A note about this story, I've moved all the events of Torchwood back by nine years, so Ianto is now born in 1978 and is the same age/ year as Fred and George and Cedric Diggory, joining Hogwarts in 1988. He joins torchwood 1 a year or two This means that he joins TW in 1996 and the battle of Canary Warf happens in 1999 (One year after the battle of Howarts, 1998), and he joins Torchwood 3 in the same year. So, everyone is the same age and all the Torchwood events are the same, the dates have just moved back by nine years. Coincidentally, all the technology is the same – i.e., small mobiles, iPods, etc. I might be alright at researching, just not that good.
Also, I'm really sorry if the sudden changes in tense's confuses you, i wrote this story on a whim, picking it up and dropping it and then picking it up again. Hence, the tenses change a fair bit, also some of the point of veiws do change, but mostly it's either seperated by line and/or paragraph breaks.
This can be considered AU.
Ianto Jones had a secret that he had not told. He had many secrets, small ones that could almost be called inconsequential if it weren't for the fact that they hid a bigger secret, one that held sway over a large part of his past. This secret had to do with the fact that he'd never played rugby at school, only on the holidays, that despite always living in Cardiff, he'd never gone to high school there. It had to do with the fact that he had photographs that he hid when-ever people came over, It had to do with the owl called Rummy that he'd owned when he was younger, it had to do with the Clean-sweep 8 in his cupboard, the trunk in his wardrobe and the wand that, when not up his sleeve, stayed in the bed stand drawer. It had to do with the fact that when he was eleven, he'd gotten a letter that changed who he thought he was. It had to do with the fact the Ianto Jones, son of a tailor, was a wizard.
The Jones's were sitting down for breakfast when the owl arrived. It came barrelling through the open window and dropped the letter into the plate of bacon before landing on the unoccupied chair. Ianto's mother calmly fished it out of the plate and gave the owl a bit of bacon while Ianto, Rhiannon and her husband stared in shock. It took her a little while to calm her husband down enough to explain to a wide eyed Ianto and Rhiannon that she was a squib, and had chosen to live in muggle Cardiff, and that Ianto had managed to inherit the magic, and that he was going to learn how to use it.
"Magic?" Said Ianto, studying the letter with wide eyes, he looked up at his mother, "But I can't be."
His mother shook her head, a slight smile on her pretty face, "You are, and this letter only confirms it. I've always had my suspicions, that time someone ripped your book up and it repaired its self; magic. I'd hoped Rhiannon might have inherited it, but she never received a letter, I don't think it's strong enough in her to be anything above the level of squib, like me." She drew Ianto into a hug, "I'm a so, so proud of you, and just a little bit jealous. My whole family had gone to Hogwarts, they always had tales of the place, I had always felt a little bit left out. But you, you are a wizard, and when you get to Hogwarts, you are going to have the time of your life."
The first trip to Diagon Alley had been eye opening. They'd gone to a wizarding pub in Cardiff called the Dragon's Back and from there had flooed to Diagon Alley. His mother explained that, although she had chosen to live and marry as a muggle, she had been unwilling to lose all ties to the wizarding world and had kept her Gringotts vault with the money she had inherited when her parents had died. She's wanted to keep it in case one or both of her children had been magical.
"Besides," She laughed, "the conversion rates are atrocious. Come on, wand first, and don't stare at the goblins; it's rude and they don't appreciate it."
She took Ianto to a rickety little shop filled with boxes and boxes of wands. There was a tingle in the air that made Ianto giggle a little, 'magic' he whispered to himself.
It had taken Ianto almost an hour to find his wand. Olivander had a couple of piles of wands on his desk and had found two wands that were almost right, a larch wand and a beech wand, before he pulled out another box.
"Try this one, Cedar and phoenix feather, twelve and a half inches, slightly yielding."
Ianto picked it up and chocolaty warmth rushed though him, an evocative smell of cinnamon and wood smoke spiralling in thick curls of shimmering steam out of the end of the wand as if to confirm it.
"Ha!" Cried Olivander, clapping his hands in delight. " A perfect match. A wand for those with strength of character, unusual loyalty and clear-sighted perception; the phoenix who gave that feather was a particularly attractive bird with a singularly lovely voice." Olivander peered at Ianto for a moment, then stepped back and nodded to himself in satisfaction. "Look after that wand, Mr Jones, and it will look after you. 14 Gallons and five sickles."
They had picked up his school supplies and had been heading back to the Leakey Caldron when Ianto had seen the owl in the window of Eylops Owl Emporium and fallen in love with its deep reddish-brown feathers. He'd begged and his mother had relented and brought it.
'An early birthday present." She told him with a smile, before her tone grew serious. "Owls can generally hunt for themselves, but if you don't take good care of him, he's going right back."
Ianto had promised, beaming at his new friend. He'd deliberated on giving the bird a welsh name, before deciding on naming him Rummy, after the card game he and his father often played when it rained. Later, his friends would tease him about being an aspiring alcoholic when he was small. Ironically, rum would end up being one of his least liked drinks, closely followed by rice wine.
He'd been sorted into Hufflepuff, with Cedric Diggory while his other friends who he'd met on the train, Fred and George Weasley and Lee Jordan had gone into Gryffindor. He remembered that hat whispering in is ear, "Oh, there's cunning alright, a certain determinedness that would let you slip straight into Slytherin, but not quite... you've got the interest in knowledge, but not the obsessive thirst, through you do have the clear-sightedness that Ravenclaw values... strength of character – aren't you a person of depths- and a bravery that would be worthy of Gryffindor if coaxed out if you, but no... ah, what's this? Loyalty, hmm... yes... loyalty in an amount befitting of Hufflepuff, a willingness to work too, but loyalty. You might just be loyal enough to save the world or perhaps destroy it. Yes, you'll do very nicely in HUFFLEPUFF!" Later on in his life he'd look back on those words, and muse over them, but at that point, age eleven, he was overwhelmed with a sense of pride and excitement; he had a house and he had loyalty.
He'd written to his mother, and she'd sent him back a letter on the next day, "Loyal and Hardworking. Badgers never give up and once they give their allegiance, you'd be hard pressed to change it. That's a fantastic house, Hufflepuffs' look after their own; you'll not be able to find a more supportive house. " His mother had written, his father had chipped in with, "That sounds like a good house to be in. Loyalty is a good trait, but even more so is hard-working. I'm not too up with all this magic stuff, but you sound like you've gotten a good house. I am proud of you, son."
He'd worked hard that year and came back, excited and full of tales about his school, Rummy got good exercise as Ianto sent letters to Cedric, Lee and the twins over his holidays. His second year came and went, their DADA professor suffered a magical breakdown, the twins got more howlers than last year and Cedric came to stay for the holidays.
He got his first introduction to the story of Voldemort and who Harry Potter was, at the beginning of his third year when he asked Cedric about why Gryffindor seemed unusually excited to have that particular firstie above all others. The Hufflepuff explained the story between sortings'. "A lot of muggleborns and squibs went into hiding; your mother might know more about it."
He written to her, and she'd given him the whole sorry tale.
When sixth year had rolled around along with the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Ianto hadn't been at all sorry to not be old enough to enter in it; instead he'd clapped heartily and cheered for Cedric when he'd been chosen. Cedric had been his best friend, He'd been devastated when Cedric had died, and believed Harry when he said that Voldemort was back. That had been when he'd started making a contingency plan; started doing some muggle high-school study from books his sister owned. If things were going the way he thought they were, the way they had before, he did not want to be blind or helpless in the muggle world if he had to go into hiding.
He'd first become friends with Harry when he'd approached the boy-who-lived at the start of his final year and said, "I believe you. I believe that Voldemort is back. Ced was my friend, the greatest of friends, and if he died fighting Voldemort, then I'll fight too. You need my help; you'll only ever have to ask me. Ced was Hufflepuff, I'm Hufflepuff, and Puffs' protect their own."
Harry looked at him, a little stunned. "Thank you."
Ianto nodded then said, 'By the way, Fred and George told me about you giving them your winnings. You're a good person. You need me, just call." He nodded once, and then turned, striding away to his other friends.
He'd been one of the first to join Harry's illicit defence group, Dumbledore's Army, and had enjoyed it. It wasn't so much because Professor Umbridge was a dreadful teacher, and that he wanted to at least be able to defend himself from Voldemort and his followers, but because he found a sense of camaraderie there. When he was with the DA, he found that he didn't miss his fallen friend so often. It had filled him with a sense of wonder when he first produced his patronus; he'd been expecting a badger or something similar. He had not been expecting the Griffin that burst from his wand with a sound almost akin to a battle cry.
He had not been there when Harry and six others from the DA had gone to the ministry, he'd been in a Rune's exam, it had only been until after it had finished did he realise what had happened.
"I would've come you know." He'd said later. "I had my gallon in my pocket. It's always there."
Harry had been sitting on his bed in the hospital wing, the girls having gone to have a shower, and Neville and Ron were asleep. Ianto pulled two bottles of butter beer out of his bag, and passed one to Harry, taking a long draught himself.
Harry snorted harshly, eyes hard and bitter, "It wouldn't have done any good. It was a trap, a trap and Sirius died because he came to save me." He fiddled with the mouth of the bottle in his hand, taking an agitated and angry sip every so often.
Ianto didn't have anything to say to that, nothing that could make it better, everything could make it worse. Finally he said. "You still should've told me. I like to think of you as a friend Harry, if nothing else and I should have been there too."
"You had your NEWTS to do." Harry said with tired finality.
They sat in silence, drinking, before Ianto offered up a tiny piece of his life to let Harry know that he wasn't alone in his loss, something he'd not told anyone because they wouldn't understand. "My father's going to die in a year, less, even. Its terminal and nothing can help him. It's too far gone, even with magic." He clamped his eyes firmly shut, forcing away the threatening tears. "He said that when I eventually got married, he'd make me a suit for the wedding. He said he'd make me a suit, and he's going to die before I turn twenty." He swallowed back a sob with a swollen throat, missing his best friend. Cedric would have known just what to do, would've made it just a little bit better, a little less painful. But there was only Harry, only two boys breaking and broken, one with the loss of the closest thing he'd had to a father, and the other facing the loss of a father who'd been there whenever he could.
Ianto went out that night with Fred, George and Lee, and got blinding drunk.
After he graduated from Hogwarts with six Newts in potions, transfiguration, charms, defence, runes and history of magic, Ianto started to study for muggle GCSE exams. He passed with a pretty decent grade considering that all of his high level education had been magically based. He had to thank his eidetic memory for it; it was one of the reasons that he'd known as one of the smarter Hufflepuff's. He'd been working at Diagon Alley in one of the bookshops there while he worked at the GCSE's. His father died during the year, slipped off in his sleep. He cried for three days, then he went out with Fred, George and Lee; he woke up in some muggle women's bed with blue hair. He'd had to dye back for the funeral.
It'd been in the days just after Dumbledore's death that he decided to put his contingency plan into action. He announced that he was going to live in Belfast, created a paper trail, and then effectively disappeared off the map. He told his mother and his sister that he was leaving, not coming back until it was over. He left his mother with Rummy and the trunk of all his wizarding things. "Please take care of it for me. They shouldn't look askance at a squib with some magical things. "
He took only his wand and left them with the parting advice, "I'll find you, when this is all over. Stay away from people in black cloaks and silver masks. If you see them, run. Love you both. Take care of Rummy for me, mam."
Then he had left.
He'd taken a place at Cardiff University, but very quickly realised that studying and trying to keep his self under the radar didn't work very well. It was a fortunate accident that when he told one of his Professors that he was leaving, they offered to give him a referral to a place they knew. "I have some contacts, they're always on the look-out for bright young un's such as your self – did you say you had an eidetic memory? - I'm not too sure what they do, it's all a bit hush-hush. Government and such-like. I can't guarantee you a job, but I can certainly get you a foot in the door."
Ianto had hesitated, and then nodded. He'd already faked enough credentials to get into university, he was also lucky that Ianto Jones was the welsh equivalent of John Smith. There were plenty of people who would go by that name. Besides, he highly doubted that Death-Eaters would look for him in an (apparently) hush-hush part of the muggle British government. At the time, he hadn't realised exactly what Torchwood was, after he did, it was a bit too late to back out, but by that time he hadn't wanted to if he could.
He'd been a bit leery when he found out that it was in the middle of Voldemort controlled ministry-of-magic London, but figured that if he carried his wand around everywhere, but did everything with-out it, he should be okay. He reasoned that if he got a flat close to the work-place, and avoided wizarding areas, he should be safe. He took the job, the pay was high enough and his funds were running low, Torchwood could offer him enough anonymity for a modicum of protection. But after a week or so, he was glad that he took the job, because it was where he met Lisa.
They'd danced around each other, flirting and giving subtle hints, before Ianto had asked Lisa out. Even though he couldn't talk about certain subjects- would refuse to talk or would deflect the question- they'd just clicked. Lisa was light and laughter, his spot of brightness in an ever darkening world, and he loved being around her, he loved her and she'd loved him. He'd never told her that he was a wizard, he'd been intending to through, but he wanted to wait until the war was over, if the war was over. He knew there was risk enough for her, in going out with him, in staying over at his place, when Death Eaters might find him at any moment. He had a chance against them, she didn't.
He'd been at work when he'd gotten the call that Hogwarts was under attack.
Ianto sighed as he washed his hands in the sink, and shook them out. A slight dimming of the lights was all the warning he got before the monkey patronus soared into being before him, and a disembodied voice echoed out.
"Ianto, it's Lee . Hogwarts is under attack from Voldemort, this is the battle that could win or lose us this war, and right now it isn't looking so good, we're dying Ianto. I don't know how far away you are, but we need help. Horace Slughorn and Charlie Weasley are getting reinforcements from the Order of the Phoenix, and every wand counts. We need you Ianto, please come. We're dying." Lee's voice, rasping from the monkey, died out as the patronus faded away, leaving Lee's voice echoing slightly.
The bathroom door swung open, and Daniel Gefforys, one of the more relaxed junior archivists walked in, whistling. "Hey Ian- shit Ianto, you don't look so good."
Ianto swayed, Hogwarts was under attack. Lee needed him. People were dying. A battle warred within him for a second; stay or go, fight or hide, danger or safety. His heart gave a conflicted beat, and Ianto came to a snap decision. Cedric fought, the Twins were fighting, Lee needed him, and his Hufflepuff loyalty won out.
"No, I'm not good. I think I'm going to have to go home. Now."
Daniel nodded eyes a little wide, and moved to the side. If Ianto was sick, he did not want to be in the way of someone who looked like they were going through up on the nearest person.
"I'll cover for you. You really don't look good, go home and try not to chuck up on your way out."
"Thank you." He croaked, and rushed out the door, out of the archives, and out of the building, heading towards the closest spot he could apperate from.
He arrived with the rest of the relief force. He fought the entire battle in a suit and a pair of dress shoes. He'd nearly lost an arm to a severing curse, and he'd saved Neville Longbottom from a spell that he couldn't see, a last act from a dying death eater.
"Nice of you to join, always knew there was some lion to that badger." Said Neville and clasped his arm briefly in welcome before he was racing off again, shooting curses left and right.
He saw Professor Sinistra fall, killed by an Avada Kedavra, but not before she'd taken out four Death Eaters with a single spell.
He helped carry Lavender Brown's moaning, ravaged body, into the great hall, murmuring in her bloody ear soothingly, even as he wanted to sob with a melange of desperate emotions, as she cried out in pain.
He remembered seeing the body of Fred in the hall, remembered that he'd frozen, remembered that he'd gone to George and hugged him fiercely, clinging to each other, George been keening in his ear with terrible grief.
He remembered being saved from an acromantula by Firenze the centaur and an unknown wizard, only to see the wizard decapitated with a spell from a werewolf before his eyes.
He remembered the bone-aching relief when Voldemort exploded into ashes, and Harry had said, 'It's over. We've won'
The rest of the battle had been melded into a blur, a nightmarish haze of fear, anger, grief, loss and desperation.
When the battle had finished, he let himself stay long-enough to be patched up, to mourn, to say good-bye, to say thank you, before he apperated home. His level of magical exhaustion meant that he was just able to make it to his flat. He stayed awake just long enough to fix himself up before Lisa had arrived. He fell into bed, letting sleep take him, to avoid questions that he could not answer.
He'd slept for three days.
After he woke, he took two weeks off of work. They'd let him; anyone who slept for three days was obviously sick, and they wanted no possible contaminates among their files. Besides, what if it was contagious?
He stayed around, helped George -tried to put pieces of him back together- went out with his friends, celebrated with palatable relief – the war was over, they were safe, the dark side had been beaten back again- and mourned for those who he'd lost –funerals and memorial services he'd wanted, needed, to attend- Fred was only one of many. He took a lot of days off after the battle, nearly spent all of his paid sick days.
The battle also took its toll on his psyche; he was twitchy for week's after-wards, slept badly and dreamt of blood, death and loss.
Lisa didn't know what was wrong with him.
He seemed so relived, as if a great and pressing worry had been removed, a constant look-over-your-shoulders fear, but at the same time there was the grief and loss about him.
"A friend died recently," was all he could say when asked, "He was almost family and he died in a terrible way."
To everyone else, he was recovering from a sudden illness and they were unable to see through the carefully constructed masks that he kept on hand at all times.
Lisa didn't push, but when Ianto kissed her, she could taste tears, blood, loss, relief and love. It was a strange combination, and she could do nothing to about it, except help where, and when, she could.
Ianto drank his coffee black and strong, slightly bitter, afterwards. It took a while before it sweetened out, and when it did, Lisa had been relived. Ianto's moods had always been reflected in the coffee he made himself. It was always good, always well made coffee, but the strength, the bitterness, the sweetness, always reflected what he was feeling.
It had been in the weeks leading up to Canary Warf Battle that Ianto started to leave his wand at home, he did not need it on hand all the time. Voldemort had lost and there was no chance that Ianto could be killed or taken by Snatchers or Death Eaters. He left it at home because it was a symbol that the good times had come, and he did not always need to be on guard, did not always need the possibility of escape. Besides, he wanted no risk that Torchwood might find out what he was.
He might work for Torchwood, but he was not stupid, or blind, as to what they did, what they were, or to their ideals. Torchwood had started out as protection and work; he'd started for the safety and security it had brought him but he stayed for Lisa. He did not agree with them, or the Director's xenophobic 'for Queen and Country' mentality. He did not give them his allegiance or his loyalty; that went to his friends, to the magical world, to Lisa. So he left his wand at home, knowing if they found out what he was - that magic, not just aliens, existed - then he would be taken away and experimented on.
Then the ghost shifts started.
Ianto was wary about them, asked George about if he'd seen them, found out that they stopped in wizarding areas.
"I don't like them." Said George over a tankard of mead as they sat in the Leaky Cauldron. "They don't feel right. They're wrong. Alien. I don't trust them." He took an unhealthily large swig, "One looked like Fred. Did you know that? For a second, I thought it was my brother returned to me, so we could be Gred and Forge, Forge and Gred again. But his eyes were all wrong." George gave a broken little laugh, and then it was time for him to go home as he'd drunk too much, Ianto slid his arm around George's waist and helped him on his swaying way. George had gotten better, it's only when he drinks too much that he got like this. And lately, George had only drunk in company, with those who understood.
Ianto kept an eye on it, and avoided the ghosts when the shifts started. George was right; they did feel wrong. Their eyes weren't right, and his magic recoiled against the ghosts. It made him uneasy, but he ignored it. The things that Torchwood did always made him uneasy.
In hindsight, that should have been the alarm bell.
He was wandless the day that the Cybermen came through, wandless and helpless. Unable to escape, unable to fight back and barely able to hide. He had never been so scared or so vulnerable, even at the Battle of Hogwarts, even at the height of Voldemort's power. The Death-Eaters had been human, they wanted to kill, and subdue because of a cause they believed in. Ianto could understand that, could connect, and could fight them. The Cybermen were not human. The Darleks' were not human. They wanted to kill because it was hard-wired into them, because the Cybermen wanted to upgrade the world and create an army, and the Darleks want to see the world burn, to start a glorious return, to destroy, because that was all they wanted. Ianto could not understand that, could not connect to them, could not fight them because they scared him shitless and he had no wand anyway. He hid, because he did not want to be converted, he did not want to be a monster.
Then Lisa had been taken. He'd pulled her out still screaming and bleeding because Lisa was all that he had stayed for. Lisa was the one who had pulled him back together after Hogwarts despite not knowing anything. Lisa was his light, his laughter; Lisa was part of his world, and so vital, that he knew that he could not live without her, could not bear to see her go. He loved her, and he'd be damned if she died. He'd pulled her out of the unit; she was only half converted, she was still human. He could still save her. He had given her his loyalty and he would save her, whatever it took, he would save her.
He held her flesh and metal body in his arms, her screaming in his ear, his cries of "Oh God. Help me! Somebody help me!" falling from his lips in a desperate and terrified litany, and his mother's voice echoing in his mind; "Hufflepuff Ianto! I'm so proud. Hufflepuff's are loyal, fiercely loyal, and hard working. You can do anything if you have enough determination." And then there was Cedric's voice, "Tri-Wizard Tournament, I'm entering; if anyone can win, a 'puff can. In fact, only a Hufflepuff could do it. "
In those desperate moments, their words had simultaneously given him strength and caused him pain
It had been those words, his loyalty and his determination, and the pain and desperation in Lisa's eyes that gave him the resolve to do what had to be done.
He made a conversion unit into a life support system, begged his way into Torchwood 3, smuggled Lisa into the Hub, seduced his boss, deceived the team, faded into the background, kept Lisa alive, found Dr Tanazaki.
Then everything went belly up.
He remembered some of that day with a sort of far-away blurriness. A distance that made it easier to bear. Other things he remembered with the sort of awful clarity that he couldn't stand, the kind of clarity that even drinking too much can't distort, that only sharpens with the more drink that you toss down your throat.
Heavy pants of breath punctuated the tension filled air as Jack held a gun to Ianto's head. Anger and hurt, a sense of being used, and the terrible realisation that Ianto had been lying all along, which made the betrayal worse, was warring inside of Jack. Part of him says that he should shoot now, that Ianto had his chance and he'd been harbouring a Cyberman in the basement, and another part saying to give Ianto a chance, that he can realise what he's done and fight side by side against the monster he brought along, and perhaps earn forgiveness.
His voice came out fierce and animalistic. "Your loyalty is to us now."
Ianto wants to laugh, perhaps they could have won his loyalty like Torchwood 1 never did, but ultimately they made it easy to deceive them. Jack only wanted a shag; some eye-candy in a suit to clean up the shit and make coffee. Owen never gave a damn, Suzie was too wrapped up in what she did, and Gwen followed the lead of everyone else, happy to let him slip into the background and then only noticed for coffee or when he wasn't there. Of anyone, the most sorry he is about deceiving, is Toshiko, but even then, it's not all that much. Torchwood 3 lost the chance for his loyalty long ago.
"No." And part of him disgusted at how weak and blubbery his voice is but he can't try and stop it. "My loyalty is to her. Only to her."
Ianto was Hufflepuff, he knew loyalty. He knew what loyalty was. Loyalty had to be earned, loyalty was not a job, was not something that could be automatically expected and received. Ianto had given Hufflepuff his loyalty, not just because it was his house and required, but because Hufflepuff stuck together; hurt one and the whole house, from the smallest firstie to the most burley of seventh years, would rise up in unified arms. Ianto was Hufflepuff, and if Jack thought that Ianto's loyalty was his by dint of a job, he was sorely mistaken. Torchwood had never had Ianto's loyalty, only Lisa, only those who he loved and cared for, and who returned it in kind. Ianto was Hufflepuff, he knew loyalty.
After Lisa had died, both in her cyberbody and her transplanted brain, Ianto had stayed at Torchwood. He knew that the only way to leave was death or retcon, and between the two, he'd choose death every time. To forget Torchwood would be to forget Lisa, would mean that in the process of forgetting Torchwood, he'd forget the Battle of Hogwarts, all those who'd fallen, all those who'd fought. To forget that and live would be a travesty. He'd been relived beyond belief when Jack had let him live, had let him stay, but he'd been angry too. He owed Jack a life debt, he didn't know how, but his magic could feel it. That mercy of his life and memories was just icing on a cake he already resented. He was just glad that Jack didn't know how to call on the debt; he shuddered to think of what Jack would get him to do.
He'd gone back to his flat, at the time he'd bought it, it had been the closest place that he could find to both The Hub and the warehouse he'd stored Lisa in. He's fallen straight into his empty bed and slept. In the morning, he drifted about, like a ghost. When it hit five, he'd eaten nothing but baked beans straight from the can, and had decided that he couldn't stand the boxes of memories stacked up, the depressing bareness of the flat, and the paint that peeled and bubbled in places on the wall. He'd gone to the closest wizarding pub to his house, The Dragon's Back, and borrowed a tent. He brought far too many bottles of alcohol and spent the rest of day on the moors, a place he'd been to before hiking with Cedric and his family. He put the tent up, then proceeded to get absolutely hammered mourning everyone, and everything he'd lost. When he woke, sober, hung-over and freezing cold, the ground around the tent was a scene of destruction where he'd gotten a little free with his wand. He packed the tent up and apperated back the Dragon' and dropped the tent off behind the bar, choosing to shamble home knowing that he looked exactly how he felt; an absolute wreck.
He fumbled briefly with his keys, then gave up and instead simply used a muttered 'Alohomora'. He slid his wand back up his sleeve and found Jack waiting on the lounge.
Ianto scowled and rubbed his thumping head, he wanted nothing more than to down a hang-over potion and fall straight into bed, something he couldn't do if Jack was here.
"Where have you been?" Jack demanded.
"Out. Getting shit-faced." Replied Ianto shortly, now glad he'd not apperated home. "Not dead. If you don't mind, I'm hung-over. I'm going to sleep."
Jack tightened his jaw and turned to leave, slamming the door obnoxiously loud as he exited the flat.
Ianto winced, and then made his shambling way to find a potion and fall asleep.
Jack sighed when he got back to The Hub. He'd been keeping an eye on Ianto using the CCTV – for security purposes, he told Tosh when she looked at him questioningly. When Ianto hadn't gotten back after he'd went out last night, he'd been worried – annoyed- Jack corrected mentally. He'd left the Hub at around twelve at night and went to Ianto's flat. He'd not really expected to find Ianto in his house, when he'd received no answer to his half-hearted knocks, or his calls, he'd helped himself inside. After finding no dead bodies, he'd snooped grumpily around a bit, taking the opportunity to scan for alien tech.
The house was nearly devoid of personality, there were un-opened boxes around the house, and the only furniture was that which would be used every day; a bed, a couch, a table with a single chair, a TV, a fridge. They were things that were needed for basic living; there were no personal items or photos on the wall. The rest of his furniture and some more boxes were stacked in the second room. He'd snooped some more, found a funny looking broom in a cupboard and a heavy steamer trunk with a lock he couldn't undo, even though he fiddled with it wishing he had the Doctor's sonic screwdriver. He'd then decided to wait on the couch, lying back and closing his eyes against the depressing visage of the flat with peeling walls and stacked boxes. He'd fallen asleep, still not recovered from the zapping Ianto's half converted cyber-girlfriend had given him. He'd woken in the morning to find Ianto still not there.
Jack had gnawed at his lip and contemplated calling Tosh to search for his whereabouts on CCTV when he heard fumbling at the door and a curse in a language he didn't know. He'd stood up as the door opened with a relief that very quickly transposed to anger.
'Where were you?" he'd demanded. He wanted answers now, damn it!
Ianto had eyed him tiredly, if unkindly, wincing a little. His clothes hung on him crookedly, messily, he looked like he'd slept in them, and he reeked of alcohol. Ianto paused and then said, "Out. Getting Shit faced."
A muscle jumped in Jack's jaw and Ianto's eyes sharpened coldly. "Not dead. If you don't mind, I'm hung-over. I'm going to bed."
Jack got the message, he left.
After about a week of moping around the house like a ghost, staring at boxes and peeling paint, Ianto decided that he'd had enough. Although the flat wasn't big, it did have two bedrooms and felt decidedly lonely and unloved. He'd only been intending to stay until Lisa was better, and then they could buy a house together and raise a family, but that was a faded dream now. It was high time to let that die now. He supposed that he could make a real new start and move flats completely, but it was too much hassle to move out into a different apartment; he had to make this place into a home. A place he could escape to when it all got too much. He didn't want to be like Jack on his rooftops or Owen with his drinking and random pub shags.
All of his wizarding stuff was in the trunk in his wardrobe, and his broom was in the cupboard with the broken vacuum that had already been there because it looked normal enough. But he'd not unpacked, and most of his stuff was in boxes or the spare room.
It was time to unpack, make a home, and move on.
He started with the walls first. He cheated a bit with the paint stripping, using magic and a spell that he found in the book one of his friends had lent him; 101 Handy-Man and House-Witch spells. He decided to paint one wall a creamy colour that was slightly reminiscent of the bronze-brown that Ravenclaw had sported on their ties while the others he painted clotted-cream white. He considered using a different, darker brown, but the colour he'd picked out had been the exact shade of Lisa's chocolate skin. He'd put that paint away very quickly.
It took him a little while to unpack fully; the boxes had to be moved first before the furniture and while there wasn't a lot of furniture to move, Ianto single-mindedly devoted all of his attention to it. Once the boxes were out of the way, he started with the bookshelves, then the comfy armchair he'd liked to read in, they were to go into the living room, in a corner where they'd be out of the way. The desk he kept in the second room, as did the chair that folded out into a spare bed. He hesitated with Lisa's beanbag, she'd liked to use her laptop while sitting in it, and it still smelt faintly of her. He threw it out. The shelving for his DVD collection went into the lounge room, ottoman in the bedroom along with the recliner that he'd bought on a whim from IKEA with his first Torchwood paycheck. Most of his stuff was from IKEA, truthfully, he wasn't sure how wizards managed without it; thank god for Swedish design.
He put up the few non-wizard photographs he had, wiping a fond thumb over the glass of the muggle photo he'd taken with his family at Kings Cross. He'd have to put a notice-me-not or a freezing charm on his wizarding photos if he put those up, but with the way Jack kept coming around at unpredictable times, it was best to leave it for now.
The flat, while certainly not the surgical white blandness that Torchwood 1 had boasted, was also not the riot of colour his previous London flat had been, the one he'd shared with Lisa. Lisa had hated white, preferring to surround herself in a veritable festival of colours. She'd cooked like that too, forever experimenting with spices and strange recipes that had almost always turned out to be surprisingly okay. Ianto's taste was a little more reserved, he chose a couple of pillows in a mellow gold-yellow the same shade of the hangings in his Hufflepuff dorm, with a Ravenclaw blue throw and a rug just a shade darker than the walls, he kept the wooden blinds and added a Gryffindor red throw in his bedroom. Otherwise, any other colour came from his photographs, his DVD collection and the books on his shelf.
He fixed up the fireplace and briefly flirted with the idea of converting the second room into a potions lab before discarding it because of the sheer impracticality. He didn't do that much brewing, the kitchen would suffice. Besides, it would be a little hard to explain to Jack just why he had strange things in jars and bundles of herbs hanging up everywhere.
Then, when there was nothing more to do, and anything else added would be pointless, he heaved a heavy sigh, and dropped straight into bed, the cathartic nature of what he had done leaving him exhausted and empty. From here he would be able to move on, and perhaps, the needless deaths wouldn't weigh so heavily on his heart if he somehow made amends within himself and with the world.
Jack dropped by the day after he'd finished, and gave a low whistle. "Looks good Ianto; a house makeover in three days, that's impressive. Have you been working all night?"
Ianto shrugged tensely, fingers twitching for his wand. It was one thing for Jack to come around and check on him in a house that he didn't give a shit about, it was another for Jack to swan in and poke in nose into every corner of what was now a home.
His home. His sanctuary against all of the crazy weird shit that was his life and was his job. Ianto rolled his shoulders uneasily and shifted in his place, wanting nothing more than for Jack to get out of his home.
"Nice colour scheme," said Jack, attempting to be blindly oblivious for the way that Ianto so clearly disliked him in the house, "I would've taken you for a red kind of guy through. You look good in red." He flashed a quick grin that was not returned and Jack let it die a quick death.
Ianto said nothing, did not offer coffee or give Jack a reason to stay.
The pair stood in silence, Ianto unwilling to break it, and Jack not sure how to proceed. He shoved his hands in his pockets, flipping his greatcoat out of the way. "Are you okay?"
"Coping." Came the short answer, and it was true, Ianto was coping. He'd drunk himself into a stupor during the first week and cried until he felt washed out and empty. The past three days, the sorting out of his apartment had helped. But now he was tired, angry, and he wanted Jack out of his space.
Jack nodded, obligatory questions of health negated by obligatory answers along the lines of 'fine'. "Good." He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. Ianto pursed his lips, frustration rolling its way up his spine.
"Until tomorrow, Sir." It was a clear dismissal.
Jack stared at Ianto flatly, levelly, before turning on his heel and leaving, great coat flapping at his ankles.
Ianto stared about his flat for a moment after Jack had left and realised with a small shock that he wanted Rummy back. He'd given his owl to his mother, and then his sister had taken it when his mother had to go into care. He'd been in London at the time, and hadn't wanted to explain the sudden appearance of an owl he'd apparently owned for years to Lisa. He'd resigned himself to the fact the he wasn't going to get his pet back, but truth be told, he missed his faithful friend and wanted the bird back. He'd have to talk to his sister. If his niece and nephew wanted to keep the owl they'd almost grown up with, then he supposed he'd have to let the owl stay with them, despite his objections.
"Here Ifan," said his sister, handing the owl over to her brother with mingled sadness and relief. She was reasonably fond of Rummy, the owl had become a sort of pet, but she was just a little bit scared of his beak and talons around the kids, and she disliked how he'd regurgitate pellets of bone and fur and icky stuff from his meals. Besides, the owl had never really been hers but her brothers, and it was high time he went back to his rightful owner.
"Hey Rummy," crooned Ianto, "how've you been, huh?" he smiled softly at the owl on his arm and petted it gently. Rummy chirruped and nibbled excitedly at his fingers with no little affection and love.
"Thanks for looking after him, Rhi'."
"No worries, but truth be told, I'm glad you're taking him back, Johnny's a little bit scared of him, and he brings home mice. He's missed you too, I think."
Ianto smiled and smoothed his hand down Rummy's feathers again, and the owl hooted affectionately.
Rhiannon hesitated, and then said, "Listen I know that when you left things were a little strained, and that the distance you kept was for a reason, even if it was a stupid one, but don't be a stranger okay? Your bird missed you, I missed you." Her voice was a little thick and Ianto pulled her into a one armed hug, careful of the bird on his left arm who hooted a complaint at the sudden movement.
She stepped back and wiped her eyes carefully. "Come to dinner this weekend. The kids' would like to see you."
Ianto hesitated then nodded. It was high time that he strengthen the fragile bridges with his sister. "Yeah. I'll come."
"Good. I'll make a stew or something."
"I'll bring some Butterbeer."
Rhiannon gave a slightly misty smile at the mention of the beverage. "Here's the bird's stand, and his cage. I'll see you this weekend."
"Yeah, you too Rhi."
His house feels nicer, more of a home than before, with his owl on the stand in the kitchen. It feels right. He'd been a bit leery when Jack dropped in later that night, but the man had stayed for a few words to check he wasn't dead- really, a phone call could suffice- then left citing weevil activity. Ianto's talk with his sister earlier that day had left him with a desire for company; it didn't take him long to floo call Dean and ask him to come over.
Him and Dean had been in the DA together, and despite the age gap, had been reasonably good friends. This budding friendship was only cemented when Voldemort had taken over and Dean had to go on the run. Ianto had caught wind of it, and offered to see if he could get Dean a place in Torchwood. Dean had accepted. They'd stayed friends, approaching something akin to confidantes and drinking buddies despite Ianto working in the Archives and Dean working in general maintained; unblocking pipes, cleaning and fiddling with the computers. He was close enough to Torchwood to realise what they're all about; he signed the secrets act and made the oath even through all he had been was general maintenance, which is the same thing as shit cleaner and handy man. But he was good at it; it gave him income and a place to hide from Voldemort. The reason Dean had survived Canary Warf was because he hadn't been there. He'd quit Torchwood the day after the Battle of Hogwarts, choosing retcon, then subsequently using a wandless vanishing spell while the pills where in his mouth. They'd stayed firm friends.
Dean lived in a flat in Glasgow, working at his Auror training. After talking to his friend for all of one second, he immediately ascertained that something was wrong, and had come over, taking Ianto's advice to floo to the Dragon and walk to the flat.
He arrived with a case of Mead, and several bottles of Fire-Whisky tucked under one arm, and Ianto knows he's come armed for a deep and long talk. He's grateful and welcomes Dean in with no small relief.
Dean takes one look at him and at the house, then goes, "What happened?"
And that's when Ianto sobs out the whole story, about Lisa, about his family, about Torchwood, about the team, about Jack.
Ianto hung his head over the open mouth of the bottle, "Oh God Dean, I don't know what the fuck to do. I miss her so damn much, I want her back so bad, but at the same time I don't. I was doing it for Lisa- the seducing of Jack- but at the same time I liked it." He gave a sob. 'I'm such a fucking wreck."
Dean sighed, "Oh Ianto, I don't know what to say. But you're not a terrible person, from what I heard of Jack at one, he's the kind of person who's like that."
Ianto crooked a humourless smile and tossed back the last of the drink. "It's worse in person."
"I'm sorry about Lisa. She was beautiful, a really great person. You looked like you really loved her, and she loved you."
"I know. I did."
The pair sat in silence, before Dean heaved himself up. "Come on. We're going out. Go get changed. I'm going to call up some of the gang. We're all going to get shitfaced together, none of this lonely drinker crap."
Ianto heaved a sigh, and then got up, stumbling a little on the way to his bed room.
"And if you've got a sobering potion, drink it!" Dean called after him, before he turned to set about calling the others.
Ianto hesitated as he looked in his wardrobe for something a little more club worthy, he didn't exactly want to put out; Dean was only wearing jeans, a tight white T-shirt and a leather jacket. His eyes lingered on the lavender button up with the silver pin-stripes. He shrugged and pulled it out, shucking on a pair of dark, tight fitting jeans. He rolled the sleaves up to his elbow and pulled on a form fitting waistcoat, slipping his wand into the specially made holder in the lining.
"Nice." Said Dean, "Come on. They'll be meeting us there."
"Where?"
"Spindle Shaft Lane. George says there's a new nightclub there, says it's really buzzing. We'll be meeting Lee, George and Seamus there. Neville sends his regrets, he'd like to come, but he said something about a delicate cutting he needs to look after."
"Herbology Maniac." The old joke is rough on his tongue and it sticks in his throat.
"Yeah. Come on, let's go."
The night was bit of a blur; they met the guys at Runic after flooing to the Leaky Cauldron Via The Dragon's Back. Ianto remembered drinking, thrumming music that ran like live wire under his skin, hot bodies pressed against each other, he remembered loosing himself to the dance, the drink and the music, and little else after taking several shots and a joint of dried Gillyweed. But he had forgotten some of his troubles, forgotten about the guilt, forgotten about Torchwood, and gotten his mind of all that he'd done.
Lee, being the only sober one in the group, took him and George back to Ianto's place as he was the 'designated floo and apparition operator'. They'd come back to his place and proceeded to get truly trashed.
As Ianto woke the next day, the air was thick with the smell of apple blossom, they must have started drinking the Bottles of Night Bloom he'd stashed away. The smell of Gilly Smoke was also palatable, and Ianto remembered that Lee had pulled a plastic baggie of the plant not long after they got home. He felt the sharp edge of pain along his neck where the Gilly induced gills had fluttered not long before. Fortunately they had disappeared back into his skin where, he knew from experience, they would leave three faint pink, horizontal scar lines on each side of his neck. He groaned.
Bugger.
The gills would only appear if he smoked too much of the weed, and it was obvious he'd done just that. It was the third time he'd done so in a month as of now. It would do him no good to get addicted to the stuff, it was a fairly harmless drug, as far as wizarding drugs went, but it was still worse than alcohol, and a bitch to get clean of.
It was at that point that he realised that George was at the door talking to someone, and Lee was draped over his legs, his gills fluttering softly with each breath.
Jack.
Fuck. Just fuck.
He stumbled to find a hangover potion; it wouldn't make him look any less rough, but it would take the edge off of the troll rock concert that was currently thumping in his skull, and stop him from feeling needing to expel the contents of his stomach onto the nearest surface. He made his way unsteadily to the door, wincing at the overcast light of the obnoxious day.
"Hello Sir."
Jack made his way to Ianto's house a little earlier than most of his usual drop ins, but he'd taken to watching Ianto's house on CCTV and he'd been jealous- no, worried- when he'd seen a caramel skinned man turn up with a case of what looked like alcohol, then a couple of hours later, the same man and a decidedly delicious looking Ianto disappeared to go out somewhere, only to return hours later, drunk, with a different chocolate skinned guy and a red haired man. Jack had left because he'd been worried, but also a little unsteadied by Ianto's suddenly loose-and-easy seeming actions. He'd believed the Welshman when he'd said that he'd loved Lisa, but to go so quickly from borderline flirting with the boss, to mourning over a loved one, to meeting other guys and bringing them home for a threesome made him a little... disappointed. He'd thought better of him. Thought he was better than that.
He stood impatiently on Ianto's doorstep and knocked, it was answered a few seconds later by the tall red head who Ianto had brought back last night.
The red head looked him up and down guardedly; long hair falling gently in bangs over his eyes "Hello. Can I help you?"
Jack contained an inner sigh, then turned on the charm, with just a hint of challenge, "Captain Jack Harkness, and who are you?"
The red head's gaze sharpened, "George Weasley." There was a hint of mischief that was very quickly hidden.
Jack's instincts screamed trouble maker.
"Nice to meet you, is Ianto there?"
A Cheshire grin slid over George's face like molasses.
"Sure he is, but he might be a little..." He trailed off suggestively, a wicked glint to his eyes, before he said, "Occupied."
A thread of anger twisted around Jacks chest, and twined in the base of his stomach. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and George noted it with a wicked thought.
"I'll wait." Jack said shortly.
"Might be a while Captain."
"Doesn't matter." Jack said, unable to keep the edge off his voice. "I've time. I'll wait."
George shrugged lightly, but made no move to step away from the doorway "If you wish."
Somewhere in the distance a bird raised its voice in a lilting song and Jack felt as if it were mocking him slightly.
"Hello Sir."
Jack turned slightly and saw Ianto coming down the dimly lit hallway, squinting a little in the light. He looked rough, his jeans were creased, his waistcoat was undone and his shirt looked slept in, but he did not look as if he'd been shagging. A small thread of relief curled in Jack and he squashed that feeling quickly. An odd smell of apple blossom and a type of smoke that Jack couldn't put his finger on to name was carried on the air around both Ianto and George, although the smoke was stronger on Ianto. His employee was rubbing his neck as if the skin was sore, he could see equally spaced lines, three on each side, on his neck.
"Ianto." Jack nodded in greeting, "Can I come in?"
Ianto shrugged lightly, the winched at the movement. "By all means sir, just keep your voice down." And Jack followed Ianto into the house, George bringing up the rear.
There were shot glasses and bottles littered around the floor of the living room, there were little flecks of ash ground into the carpet. On the couch, the other person who had come home with Ianto groaned and sat up, clutching his head and then his neck. Jack frowned at the pink lines marking the other's neck; they looked as recent, if not more, as Iantos.
"I'll go make some coffee." Ianto offered.
"Fuck." The man on the couch said.
Lee, Jack thought his name was.
Lee pulled himself up and stumbled into the kitchen. There was the sound of Ianto making coffee, and a few minutes later, Lee reappeared again with a steaming mug, looking much restored, but still rough. He sank gratefully into the armchair. George and Ianto joined them a few minutes later, carrying coffee. Jack shifted slightly uncomfortably, ill at ease with how at home George and Lee looked.
George spoke first. "So you're Ianto's boss."
Jack nodded, trying to regain his aplomb by giving a cheerful smile as he took a sip of coffee. "You've worked that magic of yours again, coffee's great.
"Thank you." Ianto said who was, for some reason, shooting a nervous look at George and Lee.
George grinned and lent back in his seat, mischievous wickedness spilling over his face. "By the way Ianto, o' friend of mine," he began, "I don't know if you remember that bet we made."
Ianto froze and Jack was made uneasy by the suddenly expectant atmosphere.
"I take it that you do. So, you willing, or do I win?"
Ianto glared. "Fuck you Weasley," He ground out. "I'll do it."
Lee gave a whoop. "There's that courage! I knew there was lion in you!"
Ianto glared, there was a slight glint in his eye that Jack didn't particularly like the look of, he practically flung himself out the chair and snarled something in welsh, before he attached himself to Lee's mouth.
The kiss lingered for a few seconds before Lee recovered from his bout of shock.
"Ianto!" Lee yelped, pushing himself away from Ianto with a look of mortified shock. "That was not the bet!"
Jack broke out his leer and Ianto stood up and adjusted his shirt, composure regained. "Actually," Ianto said in a tone of absolute surety, "if I remember correctly, and I always do, George, you were gesturing at Lee when you made the bet. You said, 'When your boss comes tomorrow, I want you to kiss him, bet you a keg of beer that you won't do it.' You were quite distinctly waving your hand at Lee when you said 'him'. Bet fulfilled."
"Fuck." George sulked and Lee broke out into a chortle of laughter, mortification quickly forgotten for mirth. "I should've known better than make a bet with you while not in my right mind, you bloody snake-badger. You're bloody evil."
Ianto stilled, then waved him off. "I feel sorry for you if you haven't worked that out yet. 'Scuse me, I've got a pet to feed." He turned to Jack, his look of composure betrayed only by the slight tint of colour on the tips of his ears. "I'll be back at the end of the week, sir. You can all see yourselves out."
Lee yawned, the sat up. "Guess I should head." He patted down his pockets, frowned, and then headed towards the kitchen, following Ianto.
George watched Jack steadily and there was a minute of two of silence before he spoke, suddenly and seriously. "He's fragile, Jack Harkness." If George noticed the involuntary twitch of a sceptical eyebrow, he does not show it, merely continuing on, "He's lost a lot in the past few years, and not just from Canary Warf. We know because we were there with him, although not at Canary Warf and that was something we cannot quite forgive ourselves for. If we'd been there perhaps things wouldn't have gone the way they did." George shrugged, a little bitterly. "But all the same, we've seen things and done things, he's seen things and done things that no nineteen or twenty year old should have seen or done." Jack can hear the just contained grief and anger in that sentence which was a warning and a fact all at once. He stays silent as George continues to speak, "He's strong, but not that strong, and I've only seen him this fragile, this lost, twice in the past and then now. And you have something to do with it." His eyes glinted dangerously and Jack knows to take head of what the ginger is about to say. "I'm going to tell you right now Captain, that there are hell of a lot of people who know unusual and painful ways to permanently remove your balls, and I'll be first in line."
George stands, turning his head slightly, the movement causing his hair to swing back and Jack can now see the sight of an ugly wound were an ear used to be. He knows there's a history behind it as George grins again, dangerous and malicious. "You take care of him, Harkness. He's hurting, he's fragile and he's so, so broken, but he won't show it, because he doesn't trust easily. Not recently anyway. He's been damaged so badly and he will only trust people who he knows won't hurt him, not intentionally at least. And if you, by some dint of a miracle, get his trust then, if you're lucky, you'll get his loyalty."
George gave a crooked smile, warning and humorous all at once, "And if you have that, then God help you, because there's not a hell of a lot that can shake it. If there's anything more dangerous than a loyal person, it's a cunningly loyal person. But Ianto Jones," George laughed, "if he wasn't my friend I'd be terrified of crossing him. He's loyal, cunning, and terrifyingly smart, has the patience of a snake and is one of the bravest people I know. You just can't see that right now because he's broken."
Jack frowned darkly, oh he'd seen it alright, and George amened, "or perhaps you have. But whatever you saw is only a small taste of what he is." He nodded with finality and unfolded his arms. "Take care, Captain."
When Ianto returned after giving Rummy some water and a couple bits of meat and an owl treat – despite the fact that his pet was perfectly capable of looking after itself- Jack was still in his living room waiting. Lee and George had already moved off, he knew they'd walk to the Dragon's Back then take a floo from there to their homes.
"Sir." He said, cautiously. "Can I help you?"
"I take it that those were friends of yours."
Ianto nodded, "We went to school together, a lot of shared experiences and such forth, so we stayed good friends. We meet up every so often. This is the first I've seen of them for a while."
"And they know nothing that they shouldn't?" Jacks tone was that of warning, with a barely veiled threat.
Ianto's spine stiffened and his voice turned icy. "No, they know nothing that they shouldn't. So you can stop worrying, sir."
Jack nodded in satisfaction, "Good. Be sure to keep it that way. I'll see you back at work." Then he turned to leave, only later would he realise and wonder about Ianto's careful wording.
But he still wouldn't know the truth. Any of the truth.
That's how it would stay, even when the world burned around him, and Ianto's breath stuttered in his lungs.
Jack would never know, and that was how it would stay.
-Fin-
So this started off as a smallish oneshot that I just kept writing, this has no plot and through it was going to turn into a full blown thing where I expanded everything that happened in all the episodes of every season, with the added difference of wizard magic skills, I lost interest.
So, this isn't going to be expanded or continued unless I get a sudden blasting of inspiration and I really, REALLY, want to continue.
If you did enjoy this, and are holding onto hope of a sequel/continuation, then follow my author name, rather than the story itself.
(Spindle Shaft Lane (from the story) is a place of my own invention taken from a Harry/Charlie fic that I haven't put up yet, it's 24,000 words in and it's still being written.)