The Cèilidh
Moire kept her eyes firmly closed. This was all a dream, after all, and she was certain that the second she would open them, the rock solid arms around her waist and the warm chest against her back would disappear, and only a memory of the heavy pine and citrus scent would linger in her mind before it vanished too.
"So," James said, his voice an octave lower than usual due to sleep. "How long are you going to keep pretending you're asleep?"
"It's my dream, so until I want to," she responded, her eyes still stubbornly closed.
"Sorry to break it to you, love, but this most definitely is not a dream," he chuckled, his chest against the skin of her back rumbling from it.
"Whatever you say, Dream-Potter."
He didn't say anything, and Moire frowned, wondering if he was already starting to disappear. But then his lips met her shoulder and he started kissing all the way up to her neck. Her skin where his mouth had touched it felt like it was on fire, and only then did she dare open an eye. When the arms tightened around her instead of vanishing into smoke, she opened the second one and sighed as he found the sweet spot on the base of her neck.
"Still think you're dreaming?" He whispered against her skin.
In one swift move, she rolled around, effectively pinning him under her as she straddled his torso with her legs. She silently thanked the Founders at the sight of his body sculpted by years of Quidditch. One of his calloused hands grabbed her hip and he propped himself on his other arm, using it to pull himself up towards her and a small sigh escaped her lips as they met his. She took a second to appreciate how her morning was going before she extracted herself from his grip.
"Damn it, McLeoch," he groaned as she got out of bed, not bothering to cover herself up with a robe.
"I'm the future Laird, Potter. I can't lounge in bed all day."
"We wouldn't be lounging per se," he whined.
"While I'm sure you have a few more energy consuming activities in mind, my hangover potion won't make itself and trust me, the others spent a lot longer drinking than we did."
He fell back into her bed, not taking his eyes off of her.
"You're no fun," James declared.
"You certainly thought I was last night. So, with that, I'm off to take a shower."
Moire headed towards her bathroom door and as she was about to walk in, she looked back at James, who was staring at her appreciatively and she realized she must have been quite the sight, naked and with her hair all over the place from their activities. She smirked at him.
"What are you waiting for? Aren't you going to join me?"
She didn't need to tell him twice. Next thing she knew, she was being lifted and thrown across his shoulder like a potato sack, to which she left out a squeal and a laugh before he closed the door behind them. By the time they stepped out of the shower, James looked very smug, and Moire tried to not make it obvious that her legs were shaking. Her attempt of a death glare failed epically as for the first time since they had first met, her gaze was met with a laugh instead of the usual flash of fear in his hazel eyes that he always tried to mask. They stepped back into the room to find James' clothes and toothbrush sitting on her carefully made bed.
"How in the hell…?" James exclaimed upon the sight.
"Dolly comes in here every morning to clean up while I'm in the shower and she probably realized you weren't in your room."
James stared at her as she walked into her closet and picked out her outfit for the day. She was a little fancier than at the Burrow, picking out a white button-down shirt that she tucked carefully into a pair of jeans, and on a last second whim, she grabbed her Weasley sweater in her clan colors and threw it on top of the shirt. She threw her hair into a neat ponytail and stuck her wand in it.
"You know, for someone who lives in an actual castle and has house elves waiting on her, you certainly have never acted like a spoiled brat," she heard him say as she neatly arranged the shirt collar and the cuffs that poked out from under the shirt.
"You've met my mother. She would be quite disappointed if I was and that is more terrifying than having to endure one of the Laird's lectures about honor, grace, and excellence," she snorted in return, coming out once she was satisfied with her appearance.
Hair still damp and sticking out everywhere, James was sporting dark blue jeans and a gray woolen shirt that did wonders to his arms.
"You almost sound disappointed by that, Potter. Why, does Thompson bitching and moaning turn you on?"
She saw him shiver at her words and let out a laugh at his horrified expression. James shook it off and grabbed his toothbrush, both making their way back to the bathroom.
"I think we both know why I'd rather stay away from her, but why do you hate her so much?" The Gryffindor asked.
Moire took her time brushing her teeth, and James mirrored her actions, though he was watching her curiously. Once she was satisfied, she spat the toothpaste in the sink and spoke up.
"I wasn't too fond of her from the start, but I think that it all blew up in third year. I noticed she was picking on a second year Hufflepuff to make some guys laugh and the poor girl looked ready to start crying."
She rinsed her mouth, James still waiting for the rest of the story.
"I hexed her."
He almost choked on his toothpaste.
"You what?"
"You heard me. I took my wand out, aimed, and next thing you know, her hair started growing uncontrollably. Not only that, but she started growing a beard, mustache, and her eyebrows got so bushy she couldn't see anything through them. Madam Longbottom had to keep her overnight."
"I have never heard that. You'd think all of Hogwarts would know something like that!"
"Oh, there weren't many people around, and she threatened everyone who happened to be there that she would ruin their lives if they said anything. But since then, it's been openly hostile between her and me."
The two of them carefully exited the room, looking around to make sure none of their respective friends and relatives saw them leave the same room. Once the coast was clear, they made their way to the sitting room.
"You know, it's always bothered me how she puts other girls down to make herself look good when there is any decent looking bloke around, especially when you're said bloke. She'll pick on the shy ones too. Do you know how many times a younger Slytherin girl has come back into our common room crying because Thompson's belittled or embarrassed her?"
"I didn't realize it was that bad," James said quietly, frowning.
"It is. But it's alright, we look after our own. House Slytherin is more loyal to each other than most people are willing to believe. I feel bad for the Gryffindor girls who can't even run into their own common room to escape because she'll be there."
There was a small moment where their footsteps and the snoring of Moire's relatives in the portraits were the only sounds cutting the quiet. She could feel the wheels in James' head turning, trying to remember the times he was in Olivia's vicinity and she had a poor soul cornered and being made to make her look better. Then, from the corner of her eyes, she saw him turn around and look at her.
"Why aren't you a Gryffindor?"
She almost stopped dead in her tracks but turned around to look at him, keeping her expression even.
"Whatever do you mean?"
"You stand up for people weaker than you, you're daring, and besides, you are probably the bravest person I have ever met, and I can't imagine you ever being scared of anything. That was my first impression of you, during the Sorting. We all looked nervous, and yet, when your name was called, you just walked up there, with your head high, and probably the most determination I have ever seen from anyone else before. I was so certain that you would be in Gryffindor then."
"I was terrified, James," she replied matter-of-factly. "Downright shitting my pants. But the thing about growing up in all of this," she explained, doing a vague encompassing gesture, "is that you learn to hide all of it quick, especially when you're at the center of it. My grandfather was alive still then, and I felt like I had to prove to him that I would be a great heir for the clan, and he always said good leaders are charismatic, ambitious, resourceful, all the qualities of a Slytherin. I wanted to be the best for the clan."
Talking about her grandfather brought out feelings she liked to bury deep in her stomach. She remembered the panic of knowing he would be visiting, the eagerness to please and maybe receive an approving look instead of the constant disappointed glare he reserved for her before he asked her father when he was planning on having a son. She interrupted her train of thoughts before the telltale shortness of breath and unhinged panic took hold of her.
"And then, Professor Longbottom put the Sorting Hat on my head. The Hat said I could be a good Gryffindor, but that ultimately, Slytherin was where I've always belonged."
James grinned at that.
"I was right, then!" He proudly exclaimed.
"Not quite," she replied, amused. "Besides, had we both been in Gryffindor, there is no way you would've gotten the team Captain position."
"Dream on, McLeoch," he scoffed back.
There was another silence as they stopped near the parlor. There was a new tenderness in James' eyes that made the pits of her stomach warm up.
"You just look so fearless most of the time, it never occurred to me you'd be scared of anything," the Gryffindor said, reaching out to put a lock of hair behind her ear.
"I'm not scared of much, Potter, so whatever Gryffindor fantasies of holding my hand while I'm scared better go out the window," she joked, but not without fondness in her tone, reciprocating the way he was looking at her, and she suddenly wanted to kiss him, despite her great-great-great aunt Cullodena watching them with her strict gaze.
"Wouldn't dream of it, McLeoch," he murmured, cupping her cheek.
Their moment was interrupted by a loud laugh behind the door. Moire sighed and gave James a longing gaze, before fixing the cuffs of her shirt and opening the door. She smiled at the sight of her aunts. Lainie was, as usual, impeccably dressed, her red hair carefully gathered in a bun at the nape of her neck. Greer, her gray eyes framed by small lines from laughing seemed to have been in the middle of telling a story to Gavina, whose strawberry blonde hair stuck out from her bun and who seemed to have buttoned her shirt wrong, looking as undone as ever before her first sip of tea.
"Good morning, aunties!" She cheerfully called at Lainie, Greer, and Gavina.
"Is that my favorite niece?" Greer exclaimed as she walked into the room.
"And who's this handsome fellow ye've dragged along?" Gavina asked, winking at Moire.
"Good morning," James greeted in a way that would have made Ginny Potter proud.
"This is my friend James," she said, sitting down and grabbing the kettle as James sat next to her.
"For a second there I thought you meant James Potter," Aunt Gavina chuckled as she began to arrange her bun. "That would have been the event of the century."
"That is James Potter," Moire simply said, scooping up sausages onto her plate.
The three looked at each other in stupor, before all of them burst out laughing.
"Nae way!" Greer cried halfway through what Moire could best describe as a cackle. "How many times have we had to hear her complain about James Potter this, and James Potter that, and now they're showing up tae breakfast together?"
"Well then, McLeoch. It seems like every one of your family members has heard about me," James joked.
"Can you blame me? I've wanted to rip your pretty head off of your body since we were in third year."
"Oh, so my head is pretty now?"
"Stop talking all that rubbish and eat, Potter," Moire sighed as rolled her eyes.
Her aunts glanced at each other, Gavina's eyes gleaming with the same little light of mischief it usually did when she was about to engage in her favorite activity. Greer cleared her throat before speaking up:
"Well then… the two of you are up early. Especially considering last night."
Moire almost dropped her scone and she heard James coughing from most likely choking on his tea.
"L-Last night?" She repeated dumbly.
"In the barn! How did that go?" Lainie asked with a smile.
"Oh right, the barn! Sorry, you know I can't say anything about it, what happens in the barn…"
"Yes, yes, stays in the barn," Lainie dismissed with a wave of her hand.
"It's not the end of the world if you sleep in, dear," Gavina assured.
"Aunt Gavina, how can you ever suggest that the daughter of the Laird of McLeoch sleep past sunrise!" Moire exclaimed.
"Oh, silly you, Gavina, of course Laird Alasdair McLeoch's child would never engage in such vulgar behaviors such as sleeping in!" Greer jokingly chastised.
"You dare utter the Laird's name in his house?" Lainie gasped, a laugh just beginning on her tongue.
"Please," Greer scoffed. "I remember him being a babbling toddler with an unreasonable fear of butterflies."
"Was it not crickets?" Aunt Lainie replied.
"Nairne said it was ladybugs," Gavina insisted.
"Enough about Alasdair in front of our guest. You'll have to excuse us, James, our brother is always so serious, we like to poke fun at him," Lainie apologized with a kind smile. "Tell us more about yourself! Moire mentioned you played Quidditch?"
"I'm a Chaser, and the Captain of the Gryffindor Team," he replied.
"Oh, a Chaser! I just love Chasers, don't you Moire?" Gavina smirked in a way that made Moire want to run away.
"Considering it's my job to stop them from getting the Quaffle past me, not so much, although this git has managed to score too many times for my liking," she mumbled.
"Well what can I say, McLeoch, I'm good at what I do," he said with a lopsided yet dazzling smile that made her want to drag him into the nearest broom closet.
"Twat," she mumbled low enough for only him to hear.
"Again," he replied in the same tone of voice, "I'm good at what I do."
Moire felt like her face was ready to explode at James' comment. She could see him hiding a smirk behind his cup of tea from the corner of his eyes.
"Are ye alright, my dear?" The funniest of her three aunts asked as she noticed her flushed cheeks.
"Yes, Aunt Greer. Just a little warm, that's all," she lied through her teeth, refraining from throwing a death glare to the idiot next to him.
She swallowed the last of her tea and stood up.
"It was great talking to you, aunties, but that hangover potion isn't going to make itself. Ready, Potter?" She asked, and before he had the chance to answer, she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him our of his chair.
"Oi, slow down McLeoch," he exclaimed, barely grabbing his last piece of buttered toast. "It was nice meeting all of you!"
"Nice meeting you as well, James!" Lainie called with a laugh.
"Moire, darling, leave your hair down today," Gavina added.
"Why so, Aunt Gavina?"
"Well, it suits you well. But mostly because it would help hide whatever James left on your neck last night. A little towards the back of it."
Her hand shot up to her neck and James cleared his throat, looking rather red. She threw him a death glare and ran to the nearest mirror to inspect herself. She frowned when she couldn't find anything.
"Oh, it must have been a shadow, dear," Gavina said in a very falsely apologetic tone. "But it did confirm my suspicions."
"Very funny, Aunt Gavina," she replied sarcastically. "How do you sleep at night?"
"On silk sheets, darling."
Rolling her eyes and grabbing James' arm again, Moire opened the door just as her Aunt Bridget was about to walk in. The older woman was dressed impeccably, her tartan robes without a single wrinkle or lint on them, and her dark hair streaked with white held in an impossibly tight bun. Holding back a sigh as her aunt's bespectacled strict gaze traveled to her hand on the young Gryffindor's wrist and her already pinched expression somehow tensed up a little more. Moire thanked the Founders she was already on her way out.
"Good morning, Aunt Bridget," she greeted, her expression deceitfully pleasant.
"Good morning," James saluted, following her example.
"I could hear the lot of you all the way down the corridor," Bridget coldly said, ignoring both of their greetings.
"It is customary to joke and catch up when we see family, Bridget," Greer spoke up from the table, a good-natured expression on her face. "Come and have something to eat."
Bridget obliged, heading towards the table to pour herself a cup of tea.
"Also, I believe I have told you numerous times that wands should be out of sight and carried in one's sleeve or holder, certainly not in hair," she commented authoritatively.
"Maybe in 1750, Aunt Bridget," Moire mumbled.
"What was that?"
"I said certainly, Aunt Bridget," she corrected with the sweetest smile she could muster. "We'll be taking our leave. Enjoy the rest of breakfast!"
Moire all but ran out of the parlor, James on her heel.
"I am so sorry about that," she sighed. "Aunt Bridget is… prickly."
"To say the least. I wonder how it would go if she ever met Gran," James mused.
"It would quite possibly be the best moment of my life, and something I would pay a lot of money to see," Moire chuckled.
They had stopped in the middle of a hallway and Moire suddenly felt exhausted. She loved her family, but she didn't particularly enjoy interacting with Bridget, or Fergus for that matter. The open hostility that she couldn't very well meet with one of her own were getting quite old, and any interaction with them brought back memories of her grandfather. She was in the middle of a spiraling thought process when she felt a hand lifting her face by her chin and suddenly, she wasn't looking at the dark red carpets that lined the corridors but straight into James Potter's hazel eyes. Her own closed as she felt his lips on hers for about a second.
"What was that for?" She asked, eyes still closed, when he stopped, his fingers still on her chin.
"You looked like you needed a distraction."
She opened her eyes and the two of them stared at each other for a little while before she turned around and started walking down the hall. He followed her with a smirk.
"To your potions room, I'm assuming?" He asked, recalling that she still needed to brew a hangover potion for the others.
"We're making a quick detour first," she responded, her tone even, before she stopped by a door and opened it.
"Where to?"
"Broom closet. Now get in here."
oOo
Moire felt like her skin was still on fire. In fact, she was certain that her cheeks were flushed, and her lips still bruised. She had done her best to fix her clothes but still felt like she looked a mess. Not Potter, though. He looked cool as a cucumber sitting on his chair watching her work, perfectly composed, and the only thing that might have been an indication that something might have gone on in that broom closet was that his hair looked messier than before he'd gone in, kind of the same way it did after a Quidditch game. She tried to not think too much at how intensely he was staring at her, almost burning a hole through her skull. Every time she looked at him to tell him to cut it off, he smiled at her with that lopsided smile every girl in Hogwarts kept gushing about and she'd instantly forget what she was about to say. He also occasionally would look at the instruction in her book and ask questions about a certain step she did differently, or why she replaced an ingredient. Moire always answered patiently, appreciative of the fact that he was paying enough attention to her to notice her actions. She finally added the last ingredient and turned down her flame.
"Why potions?" He asked as she started bottling the contents of her cauldron.
"What do you mean?" Moire answered, still focused on her task.
"What made you like potions so much? If I recall, you didn't seem to particularly like or hate it in first and second year."
That made her stop. She turned to him, a smirk on her face.
"Awww, Potter. You noticed?"
His cheeks flushed pink and he looked away, frowning.
"Well, it's not like people don't notice you, McLeoch," he mumbled back, making her chuckle.
"Slughorn was an expert in his field, but he's not exactly what I'd call captivating. Besides, he had that weird club of his that he always asked me to join. I only showed up to a couple of events, but Salazar's lace knickers, I have never to this day wanted to rip my eyes out of their sockets as much as I did at Slug's Club. Who calls it that?"
"Trust me, he wasn't exactly leaving me alone either," James exclaimed, shuddering at the reminder. "With Mum and Dad being who they were…"
He let out another shudder before gesturing to continue.
"And then, he retired, and Professor Khan took over. Her style of teaching was quite different, and she got me interested in her class. Then at some point, halfway through our first year with her, she asked me to stay after class, and she told me that I had a great potential in potions and that if I just applied myself a little more, I could be great. So that's what I did, and I slowly started to like it more and more, until I wanted to do a career in potions," she finished with a shrug, capping the last bottle.
"I think you'd be a great Professor," James declared with a soft smile that made the pit in her stomach warm.
Moire bit her lip before she walked over to the chair he was still sitting in before she sat on his lap facing him, straddling his legs with hers.
"I think we have some time before they start waking up," she said gently as she put her arms around his shoulders, her fingers expertly playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
"What's wrong, McLeoch? Can't keep your hand off of me?" He asked with a smirk, the only thing betraying his emotions being the breathlessness in his voice. Well, that as well as…
"Seems like you're not against it either," she whispered in his ear before she nibbled on it.
He cursed under his breath, making her stomach drop.
"Is the door even locked?" He asked through gritted teeth, his hands already making their way under her shirt.
"Wouldn't it make it more fun if it wasn't?" She chuckled, focusing her efforts on his jaw.
"You're going to be the end of me, McLeoch," he whined as her hand slithered to the zipper of his pants.
"Relax, Potter, it's locked," Moire said, rolling her eyes. "If anyone wants to come in, they'll have to…"
"Moire?" Rose's voice came through the door, following three knocks.
"…knock," she finished with a sigh. "Coming, Rose! Just bottling this up."
"It's already bottled," James whispered as he fixed his shirt.
"I know, you idiot, we both look like a mess," she responded in the same tone, tucking her shirt back in her pants and fixing her hair.
She rushed to the door and opened it to find Rose and Albus outside. Albus raised an eyebrow at the sight of his brother, sitting on a chair with a fake nonchalance Moire envied.
"Interrupting something?" The younger Slytherin asked, the beginning of a smirk on his face promising he was up to absolutely no good.
"Not much, you git, just finished a hangover potion I thought your sorry asses might need. Although Albus, you look like you learned how to handle your liquor since the wedding," she teased.
"Very funny, Moire."
"I thought so too, Albie."
She took her wand out of her hair and with a flick, all the bottles started levitating behind her.
"Alright, let's head over, then. Wouldn't want them to have to face the morning after with just tea, right?"
They headed out and just as she stepped out, Moire realized James wasn't behind her.
"Potter, you alright?" She asked, turning around.
"You head over, I'll catch up. I got a… ahem… cramp in my leg. Just… just have to let it pass," he said, a sheepish smile on his face.
She blinked a couple of times, before she finally connected the dots and she had to stifle a laugh while also forcing her eyes not to travel down to see how bad exactly it was.
"Take your time," she declared after clearing her throat. "We'll be in the parlor for a little while. If you get lost, ask the portraits."
The three of them headed to the parlor while chattering lightly. As they got close, Moire could hear the voices from behind the doors. She smirked as she opened the doors with a bang, yelling a greeting as she walked in, making half of her cousins, as well as Aunt Aoife and Aunt Cadha, flinch.
"Och, feck off," Ewan groaned from where he was laying on the carpet, holding his head.
"Mind yer mouth, I raised you better," Cadha groaned.
"No, you didnae, Ma!"
"The lot of ye look awful," Moire mused before she settled the bottles on the counter, its red content sloshing around as they settled on the table. "The adult party went hard as well, I see," she added as she noticed a lot of her older cousins were there as well.
"Respect yer elders ye brats," Aoife exclaimed as she insisted on having the first serving.
"Ma probably drank more than everyone combined yesterday," her daughter Isla joked, resulting in quite a few laughs.
"We are going to have a great conversation later on about what I saw last night," Kenzie whispered as the rest of her family made a beeline towards the potion.
"McKenzie, you've seen how Aunt Gavina gets when she hears even a single whisper of one of her dear nieces and nephews having somewhat of a love life?"
"What does that have to do with…?"
"What do you think would happen if she finds out her own son is shagging her favorite niece's best mate?"
There was a silence between the two of them.
"You're evil."
"You've no idea, love."
James chose that time to come in, looking a lot more put together than he had been previously. He winked discreetly at her and she held back a smile.
oOo
The next few days seemed to pass as a blur. Between the drunken nights and the lazy mornings, it seemed like they all lost track of time. Moire and James took advantage of every second they could get alone. He had not slept over every night, much to Moire's chagrin. However, she had missed her cousins and welcomed the sleepovers with all of them. The second night had been a girls' night, while about ten of them piled up on her magically expanded bed. She was squeezed in the middle of it, Lily on her right and Kenzie on her left, and the giggles continued until the wee hours of the morning.
"Are ye sure there's nothing between you and Potter?" Aileen asked, wiggling her eyebrows with a knowing smirk, inciting cheers from the other girls in the room.
"No, there isn't," she lied through her teeth, grateful for the dark for hiding her reddening ears.
"So ye don't want me to tell them about the rumors that rattled all of Hogwarts?" Maureen, who had preferred lying horizontally at the foot of the bed, piped up. "And Elspeth, move yer blasted feet, they're directly in my face!"
"It's yer fault, face the other way!"
"Shut yer mouths! What rumors?" Aileen squealed, sitting up straight, making Innis yelp as she almost fell from her spot at the edge of the bed.
"Moire here was cozying up with Potter and leaning on him all the way to the Hospital Wing," McKenzie giggled.
"Traitor," Moire mumbled. "And as a matter of fact, I did not cozy up to Potter, Malfoy and the other Potter almost broke my ribs at Quidditch practice and I couldn't walk straight, so he was nice enough to help me out!"
"That's what they all say," Roxanne snickered.
"Speaking of Malfoy! Rose, there's something between the two of ye, right?" Maureen piped up.
"Wha—no! There—," the poor girl stuttered, audibly flustered.
"Relax, Rosie," Roxy laughed. "We know. Hell, Aunt Hermione, Aunt Fleur, and Aunt Ginny all placed bets months ago, and as of now, Aunt Ginny is about twenty galleons richer. Uncle Ron doesn't know, don't worry. And of course, Hugo, James, Fred, and Albus are all too dense to realize."
"Wait! I didn't know!" Lily exclaimed, making her cousins sigh.
"Lily, you're oblivious."
"I reckon they won't take too long to realize you two are shagging, you're quite obvious about it…"
"Innis! Language! Aila is too pure for this!" Elspeth gasped.
"Callum has a very colorful vocabulary, I've heard it all," the youngest reassured her.
"I bet he does," Kenzie mumbled.
"You'd know, wouldn't you," Moire whispered low enough for her to hear, causing Kenzie to elbow her, resulting in a shift of everyone, as they were packed like sardines.
To not raise any questions, James and Moire were as discreet as they could be. So, she had gone to his room the day after the girls' sleepover. The day after that, everyone had slept at the barn, and the night after, he came to her room. After that, they contented themselves with sneaking around the castle during the day, trying to avoid the rest of their families. Finally, the night before New Year's Eve, they had snuck back to her room, enjoying having the rest of the night ahead of them. It was almost insane how much they complemented each other. In fact, James had learned how to make her body react better than anyone else she had been with. Maybe he cared more to learn than they had or maybe he was just good at what he did, but he seemed to enjoy making her scream, sigh, and squirm. And she returned the favor.
"You're driving me insane, McLeoch," he had grunted at one day, while they tried to make the best out of the hour before they had to head to dinner.
The morning of December 31st found her waking up, snuggled up to James, to a firm knock at her door. Confused she opened her eyes, the sky still dark outside, her mind still fuzzy and disoriented. All she knew was that she was thirsty, and maybe still a little drunk from the night before. Behind her, James stirred.
"A bhobain?"
The fog cleared out of her brain faster than if someone had hit her with an ice cold Aguamenti.
"Shit," she cursed under her breath. She didn't stop there. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Potter," she called, roughly shaking his shoulder.
"Wha—," he mumbled before she roughly put her hand over his mouth.
"Shhh! The Laird!"
He seemed confused until her father knocked on the door again.
"Moire."
James' eyes widened in understanding. Both of them leaped out of the bed.
"One second, Da," Moire exclaimed.
She grabbed her wand on the bedside table and lit the candles, shedding some light in her room. Grabbing James' discarded t-shirt on the floor, she slipped it on, going on a quest for her underwear next. Seeing it poking from under her bed, she quickly put it on. She didn't have time to look for her pants, which were nowhere to be seen as of now, and instead picked up the emerald silk robe hanging from her changing screen and slipped it on.
"Grab the clothes on the ground and go hide!" She hissed in a low voice in James' direction.
"Where?" He replied, panicked, in the same tone.
"Bathroom!"
She would certainly find the scene funny when she revisited it in her mind later on. James Potter, butt naked, a ball of clothes in his arms, and running into her bathroom to hide from her father was not the way she intended her year to end. Moire fastened the robe around her waist, the soft fabric descending all the way to her ankles, and she went to open the door. Her father, as impeccably put together as usual, already dressed, his hair combed, the white shirt tucked in his kilt free of any wrinkles.
"Good morning, Da," she greeted, stepping aside to allow him inside.
With a flick of her wand, her bed was made, although she knew that the house elves would come by while she was showering to change the sheets. She sat on her bed, hands folded on her lap, as he moved to take a seat across from her on the chair of her vanity. Her father frowned as he picked up her pajama pants that she vaguely remembered James throwing across the room that had apparently landed on the chair.
"I must have gotten warm during the night," she apologetically explained, trying hard not to blush.
He didn't press the matter much. Instead, he simply threw the pajamas on her bed and sat down on the chair.
"I wanted to go over today," the Laird said in his usual solemn tone and strong accent.
"Da, I have been to many Cèilidhs. It's quite straightforward."
"Today will be different, a bhobain. Today, ye will not sit as the daughter of the house but address them as their future Lady."
She blinked a couple of times.
"What do you mean, address them?" She finally said.
"Ye will be leading the Cèilidh in my stead today, as it is customary to do so in honor of your introduction."
Her heart started racing at the thought. She wasn't usually scared of speaking in public, but the mere thought of standing there, on maybe what could be one of the most important days of her life if not the most important one, as she stared at their allies and at her Grandfather through her Aunt Bridget's disproving glare sent shivers down her spine. This was all she had ever wanted since she was a little girl, and while her cousins daydreamed of what their weddings would look like, she allowed her mind to wonder at the possibility of her sitting in her father's chair. Sometimes, she had imagined a faceless man sitting by her side, but it was never the focus of her vision.
"But Da, ye're still Laird…"
"I am aware," he replied with an amused smile. "And it is only a tradition for the newly announced heir on the night they are introduced as such, so enjoy it tonight, because ye willnae get to do so again until I retire from my duties many, many, many years from now. So, listen well: I will announce to the allies that ye will be taking over once I step down. Then, ye will stand up and switch places with me. Do not sit in my usual seat until ye have thanked the clans for their loyalty and their presence. I dinnae care what ye say, but make a small speech, and make it good."
"Like you do every year," she nodded, her hands now balled up under the exhilaration and nervousness.
"Exactly like I do every year. Then, ye will sit down in my usual chair, and the ceremony will go from there. Each clan will come up and pledge loyalty. As officiant of the Cèilidh, ye cannae doze off or lose focus because ye must thank every clan who comes to us by name."
Moire nodded, her throat suddenly in a knot. she thought briefly of James, in the bathroom, and a sudden desire to laugh took over her. She buried it deep in her stomach and cleared her throat, listening to her father.
"Then, ye will lead the toast, and the worst part of the night is over, and from there, we can all drink and dance until the sun comes up."
She nodded again, the whole situation seeming surreal. It was there. It was finally there. The day she had longed for as a child that seemed like it would never happen.
"Something wrong, a bhobain?" He asked at her silence.
"I—what if I can never be as great a Laird as you, Da?" She asked, making sure to breathe so tears wouldn't go to her eyes.
"Well, lass, whatever mess ye make when it is yer time to rule this clan, it could never be as bad as what Fergus would do," he said, his tone as serious and even as it could be.
Then, she saw the crinkles around his eyes, and both of them burst out laughing. Moire wiped a tear of joy at the corner of her eye and once both of them had quieted down, her father looked at her with a smile.
"If I wasnae absolutely sure ye'd be the best person to lead this clan, I wouldnae have chosen ye, dear one," he reassured her, his voice abnormally soft. "This is what I raised ye for. And I am proud to call ye my daughter, a bhobain."
She flung herself into her father's arms and he patted the back of her head affectionately. She broke off their embrace as her father stood up to take his leave.
"Go get ready for the day. Yer friends may wear our tartan as yer guests, if they wish to do so. They are great kids."
"Aye, that they are," she agreed.
As he was about to take his leave, the Laird paused, his hand on the doorknob.
"I know ye complained about James Potter a lot in the past few years, but from what I could tell, he's quite a good lad, and I think he would be a fine addition to any family."
Moire bit her tongue to keep from blushing and cleared her throat.
"I will be sure to pass on the message to him."
Her father smiled before leaving, closing the door behind him. She immediately dashed to the bathroom, finding the pile of clothes discarded behind the door, and James in his boxers, leaning against the sink.
"Good, you're here! Maybe a little late for the warning, but I'm pretty sure I left my wand on your nightstand so here's hoping your father didn't see it," he said when she stormed in.
"You're ridiculous," she sighed.
"Well, apparently, according to your father, I'm a great lad and any woman would be lucky to have me," he smirked.
"Oh, shut up," she chuckled, playfully slapping his arm.
"Make me," he suggested.
Morning breath be damned, she stood on the tip of her toes and kissed him gently. Breaking away from their kiss, she looked at him in the eyes for a second, memorizing the changing colors in his hazel eyes, and how the warm honey dissolved into green, she asked, her heart hammering, as the question seemed a lot more loaded than she originally thought it to be:
"Wear my clan's tartan tonight?"
His eyes bore into hers with the intensity only James Sirius Potter could muster, and he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He looked at her as if he was trying to memorize every freckle on her face.
"It would be an honor to," he finally said, and she let out a breath she didn't she was holding.
"Damn right it would," she tried to tease, but her voice came out a lot softer than she was expecting it to.
He kissed her forehead and her heart skipped a beat, causing every alarm in her brain to start blaring at the same time. She shoved every single one of them to the back of her mind. The day of the Cèilidh was definitely not the day to start questioning whether or not she felt more than just lust towards Potter.
oOo
Moire inspected the braids circling her head one more time. Not a single hair was out of place, just like the first three times she had inspected them. The delicate bergamot flowers on her ears seemed to be put on display and shone brighter than usual. She fiddled with the cuffs of her puffy sleeved pristine white shirt before she stood up to take a look at herself. She started at the top of her head, where the crown of auburn braids sat firmly on her head, to the simple makeup around her eyes, contrasting with the bold red on her lips, down the crisp white shirt and the tartan that started draped and pleated over her left shoulder and tied with a solid black leather belt around her waist and over the shirt, cinching it tightly, as it fell in a big heavy skirt, hiding the short heels that she had cast an couple of cushioning charms on for good measure. Her wand was tucked into her belt, out of sight and Aunt Bridget's criticism. She was starting to regret eating dinner. In truth, she had felt too nervous to eat, but in fear of raising suspicions, and also knowing that she would regret not eating after the Cèilidh would be over, she had forced herself to swallow a generous portion, which was now doing summersaults in her stomach.
"Moire, how the hell do I… oh, my god," she heard as her door opened, the noise suddenly drowning her room being the only indication of the chaos occurring outside.
Looking up, she was met with Kenzie's wide eyes.
"You look…"
"Like a Scottish meringue?" The new heir offered, looking down at the wide skirt.
There was a silence, and both of them burst into laughter.
"Arsehole," Moire smirked as McKenzie closed the door, quieting the noise.
"We wouldn't be mates if I wasn't."
"That is very true."
"Don't be scared, Moire. You will be amazing tonight, and your father could not have chosen a better person to take over the clan."
Of course, aside from James and Callum, she had told her best mate about the Laird's decision. She would need her support at the Cèilidh. For the event, Kenzie was sporting a beautiful navy-blue dress that fell down to her ankles and holding the McLeoch tartan in her hands. Her light brown hair had been curled and pinned in quite a fashionable hairdo that complimented her face quite well.
"How am I supposed to wear this?"
"You could wear it as a sash. Hold on."
Moire took it off her hands and laid it on her bed, starting the task of pleating it. After a comfortable silence, she spoke again:
"Clan MacIntyre has navy blue in their tartan. It would suit your dress quite well."
"You're terrible," Kenzie exclaimed, her cheeks turning a slight shade of pink.
"And you love me," Moire smiled, picking up the tartan and draping it over her shoulder. Kenzie held it in place as she grabbed a pin and fastened it at her waist. "There you go."
"It's not like that, between Callum and I," her mate assured.
"McKenzie, I don't mind. There are worst things than my best mate shagging my cousin. It's gross, but Besides, you think I haven't seen you sigh at the sight of him every day while he was still at Hogwarts."
"Nothing near how badly you fancied Potter in second year. Well, look at us now," Kenzie chuckled as Moire fussed over her belt.
"Listen to me, if you tell Emma, Erin, or Leah about this, I will throw you into the Great Lake."
"There's nothing to be ashamed of! You usually tell us about the guys you've shagged, what's the issue now? Is there something different this time?"
Moire did not respond. Instead, she turned towards the mirror, attempting to find a flaw, whether it be a hair out of place or a crease in her shirt. She found nothing.
"Moire… are you falling for Potter?"
Her reaction was almost visceral. Moire whipped back around, her expression a mix between furious and terrified.
"Don't say it!" She exclaimed loudly, her brows furrowed. "Don't say it…," she repeated again, her voice barely above a whisper this time, and she brought her arms around her body, as if the action itself would protect her.
"Moire… what's going on?"
"If you say it, it makes it real, and I cannot be falling in love with Potter."
She didn't want to dwell much on how fast her heart was beating every time she pictured his lopsided smirk, and infuriating way he messed his hair up to make it seem like he had just come off his broom. The more she did, the faster her thoughts spiraled around, making the belt around her waist feel tighter, and the petticoat under her skirt heavier, until she couldn't breathe. There was a moment where McKenzie seemed to want to say something but decided against it. Instead, she nodded, grabbing Moire's hand with her own and giving it a comforting squeeze.
"I won't talk about it. My lips are sealed."
"They better be," Moire weakly joked.
After a pregnant pause, the daughter of the house declared they should probably get going. She took a second to compose herself. Her spine straight, her shoulders back, and her chin up, she slipped back into her confident and graceful armor. Opening the door, she stepped out into the hallway. The two young Slytherins were greeted with a cacophony of colors. While her male cousins were all dressed similarly with white shirts, black jackets, sporrans, and their clan kilts, the girls had managed to get creative with their own attires. Some had incorporated their tartans into their dresses, while a few wore it as sashes. Usually, Moire got creative, but tonight, she had opted for a more formal option, similar to what her aunts or her mother might wear. There was a deafening silence as she exited her room, feeling everyone's curious gaze on her.
"Och, have ye forgotten whit ah looked like, twats?" She barked, frowning.
The noise picked up too slowly for her, and she still felt like she was being stared at, but nobody said anything. Callum came up to them, an easy smile on his face, looking proud in the green, blue, red, and white MacIntyre cloth.
"Both of you are looking particularly stunning," he complimented, grabbing Kenzie's hand and kissing her knuckles.
"If ye even think about it, I will crush yer bollocks, do ye understand," Moire warned as he moved to do the same to her.
"And after I went through the trouble of helping your friends as you asked," he lamented jokingly.
"Oi, McLeoch, isn't there a much easier way to put these on?" Albus frowned, joining them along with Fred and Scorpius. Of course, his hair looked just as much a mess as usual, but the McLeoch colors made his eyes stand out.
"What do you mean?" She asked, confused.
"The whole pleating and getting on the floor? Isn't there a trick, or a shortcut?" Fred asked, adjusting his cuffs.
Laughter started bubbling up in her throat. Then, Moire met Callum's mischievous gaze and all resolve broke as the two of them erupted in loud laughter.
"What's so funny?" The middle Potter child exclaimed.
"I cannae believe ye made them lay on the floor," she exclaimed between laughs.
"I thought the clan McLeoch liked tradition," her cousin replied, wiping a tear at the corner of her eyes.
"Is that not how you do it?" Scorpius asked indignantly.
"I mean, that's how some Scots do it," Callum justified.
"Aye, the Muggle kind. There's a spell for it!" Moire explained, still giggling.
"Unbelievable! James, there's a spell for it! He made us get on the floor to take the piss out of us!"
The laughter died in her throat as she noticed James walk towards them. The world effectively stopped as he walked over, dressed in her clan colors, and for a microsecond, the faceless, nameless husband in some of her childhood visions took the form of James Sirius Potter wearing a kilt. She shut down the idea as soon as it touched her mind. If she allowed her brain to go that far, she would be in serious trouble. There was a glimmer of awe in his eyes as he took her in, and the words seemed stuck in his throat.
"You look…," he started, before clearing his throat. "You look great."
"Thank you," she forced out, glad when her voice came out neutral.
"Moire! You look beautiful!" Lily, who was looking quite dignified in a long green dress and the tartan worn as a shawl, complimented, walking up to her, Rose and Hugo on her trail.
"Lads and lassies!" They heard Dougal say from down the corridor. "It is five minutes to nine o'clock."
Moire took a deep breath as the gaggle of teenagers and young adults started making their way down to the Great Hall.
Like every year, the Great Hall was decorated in festive colors, fire roaring in the large chimney. The tables and chairs had been pushed to the edges of the room, freeing the floor for dancing and more importantly for clans to line up when they renewed their allegiance to the clan for the upcoming year. At the back of the room was a slightly raised platform with three large chairs. Fiona McLeoch was already seated in hers, which was located on the right, and Moire smiled at her mother, who returned a reassuring one of her own, as she made her way to her usual seat, on the left. Her father was standing near the platform, speaking with her Uncle Graham, who was Aunt Gavina's husband. Some people made their way up the stairs to the balcony, mostly the teens and children, to have a better view of the ceremony, while the adults, who would be coming up to her later on, stood around the room. The more people trickled into the room, the tighter the knot was in her throat. Finally, the last of her relatives walked in, Uncle Graham went back to stand near Aunt Gavina, and her father went to stand in front of his chair between Moire and her mother. He didn't need to demand silence from the room, as the conversations quieted down on their own.
"To my sisters, my brothers through marriage, my cousins, my nieces, my nephews, and, most importantly, allies to the clan of McLeoch. I welcome you tonight to the annual Cèilidh."
A thunder of applause interrupted him, accompanied with a few whistles. A large smile on his face, Laird Alasdair McLeoch waited for it to die down before he spoke again.
"Today is an important day for our clan. Today marks the New Year that my wife, my daughter, and myself are pleased to spend amongst you all. Today, we renew our alliance for the year to come, and pray that our union lasts for centuries to come."
Another thunder of applause. Moire couldn't help but curse her father silently. Of course, the eloquent bastard had the room eating in the palm of his hand. How was she supposed to follow that up?
"But today is a special day for the future of the clan of McLeoch. Today, I have finally chosen the person who will be following in my footsteps and who will be taking over my duties when I step down as Laird."
This time, there were no applause. Instead, hushed whispers spread like wildfire through the room, and Moire, her face void of any emotion, scanned the room. She met Callum's eye, over on the balcony, and he winked discreetly at her. Next to him, Kenzie had her hands clasped together in front of her chest. A little further away, James was smiling at her, nodding his support subtly. At the front of the crowd, she could see Fergus with a small, smug smile on his lips. Cocky bastard, she thought. Aunt Bridget's eyes were wide as saucers as she waited for the Laird to finally announce the heir to the clan.
"I have chosen someone whom I know loves this clan just as much as I do and who was raised to be proud of our name, our colors, and our traditions. With this, it will come as no surprise that I have chosen my own daughter, Moire, as she is now of age, to be the next Lady of the clan and carry out our legacy."
There we go, she thought, as her Aunt's lips all but disappeared into a thin line, her gaze hardening. Fergus looked like a fish straight out of the water. The whispers intensified, which did not seem to deter the Laird in any way.
"As it is customary when the new heir is announced, tonight's Cèilidh will be led by her tonight."
He motioned her to take his place. Legs trembling, Moire stood up, allowing a gracious smile to decorate her features, but also mostly to hide how utterly terrified she was. Her father kissed her forehead before he moved over to the chair she had previously occupied.
"Good evening, all. As my father has said, today is a special day for the clan of McLeoch, and as we welcome our friends and family into this hall tonight for the customary swearing of allegiance. But first, I would like to acknowledge that the Cèilidh is not a Cèilidh without you all present, and so my father, mother, and myself thank each and every one of you for your presence tonight. And with this, may the annual Cèilidh begin!"
As soon as the last word had left her mouth, the balcony, led by Callum, erupted in applause and whistles, soon to be joined by the rest of her family. Aunt Cadha whistled loudly, making Aunt Nairne laugh at her antics, though she still looked quite proud. In fact, most of her relatives seemed to be content with her father's decision, with the exception of Fergus and Aunt Bridget. Iain, Bridget's second son, looked as if Christmas had come early. Years of rivalry and obvious favoritism from both their Grandfather and Bridget, as well as Fergus most likely boasting every chance that he could get that he most likely would be the next Laird of the clan, probably made the moment ever so sweet to Iain. Of course, Fergus would be the Laird of the clan MacTavish, but he would always have to swear loyalty to Moire, and that was something she pettily relished in. She sat down in her seat, briefly meeting James' gaze again and for a second, the noise stopped when she saw the look of admiration and pride on his face. She was interrupted by her father, as his hand gave her shoulder an approving squeeze.
"Very good, a bhobain," he whispered as he leaned in.
She smiled in return as the room shifted, with a semi organized line starting to form. There had always been an unofficial order as far as she could remember. It was usually her aunts and their husbands first. Then, her father's cousins and their spouses. Lastly, it was the cousins and second cousins old with their own families. She felt a mix of satisfaction and dread as she realized that Aunt Bridget would be first, and Fergus would be part of the last group to come up. Bracing herself, she straightened up, as Aunt Bridget and Uncle Bram walked up. Her Aunt's face was devoid of emotion, but her eyes were piercingly angry and dark, betraying her oh-so-carefully crafted mask.
"The MacTavish clan swears tae give ye our fealty and our loyalty, as the head of our alliance. May we follow ye into the bloodiest o' battles, into the harshest o' winters, an' into the happiest o' celebration, and were we to raise against ye in rebellion, may our own wands turn on us an' strike us where we stand," Uncle Bram said, his thick moustache barely moving along with his mouth.
"The McLeoch clan thanks the MacTavish clan," she replied, looking directly at her Aunt Bridget, who kept her eyes firmly locked into Moire's father in a silent battle. "May we protect ye from your enemies, aid ye in yer time o' need, an' uphold yer name along wi' ours."
Uncle Bram turned around and made his way back to the back of the room, but Aunt Bridget stood in her spot for a few seconds, still giving the Laird a death glare that he returned with an unimpressed one of his own. She shifted her gaze to Moire, squinted at her, then huffed and joined her husband. Aunt Aoife behind her stared at her with a raised eyebrow before she rolled her eyes at her sister's behavior. She gave Moire a reassuring smile as she stepped up with her husband, Uncle Gregor, for the McCormick clan to pledge their loyalty.
oOo
After an exhausting hour and a half that turned Moire's brain into mush, she stood up, her last relatives finally returning to their seat. With a flick of her wand, glasses of Firewhiskey made their way to those of age, while butterbeers were served to the younger guests. All stood up, drinks in hand, and the room fell deadly quiet as she swept her eyes through the crowd.
"The pledges of loyalty have been spoken for the upcoming year. An' now, may the festivities begin. Slàinte Mhath!" She exclaimed with a wide smile, raising her glass.
Her cheer was echoed enthusiastically through the room as they drank. The liquid warmed her stomach, the sensation calming her nerves. Or maybe it was because she was done with the hardest part of the night and would not get to do this again until years from now. She felt both relieved and sad at the realization. While it had been nerve-wracking to lead the ceremony, she didn't think she had ever felt prouder than at that moment. The room dissolved in laughs, cheers, and conversations, and the music instruments in the back of the room rose and began to play lively music.
"Ye did just fine, a bhobain," her father said, squeezing her shoulder.
Which, if the gleam in his eye were any indication, meant there was no possible way it could have gone better, unless maybe the heavens opened up and Merlin himself graced them with his presence. Her mother engulfed her into a hug, a smile wide enough to compensate for the lack of it on her husband's face.
"You will be a wonderful Lady," she assured her. "Now go join your friends!"
She happily did so. As she arrived near her cousins and friends, Dougal gave her a pat on the back that nearly dislocated her shoulder.
"You git! Did you know this whole time and didn't tell us!" Duncan exclaimed, laughing incredulously.
"Sorry, I was told to keep it discreet," she replied apologetically.
"I knew," Callum piped up.
"Shut yer trap, Callum!" Was the consensus.
"You were brilliant, Moire!" Lily declared, her eyes shining with admiration.
Moire smiled at the younger girl, resisting the urge to ruffle her hair affectionately from fear of messing up her carefully crafted curls.
"Does the Quidditch team have to call you Lady McLeoch, now?" Scorpius asked before yelping in pain when she punched his arm.
"The Lady sure is aggressive," Albus joked.
"I will bench you for the rest of the season," she grumbled with no real animosity behind the empty threat.
James hadn't said anything since she had joined them. Their eyes met, and she smiled as she saw awe, some pride, and appreciation in his gaze. He smiled back and they looked at each other in silence for a few seconds before Kenzie cleared her throat.
"So, who wants to start drinking? I think your family already started!" She suggested, looking at Moire's relatives as some had already began to dance, many holding full glasses.
"Oh, I'll have to find Aunt Aoife, she's the most fun to drink with!" Moire agreed.
Looking around, however, she couldn't see any of her aunts enjoying the festivities. As she scoured the room, she saw all of them, with the exception of Aunt Bridget, gathered close to the big double door at the entrance of the Great Hall, whispering to each other in somber moods.
"Excuse me a second."
She made her way towards them and as she drew nearer, she could make out what they were arguing about.
"… go out there and tell her…," Cadha scolded, her brows furrowed.
"Alasdair said he had it under control and to not interfere," Nairne, who looked more worried than angry, cut her off.
"Screw Alasdair and his noble intentions," Aoife replied. "She is out of line. This is her own niece she is badmouthing!"
"I agree with Aoife," Greer said, shaking her head. "She has put it in her head that…"
"What's going on?" Moire asked.
The six women all turned around, looking sheepish as they realized her presence.
"Don't worry, dear. Your father has all of it under control," Lainie replied.
"The hell he does," Gavina mumbled.
But she was too close to the hallway and could hear the argument going on from where she was standing.
"… it was Da's wish that…"
"Da is not Laird anymore, I am. And as such, it is my duty to choose who will be replacing me."
"You're being unreasonable, Alasdair! My son is the next male heir!"
"And my daughter has the name of McLeoch. Da's insinuations that Fergus would be heir is none of my concern. Not after he left the clan to me, and with it the responsibility of choosing who should take over."
"Your daughter is unfit!"
"Do not speak of my daughter, Bridget!" Her father boomed, an edge of warning in his words.
"Do you pretend not to see her galivanting openly with that boy?"
At the mention of James, Moire's mouth dried up. Fists balling up, she sped past her aunts and out in the corridor, the edge of her vision red with anger. She vaguely heard her aunts calling her name behind her as they followed behind her.
"It isn't proper behavior for a young woman of our standing, let alone the one you are thinking of leaving this clan to, to behave like a…"
"Like a what, Aunt Bridget?" She asked loudly, her anger palpable. She heard one of the mirrors in the corridor crack.
Bridget's mouth slacked open at her apparition. Just when Moire thought she felt ashamed for being caught, her aunt's usual proud expression returned to her face.
"Sorry, Alasdair," Greer sighed behind her. "She heard, and we couldn't stop her."
"Don't interrupt an adult conversation, young lady," she chastised, as her father rubbed his brow.
"How am I not to interrupt when I am the one being talked about? For someone so uptight, I thought you would be aware that it is improper to speak ill of someone behind their backs."
"You are the last person to lecture about anyone being improper! Do you believe the portraits do not talk? Do you think it is appropriate for you to run around this castle ad drag our good name while you hide in broom closets with this… with this… this Sassenach?"
The mirror cracked further before shards fell on the ground. The noise of the festivities seemed so far away, and the silence that fell on the hallway drew a chill in the air. Moire's father's eyes were thunderous, but Bridget's attention was directed at Moire.
"Do not speak of James, or any of my friends again," she spoke calmly, mustering every ounce of venom she had in her. "What I do with my spare time is no one's concern but my own, especially not the portraits. Most of them are dead. Their opinion does not matter anymore. What matters is that you and your family swore loyalty to us, to me. I am the future Lady of this clan, and that is not going to change. If you, or Fergus, are not happy with this arrangement, you are free to leave the alliance and start your own. Otherwise, get used to pledging your allegiance to me, because I have no intention of stepping aside."
Moire turned around, only realizing then that her other aunts were still behind her. Gavina gave her a small nod in support. Before she walked back into the Great Hall, Moire turned around one last time.
"You know, it could have been you. You could have been Lady of the clan today, had Grandfather not been so close minded. But he was, and he had eight children just so he could produce a male heir when you could have been chosen just like I was today. That is truly unfortunate that he made you believe you were lesser than a son would be, but that does not allow you to blame me because my father treated me like you wish yours did."
She heard Nairne gasp in disbelief and Greer let out a shocked laugh as she made her way back into the Hall, almost walking straight into James. He caught her as she stumbled.
"Are you alright?" He asked with a worried frown,
"I'm fine, I didn't bump into you that hard…"
"That's not what I meant."
Of course, it wasn't. She sighed.
"How much of that did you hear?"
"Enough to ask if you're alright."
He was looking at her like she was going to burst into tears any time now, and she hated that.
"If you don't stop looking at me like that, I'm going to hex you," she warned, an eyebrow raised. "I'm fine, James. I don't think I've ever felt better actually. This was… therapeutic almost."
There was a small silence before he sighed and nodded.
"Let's drink something," James suggested.
"And then dance a bit, maybe? I'll teach you how to dance a reel."
Why did she sound so eager? James didn't seem to notice. He smiled softly and agreed. The two of them headed to the drinks table, where Moire downed two glasses to settle the leftover adrenaline from calling out her aunt, before they joined the reel circles. They danced a few with their friends, before Moire was whisked away to dance with her parents, and then with her aunts. Bridget was nowhere to be seen for the rest of the night, and neither was Fergus, who had left early on, his face so red he looked like he would explode at any time. Closer to midnight, slower and more romantic dances replaced the lively and cheerful ones. A hand closed on Moire's.
"Dance with me?" James whispered in her ear.
Interlocking their fingers, she led him to the dancefloor. And as he held her a little too close to keep up their strictly-friends façade, not that anyone noticed drunk and happy as they were, and looked deep into her eyes, making her feel like everyone else around them had disappeared, she realized she was fucked.
Moire Bonnie McLeoch was falling for James Sirius Potter. And she was quite at peace with it.
I apologize for the very long delay in releasing this chapter. My computer was out of order for quite some time, but to makeup for it, I made this chapter extra long. We're nearing the end of this fanfic, which makes me a little sad, so I will enjoy writing the last of it as much as I can!
Please let me know what you all think of this one in the reviews and I will see you in the next chapter, which will hopefully take a lot less time than this one did. The whole loyalty pledging was heavily inspired by Outlander.
Enjoy!