Tracey/Michael - Written as an entry for the category "Pairings" for Lady's Writing School at HPFC.
Tracey sniffed hard, trying to compose herself. In her mind, she ran through all the things she'd been taught growing up. There was no need for tears. Emotions could be pushed down below the surface to be let out at a later time, most likely on the closest House Elf. Stay calm, stop blubbering, was her mantra for a few moments.
Her parents had done some bad, truly terrible things in their lives; they did not deserve her tears.
Unfortunately, the tears still came as she kneeled over their graves. They ran down her cheeks and fell to the ground below her, onto the newly upturned earth in which her parents were now buried.
She tore herself away from the matching headstones, exquisite and detailed, carved by masters and charmed to withstand the elements for centuries to come. They didn't deserve any of it. Nothing she'd ever done had made any effect on them, and they hadn't seemed to care about her in the least. Their deaths shouldn't have affected her in the least. She should be happy, grateful even, that she was freed of her parents, who had only ever held her back in life.
She was still feeling a hole in place of her heart.
Running dirty hands through the long grass around the graves, Tracey felt her breathing speed up as another sob threatened to push up through her chest. She growled loudly, pulling the grass and uprooting it as choked, broken sounds escaped her lips.
"I hate you!" She proclaimed, pointing at the headstones accusingly. "I. Fucking. Despise. You. Both of you."
And with that, uncaring that there might be Muggles around, she pulled out we wand and twisted on her heel, feeling the pressure in her head escalate as she was pulled through a little hole with a small, 'pop'.
She stumbled when she arrived in Diagon Alley, a first for her. She was always composed and balanced, stable. She supposed she looked a fright, all red eyes and runny nose after hours of crying. She didn't care.
Tracey wasn't sure what she'd been looking for at Diagon Alley, but it wasn't there. Maybe she had expected a crowd of people, all of them with their own plans and ideas. No. Diagon Alley was barren and empty, with most of the store-fronts' glass displays cracked and the walls crumbling. The stones beneath her feet were also cracked, falling away, a real hazard to her safety.
There was no one, they were gone. Victims of the war, the lot of them. Everyone in the Wizarding world had been affected somehow, all because of her parents and the company they'd chosen to keep.
She fell to her knees, ignoring the slight sting as the rock cut into her knees.
And then she saw movement, off down the way, maybe two-hundred meters from her spot. Tracey, disoriented and hysterical as she was, half-dragged, half-ran to the person. He - obviously he when she approached - looked up at her, brow creasing as he took in her condition.
"Davis?" He asked. "The Slytherin?"
She threw herself to his feet, heedless of everything except herself. It was a Slytherin trait. "I'm so sorry!" She shouted. "I'm sorry they were so terrible! I didn't know the half of it until the trial yesterday. They were executed — it was all so fast..."
He held his hands up. "Hush for a second, and come with me," he said. "I'm Michael, by the way. I don't suppose you remember. I was in Hogwarts with you."
If she stopped to think about it, he did look sort-of familiar, in an I-know-your-face-but-will-never-remember-your-name way. As it was, she just nodded.
He snatched her wrist and pulled her behind him. She followed blindly. "Where are you taking me?" She asked loudly after they'd taken a few steps and no information had been offered.
"Shh," he said. "There are still people around Diagon who could do you much harm. Unfortunately, not everyone's been caught yet. It's best to keep quiet."
She shut up, though she still tugged at the arm that was caught in his grip. They ran down a dubious-looking alleyway, and then Michael wrenched a door open and shoved her in, unceremonious in his movements, but seeming focused and intense. He followed her in.
When the door closed behind him and a light was turned on, Tracey saw that behind her seemed to be a flat. It wasn't very big — which she could have guessed — but looked well-lived in and fairly cozy.
Then, her eyes fell on Michael again, who seemed to be looking at her expectantly, and she felt the tug of tears behind her eyes act again. Her lip wobbled, and she chose the closest chair to go and sit down in. Once there, she curled up into herself and rocked back and forth.
"Mother and father — I. Trial at the Ministry," she babbled. "All their offenses were reported on and I hate them for not being good people."
Her cheeks were once again slick with tears.
Surprise wasn't a strong enough word to describe what she felt when strong, muscular arms wrapped around her, and when a body sat itself down beside her. She was pulled into Michael's lap, where her tears began to spill over in earnest.
"I didn't love them," she began. "Far from it. Maybe causal indifference, at most. But after seeing all the damage, being in Hogwarts with all those whose families the war affected and ripped apart… At their hearing yesterday, it was almost a given that they'd be proven guilty. Of course, no one ever suspected execution was on the list of punishments. I'm rather… shaken up."
"I'm sure you are," Michael said, quiet and sturdy behind her, all strong, sinewy muscle and soft words. Words that were whispered into her ear to calm her down. The speed of her pulse lowered slightly, and she felt herself breathe again. "It's hard. I know it is. But you just need to realise that now, after it all, you need to learn and grow from the experience."
"But everyone must hate me! My own parents caused so much destruction, maybe not always physically, but they allowed him to access their Gringotts accounts. Why wouldn't everyone hate me? They have every reason to! Terrible people do terrible things, and what they did was worse than terrible. They deserved to be executed!"
"Shh," came the answer. "We don't hate you. It wasn't you. They were responsible for their choices, and now it's been solved. I know it leaves you with loose ends, but that's the way life is sometimes. Accept it, and you'll be able to recover faster."
"But-but… Does it make me a bad person for missing them, even with what they did?"
"No. Of course not. What you feel is what you feel, regardless of the past and present situation. You loved them, they were your parents, and despite everything, you do miss them. It's hard. It's okay, though. I'm here. I'm right here."
Tracey relaxed into the embrace.
"Thank you," she said after some time had passed. "I appreciate this. You have every right to hate me, but – thank you."
"It's no problem. I see you're ready to make amends, to apologise and fix your mistakes. I'll always help people like you."
Thank you, was all Tracey could think, stuck as she was in Michael's arms. Her eyes, after a few minutes had passed, began to close. She had exerted herself a lot with the emotion, and was more than ready to succumb to sleep.
She woke in the same position, though there was no indication of it other than Michael's soft breath wafting across her neck. There were no cricks in her neck, there was no pain in her back. She felt relaxed, composed, and collected - finally. For the first time since the end of the war, since the Final Battle, she felt rested and sane
She turned around in his arms, feeling a little stiff from lying still. It was nothing serious, mild enough that she hadn't noticed it earlier. Stretching herself up – and straightening her back in the process – Tracey pressed a kiss to Michael's lips. And then another. And another two. Then some more.
"Mghff," he said. "What're you doing?"
He sounded disoriented and very sleepy, which was to be expected.
Tracey, already feeling alert and ready, looked up at him with a puzzled expression. "I'm thanking you, of course."
"Thanking… me?"
"Yes, for your hospitality." To prove her point, Tracey rolled her hips against his, pressing her lips to his again. And again.
He let out a breathy little moan, but pulled away. "There is no way," he growled. "You are paying me with your body. There is no chance."
"But how else am I to repay you?" Tracey asked, genuinely curious. "This is what I'm supposed to do."
"You can stay for breakfast."
Tracey sighed. "I'm a lousy cook," she informed him.
"You're not cooking. I am."
Her eyebrows met in the middle, displaying her confusion. "Michael," she said, impatient. "We're not dating."
"Which is why I'm not going to have sex with you," he ground out between his teeth. He tried to pull his arms out from where they were caught beneath her. "Move so I can get up."
"Fine," she said, exasperated with his behaviour. "Breakfast."
Their food was fixed quickly, an easy breakfast of boiled eggs and some bread with jam. Simple, but it made Tracey's stomach growl.
"My apologies," she said, feeling mortified. "I haven't eaten for a while."
"I'd guessed," Michael said. "Which is why you get a sandwich, too."
She groaned. "What, you wish to make me fat?"
"Funny."
"Is it because you know we'll burn the calories off later?" She asked, hinting at events she thought would happen in a way that wasn't subtle in the least.
He sighed and didn't answer.
"Can I stay tonight, too?" She asked after they were seated and ready to eat. "I have nowhere to go, actually."
Michael chewed thoughtfully, looking pensive. "Of course," he finally answered. "But no sex."
She groaned. "What's wrong with it?"
"There is nothing wrong with it. I will simply not be repaid for something I was willing to do. Especially not like that. It's degrading to your self-esteem, and I will not allow it."
"Aww, caring for my self-esteem," she said, secretly feeling a shot of giddiness. "What's next, warming my underwear before I exit the shower so that I can dress in freshly laundered underclothes?"
He laughed along with her, and the subject was dropped.
…
"What do you do all day?" She asked later, as they cleared the table.
"If that's another invitation for sex…" he left the question unfinished, the threat obvious.
She rolled her eyes. "Yes. I know," she said. "I was just wondering."
…
Tracey, feeling very self-conscious, stepped out of the shower with a towel wrapped around her body tightly. As she'd appeared at Michael's house with nothing but the clothes on her back, she would either need to wait in a towel as her clothes were washed, or wear his things. She'd chosen the former, of course.
A knock sounded at the door, maybe a minute later. Shaking, Tracey opened the door. Given that she'd been offering her body to him earlier, her nervousness made no sense, but still, she was grateful when her clean clothes were passed to her and the door was once again closed and locked.
She began to dress, laughing as she realised that he'd left heating charms on her panties.
"Thanks!" She shouted, suddenly feeling a little less… inhibited... and a little more comfortable.
"You're welcome," came the answering cry, and she felt as though she could hear the smile in his tone.
…
A week passed, maybe more. Tracey hardly paid it any attention, what with all the fun she was having. As it turned out, she rather enjoyed living with someone else.
"Clean your room," Michael reminded when she bid him goodnight. "It's gotten messy."
"Yes, mum," she answered. "I simply find it weird that despite having come with nothing but the clothes on my back, my things seem to be making a mess."
Michael grinned. "Clean anyway."
"Whatever."
"Don't speak to me that way, missy,"
"Yes, mother."
His laughter followed her to her room.
…
Maybe a month had passed, and Tracey was feeling very comfortable.
"Er," he said. It was time for lunch, and the two of them were seated at the table. "Tracey, how much longer do you think you're going to stay here?"
Some of the happiness that had been bubbling inside of her fizzed away. She lifted a hand to run it through her hair. "Is this a way of saying you're kicking me out?" She asked, anxiousness creeping into her voice.
"No, of course not. I just need to know how much longer I can expect you to stay. I don't want to wake up one day to find that you've left."
She looked at him through her lashes. "Can I stay a few more weeks?"
He nodded, a strange glint in his eyes. A small smile lifted his lips, and the dimple on his left cheek made her want to jump over the table and pin him down, just to admire it. "Of course. I'd love to have you."
"You can have me," she answered, voice low and seductive. "You can have all of me, any way you want, just say the words."
It seemed to have been the wrong thing to say, because he closed off and turned back to his food. "So," he cleared his throat. "A few more weeks?"
She shrugged. How about forever? "Yes. At the most... four."
"Fine."
…
"I've never really thanked you," she said one day.
"For what?" Michael's forehead creased as his eyebrows lifted in confusion.
"For helping me that day, when I went crazy and needed exactly what you gave me. I shudder to think what might have happened without you."
"Silly girl," he said. "No need to thank me. It's been made up for with your lovely presence here for the past two months."
"Thank you," she said, ignoring the slight joke he'd made. "Really and truly, thank you. I'm forever in debt to you for pulling me out of the insanity."
He opened his arms and she stepped into them willingly. Strong muscles locked around her, bringing her close. She closed her eyes and breathed, just taking in his scent and trying to commit it to memory. I love you.
"It was my pleasure to help you, Tracey. And, like I said, you made up for it in these months. I appreciate the thanks, though." The words were whispered into her hair, slipping down the strands and into her ears, melting her insides and making her feel warm and full and ready to burst with happiness.
I love you, she thought again. She didn't expect him to jerk back suddenly, as though she'd burned him with her thought.
"What did you say?" He asked, voice hoarse.
Blushing profusely, Tracey realised she'd spoken aloud. "Nothing," she said nervously. "Absolutely nothing."
And then he stepped back to her, placing two fingers under her chin, lifting it so that she was staring into his eyes. "You came into my life abruptly," he said. "You practically fell to your knees, begging for forgiveness. In the time since then, I realised how amazing you are. You're willing to take the blame for things you've done, you're honest, and you're trustworthy. I am honoured you think so highly of me."
He buried his nose in her hair again. "I love you, too," he whispered quietly, right into her ear.
They stood like that, unsure and feeling new things, swaying in the embrace. But it was right, and it was them, and it was picture-perfect – at least for them.
"So," Tracey said, quietly, innocently. "Sex now?"
Michael laughed. "I'll think about it," he joked. "But first…"
He leaned down and gave her a kiss, one that threatened to make her stomach drop down to the ground, to make her knees buckle beneath her, and to make her heart beat right out of her chest. And, by Merlin, her parents had done some terrible things, but fuck if she wasn't going to do exactly opposite - the good thing, the right thing.
And she was right; it was perfect.