Garreth," she said, softly. "What are you doing here?"

His smile was like a caress. "You expect me to stay away from a young lady who keeps a photograph of me in her bedroom?"

Her cheeks bloomed with sudden warmth, and she swallowed nervously, his charm working a tingling kind of magic that swept over her skin.

"I... I meant no harm," she said. Her hand gripped the edge of the table. Apparently, she was unable to look away from him. Was this some kind of vampire magic? She wasn't sure. There was some suggestion that they had the ability to perform tricks on their prey. The research notes she had being rather vague on the matter meant she couldn't be too sure. What an opportunity she had to find out the truth!

Garreth moved around the table and leant his hand against the top, bending over to look down at the book she was reading. The delicate scent of cologne reached her nose, and a more subtle scent, an alluring tease of clean male that pulled at something rather deep within her belly. Her breath hitched and she leant back a little, intimidated by the overwhelming closeness of him, not just as a vampire capable of draining the very life out of her, but as a man who was very beautiful and alluring.

"Last night, you said you had much more to show me," he said. He turned those green eyes on her again, his face so much closer now, and she could see the delicate strands of red that flecked the iris of his eyes. "I'm curious to find out what else you have hidden away."

Her lips parted as though to speak, but the words failed to leave her mouth. She was enraptured, staring at him as though there was nothing else in the world that mattered. She felt every throb of pulse, every rasp of breath into her starved lungs, and she was leaning forward, drawn in by invisible threads that pulled her ever closer. He held her gaze, his smile borderline wicked, and then he blinked, dropping his gaze from hers and standing up straight.

It was as though someone had clapped their hands in front of her eyes to snap her out of a daze. She blinked a few times and looked around as though she had forgotten where she was, and maybe she had. Her head felt fuzzy, confused, and when she looked back at Garreth, she wondered if she had imagined that strange connection.

His head tilted as he smiled down at her again. "For all your interest, you've never met anyone like me before have you."

She cleared her throat and shook her head. "No. You're the first. How did you know?"

"Your reactions," he smiled and flipped open a book on top of a pile. "A vampire is designed to lure in their victims. Everything, from their scent to their aura, it draws a person in, lures them closer for the inevitable bite. I had thought you might be better prepared for such things. I had expected you to try and stop me."

She gulped, hands flat on the table top. Her gaze flicked to his mouth. When he smiled at her, his teeth had seemed relatively normal, and no huge fangs descended like she had read about. She couldn't help but be curious. His revelation about luring a person in for the kill sent a shiver down her spine. So, it was true.

Is that what he had been doing just now? Tempting her closer... Did he want to bite her?

"Is it true about mind control, then?" She asked, clearing her throat. "Some of my research suggests that a vampire can manipulate the mind and meddle with memories."

He tilted his head slightly, eyes twinkling. "Maybe I have slipped into your mind already," he teased. He leaned over the table top, predatory and borderline irresistible. "Perhaps you already belong to me, and I can do whatever I wish with you."

Her eyes widened. Subtle fear began to make her tremble, and yet she was aroused, skin tingling and her pulse becoming a hot throb. Did that mean he really had invaded her head? She stared at him, curiosity mingling with anxiety.

He was a monster, after all. A very beautiful monster, but one all the same, capable of killing her in the blink of an eye.

"I haven't, by the way," he said softly. His gaze lingered on her mouth before trailing down to her neck. His voice dropped to a whisper. "But it's tempting. You are tempting."

She glanced nervously around them before speaking, her voice dropping to a whisper, her mouth dry. "Are you going to bite me?"

His smile was slow, devastating. "Only if you ask me nicely."

Her lips parted, and she realised with utter shock that the words were right there on the tip of her tongue. She blushed fiercely and clamped her mouth closed lest she speak them. Did she truly want him to bite her? What would it feel like to have his mouth on her throat? Her eyes dropped to his very lovely lips, and she shivered.

A low chuckle sounded in his throat, and he straightened, taking a deep breath and gazing towards the arched window across the room.

"There are many hours of daylight left. However, I am on a time limit. I can not linger for too long," he said. His captivating eyes returned to her, and she met them gladly. "I must take my leave. I could return to you under the cover of night unless you know of somewhere we can talk out of the burning rays of the sun."

Getting to her feet, she smoothed her skirt over her thighs and nodded. "Would you prefer to remain here at the library or go somewhere more private?"

She didn't think she would ever be tired of seeing his smile. He looked so terribly beautiful when he allowed his mouth to do so. Could she trust that smile? How many others had done so and regretted their decision? As mindful she should be of his nature, she could not help the wave of intense curiosity, her drive to delve deeper for answers. It was a balancing act of weighing up the foolishness of daring to dance with a devil, or the foolishness of potentially allowing a real vampire to escape her, taking with him all the knowledge that could fill the gaps in her research.

"I think somewhere more private is in order," he said.

She nodded, a flush of excitement making her tremble a little. A private meeting with a vampire. It was time to see if her choice would pay off. "Of course. Allow me to fetch my things and make my excuses."

....*....

Her home was very different in the daylight. The street bustled with life, the sunlight dappling through the trees, and life of such ordinary and mundane moments carried on around them as they arrived at the building entrance. Garreth observed the street, his heightened senses absorbing everything from scents and sounds to faces and shadows. The predator in him made these instinctive observations, ever mindful that he was not the only hunter.

Turning his focus back on the lovely young lady beside him, his eyes twinkled as she gazed up at him shyly. The delicate pink that bloomed on her cheeks as she dipped her gaze made his hunger claw with savage urgency. Her life blood warmed that soft skin, it called to him as they entered the cooler lobby of the building and took the stairs.

He had not come here to bite her, as tempting as that beautiful neck was. He had come to ease the curiosity she stirred within him. Not just because of her file on him, but because she had stirred up memories and emotions he had thought long since gone. His life as a boy had been brought back to the forefront with one sepia toned photograph and the allure of a beautiful smile.

Following her to her door, her scent drifting under his nose, he realised how vulnerable she really was. Back at the library, he had not intended to use mind control on her, and he hadn't meant to influence her at all, but the hunger had been strong and all consuming. He had called to her through his eyes and his scent, saw the way her pupils had widened in response. If he had so wished, he could have plucked her like a new spring flower and devoured her scent, taken what was so temptingly on offer, and she would have let him.

It was a measure of his self-control and years of honing his skills that he had chosen not to do so. His choice had led him here to where she was safe, and he was not sure if this was the better option. Here, he had her alone. Once she granted him permission to cross the threshold of her door, he could come and go as he pleased. She was inviting the devil into her home, and what if he chose to play?

Her key slid into the lock, and the door swung wide. She stepped through and turned to him, pausing as she looked down at where his feet remained in the hall. She gasped as her pretty eyes lifted to meet his.

"It's true! You can't come in uninvited."

Rather than be fearful, curious delight lit her face, and he marvelled at it. Bravery or foolishness, the girl was full of it. He bowed slightly, hands clasped at his back.

"Yes, it is true. I implore you to consider your next words carefully. Invite me in at your own risk."

Her chin lifted, a stubborn light gleaming in her eyes, but her fingers clutched at her bag with a tight grip. "You won't hurt me. You would have done it already. All those nights, you followed me or waited at my window. Not once have you tried to lay a finger on me."

"Perhaps I like the chase," he said softly.

Her pupils flared, and her throat worked. Such a delicate flutter of pulse, her blood rushing sweet and swift. He could smell the delicate edge of her fear, and yet the stubbornness remained. It stirred him in ways long forgotten, his loneliness reaching out with shadowed fingers towards the fire in her soul.

"Please, come in."

It was said with confidence and yet with softness. His lips twitched, and he bowed once more, his eyes never leaving hers. "You honour me, and I thank you for your invitation."

Slowly, he took a deliberate step forward, his boot crossing the threshold of her door. He was inside. She had welcomed him into her safety, and with a swift flick of his wrist, the door swung closed with a click.

As their eyes locked, the significance of the moment was not lost on him. He had all the power, the notion of it as comfortable and familiar as a good pair of shoes, easily slipped on and reliable. He could reach out and take her, put his mark on her, feed until his skin glowed with her warmth. It made his mouth water, his gums ached with the need to elongate his teeth and pierce sweet skin.

Her beauty called to him, but so did her words. He had questions, and she could give him those answers. He wanted to hear them, but most of all, he wanted to be near her. This was the closest he had ever been and how he longed to feel the pound of his own heart, for he knew that she would make it beat fast and true. His heart had not beat for years upon years, and this girl, this intriguing beauty, made him yearn for something that he had thought out of reach.

He stepped forward, a hand smoothing down the front of his very expensive suit jacket, his smile charming and warm.

"Now then, my dear. What wonderful things can you tell me about your research? I am all ears."

To be continued....

#garreth weasley x mc #garreth weasley #vampire garreth weasley #weasley wed #weasley wednesday #garreth's groupies #blueraineshadows

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the-al-chemist · 6 months

Text

Jitters

So, it’s almost a week late, but I was told that Weasley Week is more about vibes than punctuality. Here’s the final contribution, and this one’s all about Ginny. Thank you @thethreebroomsticksfic for organising such a fun event!

Warnings: mentions of past trauma.

September 2003

Ginny Weasley prided herself on being fiercely independent. Being the only girl in a family of boys, she had learnt to take care of herself and others in a way that her brothers had never been encouraged to. And being the youngest, she had watched each of her older siblings leave home, go to school, and embark on careers, leaving her behind, a little more alone every time.

There was, of course, one time she had allowed herself to become truly vulnerable, to rely on someone else. It had backfired terribly. Ginny had been eleven years old when she had first opened Tom Riddle’s diary. She had been eleven years old when she had stopped trusting anyone, even herself.

That trust had come back, bit by bit. She had made friends, eventually. She had gone on dates, had been heartbroken, had battled, had grieved. She had carved out a career for herself, made a name for herself, had finally gotten to know herself and trust herself again.

So why, on what should have been the happiest day of her life, was she doubting herself?

She loved Harry. She had always loved Harry, even when her definition of love had been a schoolgirl’s infatuation. He made her happy, understood her in a way few others did, and loved her in spite of that. When he had asked her to marry him, her answer had come as swift and as sure as she was on a broomstick.

Right now, she was less sure. Which was unfortunate, because right now, there were only minutes to go before she was supposed to walk down the aisle and marry the wizard.

In moments like this, Ginny preferred to be alone. Declining her bridesmaids’ offers to help her with her dress, she backed out of the vestry and headed for the bathroom, where she stood facing a mirror and holding on to the edges of a sink. Her head was spinning, her heart racing, and her stomach churning. She felt unbearably hot, though the room was cold. She took several breaths, annoyed by how shallow each one was, and found that this was useless. In a final desperate attempt to cool herself down, she turned on the tap and let the water run over her hands before splashing it onto her face.

That was a mistake. Now she had yet another thing to worry about. Her make-up, which she had painstakingly spent the morning doing — she hadn’t permitted anyone else to do it for her — was now entirely ruined. And, even worse, she had left all of her belongings back at the Burrow, not thinking that she would need them over the course of the ceremony. All she could do was try to clean up the mess she had made of her own face.

As she used her wand to remove the smudges from her cheeks, a toilet flushed behind her and a beautiful woman and small girl, both with the same shade of silvery-blonde hair, emerged from a cubicle. Ginny forced a smile as the woman helped the little girl to wash her hands in another of the sinks. Her niece looked particularly cute in her bridesmaid dress, but there was no one she wanted to speak to less at this moment in time than her sister-in-law.

Fleur Delacour-Weasley eyed Ginny over the top of her daughter's blonde head for a few moments before telling her, “I ‘ave makeup in my bag, if you would like some.”

Ginny couldn’t see that she had much choice but to take Fleur up on her offer, so she nodded. Her sister-in-law passed her a dainty clutch bag, which on opening, Ginny found to be far bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside.

“Va chercher ton grand-père, Victoire.” Fleur placed one hand on the back of her daughter’s head and stroked her hair gently as she spoke, and Ginny’s niece skipped out of the bathroom with her clean hands. Ginny expected Fleur to follow Victoire, but instead she turned back towards her and asked, “Would you like some ‘elp with zat?”

“I can do it myself, thanks,” Ginny replied, but her hands were shaking so badly that she was struggling to do anything by herself.

Fleur stood stock still, watching her as she tried and failed to wield mascara with any form of precision. Ginny was growing increasingly impatient and frustrated with herself, with Fleur, with everything. Eventually, she held out Fleur’s bag at arm length and snapped:

“Fine, you do it then, if you think you can do better than me!” Her sister-in-law blinked at her slowly, her lips pursed, and Ginny sighed. “I mean, yes, I’d like some help. Please can you help me?”

Her tone hadn’t been friendly in the slightest. Fleur shrugged and took back her bag.

“Close your eyes,” she told Ginny, who did as she instructed. A soft brush swept over Ginny’s cheeks, and Fleur’s voice spoke to her. “Victoire ‘as freckles like you now. ‘Ave you noticed?”

“No.”

“Zey look quite cute, I zink. A proper Weasley, no? It is a shame zat I’m covering yours up.”

“Yeah, well.” Ginny swallowed. “I’m not going to be a Weasley for much longer. Might as well get rid of the freckles while I’m at it.”

She sounded far more bitter than she intended. She could not see Fleur’s face, but by the way her sister-in-law continued to work on her face, she supposed that she might not have noticed.

“And ‘ow are you feeling about today?”

“Great, obviously. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because it is a big change,” Fleur said. “And because you are in ‘ere splashing water on your face when you should be about to walk down the aisle.” Ginny opened her mouth to argue, but before she could say anything, Fleur instructed, “Open your eyes and look up at the ceiling.”

It was hard to focus her eyes. Ginny could almost feel them filling with tears as Fleur applied mascara to her lashes.

“How did you feel on your wedding day?” Ginny asked Fleur, trying her hardest not to either cry or blink.

“Probably the same as you. ‘Appy, but also a little nervous.”

Ginny looked down from the ceiling and at her sister-in-law. “Really?”

“Yes. I wanted ze day to be perfect, and zere was a war going on, so…”

“So, you weren’t nervous about actually getting married? You didn’t have any… second thoughts or anything?”

Fleur seemed to consider Ginny’s question. When she answered, she did so with a small and almost secretive looking smile:

“Yes.”

“You did?” Ginny was relieved, for some reason. “What about?”

“What are your second thoughts about?” Fleur asked. Ginny sighed.

“I dunno, I just… I’ve worked really hard to get to where I am, Quidditch-wise. I’m worried that once I’m married, no one will care that I’ve done that, they’ll just think of me as Harry’s wife and not my own person, because I won’t be, will I? I’ll be Mrs Potter, not Ginny Weasley, not… Not me.”

Ginny cast a look at herself in the mirror. She never usually wore white, it was too easily dirtied, and she couldn’t remember the last time her hair had been restrained in such an intricate up-do. Even her freckles had been covered with makeup. She scowled at her own reflection.

“I already don’t look like me,” she muttered. “What’s to stop me from just slowly disappearing altogether?”

“I cannot imagine zat will ever ‘appen.”

“It almost did, once,” said Ginny. Fleur was looking at her, and she avoided meeting her eye. “Back when I was younger, that year… That diary, his diary… I put so much of myself into it, I poured myself into it, and before I knew it, there was almost none of me left. I was nearly lost forever, and I…” Her voice tailed off. “I don’t want to lose myself, not ever, not to anyone or for anything.”

Fleur put one hand to Ginny’s hair. For a moment, Ginny thought she might stroke it, the way she had Victoire’s, but instead, she reached back and undid one of the clips. A strand of Ginny’s hair came loose.

“I can see zis,” Fleur said, reaching for another hairclip, “but I don’t zink it is something you need to worry about. Zat diary, it was evil. It wanted you to lose yourself. ‘Arry would never want zat for you, ‘e just wants you, as you are. It is all ‘e ever wanted.”

Ginny took a deep breath. Yet more locks of her hair tumbled around her shoulders as more clips were removed, and Fleur continued:

“Getting married, it does not mean zat you are losing yourself. You are gaining another piece for yourself, making a family zat is yours and someone else’s. It means you ‘ave to share, but you must be used to sharing, with all those brothers you ‘ave.” She chuckled softly, and Ginny felt her own lips twitch. It was true, she was used to sharing. “The only piece of yourself you are giving up is your name, which you don’t ‘ave to do. And zat was ever really your name, either. It is all your family’s name, no? And even if you don’t have zeir name, you are not going to lose your family. Especially your family. You are all very stubborn.”

In spite of everything, in spite of herself, Ginny laughed out loud. Fleur smiled triumphantly and nodded her head at the mirror.

“See? You look more like yourself now.”

Fleur was right. Ginny’s hair was now almost entirely loose, a mane of red curls framing her face. Her freckles were still invisible, but her laugh had caused her cheeks to dimple and her brown eyes to shine with mirth.

Thinking about it, Fleur was right about a lot of things. Harry was not Tom Riddle. He had nothing of Tom Riddle about him, not anymore. And even when he had, he had never once allowed it to consume him, not the way the diary had consumed her. He had never wanted anything from Ginny, except for her to be… well, Ginny. Not Ginny Weasley, not Ginny Potter, just Ginny. In all the time she had been making a name for herself, Harry had accepted her and loved her for herself.

And she loved him. Had accepted him, the way her family had accepted him as one of their own. He might not have their name, but he was still a part of them. She would still be a part of them, even if she didn’t have their name anymore. She wouldn’t lose them.

Harry had lost his family. All he had left of them was their name, the one that was written on a pair of tombstones in the graveyard behind the church in which she stood, where he was standing at the altar waiting for her. Waiting to begin their life together, to share that life together.

There was a knock on the bathroom door, and Ginny’s father’s voice sounded from the other side of it.

“It’s eleven, Ginny. Are you ready?”

Ginny glanced at Fleur, and again at the bathroom mirror, where her own face stared back at her, defiant and stubborn and entirely her own.

“I’m ready.”

#weasley week #ttb #ginny weasley #fleur delacour #weasley family #hinny wedding

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girl-named-matty · 8 months

Text

*The gang right before Ominis' wedding* MC: Well I gotta go, I have a wedding to attend. Garreth: Oh... wait! I have a wedding attend too! Amit: Oh, I have a wedding to attend as well. Everett: I THINK WE ALL HAVE A WEDDINGS TO ATTEND. Sebastian: *panicking* I THINK I HAVE A WEDDING TO OFFICIATE

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy incorrect quotes #hl #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy mc #mc #garreth weasley #Amit Thakkar #Everett Clopton #bro forgot about his own bsf wedding??

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dreaming-about-fanfictions · 1 year

Note

can you do a really fluffy slightly angsty friends to lovers with fred weasley? maybe he confesses at the burrow like he's so frustrated that he's kept it in for so long and basically just lets it all out and reader is shocked and just hugs him and whispers "i love you" or something? Sorry if this is too specific. <333

Thank you for sending this one in! And sorry it took so long <3 I hope you like it!

Fred Weasley x (gn) Reader

This is it.

The end of your friendship.

The confusion written all over your face tells him. The way your eyes widened in shock when the words left his mouth tells him. Those stupid words. He managed to bury them inside him for weeks, months, years, and now they decided to claw their way back to the surface? Now? At his brothers wedding? In the midst of a war?

I’m in love with you.

The melody of a fast-paced song laced with laughter and the hum of conversations floats inside the otherwise silent kitchen of the burrow. Your hands hover over a tray of bewitched cakes Molly asked you to bring. A special gift for the bride and groom, a family tradition involving the dessert and some sort of game you’ve never heard of.

You’re frozen. And Fred wants to run. Or fly. He wants to call for his broom and fly into the dark night sky – away from the burrow, away from the rejection, away from the damn country. Instead he’s frozen too.

You speak first. “Is this a prank?”

His heart plummets. “What?” There’s a croak in his voice and he clears his throat.

“Is this a prank, Fred?” You repeat the question. “Because if it is, I-” You stop mid-sentence. “We’re best friends, Fred. Have been since the day I met you on the Hogwarts Express, please tell me you’re not joking about-” Again, you stop. Then you blink and turn your head, staring outside the window to the wedding tent, blinking away … tears?

Shit. He made you cry. He couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut and now you’re crying because of him. Shit, shit, shit. “It’s not a prank”, Fred says quickly. “I … I’m sorry, I …”

The hug comes out of nowhere. You close the distance between the two of you so quickly, he has no chance to react. He stumbles backwards against the kitchen counter and there you are – in his arms, holding onto him so tightly, the familiar scent of your perfume tingling in his nose. The two of you had hugged a million times over the past years and yet, this one feels different. He wraps his arms around your waist, suddenly scared to let you go again.

And then he hears you whisper: “I love you, too.”

Harry Potter Masterlist

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley imagine #harry potter imagines #fred weasley drabble #wedding celebration

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romione-trope-fest · 2 months

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Speak Now

Title: Speak Now

Author: adenei

Selected Trope: Weasley Weddings

Summary: In the midst of trying to navigate what life looks like following the defeat of Voldemort, and the loss of so many, there’s one thing glaringly missing. The irony of it all is it takes someone else’s wedding to give Ron the kick in the pants he needs to go after what—or rather *who*—he wants.

Word Count: 1988

Rating: G

TW: mentions of character death (all canon)

“Ron, I need to ask you for a favor.” Ron’s hand stops on the doorknob, the floorboards creaking under his feet.

The thick piece of wood is the only thing separating him from a much needed afternoon nap. Sleep has been evading him. Nightmares torturing his mind as he tosses and turns on the lumpy old mattress that’s been his for as long as he can remember.

He shoots his brother a withering look, letting go of the handle as he turns to face him. “Right now?”

It’s been two weeks since the Battle of Hogwarts. Two weeks since Fred died. Two weeks since Harry defeated Voldemort. And two weeks since he and Hermione kissed.

Every waking moment has been filled with funerals or meetings, and helping around the Burrow to ease the load on his mum, who’s completely overwhelmed with grief. And if he’s not doing his part to ensure the household is running smoothly, he’s taking a shift with George, making sure he doesn’t do anything rash or stupid as he navigates a world without his twin.

Because of all that, he’s barely seen Hermione, let alone had a chance to sit down with her. Every time they cross paths at the Burrow, he feels like he’s not making enough of an effort to make her a priority, yet how can he when everything else is just as important right now? She always smiles and nods in understanding when he’s pulled here or there, but sometimes he wishes she’d speak up and be selfish, asking him to come with her for once instead.

“Yes, right now.”

Ron sighs, trying to prevent the eye roll that sneaks out anyway. “Can’t you ask—”

“No. Bill is with George, and this really needs to be addressed by the end of the day.”

“Fine,” he groans, opening the door wide enough to welcome Percy inside his room.

He’s so busy ushering Percy inside that he doesn’t notice that there’s someone else already occupying the space—more specifically, his bed.

“Oh! Hi, um, sorry. I was just waiting for—do you need me to go?” Hermione’s brows knit with worry.

Ron could curse Percy all over again for needing him now—especially if he’s missing another opportunity to talk to Hermione. His brother stares at the girl he longs to be his girlfriend, contemplating her presence until he finally decides.

“No, actually, I’d like you to stay. I think that would be best.”

“Percy, what is going—”

The uptight redhead straightens his tie and clears his throat. “I have an appointment at the courthouse in Devon in thirty minutes, and I need someone to come with me.”

Ron’s not sure why, but he suddenly realizes that Percy’s dressed up—in Muggle garb.

“What did you do?” Hermione’s eyes widen as the question slips out of her mouth.

“I—nothing. I’m—er—getting married.”

“What?” He and Hermione both exclaim in tandem.

“But you’re not even seeing someone! Right?”

“I—I know it seems rash and maybe rushed, but it’s not. I’ve been seeing a—a Muggle for about two years now. Her name is Audrey, and I truly love her. She knows about me and our world. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing, dating her amidst the war, but—now that things are, well, over, I don’t want to waste any more time.”

Ron balks at him. “You’re seriously going to get married without the rest of the family knowing?”

“Er, no. They don’t. And that’s the thing. I do want to tell everyone…eventually, but Audrey and I had talked about eloping before things got really bad. We’ve been living in a Fidelius protected home and I had to be so careful not to get caught. Otherwise, I would have tried to make amends sooner too. But—Merlin forbid something were to happen again, I don’t want to miss my chance.”

Percy rarely gets flustered, but when he does, he is very much like Hermione. His train of thought tends to bounce all over the place and he doesn’t always make sense. Ron shakes his head.

“That still didn’t answer the question.”

“I am going to tell them. When the time is right. And we can have a reception or whatever else Mum wants to plan when she’s ready, but right now, I just need it to be me and her. We don’t want the fanfare.”

“So, why are you asking me to come with you?”

“Because we need a witness. Her best friend was supposed to come, but when I got the paperwork this morning to file the marriage license with the Ministry, we realized the witness needs to be magical for our end of things. Lara is still planning on attending, but…please, Ron?”

Ron stares at his brother, who looks at him with pleading, hopeful eyes before his gaze flits to Hermione. She nods gently.

“Fine. But I don’t have—”

“Oh, Merlin, thank you! Here.” Percy pulls his wand out and Accios something from the other room. It’s another muggle suit. “Hermione, you can come too, but I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you to—”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“No, please, I’d like you there. It would make me feel a little better knowing that some of my family can be there.”

Ron’s heart constricts in his chest. Does Percy really consider Hermione family? Even though they aren’t even together?

“I—I’ll go look in Ginny’s room to see what I can find.” Her cheeks are rosy as she climbs off the bed and slips between them, exiting the room without so much as a backwards glance at either of them.

Percy looks back to Ron. “I’m sorry if I interrupted something.”

“It’s fine. You…didn’t.”

Not technically, anyway.

“Er, right. Well, I do appreciate this. Truly. Thank you. I promise it won’t be long.” Percy glances down at his watch. “We need to leave in ten minutes. I’ll meet you in the garden and we can Side-Along?”

Ron nods. “Sure.”

As Percy disappears into the hall, shutting the door behind him, Ron has trouble wrapping his head around everything.

Percy’s getting married. To a girl no other Weasley has ever met before—a muggle. And he and Hermione are the ones being asked to bear witness to it all.

* * *

The ceremony is just as Percy said it would be: brief, quiet, and intimate. For someone who always wanted all the pomp and circumstance of whatever position he held, this is uncharacteristically unassuming and private. And Ron can’t help but feel a little guilty upon seeing how the war—and the estrangement from his family—has changed Percy.

But when the justice of the peace asks them to say their vows, there’s a spark that comes to life in Percy’s eyes when he looks at Audrey, and even though Ron thinks his brother’s rushing things, it’s obvious they share something special. He doesn’t blame Percy for not wanting to wait anymore.

After all, hadn’t he said as much to Hermione in the Room of Requirement? ‘It’s now or never?’ Except it’s turned into ‘it was now, but then we had to wait a few weeks and he’s starting to think it might be never.’

Ron glances at his best friend, whose eyes are glassy with unshed tears as she watches Percy and Audrey share their promises with each other. He’s struck with an overwhelming feeling that he can’t quite place. Relief, maybe? Hope? Maybe it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t have the word to describe it. Until it’s obvious.

Love.

It’s against all odds—the fact that they’re here. They made it. Even when one, or perhaps both, probably shouldn’t have. Ron’s been so caught up mourning the loss of everyone who gave their lives to protect their world that he’s forgotten why they died in the first place. Fred, Tonks, Remus…they wouldn’t want everyone to grieve them so much they can’t get on with their lives. What good would all that fighting have been for?

Maybe Percy has the right idea, marrying Audrey. Perhaps this is part of his journey of healing and moving forward on his own, and eventually he’ll find a way to fuse his life with Audrey to the one he’s working to repair with his family. Ron wonders if he should follow in his brother’s footsteps, and find his way to happiness again.

As Percy and Audrey are pronounced man and wife, Ron knows exactly what he has to do. He offers a genuine smile as they share their first kiss, signs the documentation as their witness, and congratulates them.

“Thank you for being here,” Percy extends his gratitude again as they walk down the steps exiting the courthouse.

“No problem. Just, er, maybe don’t keep this from the rest of the family for too long. I think they could probably use something happy to latch onto.”

Percy’s mouth forms into a thin line as he nods curtly. “I’ll…try not to.” Then, he turns to his new bride. “We’re going to head back to our flat, unless you need help getting home?”

And there’s Pompous Percy, back to play.

Ron rolls his eyes. “I think we’ll manage.”

Percy and Audrey wander off down the road as Ron eyes the park nearby and nods to it. “Care for a walk?”

“Sure,” Hermione agrees.

They meander side by side, and all of the things Ron wants to say storm through to the front of his mind, but he can’t latch onto a single one long enough to start a conversation. After harboring his feelings for years, how is he supposed to finally tell Hermione how he feels?

Their fingers brush as they walk, and Ron brazenly slides his hand into hers the next time the sway of their arms sync up.

“That was unexpected,” Hermione offers.

“It was.”

“But also really sweet.”

“Yeah.”

Hermione slows her pace and turns toward him, forehead crinkled in concern. “Are you alright?”

“I—yeah—”

“I feel like we’ve barely seen each other, let alone spoken since—”

“I know.” The hand that isn’t still holding hers moves to slip around her waist. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No, but—I’ve wanted to talk.”

“About what?”

Us. The kiss. The locket. What happened at Malfoy’s. Shell Cottage. Everything that’s ever happened between us since the fucking Yule Ball and what it could possibly mean. All of it.

He supposes any of those could be a good starting point, but that’s not what slips out of his mouth. “I want what they have—Percy and Audrey.”

“Oh?” The singular syllable catches in her throat as she looks at him in surprise.

“With you.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

He’s not sure how, but Hermione manages to move her body closer to his. “Me too,” she breathes. “I’ve been hoping—”

But Ron doesn’t give her a chance to finish. Dropping her hand, he brings it to her face, tilting her chin up as his lips graze hers. It’s much more gentle, tentative even, than their first kiss, and he relishes every second of the leap they’re taking.

“I never thought…” she starts to say when they finally break apart, but the words drift off and she bites her lip instead.

He knows exactly what she means though, even without saying it. “I know. But here we are.”

“Here we are,” she agrees.

“Reckon we probably shouldn’t jump to marriage right away though,” Ron jokes. It’s the first time he’s genuinely been able to since—well, before they broke into the Ministry.

The crack brings a smile to Hermione’s lips. Merlin, he’s missed making her smile. “No, probably not. But I don’t see a problem with dating.”

“Neither do I.”

“So, it’s settled then.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Then, a wide grin spreads across his face and happiness bubbles up from his heart. “I finally get to call you my girlfriend.”

She nuzzles her head into his chest. “I like the sound of that.”

“Me too.” He kisses the top of her head.

For now.

#submission #Weasley weddings #romione #percy/audrey

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