A/N: Charles' reaction prefects, Tony's parents' deaths, Pepper's reaction, Career Counseling, OWL's

July 1990

It was the perfect idyllic summer, especially after such a horrible one last year. He manages to read and take notes on all the books on DNA and wizard scientists (there had been a few, not very many, but enough to leave a whole bookshelf of books behind) that he had so dreadfully neglected last year, they have a lovely trip to the beach (where they get in a giant splash fight, make a bonfire, and he curls up next to Erik on a towel and stares at the stars with Erik's fingers gently carding through his hair), and he is able to be with Erik as much as he wants.

Raven could make faces and complain about developing a toothache all she likes, Charles still can't get over how easy it is to smile up at Erik and be obliged with a kiss (whenever his mother and Kurt aren't around anyway, but it's not as though that's difficult with Kurt holed up in his lab and his mother either off traveling, giving one of her many parties, or drunk as a skunk).

He's sitting by one of the Quidditch goal posts, reading about DNA mutations ("Mutation is an essential process in evolution because it is the ultimate source of genetic variation. But it is a relatively weak force for changing allele frequencies, primarily because typical mutation rates are so low…") and watching Erik and Raven play (mostly Erik though. He's a little embarrassed at how hard it is for him to tear his eyes away from Erik zooming around on a broom, hair tousled by the wind, long gloved fingers curved around the broomstick, the sleek line of his long back—and he's going to stop before Erik notices these thoughts and ribs him about them.).

Three owls swoop in, and the letter from Hogwarts that lands on his book is abnormally heavy. He curiously tears it open to reveal a shiny silver badge with the letter "P" emblazoned upon it.

"Charles!" Raven shrieked, swooping down and waving around another such badge, "Erik's been made prefect—oh, you have too! Erik!"

Erik lands and steps down softly, raising his eyebrows, "You too?" he asks, taking his badge back from Raven.

"Evidently," Charles replied, turning the badge around in the light.

Raven snorts, hands on her hips, "There's no question about why Charles has been made prefect, but you Erik? Last I heard from Pepper, Snape wanted to kill you for terrifying the little Slytherin first years with your temper tantrum and making them run crying to him. Why not Darwin?"

"Because it's Slytherin," Erik replied with a flash of a shark-like grin, "Darwin may be able to adapt to any situation, but so can most Slytherins, and they would walk right over him. Slytherins need a bit of…intimidation."

"Somehow I think your personality has gotten more terrible over time," Raven said seriously, perched on her broom, "Charles, he's your boyfriend, do something about it."

(And he still feels a tiny jump of joy in his chest every time someone refers to Erik as his boyfriend. After going around for months longing but not having, desperately wanting but not saying anything, it's so satisfying to be able to call Erik's his.)

"Erik, don't terrify the Slytherin underclassman into crying for Professor Snape," he scolds gently, twining their fingers together (in body and in mind), "You gave everyone enough nightmares last year. Besides, a prefect has many other duties other than scaring first years into line, like patrolling the halls."

Erik gives him a lazy smile, sitting down in the grass with him, "So many responsibilities already, the perks better be worth it," he mock complained.

"Well, we get a special compartment in the train," Charles said, skimming through the letter, "And we can take House points and give out detentions to students in our own house—don't get any ideas," he warned, seeing the contemplative gleam in Erik's eyes, "And there's a special bathroom just for Prefects—stop," he exclaimed, laughing when Erik sent him a rather lascivious look with hooded eyes.

"Okay, ew," Raven said, wrinkling her nose and swinging her legs back around the broom, "I'm going to go now because I really don't want to know what you guys get up to in your private time."

"You follow us around on dates and take photographs!" Charles protested, face hot at Raven's implications (they hadn't done much past snogging yet, and he was not about to talk about this sort of thing with his little sister).

"That's for commemorative purposes!" she yelled as she kicked off into the sky, "How else am I going to convince Hank that you guys won't murder him if he dates me?"

"Is she dating Hank yet?" Charles asks Erik seriously.

"Not that I know of," Erik replies with a slight sneer, "The boy seems rather terrified at the very prospect; I have no idea why."

"Lies," Raven yelled, skimming right past them, "You are such a freaking liar! Charles, slap him for me, will you?"

Charles rolls his eyes and loops his arms around Erik's neck, "Whenever he does pluck up the courage to ask our dear sister out on a date, you will assist me in warning him what will happen if he ever hurts her in any way?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Erik replies (with what is most likely a sinister smile that would make most people at least back away or in Hank's case hide under a bed, but Charles thinks that it's quite attractive on him, and he knows he's so far gone) and pulls Charles into his arms for a long kiss.

October 1990

So the thing is, Tony is absolutely sure this is going to be the most awesome year ever. Charles and Erik aren't moping around and killing things and messing up their whole group dynamic, O.W.L.s will be fine ("Some people aren't geniuses like you Tony, and actually have to go through a practice commonly known as studying—" "Don't bother Charles, Tony stopped listening to you after the word 'geniuses.'"), and after his most recent growth spurt, girls are finally flocking to him.

Okay, so Charles and Erik were kind of disgustingly sweet with one another, and the professors are piling on enough homework that even he can't run off to tinker with his robots at all hours anymore, and even after his growth spurt he's shorter than Erik, but Erik's just freakishly tall anyway and he's still taller than Charles, which is what counts, but he can just tell that this is the year that the lovely Ms. Pepper Potts will realize his considerable charms.

"Unless you have pressing business here, will you please leave Stark? Some of us actually have work to do."

It was just taking a while.

"But I do have pressing business, Ms. Potts!" he said, giving her a wide grin.

Pepper looked up from her pile of Charms notes with an extremely unimpressed look, "And that would be?"

"You of course!" Tony replied, grinning, "You still haven't agreed to go to the Gryffindor-Slytherin match with me!"

"Please consult your calendar Stark; that's still in a month," Pepper murmured, going back to her Charms notes.

Tony leaned back in his chair, "I thought that if I asked you early you could clear out your schedule for that day," he said cheekily.

"You mean that if you started now, you thought you could wear me down over an entire month," Pepper stated, underlining her notes with green ink.

"Is it working?" he asked eagerly, leaning forward, "Do you think—"

"Mr. Stark!" Flitwick hurried toward their table, "Mr. Stark, you must come with me immediately to Professor Dumbledore's office."

He stands up worriedly as Pepper gives him a bemused look, "Is this about the Incedio 5000?" he asks nervously, following Flitwick out of the library, "Because I swear I thought it would do less damage, and I already apologized to Professor Sprout about the Devil's Snare—"

"It's not that," Flitwick said distractedly, standing in front of an ugly gargoyle, "Acid pops."

"It isn't about Butterfingers then?" Tony persisted, walking up the stairs after the gargoyle had hopped aside, "I thought he would be fine just adding in potions ingredients, it's not my fault that Professor Snape bumped into him and messed up his calibrations. In fact, sir, Professor Snape only has himself to blame that the cauldron exploded—"

"Mr. Stark," Professor Dumbledore said solemnly, walking forward to meet them, "Would you please take a seat?"

Tony gulps and sits down. The Incedio 5000 and/or Butterfingers must have caused more damage than he had thought if he was in enough trouble for the headmaster to call him in and look so serious.

He glances around, taking in the many portraits and odd silvery devices, a gloomy looking phoenix, and that's when he notices Caesar, his father's business owl, perched on Dumbledore's desk.

He feels himself go cold; Caesar was never used except for extremely serious business, that he was here now meant—well, whatever it meant, it was a lot more serious than a few malfunctioning robots.

"Mr. Stark," Dumbledore begins quietly, "There seems to have been an accident of involving motor vehicles of some kind, and I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but your parents were involved in the accident."

"They're okay, right?" Tony asked with a sinking sensation, gripping the armrests of the chair (his hands are shaking), "They're fine?"

Dumbledore shook his head quietly, "I'm afraid not Mr. Stark. They were rushed to St. Mungo's, and the healers did everything in their power, but they were too far gone. I'm sorry."

Tony shakes his head quickly (he thinks he feels something wet on his cheeks), "What are you talking about? I just got a letter from them this morning, they're fine, they're great, they can't just die from a stupid car accident, they can't!"

November 1990

If there was one reason Pepper did not want to be a prefect, it was night patrols. They were long, dark, and mostly boring although occasionally alleviated by an adventurous first year (kind of fun because they squeaked and stammered) or more amorous upperclassman (whose excuses were even more entertaining). Also, she had somehow drawn the short straw for patrolling the Astronomy Tower tonight, and she's not looking forward to either walking around the cold, drafty tower or yelling at a couple to put some clothes on (it's the number one isolated snog location on campus evidently, and even with all the blackmail information, she still finds this job rather distasteful).

She sighs when she reaches the Astronomy Tower and finds the hinges of the door glued together. Someone was up there again tonight, and no matter who they were she was going to find someone to dock points from their house for possible traumatization, she thought, grimly casting Finite Incantatem and walking up the stairs.

She is fully prepared to cover her eyes any second now (she had to remember to ask Charles about that spell he had found to make clothes dress a target) only to be greeted by the sight of Tony Stark alone, sitting on the window-sill, waving around a bottle of firewhiskey, and grinning at her drunkenly.

"Heeeey, Pepper! Come to join the party?"

(She would have given an arm and a leg for a quiet Tony Stark last year, but seeing him, silent and still the weeks before and after the funeral had been disturbing. When she had asked, Erik had quietly told her that Stark had broken down sobbing during the funeral but had completely holed himself up in his mansion when Charles had gone to talk to him. Charles also brought up worriedly at one point that Stark had quit his Quidditch commentator duties and had spent the entire Gryffindor-Slytherin match buried in circuitry. Stark had slowly returned to being his usual loud, noisy, obnoxious self, but Charles had murmured uneasily about the stash of firewhiskey under Stark's bed, Erik was disgusted at the number of girls Stark was going through, and she had heard about the wild, raucous parties that Stark had been somehow throwing around the school. Even though he was yelling and grinning and hitting on everyone in sight, something just seemed off.)

"Stark," she says as a greeting, flicking her wand to make it glow brighter, "You do realize you're by yourself?"

"I'm not by myself, I'm with you! Best kind of party!" he sings, tipping precariously out of the window, "Want a drink? I have loads," he says, gesturing to the many bottles of various alcoholic substances littering the floor around him.

"No thanks, I'm on duty," she replies calmly, carefully casting a fixing charm on Stark's pants to the window-sill, "And you're breaking curfew, Mr. Stark."

"Curfew is an abstract concept and a shitty rule created by deadbeats who want to oppress awesome people like me who want to have fun," Stark proclaims, swaying in his perch and then frowning, "Why are my pants stuck?"

"Nevertheless, I am supposed to turn you over to your head of house Mr. Stark," she replies, wondering if she could do a low-powered summoning charm to get Stark away from that open window (it was making her nervous).

"Noo, don't bother old Flitwick! He needs all the sleep he can get!" Tony yells, lurching from his seat and slumping on the floor, apparently having figured out how to undo the sticking charm (and he was still smart even while drunk, why did that not surprise her?), "And why do you keep calling me Mr. Stark? Mr. Stark's my dad—"

He suddenly stops babbling and stares at the floor morosely, and Pepper feels terrible (which is a novelty since she's only ever felt irritation, anger, and exasperation toward Tony Stark before).

"I'm really sorry about your parents," she said (and that was trite and terrible, but she didn't know what else to say), "I would have come to the funeral, but it seemed to be a private affair."

"You didn't miss much, it was just one of those high-class pureblood society events and just about as depressing as usual," Tony says jokingly, but the way his hand clenches around the bottle speaks volumes.

(And she doesn't like Tony Stark, she really doesn't. He's loud, brazenly arrogant, obnoxious, flirtatious, narcissistic, flashy, doesn't have one iota of common sense, and has been the bane of Pepper's existence for the past four years. But there is just something fundamentally wrong about Tony Stark being depressed. It's worse than the thought of Erik being nice or Darwin being mean, because both probably have an explanation involving devious plans or heinous deeds, while Tony Stark being depressed and trying to hide it so desperately is—well it's depressing, and she is fully aware of how shaky her logic is on that.)

"You shouldn't drink so much, you know," she says quietly, gesturing at the bottles.

He snorted, "Shouldn't you be lecturing me about how I shouldn't be drinking at all and the horrors of underage drinking?" he asked in an amused tone, crossing his arms, "Ms. Potts?"

"I'm sure Charles will be delighted to take up that duty," she replies, dragging him up by the arm and casting a Disillusionment Charm on him, "After you get back to your dorm."

"You're not going to get Flitwick?" Tony's disembodied voice asked in a surprised tone, "Or Filch?"

"Professor Flitwick would probably be happier to not be disturbed in the middle of the night, and I am sure Mr. Filch has more pressing concerns than a depressed boy drinking away his sorrows," she replies smoothly, vanishing away the bottles.

Tony's voice sounds oddly irritated, "I am not drinking away my sorrows—"

"Yes you are," she cuts in bitingly, "I was going to leave this to Charles, but you've obviously been avoiding him, so here it is. Stop it. Stop trying to pretend everything is okay; it isn't, and we know that, we get that, and you don't have to act like nothing ever happened. If you don't want to talk to any of us about it, that's fine, but you have to talk to someone. A professor, a Healer, just someone," she trails of awkwardly.

(She hadn't meant to say all that. But anyone would be worried if someone they knew, even someone as usually obnoxious as Tony Stark, was drinking by himself in the middle of the night, perched precariously on the window of a high, high tower, wouldn't they? But she may have crossed a line; she probably should have left this to Charles who has known Tony longer and is naturally compassionate and caring, and most likely better at these kinds of situations.)

Tony is silent for so long that she wonders if he has left the room before his disembodied voice asks contemplatively, "Will that be all, Ms. Potts?"

"That would be all, Mr. Stark," she says finally, and she hears his footsteps down the stairs and the door quietly close behind him.

(As the months pass by, Tony Stark still goes through about a girl a week, and she keeps hearing about the wild parties he throws, but at the very least Charles reports that the stash of alcohol has disappeared and that Tony is seeing a Healer sporadically. He seems more or less normal again, although she feels that there's a certain edge in his voice that wasn't there before, and some of his actions, such as teasing the Wolverine about his crush on a Gryffindor second year named Jean Gray, seem more reckless than ever. He has also taken to calling her Ms. Potts and had dialed down his flirting with her a notch, which mainly meant innuendo and the odd attempted touch, but no actual proclamations of love or begging of dates. She's fairly sure she should feel happy about this, and she is, but it's still a bit disconcerting after so many years of fending him off. She's not actually sure what she feels about all of it; everything seems a bit off-kilter lately.)

December 1990

Raven isn't sure what else she can do. She's thrown out as many hints as possible, followed all of Witch Weekly's "10 Surefire Ways to Get Your Man" (she wants a refund), kissed him on the cheek, had Angel help her with make-up, practically sat in his lap during one memorable potions lesson (Professor Snape had not been amused), and Hank still hasn't asked her out.

"Do you think I could convince Peeves to hang mistletoe over me and Hank?" she asks contemplatively, lying back and tossing a quaffle around.

"If you pretend you're the Bloody Baron," Charles replied distractedly before his mind caught up to the conversation, "Wait, no. Absolutely not."

She pouts and tosses the quaffle in Charles' general direction, "But how else am I going to get Hank to ask me out?" she whines.

"Shouldn't you figure out if he likes you first?" Charles asks, going back to his notes as Erik bats the quaffle away.

Raven rolls her eyes at him, "I'm not either of you two," she says disgustedly, "I know he likes me, but he's just too scared to ask me out."

"Then he's not worth the effort," Erik scoffs, reaching for his Arithmancy textbook.

"Pot calling the kettle black," Raven shoots back, pointing between Charles and Erik, "What if you guys went to Hank and promised not to kill him if he went out with me?"

"Don't you have an essay to write, Raven?" Charles asked despairingly.

"It was Divination, and I already finished it," Raven replied primly, holding up the roll of parchment, "I predicted my horrible demise seven times in four feet."

"Isn't that a bit much?" Charles asked disapprovingly, looking up from his notes, "I still can't believe you took that class after all the horrible things we told you about it."

Raven shrugs, "It's an easy, blow-off class. And considering Erik said he predicted he was going to die thirteen different ways during Trelawney's final and still passed, I think I'm alright. Do you think I should ask Hank out myself?" she mused, summoning back the quaffle, "Or is that too forward?"

"He'd probably misunderstand and think that you were volunteering for one of his experiments," Erik said snidely.

Raven threw the quaffle at Erik's head, "It's not too forward with how long I've been waiting, but I want him to ask me out," she decided as Erik ducked, "Should I be less blue maybe? More blonde?"

(She had been wondering about that. She has always felt that her blue form was the way she was supposed to be, but she knew it was on the strange side, and Witch Weekly never had any tips about optimizing your blue looks. Angel says Raven can't complain since she can shift into whichever beautiful supermodel she wants to, but that's not the point. She's always wanted people to accept her as she is, and she found that in her adopted brothers, but she's still scared that no one, not even the boy she likes so much, will consider her romantically in this form. She doesn't want to go back to being blonde, but—)

"No," both of her brothers say simultaneously, looking up from their studies.

"If he doesn't accept you as you are, he doesn't deserve you," Charles lectures sternly, eyes bright.

"You're exquisite, and if that boy thinks otherwise he needs some sense pummeled into him," Erik growls, the metal grate in the fireplace twisting slightly.

(And this is why she loves them, no matter how oblivious Charles can be, or how sarcastic Erik is, or how nauseatingly sweet the two of them together can be, or how emotionally constipated they are, or even how overprotective they are about her, they know her and accept her exactly the way she is. They were the first two, and no one was happier than her when they managed to find their happiness in each other.)

"Thanks," she says, smiling and then tilts her head, "Maybe I can find my own mistletoe and ambush Hank with it?"

Charles groans, burying his face in his hands, "That is such a terrible idea."

(There's actually a ton of mistletoe in Zonko's, but in retrospect it was probably a bad idea to involve the Weasley twins. By the time they were done, no one could go two feet without bumping into some mistletoe that had been charmed, courtesy of the twins, to not let two people step outside the zone without some form of kissing. Erik had taken to practically gluing himself to Charles' side after a close call with the Wolverine, and Pepper kept firing off Knockback Jinxes every time Tony got within a few yards of her, but at least Darwin finally managed to ask Alex out due to being stuck in a zone, and Hank finally plucked up the courage to blushingly give her a kiss on her blue cheek. It's not much, but it is progress, no matter how many snowballs her brothers have enchanted to follow and hit her and the twins in retaliation.)

April 1991

"So you would like to be an Auror, Mr. Lehnsherr?" Snape intones, reaching for the Auror pamphlet.

Erik nods, a bit bored. He's not actually sure what the point of Career Counseling is; it might make sense for Charles who had been staring at the different career pamphlets like a child confronted with Honeydukes for the first time, but his decision had been made a long time ago (sometime between realizing that Aurors hunt down dark wizards and meeting Mad Eye Moody, he had decided that this was the best way to find Shaw if he couldn't find him on his own. Even without his promise to Charles, he would have decided on this. It is hard training, and it is what he needs before he faces the monster of his nightmares.)

"You realize that you must have a minimum of five N.E.W.T.s in Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration, and Charms?" Snape continued, "And no grade lower than 'Exceeds Expectations' in any of these subjects?"

"Are my grades a problem, professor?" Erik asked idly.

"As far as I can see, no," Snape replied, looking through his transcript, "But prospective Aurors are required to undergo a series of character and aptitude tests to see how they react under pressure, and if my memory serves correctly Mr. Lehnsherr, you have a tendency to cause devastation in your displeasure."

"Which is sometimes exactly what whoever is applying the pressure deserves," Erik replies, with a grim smile, "Is there a point to this?"

Snape's mouth thinned, "Many apply to be Aurors, seeking fame, adventure, and glory, but most burn out, and few ever achieve those goals. I would be ashamed to have recommended a student for the position if he were to drop out for any reason. Are you sure you want to be an Auror, Mr. Lehnsherr?"

Erik leaned back in his seat and gave Snape a cold look, "I am only searching for one thing, professor," he said quietly, "And being an Auror will advance my search. I would sooner jump off the Astronomy Tower than drop out of Auror training, you know that."

(Shaw had spoken of Snape a few times, musing out loud about half-blood lineages and power as he had cut into Erik's skin. Erik thinks Snape knows at least something about this; it is the only reason he can think of that Snape, who doesn't especially like anyone, would take him to Flitwick and McGonagall for more advanced Charms and Transfiguration lessons and lend him books with spiky notes scribbled all over them after Erik had first created the spider-chandeliers. Erik wouldn't have his metal sharks without these lessons and has learned more than a few vicious curses and spells from these books that Charles disapproves of and suspects Snape had to have invented at least a few, so he is grudgingly grateful to the man, but he is still not sure if Snape was lying the one time in third year that he had asked him if he knew where Shaw was, and the professor had answered no.)

"Indeed," Snape says heavily, looking at the papers with a slightly morose expression, "Then carry on, Mr. Lehnsherr. Dark times are coming; we may have need of you yet."

Later, when he repeats the conversation to Charles (who had had his session earlier in which Flitwick had simply nodded and told Charles that he could probably have his pick of the Ministry departments when the time came), Charles frowns.

"Dark times?" he repeats skeptically, directing his rook to move three squares forward, "Sounds more like Professor Trelawney than Snape. I haven't seen anything in the Daily Prophet to suggest such a thing."

"Well, they wouldn't report stuff like that, would they?" Erik asks, moving his bishop forward and capturing a pawn, "Ministry always wants things to look good."

"You do have a point, despite how terribly paranoid you sound," Charles replied, throwing him an affectionate smile, "No use worrying over it though, we'll just have to see."

(And it doesn't matter, what times are coming or what trials lie ahead. He has Charles at his side and in his arms now, and he will make sure that he is still there at the end.)

From the half-embarrassed half-happy look on Charles' face, he has heard Erik's thoughts, and so he puts a hand on the back of the other boy's neck to draw him in for a deep kiss.

June 1991

Preparing for the O.W.L..s was terrible. There were so many things to study, and for the very first time, Charles was beginning to regret taking quite so many classes.

Switching spells may be simple enough, but he has a hard enough time trying to Vanish a kitten without it mewing and staring piteously at him, he's practiced casting so many charms that he has evidently been murmuring the spells in his sleep (only discovered when he woke up to see his robes waltzing around the dorm room), Herbology has far too many plants that are green and can kill you in various painful ways (one of the good things about having Logan as a partner was his ability to wrestle down any vicious plant in the greenhouse, especially since Tony was more likely to poke and irritate the plant into attacking), his formal education on Defense Against the Dark Arts has been spotty (with a different professor per year due to everything from nervous breakdowns to being eaten by a Fanged Geranium, he was also starting to believe there was some sort of jinx on the job) and his training with Erik had mostly focused on offensive spells instead of defensive spells which were bound to be tested, he's trying to remember how to brew the standard potions that will be tested instead of his variations and experimental potions, Astronomy is as terrible as ever even with the model of the universe Raven had gotten him, his notes from History of Magic are meandering and the handwriting shaky from the few times he had nearly fallen asleep, he has no idea what the Care of Magical Creatures exam is going to be like because Professor Kettleburn had wandered off into the Forbidden Forest without a so much by your leave and still hadn't come back yet, Professor Burbage assures him that the Muggle Studies exam would not be too difficult but he doesn't believe that, and every time he closes his eyes he sees long lines of numbers from Arithmancy.

"Charles."

He shrugs away the hand on his shoulder, intent on going over electricity at least one more time, "Not now Erik, I have to study—"

"Charles, the exams start tomorrow, and it's nearly eleven," Erik stated, closing the book in front of him, "Come to bed."

Charles frowns up at him, "I need to go over some last details," he complains, opening the book again, "It's important—"

Erik kisses him, crushing their lips together and swiping his tongue over Charles' bottom lip. "Bed," he states, smirking at Charles' wide-eyed expression.

Charles shakes his head (as much in disagreement and to clear it), "Just a few more minutes—"

This time Erik catches his mouth with his own, twines his fingers deep into Charles' hair, curls his tongue deep into Charles' mouth, and they do not break apart until he is gasping for breath.

"Bed," Erik states again, his smirk if possible, wider than ever.

"How are you not worried?" Charles complained, face red, while beginning to put his books and notes away.

"I believe that if I don't already know it by now, I'm not going to be able to just cram it in in a few hours," Erik replied dryly, helping Charles put away the rest of his books, and drawing him up by the arm.

"That may be true," Charles admits, yawning and leaning into Erik, "I still have to clean up the mess in my room."

"From your nocturnal Charms recitations?" Erik asks, amused, wrapping an arm around Charles, "Leave it, you look exhausted. My room is clean though."

"Somehow, I doubt I would get very much sleep there," Charles replies dryly, glancing up at Erik flirtatiously (the effect of which he knows is somewhat spoiled by the huge dark circles under his eyes).

Erik laughs and kisses his temple, "Probably not," he admits, giving Charles a warm look (fire in his veins), "That'll have to wait until after, then."

"I'll be looking forward to it," Charles states, leaning up to kiss Erik on the corner of his mouth, and whispers, I love you, you know.

And I you, Erik projects back fondly (the blazing sun), giving Charles one last heated look before pushing him up the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower.

(The O.W.L.s are grueling and exhausting, but at the very end Charles thinks that it may have been alright. Tony throws a giant party at the very end in his Malibu flat (where he managed to get so many portkeys, Charles has no idea), and all the fifth-years, even Pepper, decide to go if just to celebrate the fact that the hated exams are over.

"Of course there are still N.E.W.T.s," Charles frets, sipping his gillywater (it was the only thing that smelled as though it had been overlooked in Tony's attempt to spike all the drinks).

"Stop worrying Charles," Erik says with a quirk of his mouth as he clinks their glasses together, "I am sure you achieved a ridiculous amount of O.W.L.s, and that next year you will nearly kill yourself again through exhaustion over N.E.W.T.s that we won't even take until the year after, but now is a time for celebration."

"Celebrations require food, and Tony freed all of his house elves," Charles replied, staring sadly at the meager snacks lining the table.

"I suppose we should just be happy that Pepper intervened and made sure he didn't try cooking anything," Erik replies, and they both pull faces at the memory of the one time Tony had tried making a cake (he had gotten salt and sugar mixed up, and Charles still suspects that he had somehow gotten the cinnamon and pepper mixed up as well, despite Tony's protests to the contrary.)

Erik set his glass down and pulled Charles toward him. The fifth year dorms are going to be empty tonight, he suggests slyly, why don't we go back?

Charles smiles up at him, mind thrumming with lovejoyhappinessbelonginglove, puts his hand on his arm and says simply, Let's.)

A/N: So Charles has a pretty different attitude about Raven's mutation here than in the movie, but I think it's justified since the wizarding world would most likely be more accepting of a blue girl than 1960's U.S, and I think Charles wanted Raven to look normal in the film because he was scared for her.