I'm trying not to let it show, that I don't wanna let this go.
Is there somewhere you can meet me?
- Is There Somewhere, Halsey.
........................................
Lydia knew a lot about invisibility cloaks, more than most people, but she had never experienced what it was like to be under one, sharing body heat and silent laughter with a boy who had managed to get her completely wrapped around his finger in a matter of days.
He had been so cryptic, saying that he would explain when they got there, and taking her hand as if to reassure himself that she was right behind him, the two of them making next to no noise as the crept out of the library, Lydia's books abandoned on the table, fuelled by nerves and anticipation.
It was the first time they had been forced into sharing the same space, which did nothing to keep Lydia's thoughts off all of the times in the past week she had wanted, needed him closer.
She was on edge, riled up and slightly anxious, but Stiles' arm circled her waist and pressed their bodies together, and she lost track of whereabouts in the labyrinth of the castle they were, too preoccupied with remembering the feeling of his hands on her skin to really care.
.
.
.
The sun had barely set, and the wind that whipped a pink flush into Malia's cheeks was bitterly cold, so much so that she decided that Kira would indefinitely have to pay for this.
She was where her note said she would be, perched on the roof of Gryffindor Tower like an exceptionally pretty gargoyle, all shadows and hair like black ice. Malia did her best to ignore the Quidditch robe that Kira had wrapped around her small frame, because she knew without looking that the name on the back would read MCCALL, and that caused a twist in her gut that she didn't quite know what to do with.
"You," Malia began before she had landed her (admittedly, stolen) broom, "are completely mental." She stood in front of her friend, arms crossed, attempting to keep her scowl in place as Kira beamed up at her.
"Bit fresh, isn't it, Mal?" She was still grinning like a carnival clown, and Malia hoped her reaction to the rare nickname hadn't been too visible. She was determined to keep her unimpressed demeanor for at least a little while longer.
"A bit," she said dryly. "Just a bit."
"Oh please." Kira rolled her eyes, leaning back on her elbows to look at the cloud-obscured stars that were slowly appearing in the darkening sky. "It'll only get colder, and you know it. So quit pouting and sit down."
Malia made a sound of annoyance that fell somewhere between a growl and a laugh, folding her legs carefully underneath her. "Why, may I ask, are we not inside on this charmingly freezing night?"
"Because you're the only person I know who isn't afraid of heights," the smaller girl explained airily. "And besides," she reached into the backpack at behind her, smiling secretively as she produced a slightly dusty, but apparently unopened bottle of Firewhisky. "I need someone to help me drink this."
Malia let out a low whistle, reaching out to brush the dust off the label. "Nice," she said appreciatively. "Early 1940s. Not bad, Yukimura."
Kira's smile widened to a grin. "Admit it. You're impressed."
"Maybe."
"You so are."
"A little," Malia said grudgingly. "Can we get drunk now?"
"On the side of a tower with a zillion foot drop? No."
"Then why the fuck did you drag me-"
"Shut up for a sec, will you?"
Malia blinked, not used to the slightly bossy tone. When it was just the two of them, Malia made the decisions. Always. So Kira telling her what to do was... impressive. To say the least.
She brought her knees to her chest, curling into a ball in an attempt to hide from the icy gusts of wind that threatened to knock them off the roof if they weren't careful. Kira had her eyes closed, wand out, the tip glowing a faint lilac as she murmured an incantation under her breath.
Then the air around them went still and warmed considerably, leaving Kira smiling when she opened her eyes.
Malia eyed her suspiciously. "What did you do?"
Kira didn't answer until she had stowed her wand inside Scott's robe. "Watch this," she said excitedly, moving to stand at the very edge of the roof of the tower. Fathoms of blackness below and above her threatened to swallow Kira whole, her huge smile the only bright spot visible between them.
"Kye-" Malia's words died in her mouth, the unspoken sentence, 'you're going to fall' echoing in her mind over and over again, as Kira did exactly that.
.
.
.
"Where are you taking me?" Lydia whispered.
They were in the lower levels of the castle now, nearing the dungeons. Ordinarily, Lydia wasn't afraid of the dark. But there was the small matter of the Slytherin common room being in the dungeons. And that, as much as she hated to admit it, did scare her.
In the hallways, around teachers, during the day, she was safe. Safer than this. They liked to roam in packs, especially at night. Lydia had heard enough horror stories about the Seventh Years and their love of particularly nasty curses to know that walking around the dungeons at night was as good as strolling casually into a minefield.
Stiles glanced over at her for a moment, and there must have been fear evident in her expression, because his brow furrowed in concern, and then they had stopped dead in the middle of the dark corridor, the smell of the Black Lake somehow managing to permeate through the stonework and into the air, turning the dungeons into cold yet muggy crypts, full of cobwebs and algae.
His usual golden irises were hidden in the dark, but the silvery shimmer of the cloak got caught up in the unfamiliar black of them, and he had entire galaxies dancing in his eyes as he watched her, his expression soft, careful.
Lydia barely noticed that she was being pulled towards him, too caught up in her thoughts of how revoltingly pretty his eyes looked and how annoyingly tall he was before she came to the realization that Stiles Stilinski was hugging her.
Some detached part of her brain, one of the parts that was actually functioning enough to think properly, noticed that he didn't seem to mind that she had frozen in shock, and as she finally allowed herself to melt into him, that same part came to the conclusion that this boy would be the death of her.
Not once in her life had she wondered if she would fit perfectly under his chin, or if his hands would feel warm on either side of her body, or how it would feel to be pressed together like this, warm and pure and innocent in a way that she had never associated with Stiles.
He was innuendos and filthy smiles, stinging kisses and lingering touches. He was the boy that traced patterns on the inside of her thighs and left her breathless, every beat of her heart audible in her ears. That was the Stiles she knew.
This new Stiles, the one who always took a step back when she asked, who never pushed her, the Stiles who tripped over his own feet and stumbled over his words; this Stiles she had only ever caught glimpses of. And he was so heartbreakingly honest, with all of his past bravado and arrogance and theatrics lying in tatters at their feet.
When he spoke, it was in a barely audible murmur that went through her entire body, warming her from the inside out.
"I'm not gonna let them hurt you, okay? Never."
They stayed like that for a long time, invisible to everyone in the universe but each other.
.
.
.
There was a split second where Kira was floating, suspended in midair, and then gravity came for her, and Malia was too shocked to scream as she watched her best friend fall off the side of the tower.
Only she didn't fall. One moment she was being pulled towards the ground, and the next, she was thrown back towards Malia by an invisible force, giggling uncontrollably.
Malia finally found her voice, swearing colorfully while checking Kira for any signs of injury.
"I'm fine, Mal. Really." Kira's eyes were earnest and a million times darker than the sky behind her.
Malia was only too aware of how close she was, how her perfume had worn off hours ago, but the cherry blossom scent of it lingered on her skin underneath Scott's Quidditch robe, so that she smelled of flowers and grass and soap, as well as something else, something boyish, like aftershave or cologne. She smelled like Scott.
"Hey." Kira tugged Malia's sleeve gently. "I'm okay. It's a modified version of a force field charm. I've been working on it."
Malia nodded dumbly, caught somewhere between relief and her suddenly all-consuming thoughts of how much she hated the way that Scott's scent blended into Kira's so seamlessly, like it was just supposed to be that way.
Part of her wanted to ask how Kira had ended up wearing that stupid robe in the first place. How she had become so close to this boy in a matter of days. She wondered if Kira had slept with him yet. No. She would have told her. Wouldn't she?
"Mal?" Kira had her head cocked to one side, half curious, half worried. Malia realized she had been clenching her jaw, her hands forming fists where she had pressed them to the roof, not allowing herself to touch Kira.
"Please don't do that again," she finally whispered. It was the last thing she had wanted to say, but it was the only thing she could mange.
Kira smiled softly, leaning down to leave a tiny kiss on Malia's cheek, rendering her somewhat stunned as Kira shifted off of her lap.
Her skin burned where Kira had kissed it, and she sat, mute, faintly registering the sounds of Kira's fumbled attempts at opening the bottle of Firewhisky.
"Motherf- Yes! Victory! Mal, lookit." Kira brandished the now open bottle at her, grinning like a demon. A very small, uncoordinated demon.
Malia took a sip, wincing at how strongly it burned. Aged Firewhisky was stronger, fiercer than the stuff they usually drank. She couldn't say she minded.
"Where did you even get this? There hasn't been a Hogsmeade trip in forever..."
"I know people," Kira said mysteriously, winking at her as she lifted the bottle to her lips.
"People like Scott?" The jealous edge was impossible to keep out of her voice. She hoped Kira didn't notice it.
The smaller girl was quiet for a moment. "You don't like him, do you Mal?"
Malia almost swore. "I don't like his reputation with girls," she said instead. It wasn't a lie. Scott had been the first boy in their year to lose his virginity, barely 14. And it had only escalated from there.
"I think you'd like him more if you got to know him," Kira said solemnly. "He's like, scary smart. And you two have kinda the same sense of humor."
Malia let out a short, humorless laugh. "Trust me, getting to know Scott McCall is the last thing I want to do."
She was being unnecessarily harsh, she knew, but she hated that even when he wasn't hanging around Kira, he was still present.
"Okay..." Kira trailed off warily, taking another drink of Firewhisky. She didn't wince. "How's things with Danny?" she asked brightly. "You two have been sort of... you know."
Malia did know how things had been with Danny. Lovely, gorgeous, impossibly sweet Danny. Who for some God-unknown reason, liked her.
"Danny... he's amazing," Malia said honestly.
After the whole him-opening-the-door-half-naked-and-very-nearly-giving-her-a-heart-attack debacle, he had been talking to her more and more. Whether that was due to his newfound confidence at her lack of the ability to produce words while he was shirtless, she didn't know. But she enjoyed it.
She liked Danny, maybe not as much as he liked her, but there was no denying that her heart did gymnastics in her chest when he smiled at her. Which only added to her ever-growing mental list of Things That Make No Sense.
"He really is a nice guy," Kira said thoughtfully. "He's charming without being sleazy, and that's a rarity."
"You'd know," Malia said snarkily.
Kira paused mid-sip. "What's that supposed to mean?" She asked, her eyes sparking dangerously.
"Nothing," Malia said quickly. "Forget it."
.
.
.
"Stiles."
"Mmm?"
"I heard something."
"Something...?"
"Voices, Stiles."
He let her go and she frowned at the sudden loss of warmth. Stiles being Stiles, of course, noticed.
"C'mon," he whispered, wrapping an arm around her waist so that their bodies lined up and pressed together like puzzle pieces. "Let's go see."
"You want to go towards the voices?" She questioned.
"It's nothing to worry about. We've got the cloak. But if you don't want to, we don't have-"
He stopped as a single, high note echoed through the dungeon corridor.
Lydia's hand immediately went to her wand. "Did that sound like-"
"Someone trying to scream," he finished, his expression borderline murderous.
He seemed to know that asking if she wanted to stay behind would be a complete waste of time, moving forward, towards the sound, without saying another word.
There were four of them, not including the girl they had cornered in one of the many alcoves. Lydia wasn't tall enough to see her face, but Stiles turned to stone next to her, clearly recognizing the other girl.
"Hayden," he breathed.
Lydia didn't know her personally, but she knew who it was. Hayden Romero. Youngest female Chaser the Gryffindor Quidditch team had ever had, recruited at twelve years old. She was somewhat infamous for her temper. And now she was backed against a wall by four figures, each at least a head taller than her, completely mute.
"They've put a silencing charm on her," Stiles murmured. "I know Hayden. There's no way she's keeping quiet by choice."
"What do we do?"
Stiles' hand had left her hip at some point, and she took it, partly to reassure him, and partly for her own comfort. There was something about being with him that steeled her nerves.
"Wait and see if they do anything." Stiles sounded infuriated at the prospect; he was whispering through gritted teeth. "If we make the first move, they're in the clear. Right now, they haven't done anything wrong. Technically."
For the first time, Lydia was grateful for Stiles' talent for bending the rules. He knew every loophole in the book, and as much as she hated the situation, she was glad he was with her.
"Pretty, for a mudblood," she heard one of them say, and felt Stiles' thumb run across the back of her hand, a silent reassurance, knowing that the slur hurt her as much as it hurt Hayden.
Lydia knew that voice. Jackson Whittemore. A seventh year, and one of the leaders of the hate mob of Slytherins that were convinced that Muggle born witches and wizards were somehow beneath them. Unfortunately handsome, with a severe, angular face that looked like it had been cut from white marble.
She took an intensely sadistic satisfaction from the fact that the last time she had seen him, he had looked like a Cornish Pixie on steroids. Stiles' work. She squeezed his hand, feeling a sudden, overwhelming rush of pride for the boy next to her.
"Whaddaya think, sweetheart? Give us a kiss, and we'll let you go." Another voice, deeper than Jackson's. Lydia's skin crawled at the chorus of laughter.
"Theo," Stiles growled.
Lydia's fingers twitched around her wand. Theo Raeken. She had endured a few encounters with him herself, nothing like this, but bad enough that she would immediately lose her appetite if he caught her eye from across the Great Hall.
In Care of Magical Creatures, they had learned about something called a Nundu, a giant leopard native to East Africa. Undeniably beautiful, but toxic, able to kill entire villages with only its breath.
That was Theo. Lovely to look at, lithe and graceful, but poisonous in reality.
She couldn't hear much of the murmured conversation, but she heard Theo's yell, saw him jerk back from Hayden. He turned away from the third year to wipe his face, and after the second it took to realize what had happened, Lydia decided that Hayden Romero was now one of her favorite people in the world.
Some of the tension left Stiles' body, sudden amusement showing in his voice. "Did she just..."
"Spit in his face?" Lydia couldn't help but smile. "Yep."
Stiles lit up, his grin falling somewhere between vicious and elated. "She's so off the hook for cardio tomorrow."
Lydia barely heard him, her attention on Theo, watching him turn back to Hayden with deadly, deliberate slowness. His wand twirled between his fingers.
"You little mudblood bitch," he said calmly. His wand went still in his hand, and Lydia saw his knuckles turn white around it. The other three figures shifted away preemptively, only one or two steps back, enough for Lydia to finally be able to see the younger girl.
Slight, with dark, pretty features and pouty lips twisted up into a snarl as Theo took another step towards her. His wand found the hollow of her throat, and from the way Hayden unthinkingly moved to try to get away from it, Lydia guessed that he had pressed it into her skin hard enough to bruise.
"No," she whispered, instinctively moving towards the two, not bothering to think of a course of action. As Stiles pulled her back, she briefly entertained the idea that maybe they were influencing each other more than they realized. Until Hayden's expression changed, her body buckling like it was trying to move away from the air itself.
Her angel's face blazed in a silent scream.
Stiles' hand clamped over Lydia's mouth, stopping the sound of horror that she involuntarily made upon seeing the sheer agony on Hayden's face.
"Petrificus Totalus," Stiles murmured, and Lydia could have hit him for not using something, anything harsher, even as Theo's body froze completely, leaving him helpless as he fell to the ground, a concrete statue with cruel granite eyes.
The other three stood in stunned silence for a moment, looking from Theo, body locked and glaring furiously at them from the floor, to the rest of the seemingly empty corridor, bewildered and guarded expressions on their faces.
Hayden had gone still, half unconscious from the aftereffects of the curse.
The Cruciatus Curse, Lydia thought dully, the full weight of what had happened to the younger girl still not entirely sinking in.
She knew what was going on outside Hogwarts. Whole families going missing, the Ministry riddled with spies, children being taught about blood rights as soon as they could talk. Unforgivable Curses were commonplace on the outside, but she had never imagined someone performing one inside the walls of the castle. It was too surreal. It was impossible.
But Theo had done it. Without hesitation or guilt, a whispered curse, a few seconds of pure unadulterated and unparalleled pain, and now Hayden, tiny, not quite fourteen year old Hayden, was lying on the floor next to him, broken and drained. Lydia's stomach turned at the thought of what would have happened to her if Stiles hadn't stepped in.
"Who's there?" Jackson barked, looking around the corridor, snake eyes narrowed and suspicious. Lydia bleakly noted the slight tinge of fear in his voice. It would be nice to gloat over later. She couldn't find it in her to enjoy his discomfort now, not with the display she had just seen.
There was a muttered counter-curse, and Theo moved slightly. Should've done more, should've made him hurt, not just paralyze him, Lydia thought, caught somewhere between cold dread and a whole new kind of anger, one that turned her bones to titanium and convinced her that nothing was more important than making him pay for what he had done to the other girl.
Stiles had dropped her hand at some point, one still covering her mouth, one holding his wand. After watching her for a moment, he drew his hand away, nodding slightly. They watched the three shadowy figures prowl the corridor in search of the culprit, only breathing when one muttered, "The mudblood must've cast it non-verbally. There's no one here."
"When was the last time you heard of a fucking third year being able to cast non verbal spells?" Jackson snapped. "Someone helped the little toad." He glanced nervously around the corridor again, before rounding on Hayden. "Who was it, sweetheart?" he cooed. "You can tell us. We'll only hurt them... a lot." The others chuckled, their original arrogance returning. Hayden stirred, but didn't make a sound.
"She's still got the silencing charm on," one of them said.
Jackson swore, spat out the counter-charm, and jabbed Hayden with his foot. "Tell us who helped you. Or..." He paused for a second. Then he lit up excitedly, and Lydia went cold all over. "Or we try that fun little curse again. You don't want that, do you, love?"
Hayden made a tiny sound, reminding Lydia of a baby bird, all rumpled feathers and fearful movements.
She felt her fingernails bite into the palms of her hands as she forced herself to stay put. Theo had regained use of his limbs, moving awkwardly to stand beside Jackson. Lydia was frozen solid, incapable of doing anything but watch as they pointed their wands towards the crumpled form on the floor.
Stiles muttered a spell under his breath, and Jackson toppled over with all the finality of a tree being felled.
"What the f-" Theo's annoyed curse was cut off by someone tapping him on the shoulder. A familiar-looking boy with sandy hair, cropped short to his head, and the obvious stocky build of a Beater. Lydia wondered how no one had noticed him approaching. He didn't look like the stealthy type.
She was in the midst of a shock-induced train of thought as to how a boy like that could have snuck up on all of them so successfully, when he smiled grimly, snatched Theo's wand out of his hand, and promptly broke his nose.
.
.
.
They had been silent for a while, watching for shooting stars and passing the bottle back and forth between them. It was quiet enough that they could hear the soft sounds of each other breathing, and the flutter of owl wings as they flew past, all but invisible now that the sun had truly set.
"What about... Stiles?" Kira suddenly asked, her tone careful. "I mean... you kissed him during Truth Or Dare. So..."
The unspoken question hung in the air for a moment. Malia sighed. "So nothing."
"What does that mean?"
"It means-" Malia stopped, considering. She took another drink, twisting slightly to look at Kira. "It means that I kissed him. And I didn't feel... anything."
Kira blinked. "Oh."
"Yep," Malia said dryly. "Years of pining, for nothing. He's a shitty kisser, too."
"I don't doubt it," said Kira. There was an odd tone in her voice that Malia couldn't place. "So that's it? You're just... over him?"
"I guess so." Malia flipped onto her stomach, fiddling with the silver ring on her right hand as she talked. "I never had a shot anyway, so I guess it's kind of an easy let down."
"Of course you had a shot," Kira fired back, sounding personally offended. "You're gorgeous, and smart, and you're not afraid of anything. You were the first in our year to ride a Hippogriff, and half the boys are too dumbstruck to talk to you most of the time. You're terrifying, Malia Tate."
She said it so simply, without the slightest tinge of doubt. Kira had never been a good liar.
Malia kept toying with her ring, the sapphire reflecting the sparse moonlight as she felt her cheeks warm.
The ring had been a Christmas present from Kira the year before. There had been one for each of them. A sapphire for Malia, emerald for Lydia, amethyst for Allison, and topaz for Kira herself. At the time, Kira had joked about it being an excuse to buy herself jewelry, but it was more. It was a talisman of the others, a reassurance for when they weren't around. It was a token, an invisible chain that linked the four of them.
"You're my best friend," Malia said quietly. It wasn't enough, nowhere near enough, but Kira understood, reaching down to hold her hand tightly, just for a moment.
"I mean it Mal," she said softly. "You always underestimate yourself. You shouldn't."
Malia shook her head, reaching for the bottle again. "It's not that. It's just... Lydia. I would never have had a shot because of Lydia. He doesn't even notice anyone else." She paused, taking a slow sip. Her lips curled up sardonically. "It's always going to be her."
"You deserve more than him anyways," Kira said, her voice hard with conviction.
Malia frowned, examining the label of the bottle. There was a Phoenix going up in flames, its feathers sending off gold sparks as they burned. "What makes you so sure?"
"Because when you kiss someone, you're supposed to feel something," she responded, like it was obvious. "That, I'm completely sure of."
Malia glanced at her mouth, remembering what kissing Kira had felt like.
It had been a loud night, full of liquor and boys and dancing. The dormitory had been warm and mercifully quiet, and they had collapsed onto one of the beds with a synchronized, exaggerated sigh, then dissolved into giggles. Kira's eyes were full of laughter, dancing in the low light. Malia had reached up to smooth the crinkles next to them, evidence of her permanent smile, and then they were kissing, and it was wonderful.
It was different. There was no harsh stubble under Malia's fingertips, no overpowering cologne, just Kira and her cherry blossom perfume, tasting of cheap champagne and strawberry icing, her small hands clutching at Malia's waist and tiny sounds being coaxed out of her that Malia couldn't forget if she tried.
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.
.
Stiles swore under his breath, sending another curse towards one of the two Slytherins behind the boy before Lydia could fully absorb what had happened. "Fucking Dunbar," he hissed. "Always gotta hit something." He flicked his wand again, and the third Slytherin fell, leaving Theo standing alone, almost two feet taller than the other boy - Liam Dunbar, Lydia realized. He was on the team too. Scott's third year counterpart.
Blood covered the bottom half of Theo's face, and when he laughed, Lydia could see it staining his teeth scarlet. A vampire smile.
"You're gonna pay for that," Theo said lightly, his voice scarily unaffected.
"Maybe," Liam responded, every muscle pulled tight, his whole body like a flashing warning sign. "But you're never going to touch her again." He took a step forward, and Theo flew back into the stonework of the corridor wall. It took a second for Lydia to realize that it was from the sheer force behind the punch that landed on Theo's jaw, not a spell.
"Liam!" Another voice, struggling to be loud enough. Hayden, slowly getting to her feet, using the wall for support. "Liam, stop. I'm okay."
Theo gave a short, harsh laugh, then crumpled to the ground as Liam aimed a knee at his crotch.
He turned away from the older boy, and for the first time, Lydia saw his eyes, deeply blue and filled with anger that faded into worry. Hayden was in his arms before he could say a word, her face buried in his shirt and her tiny frame pressed to his as tightly as she could manage. After a moment, all of the tension fell out of him, and they stayed like that, small and scared and finding comfort only in each other.
"How did you find me?" Hayden's whispered question was barely audible, and somewhere in the middle of Liam's offhanded explanation about asking the portraits, Lydia noticed Theo reaching for his wand again.
"Expelliarmus," she whispered. At the same moment, Stiles sent another body lock spell towards him.
She watched as he froze, a bruise already forming on his left cheek, still dripping blood from his broken nose. He deserves so much worse, she thought bitterly.
"C'mon," Stiles tugged her wrist gently. "They're fine."
"We can't just leave them!" Lydia whispered, immediately horrified at the thought. Stiles sighed, but stayed another five minutes until the two third years started their walk back to Gryffindor tower, hand in hand and too dazed to bother wondering how four people had ended up paralyzed on the floor without their knowledge.
"Can we go now?" Stiles asked teasingly. "It's worth it. Come on, Martin."
"Martin?" Lydia cocked an eyebrow at him, but allowed him to lead them back to their original route. The four frozen forms turned to shadows as they left the corridor. Lydia wondered what would happen when someone found them.
"Found it during detention a few months back. I think I'm the only person that knows about it." He was grinning excitedly down at her, all nerves and bright eyes. "Well, the only living person, I guess."
"Why didn't you tell your friends?" Lydia asked.
"Didn't want to." He shrugged carelessly. "Didn't need to."
"But you're telling me?"
"You wanted somewhere that no one would hear us talking."
"Well yes, but it seems awfully trusting of you."
Stiles laughed quietly, stopping in front of a monstrous painting of an Acromantula, all eight legs curled under its body as it slept.
He had a talent for making her move without her knowledge, Lydia knew that. Her back hit the wall beside the painting, and then he was right there, one hand on the wall beside her head, leaning towards her with a dangerous smirk playing on his lips. Close enough that if she inclined her head just so, she could kiss him easily.
"Are you saying that I shouldn't trust you, Lydia?" His voice was low, playful, and she remembered the first time he had got her alone like this, pinned against the wall of a dark corridor, breathless and wanting and far too close.
"Maybe," she whispered back, her eyes closing instinctively as Stiles' lips brushed against her jaw, a memory of a kiss. Something clicked behind her, and his whispered reply sent shockwaves rippling under her skin.
"I trust you."
She opened her eyes at the quiet creak beside her, only slightly surprised when the painting swung gently forwards, revealing a small doorway that lead into a space of pure blackness.
He stepped into it casually, leaving the cloak behind, tugging her hand in a silent request.
"What... what is it? A crypt or something?" She poked the top of her foot through the doorway, like testing the water of a swimming pool.
He laughed, slowly letting go of her hand as he backed into the room. "Far more interesting. You'll see. Come on Martin. Would I lead you astray?"
"You've been trying to since the day you met me," Lydia said dryly. "So intent on corrupting the goody-two-shoes teacher's pet."
"I haven't corrupted you yet, though." She could hear the clear implications in his words. Memories of touches under desks and kiss-bitten lips flashed through her mind.
"Not yet," she murmured. She cleared her throat. "Are you sure it's safe?" Lydia cringed at the fear in her voice. Maybe she was a goody-two-shoes.
"Course it is. Now for Merlin's sake, come in before we get caught."
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.
.
"Mal?" Kira was lying on her back, her small hands twisted in Scott's robe and stars reflected in her eyes. "Did you feel something when I kissed you?"
She asked so casually, feigning indifference, but her smile had all but vanished, and the handfuls of scarlet fabric she held slowly became more creased and crumpled as she fidgeted.
Malia stared at her, a bubble of nervous laughter fighting its way past her lips. The Phoenix on the label of the bottle had slowly disappeared, picked away by electric blue fingernails. Now nothing remained but a few flecks of gold.
When she finally found her voice, it was quiet, unassuming. She didn't look at the other girl, choosing to fiddle with her ring instead. "Why does it matter, Kye?"
Malia's hands stilled, her attention switching over to Kira, watching how her eyelashes fluttered and her jaw clenched at the question.
In class, Malia learned best by actually doing the work, not theorizing. That was why she excelled in classes like Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration, yet aggressively loathed classes like Divination. She hated just sitting there and thinking. She liked finding her limits, then pushing them until they broke.
Kira's eyes followed her as she shifted slightly, her eyes huge and dark and glittering with an indefinable emotion that made Malia's breathing quicken.
Kira didn't stop her, and she lacked the self-control to stop herself, leaning down to kiss her best friend carefully, letting all of the things she had pushed to the corners of her mind over the past month come back, in one perfect, glowing moment where she didn't have to hide.
She had always been gentle with Kira. Whether they were arguing, sharing a bed, dancing an exaggerated waltz around the common room, she was gentle. Kira was a tiny doll, sculpted from icing sugar, painted with liquorice. She was too breakable to not be gentle with.
Although Malia was sure that no one had informed Kira of this, not with the way her fingers tangled in Malia's hair, pulling her closer, pressing their bodies together as hard as she could manage, struggling to get close enough.
The Firewhisky sang in Malia's blood, fuelling every movement, turning her skin hot and her hands clumsy. She never, never touched Kira like this, grasping at clothes and letting her hands brush over bare skin, burning under her fingertips.
The force field Kira had cast over the roof turned it into an impenetrable glass fortress, the icy late November wind trapped outside. She tasted like whisky and salt this time.
Kira was a firebomb, wrapped up in colors that matched, and Malia was more than happy to burn.
She was drunk, but not enough that the world flipped when she moved. Not enough that she didn't notice Kira wriggling out of the mass of gold and scarlet fabric that swamped her tiny frame. Scott's Quidditch robes.
Malia almost dislocated her shoulder in her haste to move away from her, scrambling backwards, across the roof. The other girl looked stunned, scared, with vague annoyance suddenly sparking in her eyes.
"I'm sorry," Malia whispered. "I shouldn't have... I'm so sorry, Kye."
"What the fuck are you on about?" Kira shot back, shocked and angry and yes, there was definitely fear there too. "What do you have to be sorry for?"
She looked impossibly small, with only striped pajama pants and a tank top on now that the robe was gone. One of the straps on her top slipped down her shoulder as Malia watched her, trying to find the right words.
She wanted to pull it back up for her, to kiss her goodnight and curl up in her arms and go to sleep. She was exhausted and drunk and so incredibly sick of the constant feeling of inadequacy that followed her around like a second shadow.
"Scott," Malia said simply. "What about Scott, Kira?"
There was a moment of stunned silence, and Kira was staring at her with such intensity, Malia considered the possibility that she might actually shatter under her gaze. "What does Scott have to do with anything?" Kira asked slowly. "He's not my boyfriend, Mal. If that's what you're worried about."
"He's your something," Malia said quietly. She hated the words, and hated them more because they were true.
"You didn't care about Scott when you kissed me."
Malia blinked, seeing the switch in Kira's attitude, fully aware of what she was doing. It was in the arrogant chin jut, the slow, lazy smirk, an entire look that plainly said, 'guilty, but not even slightly sorry'. It had been a detention favorite for years, Kira's choice display of passive aggressive insolence. Malia had never dreamed that it would ever be directed at her.
"Okay," Malia said, keeping her voice controlled, her tone measured. "I think I want to go back inside now."
"Seriously?" Kira snorted, somehow still graceful, legs folded underneath her like she was praying. "What, can't deal with the truth? How very Gryffindor of you."
"You're a mean drunk," Malia informed her. "And I'm sick of being your... other something. Your second choice, your friend, your fucking toy, Kira. I'm not a plaything for you. You can't just-"
"You. Kissed. Me." Kira's voice was cold, deadly and precise. "You didn't care about Scott. You cared about what you wanted. So don't try to make it like I was the one who started this. That's on you."
"You weren't exactly discouraging it, were you?" Malia managed a fake laugh, feeling hollowed out and fragile. "I'm not the one who kissed someone that wasn't the guy I've been following around like a fucking puppy for the past week."
"No," Kira replied coolly, "you're just the one who thought it would be okay to kiss someone that you knew was involved with someone else."
"Involved," Malia mocked, feeling nausea bubble in her stomach at the thought. "Fuck, do you even hear yourself? There's a difference between involved and fuck buddies Kira. Learn it." She snatched up her broomstick, desperate to get back inside the tower, where she could retreat to the kitchens and eat her feelings until she couldn't taste Kira anymore. "Take your fucking charm off the roof." She didn't phrase it as a question, and Kira didn't take it as one.
She walked to Malia with dainty, silent steps, until she was right there, a head smaller but still terrifying. "I haven't fucked Scott," she said, her eyes hard and cruel. "But let's pretend you didn't know that, okay Lia? We're good at that. Pretending."
Malia wasn't given the time to reply before the wind returned, cutting through her like frozen glass. She didn't bother looking back, kicking off hard before dropping into a hairpin dive, heading to their bedroom window. Flying while drunk was probably not the brightest idea, but it beat being with Kira while drunk.
The dormitory was curiously empty when she tumbled in, which was probably a good thing considering that Lydia did not tolerate being woken up unnecessarily. She tossed her coat and broomstick onto her bed, walking out of the dormitory with a new kind of anger coming to life in her chest. Of course she couldn't just cry into her pillow like a normal person. Because she just had to be sharing a room with the person that caused her to want to cry.
She found her way to the secret entrance without putting much thought into it, barely touching the pear in the painting before the dark green door handle appeared. She was greeted with a sea of curious eyes, and a soft, firelit glow. The kitchen was warm, bustling with house elves scurrying around cleaning and baking. The whole place smelled of bread and pastries. Within seconds, there were several plates of cookies and cakes being offered to her, and little faces beaming up at her as she took something from each. House-elves had never made much sense to her, not with the whole thriving on servitude thing, but she liked to make them happy.
"Miss Tate," a squeaky voice piped at her from somewhere around her knees. Malia looked down, finding a pair of enormous blue eyes staring up at her adoringly.
"Hello, Nimmy." She crouched down, putting herself closer to the height of the tiny house-elf. "It's been a while."
"Too long, miss, far too long," said Nimmy, solemnly nodding at her own words. Malia couldn't help but smile at her. "Will miss Argent be joining you? Or miss Martin? Miss Yukimura?"
"Just me tonight, I'm afraid." At Nimmy's crestfallen look, Malia added, "I'll be sure to bring them soon. I know Allison misses you."
"She does?" The house-elf's odd little face broke into an elated grin, revealing strangely pointed teeth. Malia wondered briefly what house-elves ate.
"Absolutely. She didn't shut up about how lovely it was of you to leave that hot chocolate for us to take to the Quidditch pitch."
If house-elves could blush, Malia was sure Nimmy would have turned crimson. Instead, she nervously fiddled with the hem of the tea-cloth that covered her little body almost like a dress.
"You is too kind miss, too kind." Nimmy looked up at her with the same smitten grin on her face. "But oh, you must sit down! You cannot crouch on the floor, miss. Nimmy will get you a chair."
Malia promptly fell into a cross-legged sitting position, biting into a cookie once she had settled. "No need. I like the floor. The floor's great." She took a second to chew. "Wow, so is this cookie. Nice work, guys."
A titter went through the crowd of elves at Malia's offhanded compliment, some going so far as to drop into a clumsy curtsey for her. Nimmy wrung her hands disapprovingly, but seemed to accept that she wouldn't win an argument with Malia over where she should sit.
"Does you want to take some with you, miss?" Another elf came forward, taller than Nimmy by quite a bit, and with lilac eyes.
"That would be great, actually," Malia mumbled through a mouthful of cookie. "Thank you."
The elf ran off to gather cookies for her, and Malia felt vaguely guilty for a second before Nimmy spoke again.
"Is you alright, miss?" The elf's forehead crinkled worriedly. "Why is you alone? You is always with the others. Always."
"I..." Malia briefly considered lying, before deciding that telling the truth, saying it out loud, might be good for her. "I messed up," she said quietly. "I did something really stupid, and now..."
The house-elves were silent, staring up at her with eyes like gemstones - green, blue, purple, pink, yellow - fascinated by this new spectacle.
"I think I should go," Malia said, climbing to her feet. "I'm so... tired. Just really really tired." She looked at Nimmy, a sad smile making its way to her lips. "I'll remind Allison to come and see you, okay?"
"Thank you miss," Nimmy said in her high little voice. She looked utterly bewildered, unsure of what to do in this entirely foreign situation. "You must be nice to yourself, yes miss?"
The elf with the lilac irises came trotting over to Malia, carrying a parcel almost as big as he was. Malia thanked him with a kiss to the top of his head. The elf looked as if he had been confunded, staggering back over to the other elves like he was drunk.
"I will, Nimmy," Malia assured her. "Thank you."
She left with a hundred pairs of eyes on her back, hugging her parcel of cookies to her body tightly, determinedly marching back to Gryffindor Tower, cursing herself for letting Kira chase her away in the first place.
Allison and Isaac had fallen asleep on one of the common room couches together, something Malia hadn't noticed when she had all but ran to the portrait hole on her way out. They were curled into each other by the fireplace, and by the looks of it, Allison was wearing one of Isaac's awful jumpers.
She couldn't find it in her to be jealous of how easy it had been for Allison. She looked too... loved. Too secure, too blissfully peaceful for Malia to feel anything but happy for her.
Kira was a lump of fabric in the middle of her bed, entirely covered by her blankets and seemingly fast asleep. Malia didn't bother looking at her after that, brushing her teeth, undressing, and climbing into bed herself with a tired sigh.
Malia was almost asleep when she noticed that even after the cookies and toothpaste, she could still taste Firewhisky and salt.
.
.
.
The painting swung back onto its place on the wall, and she was suddenly surrounded by darkness so devoid of light that it made fireworks and stars burst behind her eyelids.
"Stiles?" She put her arms out blindly, feeling around in the dark for him. "Stiles, I can't see anything. Where are you?"
His hand slipped around her waist, pulling her into him with a warm laugh. "That's the point," he told her, amused and smug. "You wanna see something really cool?"
"Don't ask me stupid questions, Stilinski." She poked him in the stomach, briefly enjoying the fact that she was free to do so. "Just show me."
"Be nice, Lydia." He was right in her ear, his voice low and his breath warm against her skin. Lydia knew he felt her shiver, because he chuckled softly, skimming a hand under the hem of her shirt. "Later," he murmured. Her breathing quickened when she realized what he meant.
"That's very presumptuous," she said, even as she fidgeted under his touch.
"Maybe I just know how to read you."
"Maybe you're too cocky for your own good."
"Maybe it's one of the things you like most about me."
"Is that right?"
"That's right," he confirmed. "Now can you do something for me, Martin?"
"I suppose it depends what that something is," she responded teasingly, attempting to match his effortlessly flirtatious tone.
"Now is not the time for attempting to seduce me, as flattered as I am."
He was smirking, she could tell by his voice. "You're a very hypocritical person, you know," she informed him matter-of-factly.
"I know," he said lightly. "Now, if it pleases your Majesty, Queen of Seduction, I want you to think of somewhere. Anywhere in the world. Okay?"
"Mmmhmm," Lydia hummed warily. They were both silent for a moment.
"Now... tell me where you thought of."
"Um. My bedroom at home." She was thankful he couldn't see her blush.
The room flared with a sudden pulse of bright pink light, and they were standing in her bedroom back in Cokeworth, the only light coming from the waxing moon that shone through the open curtains.
"Stiles," she whispered wonderingly, slowly spinning to look at every feature of the room. It was hers, there was no doubt. From the huge double bookcase to the flower shaped candles that lined the windowsill, it was hers. "How..."
"Try somewhere else," he said eagerly. "Anywhere else in the world. Somewhere you've always wanted to go."
She watched him for a second, dubious and suspicious, but also filled with overwhelming curiosity.
"The Valley of Kings?" she suggested.
The light this time was gold, and when it dissipated, they were surrounded by pyramids that towered over them, with shadows and blazing sunlight that stretched into the horizon. The only thing missing was the baking heat that went hand in hand with the Egyptian sun. Despite the heat that she could see rippling over the sand, she didn't feel it.
When she reached down to touch the ground, to feel the sand run through her fingers, her hand was met with something hard and smooth and cool to the touch.
"We're still at Hogwarts," he said. There was a ridiculous grin on his face that didn't seem like it was leaving anytime soon. "That's why you're not dying of heat. And why you can't touch the sand. The floor's still there."
"This is... bizzare," she said. "How are you doing this?"
"I'm not. It's all the room," he explained. "You tell it where to go and it takes you there. And that's not even the best part."
"What's better than being able to essentially Apparate and Disapparate within school grounds? And underage, too."
"This." He showed her his watch, a beat-up steel contraption. From the state of it, Lydia suspected that he was simply too lazy to buy a new one. The hands were stuck somewhere around eleven, lifeless in their little metal and glass cage.
"Your watch is broken," she observed dryly.
He shook his head at her, still grinning like an idiot. "Check yours."
She did, finding that yes, her watch was dead too, stuck on the exact same time as his.
"You don't mean to say-"
"Yep," he said proudly. "Time stops while you're in here."
"That's impossible," Lydia said immediately.
"You're a witch," he reminded her. "I wouldn't have thought 'impossible' was in your vocabulary.
"Desperate times, desperate measures," she muttered. Slightly louder, she asked, "How often do you come here?"
"Only been a few times. There's a lot I wanna see. But I figure I've got plenty of time."
"Have you thought about how a timeless environment will impact your aging process?"
Stiles snorted. "No, Nerd. I haven't." He winked at her. "I'm invincible. I shall charm death with my rakish good looks and then leave it with a broken heart, making sure that it never wants to see me ever again. It's the only way."
Lydia gave an exaggerated yawn. "Okay, Reckless. Let's see who lives longer." She looked up at him challengingly, a playful smirk on her lips. "But for now... let's go to the Amazon."
The light flared green, and they were in the middle of a lush rainforest, with birds flashing colored wings at them as the flew about in the canopy.
"Pretty," she said appreciatively. Stiles stared at her when she sat down, and Lydia could only imagine how she looked, seated casually on the floor of the Amazon Rainforest, still wearing her school robes. "You gonna join me, Stilinski?" She gestured to the space opposite her. "We came here to talk, didn't we?"
"I... Merlin, okay." He sat carefully, and for the first time that night, Lydia allowed herself to really look at him, bathed in the green glow of the forest. It did strange things to the shade of his eyes, turning them as close to hazel as they would ever get. He fidgeted uncomfortably under her gaze, leaving her wondering at the fact that she could make him respond like that. Confident Stiles, the boy who so liked to mess with her heartbeat and put all kinds of thoughts in her head. She made him nervous. She loved it.
"So, erm." He cleared his throat and took a breath. "Let's talk."
.......................................
1.) This chapter is 8.5 thousand words long. My usual chapters average between 4 and 5 thousand. So can I just say: thank FUCK that's over.
2.) This chapter was originally going to be three perspectives but Jesus Christ am I glad I stuck with two. Nightmare to end all nightmares. I had a lot of fun with it though. Despite the stupidly late writing hours and my phone's dicky keyboard.
3.) For everyone who got the notification when I accidentally published the first 1.3 thousand words... I am beyond sorry. I am now shit scared of my laptop, and I am never writing on the wattpad website itself ever again. But yes, that was a huge fuck up, and god bless everyone who was so understanding about it. Hopefully this Goliath of a chapter makes up for it.
4.) Here's hoping I didn't put anyone to sleep.
5.) Magan Lambert is a fucking godsend and I have absolutely no idea where I would be without her to blab all my shit to. She is the reason I've been powering through writing this chapter. Moral support. (And yes, I'm slow as fuck. Deal w it.)
6.) I really wanted to do a Christmas chapter but 1.) No time left, and 2.) That's a big ass time jump between chapters. Like a whole month. It's November in the fic now, so. Just not gonna happen. There's always my Christmas chapters in Room Mates, I guess? (It's still on hold, I'm a shitty person, trust me I know.) But anyway, since I write at snail's pace at best, I figure this will be the last thing I publish before Christmas, soooo happy holidays guys. Much love.
7.) I was listening to the title track (Is There Somewhere by Halsey), and Cliffs Edge by Hayley Kiyoko RELIGIOUSLY while writing this chapter. They're both great.
8.) I felt a moral obligation to have Liam beat Theo's ass at least once. Because I'm a vindictive shit.
9.) Y'all motherfuckers thought it was the Room of Requirement HA. I'm calling it the World Room until someone thinks of something better.
10.) The way the Slytherins were presented in this chapter in no way reflects my view of them okay I am one.
11.) Malira were not originally supposed to make out but eh. Shit happens. So much of this chapter was just me following a train of thought on a "why the fuck not" kinda line. It was fun.
12.) NIMMY.
13.) I googled so much shit for this chap, and that's AFTER my stupid amount of HP universe knowledge. So I apologise for any "I have no idea what the fuck that is but okay" moments. But FYI - The Nundu I got from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, which is a lil textbooky thing that is being made into a MOVIE and the teaser trailer's already out and oh lordy am I excited.
As always, thank you to everyone who kicks me up the butt to write, sends me feedback, makes me shit, all that jazz. Little machines. I love you all.
- Zali.