Chapter Text
What Aunt Milly Doesn't Know...
In your less-than-sober opinion, the most magical thing about Hogwarts wasn’t the castle or the creatures, the spells or the wandwork; no, what made Hogwarts so special, a world unto its own, was the memory of experiences held within its ancient walls and sometimes, for those willing to risk a little adventure, the forest just beyond.
You sat, entranced by the scene around you, the flames and whiskey and music so unlike anything you’d ever hope to experience in the Muggle world. It had all been Sebastian’s idea, the Seventh-Year bonfire, a last-minute bending of the rules as your class prepared for graduation, and yet another excuse to drink into the small hours of the morning. He couldn’t have anticipated the turnout as all four houses united in their eleventh-hour revelry, instruments in hand, charms cast to keep the fire fueled.
Adelaide and Arthur had taken it upon themselves to “raid” the kitchens. You highly suspected they’d politely asked the house elves for a feast fit for the festivities. Slow-roasted and smoked meats would pop into existence on platters, various cheeses, fruits, and breads accompanying the enchanted banquet. A three-tiered spiced cake had arrived as the moon crested the glittering night sky, now sitting firmly in Lenora’s lap, the drunken witch refusing to share.
Amit and Samantha had brought their violins, letting the fire whiskey carry a harmony of the class’s combined cultures, Everett proving to be surprisingly adept on drums he’d no doubt nicked from the (music hallway). The driving beat was enough to bewitch the soul, the fire seemingly dancing in time with the handful of students who had also found themselves lost to the music.
Small groups had formed around the spelled perimeter of the party, their laughter carried away on cracking embers, smoke furling up and away as the Seventh Years unwound from a week of grueling testing, inhibition a novelty for the night. Smiling, you’d catch couples disappearing into the wood, none daring to stray further than the wards, only to return swollen-lipped, jumpers askew, blissfully happy as the party carried on.
“This is,” Sebastian groaned happily, flopping down onto the overgrown tree stump beside you, “The best party ever.”
“Pissed much?” you laughed, his glassy eyes reflecting the flames as he grinned, happier than you’d seen him in months.
“Perfect night for it,” he argued, “Did you see Brattleby brought fireworks?”
“Well, if the twenty-foot fire wasn’t enough to signal Professor Black, the fireworks ought to give us away,” you teased, finding the Gryffindor in the crowd as he carried on with Anne and Poppy; the trio in a fit of giggles as their faces flushed, easily in their cups. “Your sister’s having fun.”
“Ah, she’s been waiting for Larson to get up off his ass and make a move already.”
You shook your head with a chuckle. “You sound thrilled.”
“Not my fault she’s got a thing for tossers,” Sebastian shrugged, realizing he was still holding a half empty bottle of whiskey between his fingers before taking a hearty swig.
“Andrew’s third in our class,” you reminded him.
“Doesn’t mean he’s not a tosser,” he argued. “Speaking of, are you just going to stare at Weasley all night, or are you going to actually do something about that odious crush of yours already?”
“I’m not staring,” you blurted, quickly pulling your gaze away from where Garreth sat, your gaze having caught each others more than once through the flame.
Sebastian snorted. “You’re a shite liar. Honestly, this is past the point of being hard to watch.”
“Then don’t,” you suggested, the bite in your voice rolling right off, your sibling-like banter never phasing the other. How about you mind your own business and go snog Ominis senseless behind a tree somewhere?”
Sebastian’s barking laughter cut through the chatter and music, catching Garreth’s attention. The freckled redhead arched a brow in silent question. You bit your lip, willing yourself to look away, unable to help the grin that was beginning to make your cheeks hurt.
“One, that’s precisely what I plan to do,” Sebastian said, passing you the nearly empty bottle. “Two, how about you do the same? Just not with Ominis… obviously.”
Your eyes narrowed as you smirked. “Eloquent, Sallow. Points for Slytherin.”
“Fuck you,” he snapped with a smile, trying his best to feign indignation.
“Not my type, thanks,” you countered with a playful frown.
“Nah,” he bumped against you, following your line of sight back to Garreth. “Your type is gitty gingers in desperate need of a haircut.”
Pushing back against him, you shoved your hand into Sebastian’s curled mop, deliberately mussing the strategic charm he put in place to maintain his not-so-effortless look. “Like you’re one to talk.”
“Oy, hands off,” Sebastian swatted at you, nearly tipping off the stump.
“Or what?” you laughed.
“Or Imma tattle on you,” he threatened with false malice.
You rolled your eyes. “Ominis doesn’t scare me.”
Sebastian stood, affectionately flicking you in the middle of your forehead. “Wasn’t talking about Ominis, smartass,” he said, eyes flashing with an unspoken threat.
Before you could lunge for him, he was off, weaving between students as he circled around the fire toward the very person you didn’t want him to speak with whatsoever, least of all about you. You watched in horror as Sebastian sat squarely beside Garreth, the Gryffindor surprised by the sudden company, your now-arch nemesis doing precisely what he’d threatened to do.
Garreth’s eyes went wide at Sebatian’s traitorous words, his shocked expression meeting yours as Sebastian, rat bastard that he was, pointed directly at you.
You were going to kill him.
You were going to hex him so spectacularly that—
Garreth laughed, nodding at whatever your now ex-best friend had just told him before patting him on the back. The two said something more, both staring at you, Sebastian with a shit eating grin and Garreth… Hells, had the fire suddenly become hotter?
You stood, unable to handle either of them and your whiskey, deciding that while your classmates were smart enough to not venture past the wards, you’d more than proven you were just stupid enough to do so. At least there you’d be able to think clearly, the smoke and music and heat of it all amplifying the liquor.
Passing Sebastian’s bottle to a confused Leander, you rounded the ancient oak out of sight, easily spotting the mirage of the ward. Just as you were about to cross the threshold, a warm hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you.
“Easy,” Garreth laughed as you spun, coming face to chest with him. Startled and off balance, you let him anchor you, tugging you firmly against him to keep you from falling. “Didn’t mean to surprise you.”
“Liar,” you teased, grinning as his arm effortlessly wrapped around your waist to keep you close.
Gleaming green eyes betrayed the truth as he shrugged. “Maybe. At least I’m not trying to run away.”
“I didn’t run,” you argued.
“Now who’s the liar?”
You bit your lip, palms resting on his chest. “So, what did Sebastian tell you?”
“He thinks the Falcons won’t make it to the cup this year,” Garreth answered without missing a beat. Pushing at him with what little leverage you had, he laughed, stepping back to lean against the tree. “He said you looked cold.”
“Did he?”
“Swear it,” he promised, winking.
Gods, you hated how adorable he was.
Running your hands up his chest to wrap around his neck, you fully pressed against Garreth, “Well, maybe you should do something about that.”
“Should I?” he asked, so dangerously, deliciously close to kissing you.
“Uh-huh,” you whispered.
“Like, confringo?”
You laughed, “Warming charm ought to do.”
Garreth hummed thoughtfully, “Definitely safer. Less chance of setting the forest on fire.”
“See, I’d argue that would be the most effective means of dealing with the Acromantulas,” you countered with a wry smile.
He shuddered, “There’s an image I won’t soon forget.”
“That’s nothing compared to the smell.” With his handsome features screwed into what you could only describe as revulsion, you decided to change the subject before you completely ruined the moment with your less-than-romantic knowledge. “It’s warm in the castle, you know.”
“Oh,” he blinked. “Did you want to leave already?”
You did.
Just not by yourself.
“As romantic as the edge of the forest is,” you began, “It’s not exactly secluded.” With or without the entire graduating class mere feet away, you wanted to say. “Ominis can only keep Sebastian on a leash for so long, and Amit is bound to come wandering this way, which means Imelda will be shortly behind and—”
Your explanation was cut short as soft lips met yours for a chaste kiss, grinning as Garreth pulled away. “Alright, let’s go.”
Neither of you trusting yourselves to disapparate to the courtyard entrance, you found yourself walking side by side with the now entirely too-tall Weasley, his cloak draped around you to fight off the night’s chill as he went into detail describing Professor Sharp’s face when he scored the highest marks of anyone in the class on his potions N.E.W.T’s.
“You should have seen it!” he laughed, his voice echoing off the ancient stone walls. “You’d swear I’d Stupefied him.”
You smiled, coming to a stop. “I’ll admit, we were all a little surprised.”
Garreth rolled his eyes, “That’s fair. Hey, we’re outside the Gryffindor common room?”
“I know.”
“But your dormitories are—”
“All the way downstairs,” you said. “I sort of thought maybe we could continue this…”
“Yes?”
“In your room? Seeing as the boys can’t go into the girl’s dorms and all.”
Realization dawned on Garreth, his face brightening. “I knew that.”
Biting your lip to suppress the urge to laugh at him, you nodded in mock agreement. “Of course.”
“Not that I’ve ever tried, mind you,” he was quick to elaborate. “Breaking into a girl’s room.”
“Right…”
“Honestly! Thought never crossed my mind. Not once.”
“Until tonight?”
“Exactly.”
“Seven years here, and you haven’t thought about it once?”
“Seven years here, and I was convinced I was going to graduate a virgin until tonight,” Garreth admitted, the words tumbling out of his mouth faster than his brain could process them. He stopped, eyes wide, “I didn’t mean to imply! I just— Ah, hells, I’ve gone and messed this all up, haven’t I?”
Your laughter startled him, snapping him out of his self-defeating spiral. “No, Garreth, you haven’t.”
“Oh, thank Merlin,” he exhaled, his relief palpable.
Beside them, a throat cleared, both of them snapping out of their awkwardly adorable discussion. “If the two of you are quite finished,” the Fat Lady began, clearly unimpressed with the pair of them. “Some of us are trying to sleep!”
Your resulting laughter did nothing to cheer the painting up, her stern expression teetering on outright anger as Garreth spoke the password between fits of giggles.
“Your aunt ought to be ashamed,” she cut, swinging open nevertheless.
“Yes, well, what Aunt Milly doesn’t know won't hurt her,” he countered, winking at the plump woman. Taking your hand, Garreth led you inside the cozy common room, entirely deserted for the night. “So… this is home.”
You didn’t quite have the heart to tell him how many times you’d either broken into the Gryffindor common room or been invited, so you looked around with a sense of awe expected of someone seeing it for the first time.
“Very cozy,” you said, realizing he was waiting for a response. “A lot of red.”
He smiled nervously, letting go of your hand. “We can hang out here if you want to. The couch is more comfortable than you’d think.”
Sensing that Garreth was far more nervous than he let on, you agreed, not wanting to rush things any faster than either of you were comfortable with. Garreth stepped to the side, motioning toward the lit fireplace, letting you take the lead.
Taking his cloak off, you laid it on the back of the couch as you circled around it, taking the far end of the admittedly comfortable love seat. Garreth, the furthest thing from graceful, plopped down beside you.
“Have you ever been in the Slytherin dorms?” you asked, toeing off your shoes to pull your legs up.
“Can’t say I have,” he answered, shifting toward you.
“Bit on the nose, but it’s pretty much the opposite of this.”
“Cold and uninviting?”
“No,” you argued, drawing the word out. “Just… spacious. Watery,” you added.
“Tends to happen when you live under the lake,” he teased. You smiled, feeling your cheeks heat. “You’re really pretty.”
Your eyes met his before a sharp bark of laughter escaped you, “Sorry.”
“I try to compliment you, and you laugh at me,” he sighed, shaking his head.
“No, it’s just that I don’t think anyone has ever called me pretty before.”
“Maybe not to your face, but I can assure you people have,” Garreth argued. “Ever since fifth year.”
“Let me rephrase. No one I’ve cared for has called me pretty before.”
“That’s a shame,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Because you are. Beautiful, really.”
If your cheeks had been warm before, they burned under the weight of his compliment. “Thank you.”
Without realizing it, the two of you had drifted toward one another, Garreth closing the already short distance between you to kiss you again. Soft as his lips had been before, you found yourself melting into the movement, slow and sensuous as you sought a shared rhythm. When his hand came up to cup your cheek, electricity shot through you, the adrenaline rush causing goosebumps as fine hairs stood on end. Beside yourself, you wiggled your fingers and toes in an effort to expend the elated energy.
Goblins and poachers you could handle all day, but Garreth Weasley? — You were a fool for him.
Nipping lightly at your lower lip, he pulled away, searching your face for approval.
“Wow,” you exhaled, pleasantly surprised. Not that you had any experience to compare Garreth’s admittedly fantastic kiss to, save the highly illicit literature you’d find buried beneath your matron’s mattress.
“Yeah?”
“Toe-tingling,” you assured him, biting your lip to keep from grinning like a fool.
“I’m going to need you to repeat that. Tomorrow. Loudly over breakfast if you can manage it.”
“Like hell, I’m advertising how good of a kisser you are,” you snorted. “There’d be a line all the way out the main hall. The Fat Lady would have a conniption.”
Garreth smirked. “You think?”
On reflex, you reached for a throw pillow, smacking his too-broad shoulder with it. “Jerk.”
“Kidding!” he laughed, ducking a second pillow. “There’s no one else I’d rather be kissing.”
“You swear?”
“On every potion I’ve ever made,” Garreth promised, hand on his heart.
You shot him a skeptical look. “I dunno…”
“Need me to prove it?”
Need?
No.
But gods did you want him to.