A/N: This story exists in a completely separate universe from my other work. It's a 3 part post-Hogwarts reader-insert love triangle between Felix Rosier, Talbott Winger, and you, you lucky duck.
It's not exactly gender neutral, I'm sorry, so there are some female titles/pro nouns used. There are some sexual situations but no graphic smut.
Enjoy ;)
The sound of curtains being drawn wakes you. Light pierces the back of your eyelids and you squeeze them tight. Your dream was uneasy, but you aren't ready to leave it just yet. You were looking for someone, someone calling your name. The face dissolves in the last dregs of ebbing sleep. You're sure you know it from somewhere...the name is just on the tip of your tongue...
"Good morning," murmurs a husky voice near your ear. Soft lips, curved in a smile, tickle your jawline, making you shiver. For a moment, the voice occupies the same space in reality as the face from the dream, a place for things familiar, but momentarily forgotten.
You open your eyes. The eyes that stare back are a deep brown, almost black. The sharp, pale face behind them is so close the snub nose almost touches yours. Your mind searches for identity through a drowsy haze. A name swims to the surface.
"Felix?" you ask tentatively, voice hoarse with sleep.
The brown eyes ignite in pleasure at hearing their name. The man - Felix, your mind reminds you - brushes hair away from your face. He leans closer, eyes on your lips, but you tilt your head away before he can reach you. You're not sure why. It's an instinct, not a decision.
Felix freezes for a moment. Then he smirks, ever so slightly. It's a delicious expression on him, and you shiver again.
"Why so shy this morning?" he asks, stroking your cheek with the back of his fingers. Your eyes flutter shut at the sweet sensation.
Why does your head feel so strange? You try to recall where you are and why you're here...but the memories float just out of reach. When you re-open your eyes, Felix is watching you closely. There's something like worry in his face.
"I don't know," you answer honestly. "My head feels...strange. I'm...not sure who I am this morning."
It sounds like madness when said aloud. You tug your mouth into a grin, hoping to pass your strange remark off as a joke. You're relieved when Felix's smirk widens.
"Champagne clearly does not agree with you."
Felix leans forward again, and this time you stay put. You let his lips meet yours in a lazy, warm kiss that he deepens into something breathtaking. It does nothing to help your befuddled brain, but your body is certainly awake now. It, at least, seems to know exactly where it is. And what it wants. Felix drags his lips from yours to trail open kisses up your jaw line toward your ear.
"You're Y/N Rosier," he murmurs between kisses. "You're my wife. You're in our home. And you're safe."
At these words, memories stir to life. You remember those same rich brown eyes standing in front of an altar, laying out in warm sand near lapping waves. Your wedding, your honeymoon in France. How could you have forgotten? The memories are there in your head, as real as print in a book, and yet they have a dream-like quality to them. Perhaps you are still dreaming, you think, as Felix's fingers run through your hair. Or perhaps you simply drank too much last night.
"Are you alright?" There's definite concern in Felix's voice.
"Of course," you assure him. You reach up to tuck stray hair back into place where it's fallen across his forehead. "Sometimes I just wake up with you and it feels like the very first time."
Felix's shoulders relax, and a genuine smile graces his sharp features. His eyes glow with an almost childlike joy. A pleasant lurch in your stomach reminds you you've seen this face before. It's the face you always want to inspire in him. The face you love.
"Well, I suppose that's appropriate for our first morning here." Felix sits up, glancing around the sunlit room. "I do miss France but I must say, it's nice to finally wake up in our own home." He slips from the bed and disappears behind a nearby door.
You push yourself up as well, taking in the enormous four poster bed, the walls covered in austere tapestries, the wide windows overlooking a gloomy English landscape.
"Our own home," you echo. Nothing has ever looked less like home to you.
Felix's voice carries from the adjoining room. "I know it wasn't exactly your first choice, but I still think it's the best place for us right now. It's closer to the Ministry, and its wards are ancient, very safe. And my mother is perfectly comfortable at the French estate. I know it's larger than what you're used to, but-"
You let Felix's voice drift in one ear and out the other. You swing your legs over the side of the bed and test your feet against the ground. Your limbs don't seem to be afflicted with the same wobbling uncertainty as your mind. They support you just fine as you slide to a floor as icy cold as it looks. The entire room is chilly you realise now you've left the warmth of the bed.
You glance around for clothes. The floor is bare except for heavy rugs, and the chaise lounge by the empty fireplace does not look as if it's ever tolerated any such indignity as clothes being tossed across it. You notice a dress form standing nearby, an emerald dressing gown hanging neatly upon it. You pull it on and note how perfectly it fits. It must be yours, though the colour and material strike no familiar chords.
Behind the dress form is another door, slightly ajar. When you push it open, you find a small chamber filled with a stunning assortment of robes; every day robes in every conceivable colour and style, expensive dress-robes, even a small section of well-made muggle clothes. You can tell just by looking each item is tailored to your specifications. You wrack your muddled brain for memories of picking them out or purchasing them, but nothing comes to mind.
"Y/N?"
Felix's voice is nearby once more, and you step back into the bedroom. Felix is waiting for you, dressed in immaculate black robes. You stare at him blankly, trying to remember what he was saying before you became distracted.
"Look," Felix sighs, coming to stand next to you and taking your shoulders. "If you truly detest it here, we can find something else soon. I just-"
"No." You shake your head. "No, you're right. I'm sure I'll get used to it. It's just...new."
You glance back at the dressing room.
"Where did I buy all those robes, do you remember?" you ask as casually as possible. " I can't quite recall."
Felix raises his eyebrows. He places the back of one hand against your forehead.
"Remind me to make a note of last night's vintage. It was clearly far too powerful for you."
You roll your eyes and swat his arm playfully. Felix catches your hand and brings it to his lips. He kisses your fingers slowly, lips lingering exquisitely over each knuckle, as if he'd rather do nothing else all morning. Another heady rush of sensation thrills you. Standing becomes as hard as thinking. You sway slightly, but Felix wraps an arm around your waist to draw you against him.
"Are you sure you'll be alright for the day? Perhaps I should stay... I could send an owl to-"
"Of course I'll be alright," you assure him quickly. "Where are you going?"
"To meet the Dark Lord, of course. Then the office."
"What?"
"You know I'd much rather be here, but I really ought not to leave it any longer. I haven't sent an owl since we first arrived in France and I'm sure the department's in shambles without me. "
"No, I mean... what do you mean about the Dark Lord?"
For the first time this morning, it isn't confusion driving your question, but alarm. This is a name you have no trouble remembering. Events of the last year rise to the fore front of your mind. The return of the Dark Lord after the Tri-wizard tournament; the Ministry's refusal to acknowledge his return; Professor Dumbledore summoning you and others to a secret meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.
"Yes. Our honeymoon is over and I swore I'd report in for instruction as soon as I was back in the country, which technically should have been last night, but..."
"Felix... the Dark Lord...you can't seriously... you're not joining him?"
Felix sighs, dropping your hand and rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.
"Y/N, please don't start this again. I know your concerns, but we've discussed this. He's coming to power, whether we like it or not, and this is the only way to ensure your safety."
"But..." You struggle to form a coherent argument around the fog in your brain. You can't remember having such an important discussion before. How could Felix have talked you into supporting something like this?
"What about the Order of the Phoenix? Why can't we join them? Why haven't we joined them?" you ask, wondering how this has never come up. You remember that meeting in Dumbledore's office...was it months ago? Or longer? The Weasley's had been there...you can see Bill's face clearly. Other faces lurk in the background of your memory, hidden in shadow.
"Y/N, we've already been through this," Felix says in mounting frustration. "They won't permit me to join. My father was a Death Eater. They don't trust me. And even if they were to make an exception, we would be more of a target for the Dark Lord then. He would never forgive a betrayal like that. The Death Eaters aren't a club you can just quit. My father was one, and that means I'm expected to be as well. If I refused, he would stop at nothing to find me, or find you first to punish me. I thought you understood..."
Felix looks so pained, you stumble over your own further protests. You raise a hand to his face, stroking your thumb over his sharp cheek. Felix leans into your palm. His eyes are shut tightly against some inner battle you cannot see.
"Felix. I just...don't want you to get hurt.
Felix take a shuddering breath and meets your eyes again, his expression grim.
"I don't want you to be hurt. And as long as we're on the winning side, we won't be. I know you don't like it, and it isn't what I would prefer, but it's not up to us. All we can do is stay safe until this war is over." He leans down to kiss you, a gentle apology of a kiss. "I'm sorry it's like this. But things will clear up soon. Once the Dark Lord has the Ministry, he'll have other things on his mind. We can go back to France, or anywhere you like. I promise."
The sound of a clock chiming somewhere in the house makes Felix look up.
"I have to go. I'll get away as soon as I can." He catches your chin in his hand, tilting it up to face him. His eyes burn with something that turns your bones to water. "I love you," he says. It's more than a platitude or a reminder. It's almost an oath.
"I...love you too," you say. You must. Why else would you be here?
Once Felix is gone, you sit back on the bed, clutching your head in your hands. You rap your knuckles against your skull, trying to knock whatever's come loose back into place. What's wrong with you? Why is your memory all bits and pieces? Drink, you suppose, combined with a whirlwind few months. Maybe this happens to everyone just arrived from their honeymoon. Perhaps a solid course of action will help put you back together.
The Rosier manor doesn't seem like the sort of house made for walking about in one's bare feet, so you return to the dressing room and inspect your options. You choose the simplest robes you can find. They feel strange on you, in spite of the perfect fit. After washing and dressing, you stare at yourself in the full length mirror. It's you, and yet somehow, your own reflection looks unfamiliar. Well, you suppose, in many ways you are a new person. You're Mrs Rosier now. That thought inspires confidence in you. You stand up straighter and take a steadying breath. This is your home, and your first order of business should be to explore it.
You spend the morning wandering the manor. You start to count the rooms, but lose track somewhere on the third floor. There's bedrooms and bathrooms, libraries and studies, and some rooms with no discernible purpose at all. You inspect the conservatory and the solarium, and briefly consider tackling the expansive grounds before your growling stomach urges you to find the kitchen. You discover it in a ground floor dining room, hidden behind a door almost indistinguishable from the surrounding wall.
The kitchen is a bright, spacious room, full of high windows that allow more sunlight to drift in than in the rest of the house. The familiar sounds of pots and pans scrubbing themselves at a sink and a pot bubbling over the fire go a long way to cheering your uneasy spirit.
"Madam is wanting something?"
You look down to find a small, elderly house-elf dressed in an assortment of elaborately tied linen dinner napkins.
"Oh! Yes, please. Breakfast would be lovely. Or lunch. I'm not sure of the time."
'"Miam-Miam is making a luncheon for Madam, certainly. What is Madam wishing to eat?"
"Oh, anything's fine. And, um, you can just call me Y/N. Madam sounds...a bit formal."
The house-elf purses her tiny lips in obvious disapproval.
"Is Madam wishing to be served in the breakfast room or the upstairs dining room?" she asks stiffly, managing to stress the word Madam just enough for you to notice.
"Actually, could I just eat here, please?"
You ask the question politely enough but don't bother to wait for a reply before seating yourself in a chair at the wooden butcher's table. The house-elf's mouth works soundlessly. You can see her desire to maintain the house's strict traditions going to war with her need to defer to her masters.
"I won't tell anyone, I promise," you say to the elf.
Miam-Miam's face is pinched and unhappy, but in the end, she returns to the pot over the fire, murmuring under her breath in feel a little guilty for putting the elf in this position, but something about the kitchen feels more inviting than any other part of the house, and you don't want to leave it just yet. You wonder why this room is uninfected by the dream-like quality that's pervaded the rest of your morning. Perhaps kitchens in general are just comforting, you think. You lay your forehead against the table and revel in its wonderful solidness.
"Madam is feeling ill?"
Miam-Miam is back. The narrow squint of her large round eyes more suspicious than concerned.
"I'm alright. Just can't seem to find my head this morning."
The house-elf wrinkles her tomato-like nose. "Miam-Miam is not understanding. Is Madam having headache? Miam-Miam would be making a potion for headache, but Miam-Miam is not having the ingredients. If Madam is permitting Miam-Miam to visit Diagon Alley-"
You lift your head, inspired.
"That's a wonderful idea! I think I'll pop down to Diagon Alley for a bit."
You expect some push back from the old-fashioned elf at the idea of Madam doing the servant's shopping, but you're surprised when her eyes widen in horror.
"No, Madam must not! The Master will not be liking it! Miam-Miam is going. Madam must stay in the house where it is safe."
"What's unsafe about Diagon Alley?"
Miam-Miam is unable to offer any specific dangers, only continues to shake her head and repeat: "Master will not be liking it."
"Master will be fine," you say firmly. The decision made, you stand and glance toward the fireplace. Sure enough, there's a small glass jar on the mantle containing the household floo powder. You walk to the fire and use your wand to lift the hot, heavy pot out of the way. Miam-Miam hovers just behind you, protesting all the while.
"Please, Madam, please. Master is not liking you to go!"
You ignore the elf, and toss floo powder onto the fire. As you step into the flames, you turn to reassure the poor house-elf, now wringing her dinner napkin dress in distress.
"Don't worry, Miam-Miam. I'll be back in a bit. Diagon Alley!"
Wandering the streets you've known all your life does wonders for your sense of self. As you glance into stalls and shop windows, memories hail you like familiar friends: meeting Rowan for the first time; buying your first wand, and then your second; lurking in Flourish and Blotts whenever you could to search for messages from your brother. You even remember where to find the sneaky little niffler that lurks outside the bank. You used to drop him galleons whenever you passed just to see him creep out and snatch them when he thought no one was watching.
You lean against the brick wall beside the niffler's hideaway and close your eyes. You breathe in the familiar air and let your mind put all the memories together in the right order, like puzzle pieces, until they begin to form a complete picture. You came here often with friends when you were at school, and even after. Scattered images of laughing and eating with people fit comfortably in your head, though the faces are still dim and shadowy. There's Rowan for sure, you can picture her clearly, but who else? Felix? That seems right. You can picture Felix's face smiling at you outside Flourish and Blotts...you see him take your hand across a café table - where you met him again for the first time after graduating Hogwarts!
You open your eyes, searching for the café to inspire the rest of the memory, when you catch sight of someone watching you from a doorway.
At first, all you can see are his eyes. Behind the eyes, you're dimly aware of a face with a long, sharp nose, and dark skin with strangely layered hair. But it's the eyes that command your attention. They're a hazel that's nearly yellow, flecked with gold, as piercing as a blade but with an ocean of depth beneath.
You realise you're staring, and you blush. You look away, feigning interest in a stall of bats. It's a minute before you feel brave enough to look at the doorway again.
The man is still there. And there can be no mistaking it this time: he's staring at you as well with those intense yellow-gold eyes, his mouth very slightly open. He must see you looking back at him, but he doesn't turn away. Doesn't move at all. He stands, alert and tense, like a bird of prey that's sighted a mouse. You suddenly remember Miam-Miam's warnings about Diagon Alley being unsafe.
But you're Mrs Felix Rosier, you remind yourself proudly. And before that you were the Hogwarts Cursebreaker. You pull yourself up to full height and step into the street, walking confidently toward the strange eyes and the man behind them.
"Can I help you?" you ask as soon as you're within hearing distance.
The man continues to stare. He blinks once, his head cocked very slightly to the side. Then he says your name. It's quiet, but his voice carries across to you easily, stopping you in your tracks. You know that voice... You can't place it, but you're so sure. It's just on the tip of your tongue...
"Who -" you begin to ask, when someone else calls your name from behind. This one you recognise instantly. You turn to see Felix almost sprinting down the street toward you. He grabs your arms and pulls you against him, staring wildly about as if expecting a barrage of curses from every direction.
"What are you doing here? Are you alright?" he asks in a low, fierce voice.
"What? I'm fine."
You turn back to look at the place where the man had been, but he's gone. You glance hurriedly around at the milling crowds of people, in the windows of nearby shops, down the alley's side streets. But those yellow-gold eyes are nowhere to be seen.
"What is it?" asks Felix sharply.
"There was someone there just a moment ago. He was watching me."
"He?" Felix repeats, his voice heavy with panic. "Who? Who was it?"
"I don't know. I thought I recongised him, but...I'm not sure."
"Did he speak to you?" Felix's grip on your arm tightens until you're forced to yank it away.
"No! Felix, what's wrong?"
Felix's eyes sweep the street once more. He runs a hand across his hair distractedly, smoothing it flat and trying to regain some of his usual calm.
"Nothing," he says. His voice is entirely unconvincing. "Come, let's get you home."
Part of you wants to argue. You feel so much more comfortable here. You're not quite ready to go back to the manor and all it's strange surreality. But Felix's obvious alarm worries you, and you don't want to fight him when he's in this state.
The two of you apparate together back to the Rosier property. Felix doesn't speak the entire walk to the manor house. You shoot occasional sideways glances at him, but he doesn't seem to notice. His eyes are agitated and far away. Once you're safely inside, Felix stops in the front hall and faces you.
"Why?" he asks simply.
"Why what?"
"Why did you leave? I came back and found you gone, do you have any idea how worried I was?"
His voice is loud and strained, just short of yelling. Your own temper flares within you.
"I'm sorry," you say, crossing your arms. "I didn't know a requirement of marriage was staying inside the house all day waiting for my husband."
"It's a requirement of keeping you safe," Felix snaps back.
"What am I in danger of?" you cry in exasperation. "You know I've survived dragons and curses and assassins, right? What in Merlin's name is lurking in Diagon Alley that's so much worse than all of that?"
Instead of rising to a fight, Felix's anger fizzles out. His whole demeanor seems to crumple under your biting words, and he looks down at the floor in something like defeat. Guilt builds like bile in the back of your throat. It hurts you to see Felix so despondent. You close the distance between you and reach up to fix his wilting hair. There's no sarcasm in your apology this time.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to worry you. I just don't understand what you're so worried about."
Felix's reply is to pull you closer, clutching you to his chest with desperate arms. You can feel his heart beating frantically. You take deep, slow breaths, hoping to infuse him with your own calm. When you look up, his eyes are swimming with some fragile emotion you don't understand.
"Y/N, our world is impossibly dangerous right now. I know you've fought more than your share of battles, but this is different. Anyone... everyone you know...even your friends, could be out to hurt you now. Because of me." He strokes the shell of your ear with his thumb. "I'm so sorry. You're married to a man with enemies. And there's no way for us to know who to trust. Please, for my sake, just stay here where it's safe."
"For how long?"
"I don't know," Felix sighs. "The Dark Lord does not confide his plans in anyone, but I doubt it will take long. And once he's in power, things will be different."
This isn't a answer to inspire much comfort in you, and you turn away. Your head is bursting with questions and fragments of memories, none of which make sense. Why would you ever have agreed to this? It doesn't sound like you at all. Trapped inside this enormous house, unable to do anything useful, and somehow on the side of Death Eaters?
You look back at Felix, an argument on your tongue. But before you can say anything, Felix's lips find yours. It's a needy, starving kiss, as though it were years since your last, instead of only this morning. His hands slide down your back, frame your waist, caress your hips, easing your body forward until you're flush against his. You can't help it. You melt against him, stroking the muscle of his chest through his robes. For the first time that day, you feel truly and perfectly alive.
And you think, this must be why.
Life in the Rosier manor takes some adjustment, but after a few days you settle into a routine. You breakfast late and spend a leisurely morning reading and relaxing on the upstairs terrace. Then there's lunch, and a long walk about the grounds. The estate is massive, and you take your time exploring every inch of it. The elaborate hedge maze is a particular favourite. You spend three days attempting to map it before you realise it changes on its own at random intervals, making it impossible to solve.
But by far the best part of your married life is your new husband.
Felix escapes his ministry job to be with you as often as he can. Many mornings, he leaves for work late, having chosen a blissful lie-in with you instead. He sneaks home to lunch with you almost every day, and he's back at half-six each evening like clockwork. While home, he's never absent from your side.
Felix takes pride in showing you the Rosier Manor's many secret passages and hidden rooms. He instructs you in French, when you mention off-hand a desire to learn. And after discovering it was always a childhood wish of his, you teach him to play the old, dusty piano in the music room. Your evenings are filled with music and dance, and your nights are always long and sleepless. Even quiet afternoons spent reading in the library, you often catch Felix watching you subtly over the top of his book, as though worried you might disappear.
It's moments like these in which you understand your decision to stay here, to marry a man in service to the most feared dark wizard in modern history. The thought that your husband is a Death Eater still churns your stomach, and you spend much of your alone time formulating careful arguments and plans of escape. But these always end with a wretched Felix, close to tears, terrified that flight will mean your death. No matter what you say, you're unable to convince him otherwise.
Occasionally, you try plotting out the sequence of events that led to your marriage, but your memories continue to be elusive. You remember a good many dinners and outings with Felix. You think they took place before your French honeymoon, but it's hard to place them in time exactly. You wonder whether you ought to mention this to Felix. In the end, you decide against it. Madness is a reputation you've fought for so many years, and the stigma of it still haunts you. Felix is the last person you want to look at you with that mixture of pity and wariness you've seen from so many others.
There's one memory, however, that refuses to fade: those yellow-gold eyes from Diagon Alley. For some reason, your dreams are constantly haunted by the image of this man and his simple utterance of your name. His eyes stir something to life inside you, a deep, slumbering something you don't understand or cannot remember. It isn't exactly a pleasant feeling, and when you wake from these dreams you snuggle closer to Felix, letting his warm, solid arms anchor you to reality. But you cannot keep from wondering who the man behind the yellow eyes is. You're sure you've seen him somewhere, though where continues to elude you.
You're mulling this very question over in the garden one day when a noise from behind makes you jump. Animals are rare on the grounds, and Felix is never one to creep up behind you unawares. You draw your wand instinctively, turning to face the sound. You nearly drop it when you watch those same piercing eyes and the dark-skinned man who owns them step out from behind a willowy tree.
For a moment, neither of you move. You know you ought to feel fear. This is obviously the danger Felix has warned you about. No one who's a friend sneaks onto one's property unannounced. But even as you point your wand at the man's face, you find yourself lost in his yellow-gold eyes. There's something almost frantic in them, like a person trapped behind glass screaming words you cannot hear.
You lower your wand without thinking. In spite of Felix's warnings, you can't bring yourself to feel afraid. Your mind may be confused, but every other part of you is convinced this man means you no harm.
"Who are you?" you ask. "What do you want?"
The man doesn't answer. He only stares. The intensity of his eyes is difficult to look at directly and you drop your gaze to his bony neck instead.
"Are you here to kill me?"
That shakes the man from his silence. The yellow-gold eyes widen a little before he answers, "Is that what he told you?"
"Who?" you ask in confusion. "My husband?"
The man's whole face twists momentarily in an expression of disgust. His features straighten quickly, inscrutable once more, except for the eyes which seem to be pleading with you for something.
"You don't know me." It's a statement, not a question. But the more he talks, the more you're sure this can't be true.
"Should I?"
"Yes."
There's a pause in which you wrack your brain desperately for a memory you're sure is hidden somewhere, but you cannot find it. You're forced to shake your head apologetically. "I'm sorry. I don't."
The man shuffles his feet as if uncomfortable with this answer. "We were...at school together," he says.
Armed with this bit of information, you cast your mind back to your school years. You search for those eyes in classes, Quidditch matches, cursed vaults. They're nowhere to be found. But perhaps that's not so unusual.
"School was so long ago," you say, "and so much as happened since then. I don't know how much you know about me, but school wasn't exactly the happiest time of my life. I guess I've tried to put all those memories behind me."
The man says nothing. He blinks those molten eyes and stares. His fingers twitch as if itching to wrap around something. You tighten your hold on your wand again, but he makes no other move. He seems to be trapped in indecision. And despite being an intruder in your home, there's some instinct urging you to soothe the man's obvious distress.
What's your name?" you ask gently.
A look of deepest pain crosses the man's face, as if he's bleeding from a wound you cannot see. It makes your heart ache for some reason.
"Talbott Winger," he answers.
There's a strange upset in your perception. The garden around you seems to shimmer as if it were really a backdrop you could rip away to reveal a more substantial world behind it. You can no longer feel the ground underneath your feet. You wonder if you're falling or floating. Your head swims with nausea. From far away, you hear someone call your name. You wonder where they are, where you are, and how you can get to them.
Then you feel hands on your face. They anchor your mind to your body once more. You're aware of your back lying against hard ground, and a throbbing pain in the side of your head. You realise your eyes are closed. You open them.
Brown eyes stare back at you in fear, and you feel a quick pang of disappointment. For some reason, you expected them to be yellow-gold. But it's Felix. He lifts you gently until you're sitting upright. You're still in the garden, only the sky is darkening. You stare about you for the man - Talbott, your brain now promptly supplies - but see no one else.
"Y/N!"
You only realise Felix has been speaking when he calls your name again. His voice is trembling.
"What's wrong?" you ask.
"What's wrong? That's what I'm asking you! How long have you been out here? What happened?"
"I was...walking and... I don't know. My head hurt and I... I fell, I guess."
For some reason, you think it's best not to mention Talbott Winger yet. You know how worried Felix will be, and there's no reason to upset him until you discover what Talbott wants. You think - or perhaps, you hope - you'll see those yellow-gold eyes again soon.
For several days, you're disappointed. You now spend all your mornings and most of the afternoons out on the grounds. You return regularly to the tree in the garden where you saw him last. But Talbott Winger does not re-appear. Sometimes you worry the encounter was a dream, your grip on reality being so tenuous these days. Only, somehow, apart from Felix, those yellow-gold eyes are the closest thing you have to a solid, reliable memory.
You're forced to wait a full week before you see them again. You're in the kitchen one evening instructing Felix in the art of rolling an even pie crust. You've finally bullied Miam-Miam into relinquishing the dinner preparations just this once, and Felix, exceptionally amused, has agreed to be your sous-chef.
"You're sure I'm doing this properly?" he asks with a wry grin.
The sight of your typically decorous husband, shirt sleeves tucked up to his elbows and flour dusting the tip of his nose, makes your heart soar. You live for these sweet moments; where the world contains only the two of you, with no thoughts to spare for the war raging outside. You smile, and lean across the table towards Felix. There's just enough time for your lips to meet in the promise of a kiss when the sound of the front door bell reverberates through the house.
Miam-Miam rises hastily from her little stool by the fire, but Felix stops her before she can reach the kitchen door.
"No. Let me." He wipes his hands quickly on a dish towel and strides past the sullenly-still elf. You follow him to the door, but Felix shakes his head.
"Wait here," he commands. Catching sight of your raised eyebrows, he adds, "Please. Let me see who it is." Felix doesn't wait for you to agree. He slips out the door and pulls it shut tightly behind him. You listen to his footsteps walking away. You count to ten, then follow anyway.
Miam-Miam's echoing protests make it difficult to hear the conversation floating down the hall from the front door. You think you can make out two distinct voices. You walk through the dining room and approach the front hall as quietly as possible. Scattered words in Felix's most imperious tone reach your ear.
"It's over...safe now...nothing you can do."
You hesitate, uncertain whether to risk the hall where very little furniture exists to hide behind. Then the other voice speaks, loud enough to be clearly heard, "...don't care about her safety!" and your heart leaps in your chest as you recognise it.
"Don't you dare!" Felix snarls. You've never heard him so furious before. You hesitate briefly, but your desire to see the visitor, to be sure it's who you think, is overpowering. Cautiously, you tiptoe into the hallway. The other voice is a low, venomous hiss now. You have to strain your ears to catch the words.
"...away with this. I won't let you."
"Is that a threat," Felix asks.
"It's a promise."
Felix starts to push the heavy front door closed and you throw caution to the wind. You run the last few steps forward just in time to see yellow-gold eyes on fire with fury, before the door slams shut on them.
Felix spins around quickly, startled by your sudden approach.
"Who was that?" you ask before he can get a word out. You fully expect Felix to be frustrated, even angry with you for refusing to stay safely in the kitchen. Instead, he blushes brick red. He runs a quick hand across his hair, as though you've caught him doing something shameful.
"No one."
You cross your arms, arch one eyebrow and say, "Felix," with all the skepticism such a ridiculous answer deserves. Felix has the decency to look abashed, but still refuses to speak. He looks so lost you can't help but sigh and come to his rescue. You take his hand and squeeze it in support.
"Felix," you repeat more gently. "Tell me what's going on. Who is that man? What does he want?"
Felix presses your hand to his face, drawing strength from your touch. He keeps his eyes closed as he answers, "Just...someone from the ministry. An auror. He doesn't...like me. But he shouldn't have followed me home." Felix exhales forcefully, then opens his eyes. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again." He twines his fingers between yours and tries to lead you back down the hallway. "Whatever happened to dinner?" he asks, in a voice laden with false cheer.
You're not remotely convinced that's all there is to it, and you're determined not to let the issue go. But you decide to wait until Felix is in better spirits before you demand answers. You return to the kitchen. Felix makes an attempt to recapture the light-hearted mood from before the unwelcome visitor. But his smile is more like a grimace. And more than once you catch him staring into space, lost in troubled thoughts he refuses to share.
That night you take particular care with Felix. You trail delicate kisses down his jawline, tracing his throat, his jutting collarbone. Your every movement is slow and measured as you follow the thin path of dark hair leading you from his chest to his abdomen. You assure Felix of your love for him using your lips and your tongue and the heat of your mouth. When you're finished, you crawl back up his body and rest against his still heaving chest, waiting for his heart rate to settle.
"Y/N," he pants.
"Felix."
"You know I love you?"
You smile against his skin. "So I've heard."
Felix rolls to his side so you slide off his chest and into his arms. He cups your cheek. It's hard to make out his eyes in the dark, but his voice is pleading.
"I know how hard all of this is for you. But you know it's because I want you to be safe. Because I love you. Our world is such a mess right now, and the thought of you caught up in it...running for your life, or hurt, or..." He swallows the next word. "I can't bear it."
You stroke the back of his hand where it holds your face. His touch is light, as if he thinks you might crack under his fingers. Felix is always so careful with you. It touches the part of you burdened by years of fighting battles for others with so little help or thought for your well-being. But you're not as delicate as he thinks.
"I understand," you assure him. "But you know, if you want me to trust you, you have to trust me. I'm not exactly incapable. I know it's a been a while, but I did manage to survive seven years worth of curses and monsters and Merula Snyde."
Felix rests his forehead against yours with a quiet chuckle.
"I know."
"So trust me."
"I do."
You take a deep breath and steel yourself to ask your burning question.
"Then...who is Talbott Winger?"
"What?"
Felix jerks away startled. Even in the darkness, you can see heat rising in his cheeks.
"That man who keeps coming by here. I know that's his name. Who is he?"
"Keeps coming by..." Felix repeats. He pushes himself up, and you follow, concerned at his change in demeanor. "Has he been here before? What did he say to you? Did he try to-to-"
You cut off his increasingly hysterical questions with a hand to his shoulder. "It's alright. I was fine. He just - he was here last week, out on the grounds. He wouldn't say what he wanted. He mentioned that we went to school together, but I don't remember him at all. Though I feel as though I should."
Felix's relief is palpable. His shoulders collapse in a slow, heavy exhalation. He pushes hair back from his forehead.
"There's no reason for you to. You can't be expected to remember everyone you went to school with. You had so many friends, and he was never exactly popular."
"So, you remember him?" you ask. Your own heart is now pounding with excitement; you're not sure why.
"Yes," Felix admits. "He was one of those that never trusted Slytherins. He had quite a grudge against anyone with the remotest Death Eater affiliation. It's only become worse now he's an auror. He's sure I know something about the Dark Lord's return, he follows me constantly. I wouldn't put it past him to try to force information from you."
"But I don't know anything -"
"I know that. But he doesn't. He's not your friend, Y/N, no matter what he says. That's why it's so important for you to stay here."
You bristle at the implication. "Do you need me to repeat my CV? I think I can handle one auror on my own just fine."
For some reason this inspires a smile in Felix.
"I don't doubt it."
He falls back against the pillow, pulling you down with him into a kiss, long and comforting. You can feel Felix relax beneath your lips. You come up for air and he murmurs, "Promise me, if you see him again, you'll stun first and ask questions later."
You hesitate for a moment, hovering over Felix's parted, eager mouth. You can't argue with his words, but you can't discount your instinct about Talbott either: that he wants something from you, and it isn't to hurt you. You know Felix won't understand this, so you make the only promise you know you can keep.
"I promise...I'll be careful."
You know your promise will be put to the test, but you still aren't prepared for Talbott to appear again only the following morning. You're sipping coffee on the terrace when a shadow blocks the sunlight briefly. You jump up in shock, coffee shaking in your hand, as an eagle lands hard on the railing. And when the bird abruptly transforms into the yellow-eyes and dark skin of Talbott Winger, you nearly drop the cup altogether.
"Y/N," says Talbott. His voice is strained and urgent, but you're too preoccupied to consider why.
"You're...a bird?" you ask with wide eyes. You're certainly surprised, but your mind doesn't seem about to collapse in on itself the way it had when he told you his name.
"An animagus," Talbott explains. His eyes dart nervously. "Look, I haven't much time. We need to talk, but we can't do it here. Can you get away if you need to?"
"Excuse me?" You pull your dressing gown about yourself, trying to muster up a bit of dignity. "I don't think you're in a position to-"
"Can you get away?" Talbott repeats, talking over you. "Or does he have you trapped here?"
"I'm not trapped," you answer heatedly. "I'm here because it's safe. It's...dangerous right now." You echo Felix's words, trying to ignore how childish they sound.
"Then meet me here." Talbott thrusts a scrap of parchment forward, keeping as much distance between you as he can. You have to stretch out your arm to reach it. "Make sure you're not followed."
You gape at him. His nervous tension is so different from the still, silent Talbott you've been carrying about in your memory. It's almost harder to adjust to than the idea of him as a bird. You know you should be asking more questions, demanding answers, or simply stunning this blatant intruder. But the same strange feeling of familiarity that stopped your hand before prevents you taking any such action. You merely stare, waiting for your slow-working brain to catch up and explain to you why you're so sure about Talbott Winger.
You expect him to fly off again at any second, but Talbott shuffles his feet awkwardly as if he'd rather not leave.
"Y/N, are you...safe?"
"Of course," you reply automatically.
'I mean, he hasn't - he isn't -"
But before Talbott can articulate his question, you hear a door slam open from inside the bedroom and Felix's voice calling for you. You jump violently for the second time that morning, coffee sloshing over the side of your cup. You can only think of one reason why Felix would be back so quickly, and you turn to tell Talbott to go. But he's nowhere to be seen. You hear a loud beating of wings from overhead, and look up to see the enormous eagle climbing steadily higher. He's already a dark spot on the horizon when Felix bursts onto the terrace, out of breath, sweat undoing his severely slicked hair. It's such an unusual state for Felix you don't have to pretend to be surprised or concerned.
"What's wrong?" you ask quickly.
"There was a breach," he pants. "In the border wards. Someone got in."
"I didn't notice anything..." You swing your head about as if searching for potential intruders. You're careful to avoid eye contact with Felix, afraid it might give you away.
'Are you sure?" Felix stumbles across the terrace to you. He inspects you up and down as if searching for injuries.
"Of course," you find yourself saying for the second time in as many minutes. A quick trickle of guilt runs down the back of your throat. You know you ought to tell Felix about Talbott's attempt to lure you from the safety of your home. Instead, you close your hand about the scrap of parchment. You wrap your arms around Felix to hide your clenched palm. He holds you against him, head resting briefly on your shoulder while his breathing returns to normal.
"I have to get back," he says finally. "Will you stay in the house? Please? Just for today. I'll set up new barrier spells tonight, but for today just...please," he begs you. "I won't be able to focus otherwise."
Quickly, you think through your options. Merely keeping something from your husband is one thing, but you're reluctant to break any promise outright. So you choose your words carefully.
"I suppose I could agree to that," you say, with an exasperated eye roll and a dramatic sigh. "Just for today."
It works. Felix smiles in relief, and pulls you into a kiss full of unspoken gratitude. It's as fiery and spine tingling as his kisses always are. But, knowing what you're planning on doing as soon as he's gone, you feel too guilty to fully appreciate it.