"OW! Bianca, you bitch!" Simon cursed loudly from the other side of the door and Lance's hand paused over the handle, hovering as he listened closely. He could hear the sound of Bianca's irate growling and hissing, followed by whimpering and soft laughter. "Bianca! Piss off," Simon pleaded some more, "are you happy? I'm fucking bleeding now aren't I?"
In the silence of the Slytherin boy's dormitory corridor, Lance slapped his free hand to his mouth, muffling the chuckle that threatened to give him away as Simon finally switched gears. "Jaaaaaames," Lance heard him whine, "call off your beast!"
"Come on then, Bianca, off ya go," James chuckled amidst the cat's distinct objections, loud enough to be heard through the heavy wooden door.
Lance could feel the fond laughter bubbling in his chest. He'd been so worried about making friends after he'd arrived that it still surprised him how well he fit in here; in Slytherin house and with his two closest friends. Alas, he couldn't hold back any longer and Lance opened the door to find both boys on James' bed, Simon practically climbing James in a failed attempt to evade Bianca's claws. Said cat sat regally at the end of her owner's bed, glaring daggers at Simon as he cradled his hand.
"What's going on in here?" Lance chuckled, the door slowly closing behind him, "looks like a murder took place." On the bed were slight smears of blood lining the side of James' quilt. A small spattering of blood droplets led from the smears up to Simon's ankle, which Lance now noticed had also been attacked.
"I'm going to be so fucked off if I get murdered by that demon cat!" Simon grumbled, scrambling off the bed and stomping back to his own. Both James and Lance snickered at the ensuing yelp when Bianca took another passing swing at him, snagging a claw on his grey knit sweater.
"So," James said, clearing his throat and redirecting the conversation as he pulled the blankets up around his waist, "Lance, you find a date to the Halloween Ball yet?"
"Ughhhh," Lance groaned. He flopped onto his bed, landing with enough force to shake the frame. In the canopy above, Blue stirred from her nap. "No!" Lance continued, "I don't understand! I'm handsome, right? Like, I'd go so far as to say I'm at least a nine, maybe a high eight if they don't like my accent."
"And so humble, too," Simon teased. Lance scoffed and absent-mindedly threw his pillow at him, hitting him squarely in the side of the head.
"There's gotta be someone you're interested in taking, you could try branching out and asking a Ravenclaw, or a Hufflepuff," James continued as Simon squawked about being attacked twice in a row. As entertaining as Simon's frustration was, Lance didn't miss James' intentional exclusion of Gryffindor and it took the humour out of the situation.
Naturally, the one person Lance really wanted to invite was the one person he knew would shoot him down without a second thought. The rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor ran deep, too deep if you asked Lance.
So, instead of asking the handsome and fiery Gryffindor boy with shaggy black hair and breathtaking amethyst eyes, Lance needed to ask someone who might actually agree to go with him. He knew his greatest chances of success were asking a fellow Slytherin and there was one in particular that had caught Lance's eye.
She was cute. Pin-straight strawberry blonde hair cascaded down her back, usually styled in a single loose braid with bangs just long enough to reach her eyes. She had large, hazel, doe-eyes that made her appear perpetually surprised and innocent. Her plump, pouty lips were consistently coated in an inviting gloss that made them look oh-so-kissable. She was shorter than Lance by nearly a foot and always smelled like strawberries and vanilla.
She'd smile at him in the common room and offer a tinkling wave if they passed each other in the halls. Unfortunately, she was constantly surrounded by her friends and Lance was too much of a chicken-shit to approach her lest he be rejected in front of an audience.
"Well, there is one," he started, instantly earning the other's attention.
"Go on then, who is it?" Simon excitedly urged, tossing Lance's pillow back at him and missing by, like, a lot .
"How well do you know Imogen?" Lance asked.
"She's … alright," Simon tentatively replied, "think she fancies you to be honest."
Now that got Lance's attention. "Really?!" He exclaimed, excitedly sitting up onto his elbows and turning his head to better face Simon.
"Yeah," Simon nodded, "but she's not as innocent as she looks. She'll chew you up and spit you out, then have a laugh at your expense in the girl's bathroom. That whole group is like that; mean girls, the lot of them."
"How do you know?"
"She used to be my roommate," Simon shrugged, "we talked about boys a lot and it was rarely ever nice things . Honestly, it got kind of annoying after a while."
"Do you actually like her? Or are you just thinking of her as a date to the Halloween Ball?" James cut in before Lance could ask any follow-up questions. "Because Imogen will likely say yes. But if you're hoping to make it a proper date then she's a bad choice, mate."
Lance pondered their warnings as Blue crawled her way across the bed, having climbed down the post to greet him. He reached out and picked up the iguana, his tired arms struggling under her weight, and set her down on his chest and she immediately crawled off; opting to snuggle up next to him instead.
He couldn't ask Keith, he knew that. Which meant Lance needed to ask someone other than Keith. And the only persons other than Keith that Lance was interested in were, in order of selection: Allura, Nadia, and Imogen.
Allura was a big ol' no since he'd found out she was already in a relationship. With Shirogane no less! Nadia was a no for the same reason as Keith. Lance was sure that if he asked, she'd say yes, but then he'd be taking a Gryffindor to the Halloween Ball and, honestly, if he was going to face the ensuing backlash from his house he'd prefer to take his chances with Keith first.
Which just left Imogen.
"Imma go for it!" He announced, sitting up abruptly and aggravating Blue who had only just settled in. The irritated iguana hissed at him, flicking Lance with her tail. He apologized, taking a moment to snuggle his precious girl and remind her that, no matter what, she was most important.
"Good luck then, mate," James said dismissively.
"Wait, who are you taking? You never said," Lance pointed out, narrowing his eyes inquisitively.
"Don't worry about it," Simon answered for him, "you're the one having a hard time."
Annoyed, Lance huffed at the bastards. "Fine, keep your secrets. I'm off to make a mistake."
"Have fun!" Simon cheerfully replied, waving him off with a big, fake, over-the-top smile.
Lance rolled his eyes and groaned as he jumped off the bed, leaving the room as quickly as he entered. As he shut the door, Lance could have sworn he heard James mumble "finally".
And maybe James was right, maybe asking Imogen was a mistake, but it was about time Lance stopped teasing Keith with his flirting. Though beautiful on his pale skin, the Gryffindor's blushes could easily be from embarrassment. They had moments, though. It was hard to explain, but there were moments when Lance would meet Keith's gaze and something indescribable would be swirling in their depths. There were days he was certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Keith wanted him. Then there were the days that Lance was sure Keith was seconds away from ripping his head off.
Maybe some space between them was best. At the very least it would help Lance sort out how he felt and whether or not pursuing Keith would be worth the trouble.
He found Imogen in the common room, relaxing on a large green sofa in front of one of the stone fireplaces. As always, she was surrounded by the rest of the sixth-year Slytherin girls, the group leaning in close to whisper amongst each other. Their low volume, combined with hushed giggles, had Lance extremely self-conscious as he approached, fearing Simon to be right about them after all.
When Lance was close enough to reach out and touch the couch, their whispering came to an abrupt halt and all eyes locked on him. He swallowed the lump in his throat and put on his most charming smile, dialling up the bravado.
"Hey, Imogen," Lance said, casually leaning his hands on the back of the sofa and letting his body weight push him closer. Lance licked his lips, shifting his confident smile from blinding to sultry. He lowered his eyes to look down at her, tilting his head to peer through his long lashes. She blushed deeply as he leaned in closer yet and his hand came up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
She hummed up at him, blinking her large eyes innocently as she smiled.
"I was wondering," he started, "if you'd go to the Halloween Ball with me?"
One of her friends giggled and Imogen jabbed a harsh elbow in her side, not once breaking eye contact with Lance, nor letting her sweet smile drop.
"I'd be honoured," she confirmed, smiling wider and leaning up to plant a soft kiss on Lance's cheek. And, consequences be damned, Lance liked the sweet smell of strawberry and vanilla, and he liked soft, pouty lips kissing his cheek.
So he smiled down at her, excitement blooming in his chest. "¡Excelente, nos vamos a divertir!" (Great, we're going to have fun!)
Chasing Bianca across the Hogwart's grounds had not been part of Lance's plan for the night. James was searching in the library, Simon was checking the astronomy tower, and Lance was crawling through the bushes in the courtyard. Damn this cat; damn this furry little demon!
It was cold out, Lance had had to put on his thicker sweaters already and the cable knit wool kept snagging on branches as he crawled. The autumn air had taken a distinct shift the last few days but tonight was particularly brisk in Lance's opinion. He didn't mind it though, the crunch of fallen leaves underfoot reminded him of Octobers spent at his beloved Ilvermorny, in Massachusetts. Though he had to admit, Hogwarts really was stunning this time of year.
The grounds were covered in a canopy of green, yellow, orange, and red. Thousands of leaves littered the stone pathways and fields, as well as the quidditch pitch. His favourite spot was sitting on the rocks down by the Black Lake, tucked in behind the old stone boathouse where leaves coated the water in a fine layer, floating aimlessly in the soft currents. They filled the cracks between the stones, painting the shoreline in a near rainbow and giving the space some semblance of colour against the otherwise minimalist pallet. The black water, the grey stones, the pale sky; it was all so dreary. Aside from the brightly coloured leaves, of course.
That was why Autumn had always been Lance's favourite season. Sure, summer was great, it was a clear and definite second best, but it didn't compare to the excitement and beauty of autumn. Surfing and tanning on Varadero Beach were amazing, but they didn't come close to the beautiful colours of fall or the excitement of starting another year at school where he'd see his friends again and finally get his wand back.
Huh, it just hit him that he'd get to take his wand home this summer. For the first time in his life, Lance would have his wand outside of school. Furthermore, since he'd grown up under MACUSA instead of the British Ministry for Magic, Lance didn't have "the trace" on him like the other Hogwarts students. He could do whatever he wanted over the summer! Oh ho ho ho, the possibilities!
A particularly low branch snagged on the collar of Lance's sweater, yanking him back as he crawled. Damn this bush and damn this cat. There had to be a better way to find her.
" Accio Bianca", he tried to no avail and much disappointment. Not that he'd genuinely thought it would work, but at the very least it was worth a try.
Finally, after being scratched to all hell by the branches, Lance found the little pest curled up under a window. She'd taken refuge in the bare space beneath a barberry bush, clearly too terrified to move and shaking with fear. Lance instantly felt guilty for cursing the poor thing.
"Bianca," he whispered, putting out his hand to approach. "Bianca, come to Lancey-Lance."
As he crawled through this final, incredibly prickly, bush, Lance heard voices filtering through the open window above. He snagged Bianca, pulling her close, and prepared to back away when a name caught his attention.
"Look, Keith," a boy said, his voice curt and not very friendly, "I reckon I already know why you brought me here, so you better spit it out. I have to get to the library and you have quidditch practice."
"Okay, okay, I - I'm not very good at this, just give me a minute," Keith grumbled and, though Lance couldn't see him, he could absolutely picture the crossed arms and furrowed brow of Keith's stand-off-ish posture, clear as day.
"Tick-tock, Keith,"
"Alright, alright, Jesus Christ! Okay, so, look, I was thinking, we've been going back and forth for a while now and, well, did you maybe want to go to the Halloween Ball … with me?"
"Oh," the other boy responded in surprise, and as he continued, he sounded genuinely disappointed, "I didn't think - you know 'cause like - I'm sorry, Keith, but you should have asked me sooner. I already said yes to Luke."
"Oh," Lance's heart broke at the dejected tone in Keith's voice, "alright then."
"I really am sorry," the other boy said but it was clearly too late, Lance was picking up strong feelings of rejection, regret, self-loathing, embarrassment, and mortification. The negative emotions brought with them a sour taste that left his mouth dry and made Lance desperately thirsty.
As usual, Keith was outwardly stoic and silent, but he felt so much and at such a high intensity. Lance wanted to jump through the window and pull Keith into a hug, but he couldn't do that. Instead, he slowly crawled out of the bushes, making sure not to release the terrified Bianca clinging to his chest.
"Feles Relligo", Lance whispered, aiming at the squirming cat. A long, dark green leash immediately began to form between the tip of his wand and her matching collar, even its sparkling silver adornments carried over to the leash's design. Bianca's bell tinkled as she jumped out of Lance's arms, landing gracefully on the stone floor. She weaved in and out of his legs but the magical leash never once got tangled, allowing Lance to head toward the Great Hall without fear of tripping.
As he walked, Bianca trotted regally in front of him, leading the way with the calm sense of entitlement only a cat can pull off. It was as if nothing had happened and if not for the snags and tears in his sweater, or the blood smearing his cheeks and neck, one would ever know Lance had crawled through bushes to rescue the little princess.
When they turned the corner, a small black cat lept down from a decorative stone ledge. It landed directly in Lance's path, startling both him and Bianca who let out a surprised hiss. But the black cat seemed completely unfazed. It merely sat there, slightly off to the right side of the hall and seemingly guarding the door to an empty classroom.
"Where's your owner, buddy?" Lance asked, leaning down closer to its level. With eyes that shone with far too much intelligence, the cat simply blinked at Lance for a moment, seemingly assessing him before it turned to glance over its shoulder at the closed door. "Your owner is in there?" he asked and the cat turned back to him and squeezed its eyes closed in what he could only assume was confirmation.
Beside him, Bianca had calmed. She sat peacefully between Lance's legs, her tail sliding back and forth on the stone floor as she too stared at the strange cat. Before Lance could make another move the heavy wooden door slowly opened, creaking and groaning as a tall boy with mousey hair and strong features jerked in surprise.
"Oh, hello," he said, startled. He stopped to take in Lance's presence but made no further attempt to introduce himself. He was handsome, the red and gold accents of his Gryffindor robes complimented his complexion well. They pulled out the rose of his cheeks, enhanced the red of his lips, and highlighted the warmth in his amber-brown eyes. Lance straightened, eliminating the height difference between them and staring back.
"Hey," he said with a friendly smile, outstretching his hand. "The names Lance."
"I'm aware," the Gryffindor replied, not taking his hand. Instead, he turned over his shoulder and, with a softening shift in expression, bid adieu to the person hiding in the shadows. He brushed past Lance, heading off down the hall without another word. And, honestly, rude!
So far, the only exception to the Gryffindors being dicks was Nadia (and occasionally Keith).
The black cat chirped and brushed against the doorframe, pausing half in and half out of the classroom. It purred as it rubbed against the frame, arching its back and rubbing its head, then stopped to meow at the person still lingering inside.
"Hey man, I think this is your cat," Lance called out, trying to draw Keith's attention. And it was Keith, there was no denying that. Lance could feel the emotions pouring out of the room; that same sour taste of rejection engulfing him.
"Kosmo, come," Keith commanded, but his voice lacked any authority. It was weak and quiet as if he were barely holding it together. Lance could feel his slurry of emotions and, in retrospect, should have known better than to comment. But alas, Lance is a dumbass and he can't help opening his big, dumb mouth.
"Getting rejected sucks, dude, wanna talk about it?"
A sharp stab of anger radiated through the darkness. Keith's eyes seemed to glow a dim yellow in the engulfing shadows as he met Lance's gaze from deep inside the room. Bianca hissed, backing behind Lance's leg and growling at the Gryffindor boy, even with the distance between them.
"No, Lance, I do NOT want to fucking talk about it, least of all with you!" Keith snapped, and before Lance could offer any support, he flicked his wrist and the door slammed shut, effectively ending any further discussion.
With a sigh, Lance made his way to the great hall; he was extra parched now.
The more he thought about his strange encounter with Keith, the more Lance noticed little details he'd missed the first time. Fixating on things had a way of doing that. Small things, of course, nothing glaringly obvious or he would have noticed initially; Lance was perceptive after all. Things such as the abnormal intelligence of the cat, Keith's sudden and distinct shift in demeanour at his offer to talk, and the fact that Keith had performed nonverbal wandless magic.
It was that last detail that stuck out the most.
Nonverbal magic was just being taught in their classes this year. And wandless magic had always been notoriously difficult. So for Keith, a sixth-year NoMaj-born student, to be able to perform a nonverbal wandless spell would be damn impressive, if not impossible.
And, look, Lance would never judge someone based on blood status, he honestly didn't know why it was such a big deal at Hogwarts. It's just that it had been proven, time and time again, that pure-bloods, and occasionally half-bloods, were more likely to be capable of wandless magic. Lance knew it had nothing to do with being "better" than the NoMaj-borns, no matter what some of his fellow Slytherins claimed. No, he knew it was because they had someone at home who could help them, teach them, coach them, and offer them books and training materials, whereas their NoMaj-born counterparts did not. That kind of access to crucial resources made a world of difference when trying to learn more difficult or obscure techniques of magic.
Which begged the question, where did Keith learn nonverbal wandless magic before his sixth year at Hogwarts? Because, and this was immediately clear to Lance, that had not been Keith's first time. The casual yet deliberate flick of the wrist, the smooth languid motion, the lack of hesitation. It all pointed to a level of experience Keith should not have. Not at their age. Perhaps his relationship with Assistant Professor Shirogane might have something to do with it. They were close, after all, maybe Shirogane had trained him to -
"Hey, mate, mind if we join?" Hunk asked already placing his books down across from him, taking one of the few remaining empty seats in the room.
"Honestly, I'm surprised so many people are here, these study rooms are usually pretty barren. At least when there's no looming exams, you know what I mean?" Pidge explained as she took the seat next to Lance. "Ooo, pumpkin pasty, mind if I -" she snagged the pastry off Lance's snack plate and took a large bite, nearly shoving half into her mouth at once. Through a mouth full of his food, she continued, "- thanks, mate."
Flecks of soggy pastry spattered across his parchment and Lance sighed, he'd been looking forward to that. He shot her an annoyed glare as he mourned the loss of his pumpkiny goodness.
"That Alchemy project has you spending too much time with Keith, you've got his expression down pat," she chuckled, poking Lance in the arm as she smirked at him. "Speaking of Keith, you seen him? He didn't show up for Charms this morning."
"Or potions," Hunk interjected and Lance shook his head.
"Nah, I have Dark Arts with the Gryffindors this aft., I'll keep an eye out for him."
"Oh, he wouldn't dare miss that, not with Shiro here," Shay joked, taking the empty seat next to Hunk as he moved his books out of her way. Hunk smiled brightly up at her and Lance wanted that. Not for the first time, he found himself jealous of his friend and the ease of his relationship. Perhaps he'd find that with Imogen? His heart was optimistic but his gut laughed at him.
"How does Keith know Assistant Professor Shirogane?" Lance pressed and found his friends to be a well of knowledge. Over the course of an hour or two, Lance learned that Keith was an orphan who had been adopted by the Shiroganes, a powerful and well-respected pure-blood family in London. He also managed to learn that Keith had been brought to Hogwarts by Headmaster Kolivan himself, the stoic man having gone to visit Keith in the small orphanage.
Keith was far too closed off and never would have told him this, any of it, but it was amazing how much you could learn from others simply by asking. And that's all Lance had done; ask. They'd laughed and joked and talked. Lance didn't coerce anyone or trick them or force them to reveal anything, he'd just … asked. And they told. Because that's what friends do, they share. It was a big part of why Lance had always been an open book. You can't expect to be close to people if you never open up; never let anyone in.
Plus he really liked Keith and merely wanted to know more about him. What was wrong with that? Nothing! And it wasn't like Lance was using Hunk, Pidge, and Shay. He genuinely liked them too. He wanted to be their friend; to laugh, joke, and talk with them like he had with Miguel, Sam, and Tyler. Simon and James were great, but they'd been friends for so long that Lance was always going to be the third wheel.
Hunk was smart, kind, and genuine. Pidge was brilliant, sharp, and hilarious. Shay was sweet, honest, and supportive. Keith was mysterious, tough, and witty. Lance liked their group and he believed he would be a great addition to it, he just needed to get past the mullet-shaped roadblock. Hanging out with the gang while Keith was off sulking in his room post-rejection was a perfect way. That's why he'd saved these seats, to spend more time with them.
"- and then Matt threw up all over Shiro's lap! It was so gross," Pidge laughed.
"Yeah, poor Miss Kitty had to have her fur shaved. Shiro couldn't wash the regurgitated butterbeer off her, it was so sticky she got all matted up. It was sad actually," Hunk added, pausing to look mournful. Shay moved her hand to rub affectionately at his shoulders, comforting him as Pidge rolled her eyes.
"Ugh, you killed the story, Hunk," she grumbled and Lance couldn't help but snort.
"Puke stories are always funny, Pidge," he placated and she turned a wicked smile on him, one that made him just a little nervous if he was being honest.
"Why thank you, Lance. I knew I liked you."
Their study session went by quickly and before he knew it Lance was staring Keith down from the Center of the duelling stage. Just as Shay had predicted, Keith didn't dare skip a class Shirogane would be at. Either that or he just really loved DADA. Knowing Keith it could be either, or potentially both.
Lance had studied his opponent. He'd beaten Keith the last time they squared off but he wasn't sure if that luck would hold. Afterwards, he'd bragged about his duelling skills to anyone who'd listen but the truth was that Lance had gotten lucky. To put it simply, Keith had fucked up. He'd forgotten to bind Lance's wrists, leaving him open to free himself and that had ultimately given Lance the upper hand.
But no one needed to know that. As long as he held his ground against Keith, no one ever would. He just needed to beat him one more time.
So, naturally, Keith had killed him. Absolutely obliterated him. Lance hadn't stood a chance.
As it turned out when Keith was on his game nothing stood in his way. Not even Lance's poor ego. Lance had put up a good fight; every single one of his spells hit its mark. The problem was he'd barely gotten a chance to cast any. Keith had unleashed hell upon him, bombarding him with blast after blast until Lance could barely raise his arm, let alone cast any spells of his own.
He could still hear the laughter of the Gryffindor students, hear the placating comments of Professor Thace, and see the disappointed looks of his fellow Slytherins. It was too much, Lance couldn't face them at the Slytherin table and he hadn't been that hungry following his defeat anyways. But as he sat on the cold stone floor of the empty corridor, he couldn't help but feel like a failure. He'd been preoccupied with making cocky remarks to Keith and hadn't even seen the first blow coming. If he'd caught it maybe he could have held his ground, lasted a bit longer, and gotten in a few more hits of his own. Instead, he let his ego and arrogance get the best of him and Keith slaughtered him in a matter of minutes.
Some Ravenclaw students came down the hall, their conversation halting as they walked past him. The entrance to their tower was just down the hall to the right, he knew that because Pidge had made him wait outside the door while she'd gone to get her cloak before quidditch the night that Keith had caught the snitch and they'd walked back to the castle together. It was a night Lance remembered fondly, they'd talked like friends. He wanted that night back, wanted to recreate that moment.
A foot kicked his and Lance looked up to find a familiar grumpy face scowling down at him.
"This seat taken?" Keith asked, pointing to the empty section of floor beside him. Lance shook his head and Keith plopped back against the wall, sliding down onto the stone. "Here," he said after a beat, holding out a bundle of serviettes in his hand. "Didn't see you in the Great Hall so …" he trailed off as he shoved his hand closer, urging Lance to take it from him.
With a sigh, Lance reached for the bundle in Keith's hand and felt that it was warm. It smelt buttery and when he unwrapped it he found - "a pumpkin pasty?"
"Yeah," Keith shrugged, "Pidge mentioned she ate your last one and I know you like them and you didn't come to dinner so … I don't know, I just figured you'd be hungry. It was easier to sneak than a bowl of soup."
Chuckling Lance agreed and took a bite of the freshly baked pastry. "Thanks, Keith," he said after he'd finished, finding himself much hungrier than he'd thought.
Keith merely shrugged again. "Yeah, well, you'd do the same for me, so …"
The conversation trailed off, the two of them sitting in slightly awkward silence. Finally, after what felt like far too long, Keith spoke. "I'm sorry - about the other day. I know you were only trying to be nice but, I dunno, I've just never had a good track record with Slytherins "trying to be nice", if you know what I mean."
Lance didn't respond, he didn't honestly know what to say. He felt like he did know what Keith meant, after all, every Gryffindor he'd ever met had been nothing but a dick to him. With the exception of Nadia, and Keith when they were alone.
"It's just, I get so angry and I can't control it. I'm sorry you had to be on the receiving end, especially when it wasn't even you I was mad at," he continued, hanging his head as his knees came up.
"It's fine," Lance replied. He stared at Keith's profile. His dark hair hung loosely in front of his face concealing the scrunch of his forehead in the center of his brow. The sharp slope of his nose, the gentle fall of his cheekbones, the cutting edge of his jawline. Not to mention the cosmic beauty in the sparkling depths of his purple eyes, or the plumpness of his red, bitten lips. Did Keith even know how gorgeous he was? How on Earth could that guy have walked away from him? Lance never would have been able to do that.
"I know you don't want to talk about it," he started, tentatively so as not to spook Keith, "but if I was that guy, I'd have cancelled my other date in a heartbeat."
Keith's head snapped up, swirling the air around them in the still hall and Lance was hit with the smokey smell that clung to him. It was faint but comforting, like a warm fire on a cold night, or a wood stove in a log cabin buried deep in the woods.
"How did you know about that?" Keith asked, confused and wary.
"I overheard the conversation,"
"From the hall? The door blocks the sound."
"No, through the open window."
Keith's face scrunched up again in confusion as he puzzled it all together. "What were you doing outside the window?" he asked cautiously.
"Trying to catch Bianca. I'm sorry I heard something I shouldn't but I didn't tell anyone about it, I didn't think you'd be okay with that."
"Really?"
"Really."
Keith stared at Lance, searching his gaze for some sort of betrayal but he wouldn't find it. Because, as much of a dick as Keith could be, he was a genuinely good person and Lance would never hurt him like that. Never.
"Thanks," he breathed, his entire demeanour shifting to be more relaxed. The tension in the air between them dissipated and Keith settled in, shifting closer until their shoulders were almost touching. It was electric, everything with Keith always was. Lance couldn't explain why he was drawn to him, they were polar opposites, literally fire and water. But that didn't matter because Keith was sitting beside him, his shoulder so close to touching Lance's, and he'd brought him a pumpkin pasty for crying out loud.
"Anytime," Lance whispered and the silence dragged between them, though much more comfortable this time.
"Oi, Lover-boy, wake up," Simon was leaning over him with an absolutely massive shit-eating grin. "You're gonna be late for your date," he sing-songed, poking Lance in the chest repeatedly.
With a groan, Lance rolled out of bed. He hadn't intended on falling asleep, but his Ancient Runes class was boring . He'd taken it for an easy 'Outstanding (O)', having grown up with an expert for a father, but in reality, it just left him dreadfully bored. And apparently sleepy.
"I'm up, I'm up," he grumbled, stretching his tight muscles as he yawned. "What time is it?"
"Lance, you have an hour before the ball," James answered from the other side of the room as Simon grinned.
"WHAT?" he exclaimed, shooting from the bed and frantically running about the room. He needed more time, he needed at least three hours to make his costume perfect! What a disaster!
In a frantic rush, Lance grabbed his shower caddy and booked it to the Slytherin Boy's common bathroom for a quick shower. He hurried through his normal routine, only letting the conditioner sit for three minutes instead of his normal five, and cutting out the few non-essential steps. After, he slicked his hair back, gelling it in place, and tied the bandana around his head. Lance placed his aviator sunglasses on top and secured them with a sticking charm. He then did his makeup, being sure to heavily line his eyes and contour his cheeks, giving himself that heroine-chic look.
Finally finished with the mirror Lance rushed back to his room, hastily casting the small charm to transfer drawings from parchment to flesh he'd been practicing. They'd only last a few hours but they'd look like authentic tattoos, far better than anything makeup could replicate. A sleeveless band t-shirt, dirty jeans, and some fake piercings later, Lance was ready to go.
He met Imogen in the common room; gown glittering like a thousand tiny pink diamonds. She looked gorgeous, her strawberry-blonde hair was done in an elaborate updo and her makeup reflected the pink tones of the sequins in her dress. He had no idea who she was meant to be but damn was she pulling it off.
"You look - wow," he stammered, taking her hand and placing a light kiss on the back. She blushed brilliantly, cheeks rosing to match the rest of her ensemble.
"Thank you, Lance," she said with a curtsey, furring her brow as she assessed his costume. "Who are you? You are quite aware there is a theme, correct?"
"Yeah, "Famous Witches and Wizards Through History"," he answered, "I'm River Jones, lead singer of The Screaming Windigos, an American band of Wizards that use actual Windigos as backup vocalists!" he excitedly explained. "They're my favourite band."
"Never heard of them," she replied in a dismissive tone, "we have a few minutes if you want to change,"
Lance didn't change. He liked his costume, even if no one knew who he was and he ended up spending the majority of the night explaining it. Which he did. Repeatedly.
Lance descended the steps into the main entrance of Hogwarts with Imogen on his arm and James and Simon beside him, dressed as quidditch players Lance didn't know. The four sixth-year Slytherins made their way into the Ball and straight for the dance floor.
Lance loved to dance and Imogen gleefully followed as he pulled her along. James, on the other hand, was far more reluctant as an enthusiastic Simon coaxed him to loosen up. Everyone seemed to know the songs the band played but Lance had never heard them before, still, it didn't stop him from having the time of his life spinning his little pink sparkly date in circles until they were both laughing on the floor in a dizzy mess.
He honestly couldn't remember a time that he'd had this much fun.
He found Hunk and Shay at the punch bowl dressed as more famous Quidditch players Lance didn't know. Pidge joined them for a glass dressed as Merlin, complete with elaborate robes and a massive fake beard that had been stained purple around the lips from grape punch. They asked him who he was dressed as, he asked where Keith was. They asked who he came with, he asked where Keith was. They asked if he was having fun, he asked where Keith was.
"I'll tell you the honest truth, mate," Hunk finally answered, "I don't know. He said he'd meet us here but," Hunk trailed off as he gestured to the room full of students that weren't Keith.
"Everything okay?" Lance asked and before he could get an answer a bright flash of sparkly pink sequins latched onto his arm.
"Come on then rockstar, come rock my world," Imogen teased, tugging at Lance's arm in an attempt to get him back on the dancefloor.
"Who are you supposed to be?" Shay asked sweetly, drawing her into the conversation.
"A style icon, obviously," she replied in a curt, condescending tone that Lance did not like one bit. At Shay's blank stare, she rolled her eyes and continued, "The late Delores Umbridge. I just adore her style." Imogen made a cutesy little laugh that made Pidge and Shay shudder before she gave a more genuine laugh, clearly enjoying herself. "Come along, Lance,"
"I'll catch up, need to use the bathroom quick," he said, sending her off into the crowd alone after noticing the look on his two friend's faces. "What's wrong?"
"What a - a - ugh," Pidge grumbled.
"How can she dress like that awful woman, and giggle like that right to our faces?"
"She doesn't care, Shay. We're muggle-born, she probably got a kick out of it!" Pidge was fuming and she glared daggers at Imogen's back. "How can you even like someone like that?" she asked, turning her ire on Lance.
Hunk didn't say anything, not to Lance, he just gave a disappointed look and shuffled an upset Shay off toward the seats that lined the sides of the room. Pidge's beard swept the floor as she walked off after them, leaving Lance alone with a sour feeling in his gut. He may look like a rockstar but he felt like a chump. He needed some fresh air.
In the courtyard is where Lance found Keith. He was laying on a bench staring up at the stars.
"This seat taken?" Lance asked with a smirk.
"Yup," Keith teased, tossing a cocky grin his way and Lance laughed.
"Fair enough," he chuckled. Keith was laying on the bench in his school robes, the Gryffindor tie pooling on the concrete over his shoulder, and his cloak spilling down onto the paving stones below. He was wearing round glasses and had a reddish smudge on his forehead that looked as if something had been drawn there but had mostly rubbed off. "Who are you supposed to be?"
Keith turned to look at him, a baffled expression on his handsome, moonlit face. "I'm Harry Potter you twit."
Oh fuck, how had Lance missed that?
"How did I miss that?" he laughed, swatting at Keith to sit up and make room for him.
"What are you doing out here?"
"Could ask you the same. Hunk, Shay, and Pidge are waiting for you."
"Are they the only ones?" Keith risked a shy glance sideways at Lance before darting his eyes back down to his lap, hiding under his dark hair.
"Of course not," Lance replied automatically, "I'm sure the other Gryffindors are waiting for you to show up."
Keith hummed at him, seeming disappointed, but he didn't say anything. Instead, the two boys sat in silence, listening to the wind rustle through the few remaining leaves of the season. In the distance, the loud din of the Halloween Ball spilled from the stone halls of the castle. But out here, in the courtyard, it felt a million miles away. Still, Lance could hear the music clearly.
"Wanna dance?" he asked, not hoping for much. Keith looked over at him, startled, and furrowed his brow as he studied Lance's face.
"Not a dancer," he finally replied. On the surface, it sounded like a rejection but Lance felt the nervousness radiating off Keith. Being a natural legilimence he could feel his own heart racing in response to what he was picking up. Keith could have said no, could have told Lance to go away, but he didn't.
"Come on, I'll show you. I'm a great teacher," Lance smiled. He rose to his feet and stuck out his hand for Keith to take. Which he did, though he continued to protest.
"Just - put your hand here on my waist, and your other hand here on my shoulder, perfect. Now follow my lead, Keith," he said, catching Keith's penetrating gaze.
"Okay," Keith whispered between them, the light breeze sweeping his words away into the night and keeping their secret moment for them, and them alone.
The heavy doors of the Great Hall opened and the sudden sound of it startled them apart. Lance didn't know how long they'd been there, but he realized he was freezing. The cold autumn air rushed into the gap between them, slicing at his exposed arms and making him shiver.
"Lance?" a bubbly voice called and Keith's soft expression morphed into a hard frown. "There you are! Aren't you coming back? What are you doing out here? Come inside, the rest of us are going back to the dungeon to play some party games. Simon and Aldair managed to sneak in some mead."
In the time it took for her to cross the courtyard and tug at his arm, Lance watched the open vulnerable Keith retreat back into the shadows, replaced by something hard.
"Have fun." He said, tone clipped and words short as he pushed past them and headed back into the castle.
"Lance you're positively freezing! Come along, I'll warm you right up," Imogen cooed into his ear, pressing herself against him and pulling him back inside. He followed her to the left, towards the Slytherin dungeon, and watched as Keith ascended the stairs, heading away from the Halloween Ball without ever having gone in.
Mordisquito snapped at Lance's finger as he tried to take the letter from the small, but vicious, bird's beak.
"Oye Lance,
¡Feliz Halloween! Espero que la estés pasando muy bien en Hogwarts. ¡Tu última carta fue divertidísima! No puedo creer que derrotaste a ese otro tipo tan rápido en el duelo. ¡Buen trabajo!
Espero que disfrutes estos bocadillos de América, lo siento, no pude conseguir nada cubano. Lo intenté, pero la directora no me dejaba irme de Ilvermorny.
- Miguel"
( "Hey Lance,
Happy Halloween! I hope you're having a great time at Hogwarts. Your last letter was hilarious! I can't believe you defeated that other guy so quickly in the duel. Good job!
Hope you enjoy these snacks from America, sorry I couldn't get anything Cuban. I tried, but Headmistress Sanda wouldn't let me leave Ilvermorny.
- Miguel" )
A small brown package rested under the aggressive owl, its talons still tightly clasped in the twine bow.
"¡Vete, Mordisquito!" ("Go away, Mordisquito!") Lance urged, shooing the owl off his parcel. It was small, no larger than a few inches, but that didn't mean diddly. They had magic after all, and if Lance knew Miguel he'd guarantee his friend used an undetectable extension charm on the box, filling it with more snacks than Lance would ever be able to eat.
He'd been right.
Out of the box tumbled countless packages of Moon Pies, boxes of Mike & Ikes, bars of Almond Joy, at least a billion candy corns, and so much more. With childlike glee, Lance sifted through his new treasure, excitedly opening the first treat he got his hands on. It was a Pay Day bar.
A wave of curiosity swept down the Slytherin table and students migrated their way closer to Lance in an effort to glimpse these foreign snacks. The items Miguel had sent had come from a NoMaj convenience store and, unlike anything in the Wizarding World, they were packaged in brightly coloured plastic wrappings with multi-billion dollar company logos plastered across their surface.
The Wizarding community in Varadero was small. Like, less than ten families small. It made them a tight-knit community and forced them to interact with NoMajs on the regular. It was because of this that Lance had grown up in NoMaj public schools, despite being a pure-blood Wizard. It was also the reason Lance was so familiar with NoMaj technology and products and snacks! Mostly the snacks.
He couldn't even count how many summers he and Miguel had spent walking along the beach tricking tourists into handing over NoMaj pesos so they could buy pop and treats at local shops. Too many, that's for sure.
"What the devil are these?" a fourth-year boy asked, reaching through the pile to pull out a box of yellow marshmallow chicks.
"Peeps!" Lance exclaimed, snagging the package and noticing several more still in the box. Without hesitation, he opened it up to share with those surrounding him.
As Potions ended, Lance walked with Pidge to the library where she'd planned to meet up with Hunk before their shared Transfiguration class. Thanks to his study group Lance's potion-making abilities had greatly increased, and even Professor Blaytz had taken notice. He'd commented in front of their whole class that Lance was showing great promise and that, as head of Slytherin house, he was incredibly proud of the progress he'd made.
Lance was still riding the high of his praise as they entered the library. On one table were Hunk, Shay, and Keith waving them over. At another table James, Simon, Aldair, and Imogen were just sitting down. Pidge never broke pace as she quickly made her way to the gang's table, but Lance stood frozen.
He knew exactly how it would look if he joined them. He knew he should choose his own house if for nothing more than loyalty's sake. After all, James and Simon had backed him up on many occasions when Ravenclaw or Gryffindor students gave Lance a hard time. He really did feel the kinship to Slytherin that their Prefects had told them about, but he was also starting to see the cracks in the pristine facade he'd once been fooled by. He saw the way James and Imogen treated Muggle-borns and Lance didn't like it. Lance liked James, he'd never once had a problem with him, but he was starting to see the way James treated others and it wasn't always nice. He definitely thought himself to be better than a lot of the other students. But Simon was different, he was much nicer to students of other houses, financial statuses, and blood purities.
"Oi, Lover-boy, come sit," Simon called, breaking the hush of the library and earning the ire of Madam Filch, the surly librarian.
Lance looked over at his other choice, catching Keith's eyes in time to notice them roll. He frowned at Lance, holding his gaze for a fraction of a second longer than most, long enough for Lance to know it was deliberate before he turned back to the stacks of parchment in front of him. Lance had a choice to make. He just hoped he made the right one.
"Scoot," he urged, knocking James' shoulder with his hip so he could take the seat next to Imogen. She smiled brightly at him, leaning over to straighten his tie and place a chaste kiss on his cheek.
From deep in his chest Lance could feel Keith's judging glare.
It had taken every ounce of courage in Lance's handsome body but he'd managed to get Keith to meet him behind the boathouse that evening. Technically speaking they were supposed to be in their dorms, not necessarily in bed, but definitely not wandering the grounds. Still, not all who wander are lost and Lance had a mission! He needed to apologize for the library incident.
He paced back and forth behind the safety of the building, shielded from view of the Castle by its stone walls. Inside, the sconces were still lit, casting a soft glow across the Black Lake through the large windows. No one was inside, Lance had checked, but soon enough the groundskeeper would be coming by to lock up, so he needed to make this meeting brief.
Not that it would take long to tell Keith what he needed to say. He just hoped, when the time came, he'd be able to get the words out.
"What," a rough voice grumbled as Keith stepped out of the bushes. "You asked me to meet you here, practically begged me, so what do you want, Lance?"
"To talk to you."
"So talk."
Lance didn't talk. He just stood in awkward silence staring at Keith's nearly flawless face; marred only by a faded scar on his right cheek.
"Lance, talk or I'm going back to the Gryffindor Tower," Keith growled and Lance took a deep breath. Here goes nothing.
"Okay, look, I'm sorry about not sitting with you in the library. It's just that, well, Slytherin is really tight-knit and I knew it would look like a betrayal if I didn't sit with my friends. Not that you guys aren't my friends! You are, it's just that sitting with James and Simon was expected, you know? And they were my friends first, so, I kinda owe them. But like also, you guys are my friends and I wish -"
"Lance, shut the fuck up," Keith said, stepping into his space and forcing Lance to back up against the stone wall of the boathouse. "Why did you really ask me to meet you here? A half-hearted apology can't possibly be the reason."
"I - I -"
"Because from where I'm standing, you go from flirting with me constantly, to being a supportive friend, to ignoring me, to dating the worst girl in the school, to slow dancing with me at the Ball, to ignoring me again, to half-assing an apology? So either we're friends and you're sorry or something is going on and you need to fucking tell me."
Lance stared at Keith. The soft glow of the flickering flames danced across his face, the dirty windows only barely diluting their light. Keith was right, Lance was hot and cold and indecisive, he needed to tell Keith about the war he was fighting with himself but he didn't know how to bring it up without risking rejection. What would he do if Keith shot him down? If all of their little moments had just been Keith trying to be his friend and not little glimpses of something more.
"Lance," Keith commanded and, for the first time in a very long time, Lance genuinely didn't know what to say.
"I don't understand why Slytherins and Gryffindors can't be friends," he finally admitted. It seemed to take Keith by surprise as if he were expecting some other revelation. Maybe that was the reaction Lance needed, if Keith was expecting him to say something else, then maybe he felt the same way. Ugh , why was this so difficult?
"It goes way back, all the way to the founders of the school," Keith answered, his voice quiet in the space between them. Lance hadn't noticed how close Keith had gotten, how close he always got.
"Well, I hate it," he replied, matching Keith's hushed tones. "I like you, you're smart, clever, talented …" Lance trailed off and something swirled in the depths of Keith's eyes, something hopeful. It gave Lance the courage to push on, "I wish we could be friends without all the drama and politics and house rivalries, you know?"
"We could, but I don't think either of us wants to deal with the fallout. It's not really worth it. Not for a friendship."
Lance held Keith's stare, attempting to determine what he was getting at. Was he thinking the same as Lance? Did he want to be more than friends? Lance couldn't help his attraction to Keith, he'd thought Keith wanted nothing to do with him, except maybe a strained friendship chaperoned by Hunk, Shay, and Pidge. But maybe that was wrong, maybe "friends" was never in the cards for them.
"You're right," he breathed, "I don't want to be your friend and I don't think you want to be mine either."
"I wish your little girlfriend hadn't shown up at the Ball, I really thought you were going to try and kiss me or something," Keith admitted, half playing it off with a slight chuckle. But the genuine emotion in his eyes and the nervous anticipation emanating from him betrayed his true desires. He wasn't teasing Lance, he wanted Lance to kiss him. Just as Lance had wanted to close the space between them that night and again now, at this moment.
Lance stood taller, making the slight height difference between them more pronounced. "Yeah," he breathed into the disappearing space between them, "I definitely would have. Would you have let me?"
At those words, Keith shrugged and offered a coy half-smile.
Lance swallowed thickly, now was his chance. They were alone in the dark, surrounded by the soft glow from inside the boathouse. A gentle breeze whispered around them, lightly blowing through Keith's hair and bathing Lance in the familiar hint of smoke that clung to him. It was now or never but Lance couldn't bring himself to make the first move. He didn't have that "devil may care" attitude that Keith had, he couldn't just throw caution to the wind and chase his desires.
But he could give Keith the push he'd need to take that step for the both of them. Quickly casting a simple charm, Lance watched Keith's reaction as something began to grow from the overhanging roof of the boathouse directly over head. It grew until it tickled the top of his head, small leaves playing in his hair.
"Mistletoe?" Keith asked with a smirk, "kinda the wrong season don't you think?"
"I won't tell if you don't," Lance said with a wink and Keith gave in, chuckling quietly as he called Lance a loser and leaned in. All too quickly he'd placed a light kiss to Lance's lips and nothing more. Lance stood confused.
That was it? Oh no no nononono, Lance was having none of that "good night grandma" bullshit, he wanted a PROPER kiss dammit.
Lance huffed and reached out for Keith, grabbing at his red and gold tie and forcefully yanking him forward. Keith gasped at the abruptness of it, his hand coming up to brace his fall. When their lips met it was as if all the tension, all the build-up between them over months of this back and forth, their electric rivalry all came to a head. Fireworks exploded in Lance's veins, waves of heat spreading through him like an all-consuming fire. It burned with an intensity he'd never felt before, a need that cleared all rational thought from his mind and left him fully in tune with that moment, and that moment alone. THIS was the first kiss with Keith he'd been waiting for.
"Who's back there?" an accusing voice sounded from inside the boathouse. Keith's mouth moved from his lips to his jaw and down his neck as Lance turned his face for a better view, locking eyes with a man on the other side of the glass.
"Fuck," he gasped and Keith hummed against his skin, clearly mistaking his alarm for enthusiasm.
"Fuck, FUCK! Keith, we gotta go," Lance urged, pushing Keith back as he stepped forward, preparing to run.
But Keith was slow on the uptake, his mind clouded over with desire. "Huh," he questioned, leaning back in to capture Lance's lips. Instead, Lance stepped forward and tripped on a stick, closing his mouth on Keith's bottom lip and drawing blood from the bite. It was salty and bitter on his tongue, the iron souring what had been the sweet taste of Keith's kiss.
"Fuck, Lance, that fucking hurt," Keith grumbled, blood spilling into his hand as he backed away.
"We gotta go," Lance insisted. He reached for Keith's wrist and tugged, pulling the dazed Gryffindor boy along as he turned around the side of the building.
The hulking frame of Assistant Professor Shirogane smacked into Lance like a brick-fucking-wall. With a groan he fell backward into the bushes; Keith tumbling down with him.