**Awkward Author's Note**
Content Warning: Continued exploration of violence/gore/sexuals (not like, simultaneously. ew.)
Personal Note: Stay safe. Thank you for the encouragement you're able to give - it does everything.
** End of Note (lol) **
Ch. 24: I Would Literally Never Lick You
This must be the land of milk and honey – yes? This strange…Mount Olympus, swirly-clouded wet dream.
Did Disney produce this? Where are the harps?
I don't usually dream when I'm recovering. This is a pleasant change. I hope.
"Fin."
I don't jump or feel scared, but my heart starts clenching with what could only be described as anticipation. Through the swirly, golden, cloud-like surroundings I can vaguely sense a dream-Sirius nearby.
"Want to snog until we get caught?"
Arms I can feel – but not feel? – circle my shoulders from behind. I try to respond, but like running from zombies in classic stress-nightmares, I can't make myself do the thing. I nod enthusiastically instead, and dream-Sirius laughs softly in my ear.
Something in my chest flares with a familiar ache. The feeling intensifies as dream-Sirius bends and puts his lips against my pulse at my throat. I imagine sighing with undisguised relief, and dream-Finnie lets me do it.
Dream-Sirius smiles against my neck but holds me tighter. Our hands find one another's in a way so his arms almost fully encircle me, with my arms crisscrossed across my stomach. I feel about a tenth of what I know I should be feeling. His body – large and emanating heat – would have me melting like a cheap candle against him in real life.
Instead, I only feel a shadow of touch. Something like loneliness joins the existing ache in my chest.
"Don't fret, beautiful Sjofn-," for some reason the sound of my full name in his roughening voice doesn't cause me to flinch in the slightest, "—I'll be pursuing our postponed -," he clears his dreamy throat, "meeting at the earliest opportunity…"
Heat floods my body as I let myself fantasize about all that could entail. Dream-Sirius ducks once more and gives that sensitive pulse-point a gentle bite before descending with more kisses. The heat tightens in my core, making me dizzy. I angle my head to the side in the most blatant form of encouragement I can think of.
One of his hands, which normally would burn me like a brand, palms my breast across my body, and I sag against him even more. Like a Swedish massage that is too gentle to truly satisfy, dream-Sirius' hands merely stoke the smoldering sensations, frustrating my hormones.
I try to twist so I can do some feeling-up too, but dream-Sirius holds me fast. It's a shame this is only happening in my subconscious REM state, because it's hot as fuck.
The tattooed hand not gently handling my breast slides down to my hip, and my heart beats unevenly with excited jitters.
His lips are at my ear, and his voice is tense with unseen effort, "Do you want me, love?" He gives my breast the shadow of a squeeze which jolts straight down to my epicenter.
"Say yes, Fin-," he runs his mouth along the outside of my ear, and I try to remind dream-Finnie how to breathe, "—Tell me."
The tension in my body thrums a merciless beat, mounting my desperation for the full impact of my senses. I find his hand at my hip with one of mine and thread our fingers lightly. I imagine my racing heart can be heard by NASA satellites. Relishing the sharp intake of dream-Sirius' breath, I glide our twined hands farther south. I don't stop until I feel our fingers firmly pressing on my center. The sensation is like lightning beneath my skin, and I guide him to my clit and back to my core a few times. My head falls back on his shoulder once more, and I manage to breathe, "Fuck, yes," in his general direction.
He groans with undisguised need, and the intensity of his touch somehow ratchets even higher. With deft fingers, he starts running the show by circling my scorching nerve-center with the flat of his fingertips. He alternates pressure, and at each pass I breathe faster. I let loose a soft moan.
Which, to be frank, is pretty sexy if I do say so myself.
Dream-Sirius must agree, because he growls in my ear – between open-mouthed nips and kisses along my shoulder and jaw, "Say it again, Fin. Tell me what you want."
He keeps the palm of his hand pressed against my clit and starts teasing my sensitive entrance with a long finger. My mind literally goes blank, and the tension in my chest expands rapidly, destroying rational thought. I can feel hardness trapped between our bodies, and as though reading my mind, dream-Sirius flexes his hips to press against me. I groan and basically ride his hand.
"THAT, Sirius. I want tha—"
"Fin!" Some shrill, otherworldly alarm clock has me sitting up in a blur of hair and sheets. Before any brain cells awaken, I slash in front of me with a savageness that has the alarm yelping, "Oi! None of that, y'skank!"
I blink away the blurriness and finally focus on a pink-haired, career-cockblock.
Slowly, I raise a finger to point at her, "Rude."
"Bloody hell, you're strange," Tonks remains unruffled, though she has retreated to the doorway of my bedroom. "I thought you'd appreciate attending a major Order meeting, now that Fluffy dearest is home to give his report."
I sniff disinterestedly. Tonks snorts.
"Mmmmmmmvery well," I maintain cool nonchalance.
"Yes, yes. Hurry your tits up," She makes to leave and return upstairs. "Wait!" I stop her, and she looks over her shoulder, amusement still shining in her eyes.
She and Remus must not be fighting.
"Err…-," how to ask without sounding like an asshole, "…what day is it?"
She smiles and I notice, not for the first time, the twin dimples in her cheeks. She must morph those, which is sort of adorable. "You've been out about fourteen hours," she doesn't sound judgmental, "Molly's got dinner waiting."
Oh, hells yes. "Okay, cool," I'm back to the bitch who could care less about explosive sex dreams.
I clothe in record time. I choose slouchy sweats and a tight tank top, to – you know – accentuate the goods.
Jesus, fuck, Fin.
I mentally flinch at such a juvenile line of thinking, but finish with a high ponytail and magicked, vintage, Minnie Mouse wristwatch.
Because – and I can't say this enough – fuck you and your finances, Dumbledore.
I pad upstairs in bare feet because I have new toenail polish that still looks fly as fuck. As I round the landing of the first floor to enter the kitchens, I hear the ebb and flow of lots of conversation. Nothing sounds serious yet – the kids are laughing, and I can hear the low tones of Sirius talking to Remus.
My loser heart in my throat, I enter and blink a bit like a vampire exiting their lair.
"Ah! Finnie! So good to finally see you," Arthur Weasley looks up from his conversation with McGonagall with a smile. Minerva McGonagall also smiles, but with her eyes. Because she's a class act.
Hermione and Ginny slide in opposite directions on the closest bench, thankfully preventing me from standing awkwardly and frantically looking for Sirius – which is what every cell in my body is demanding I do. I gracefully plop between the two young witches, and look up directly into his silver, burning gaze.
Fuck.
"Greetings lovelies," I glance down the table and spot Charles 'Fuckface' Weasley, "Oh, and steaming turds, so sorry Chuckie-"
The twenty-four-year-old wizard turns an immediate, and damn unflattering, shade of puce. "Get your licks in now, freak—"
"I would literally never lick you, Charles—"
"WE'VE HAD TROUBLE IN MY GRINGOTTS SECTOR, SORRY TO SAY. AND, IN ADDITION-," Bill subtly demands Charlie's attention once more, so I let it drop and return my interest to my more immediate companions. Sirius is smirking over his tea mug, his bright eyes heated.
I hide my surprise. Why is he smoldering at me? Its not like he had the makings of a lovely dirty dream which was thoughtlessly interrupted…
…or did he?
I narrow my eyes at him as Molly sets a mouthwatering shepherd's pie down in front of me. I haul an impressive spoonful into my gob to prevent any word vomit from raising such a subject in present company.
Unfortunately, Ginny chooses this moment to ask, "Fin, why does Charlie hate you?"
"Lots of reasons, I'm sure," I swallow a painful amount of peas and potato, "Some men struggle with critical thinking—"
"It might have something to do with you pulling a knife on him," Hermione mumbles delicately, and I choke on a hearty mouthful of red wine. I should probably slow the fuck down.
"Is that what happened?" Tonks sounds nonplussed from her seat next to Remus, "I assumed she had castrated his favorite dragon with the way he's been carrying on—"
"Are those burns on your forearms, Fin?" Lupin looks aghast at the skin of my outstretched limb, as I've reached for the wine bottle for a refill.
I catch Charlie side-eyeing my half-healed injury and shoot him a telling glare. "Yes, Remus, thank you so much for noticing. For you see, someone is leagues better at bitching than controlling their magic, apparently—"
I realize too late I maybe should have approached this more tactfully. Molly practically gasps from her post at a kitchen counter, frosting a sheet cake with flicks of her wand. A small glob of chocolate, sugary goodness sails and smacks onto the ceiling.
Charlie, fully abandoning Bill's attempt at conversation, looks nauseatingly smug. "It's dragon magic," he explains to his father – who is looking none too pleased, overall, "You pick up bits and pieces working with them as long as I have—"
"WHY in Merlin's name were you two FIGHTING?" Molly is as shrill as a goddamn teakettle.
"Mum, this is what I've been trying to talk to you about! I discovered her-"
"Doing exactly what Dumbledore and Moody have asked of me," I'm growling, yes. But only because I'm enraged.
"Which is…?" Tonks only has eyes for me, her voice uncharacteristically soft. The room has fallen deathly quiet, but with confusion and curiosity. For now.
I glance around me, discomfort churning my stomach. Is this really the moment I've been dreading? Wedged between two teenagers, and across from the wizard-man-dog I have distracting thoughts about?
No one looks angry yet. Minerva looks downright sympathetic.
"Go on," Charlie's voice is acidic, "Tell them about being a bloody demon—"
Sirius suddenly snaps his head in the younger wizard's direction, "It's time for you to be very, very quiet, little weasel." The soft menace in his tone is oddly comforting.
I clear my throat, "The term he's looking for is 'medical marvel'." No one grins, and my voice is smaller than I had hoped.
Unfortunately for us all, the world chose that moment to explode.
Green flames issue forth from the room's fireplace, and out stumbles Ron and Harry – and a third, unrecognizable person. Hermione shrieks from beside me, and I twist in my seat to take in the stumbling trio.
"Help," Harry rasps from his knees, "We couldn't- we didn't know how to fix—"
Ron remains standing, his arms full of full of the slim, limp figure. Minerva and Arthur are already on their feet and rushing to their side. Sirius nearly stumbles in his haste to clear the table and reach his godson.
I see then the sheer amount of blood coating the pale body in Ron's grasp. Molly screams at Tonks to fetch a number of potions, but the younger witch is frozen, like me. Remus shakes her, and she chokes as she flees the room.
"Lupin," Harry still kneels on the stone floor, Sirius running his hands all over his face and shoulders to check for injuries, "—it was Greyback, Lupin. We couldn't reach her in time - there were too many—" His voice cuts off with emotion - his young face ravaged with self-blame.
My heart races in my chest, unwilling to make sense of the scene. The broken body almost shines ethereally beneath the wounds and blood. Fleur is completely unrecognizable but for her silvery, matted hair.
The sound of pure grief echoes around the stone chamber as Bill tries to climb over the table to his unconscious fiancée. Charlie grasps his older brother's shirtsleeves, halting him. "Bill - Bill, DON'T," he moans, "—let Dad – let Lupin-"
Hermione and Ginny are gasping in each other's arms next to me, and I realize I'm now standing. I can't tear my eyes away from Fleur. Half of her face is torn clean through – her body a mess of defensive wounds. A steady drumbeat of fear and death begins tolling in my head and in my heart.
"Girls - go help Ron," I whisper. They hear me despite my facing away from them, and Ginny tugs Hermione across the room. "'Mione—," Ron's voice breaks when he sees her.
"Shhh," she begins pulling him down to sit on the floor. He seems incapable of moving without direction.
The chaos is overwhelming. Molly, Minerva, and Lupin shout over each other as they wave their wands over the beautiful, fractured body of the girl Bill loves. Tonks returns suddenly and begins organizing tonics and bottles next to her bloodied friend – tears already streaking her panicked face.
I hear Sirius' low voice carry over the room. "Harry," he pleads – and my heart breaks further, "Harry, please – what happened?"
"Fleur took Ron n'me to Wheezes'…to fetch some stuff for the school term," Harry's voice is distant, and Arthur looks up from his place behind his kneeling wife – face full of alarm.
"We were attacked-," the young wizard continues, "—at the shop. We had no idea—" his voice breaks again.
"You couldn't have known, Harry," Sirius says to him gruffly.
But Arthur looks stricken. "Harry…," his soft voice is barely audible.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley," Harry looks like he wants to throw up, "We couldn't stop them. I-it took a-all we could just to g-get away—"
The room has quieted as everyone strains to listen.
Miserable, Harry finishes, "They took the twins, Mr. Weasley. We c-couldn't stop them – I'm so sorry. The Death Eaters took Fred and George."