Carys felt like an arctic wind had swept over her sleeping body and froze every last inch of skin. Her eyes blinked open quickly and she pushed herself up on her elbows, face having been planted into the pillow. Why was it so bright in here? Where had her blanket gone?

---whose room was this?

She vaguely remembered going out last night, but the sequence of events was foggy and unclear. Carys held her head up for a few more seconds before dropping it back down to the pillow. Well, if she wasn't dead yet, the owner of the bedroom was most likely not going to attack her now when she was awake and somewhat functional. The padding of footsteps on the carpet of the room came around the end of the bed and Carys made very little effort to move her head and see who it was. What did it matter? She'd woken up with strange men in her bed before; once she was able to hold her head up for more than a minute she'd be out of here to never see them again and--

"Oh, fuck," she groaned, her eyes darting up the rather fit form of Drake Parkin. He was frowning down at her, arms crossed over his bare chest. Carys took the slow lag of her mind to appreciate the view, and then she let out a breath, "Did we shag?"

Drake scoffed and pulled the rest of the blanket off her legs, causing another great billowing cold wind to blow over her. Carys let out a long whine and reached for it, but Drake had pushed it to the floor.

"No," he said, reaching toward her and pulling the pillow out from under her head. She let out another annoyed sound, but still couldn't find the energy to get up, her head bouncing off the mattress. She must look rather pathetic lying there, but what did she care? Carys didn't care what the papers said or what her sisters or mum thought about her nights, so what did she really care about what Drake Parkin thought about her current state?

"So, why am I in your bedroom?" she muttered, finally forcing herself to sit up. Carys patted down her hair, knowing she looked like a madwoman, and she pulled the----the rather large Magpies shirt down to cover up her legs. "Right, we didn't shag and now I'm wearing your jersey?" she snapped.

"Did you want to sleep in that bloody corset looking thing you had on last night?" Drake crossed over to his closet, where Carys saw her dress hung up. It would have been uncomfortable to sleep in, what with the corset top and the sequins, but she was so bloody pissed she probably could have slept on her head if she had to. He tossed it to her and she managed to grab it, wincing at the pulled threads. She didn't want to remind herself of how much this outfit cost. "Get up, you gotta get out of here."

Carys was in the middle of pulling off the jersey when he ordered her out of the flat. Her arms fell and she glared. "Are you fucking kidding me? You bring birds home and then kick them out at the crack of dawn?"

Drake really had no problem with rolling his eyes and scoffing at her. It seemed to be his favorite thing to do, "Yes, but you have rehab in an hour, so you need to get your ass there."

That was the last thing she'd been expecting to hear. Carys felt like he'd punched her in the gut; how the fuck did he know that? Had she, in her drunken stupor, informed Drake Parkin about the rehabilitation she was going through to get her back up on a broomstick? Carys felt her face heat up incredibly and she stood, swiped up her dress and shoes, wobbled, and then stormed to the bathroom to change. Fuck, fuck!

It took her far longer than it should have to get back into her dress, but five minutes of her time in the bathroom had been dedicated to trying to calm herself down and not look like he'd invaded some secret, personal, completely confidential part of her life---God, how could she have told him?! Why would she have ever, even in her most drunken of states, have confessed something like that to him? Carys pulled her hair back into a tight pony tail, hoping to look somewhat fresh faced, and stared at her reflection, realizing that---oh, fuck.

He must've been at the club, right? He must have seen her, he must have seen how drunk she was, he must have---what, stopped her from doing something stupid? Had she already done something stupid? Carys felt like she could never leave this bathroom because why had he brought her back to the flat? She believed him when he said they didn't shag, so why, why would he have---was he just being nice? Was he just looking out for her? Would he have felt too guilty if she'd ended up in some puddle on the side of the road? He took her back to his flat and gave her his bed because he'd rather not see her face down on the pavement.

She supposed that was good of him.

Ohhhh, fuck. Carys really did not want to like any bit of this man. She took a breath and stepped out of the bathroom. Drake was dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed and paying her no mind as he laced up his shoes. How could he be so functional at this early of an hour? No--stop thinking about him. Carys had no desire to find out how he'd learned about her rehab sessions, and she wasn't going to pester him about it because the less they discussed it, the better off they were. The better off she was.

Carys stood for a moment, contemplating her next move. She settled on a solution and before she could change her mind, she strode forward, bent at the waist, and planted a very grateful kiss on Drake's cheek. She only hesitated a moment when he looked up at her in slight shock (very, very slight shock, this man's face was so very difficult to read sometimes), and with a wink Carys walked quickly out of the bedroom, grabbing her purse on her way out.

Yes, that's all she would do about that, for now.

return to top

He was probably going to say that she kissed him first and that he was just obliging her deep and pent up desires. Carys knew that this wasn't true, but she was fuzzy on the details and she didn't like to argue when she couldn't sort out her facts. All she knew was that she was surprised that she found herself kissing Drake Parkin and if she had been the one to initiate things, she would not be surprised.

She would take credit for pulling him away from the door and into the coat check, where thankfully the teenager who'd been running it had skipped out early with the tip jar. The past three months of extensive training had been absolutely draining, and while Drake (ugh, when did she start referring to him by his first name? Probably around the time he caught her checking out his---) wasn't undergoing the same regiments, he'd been there to wind her up when she felt like storming out in frustration. Carys wondered if they'd ever had a conversation that wasn't heavily sarcastic, but she'd come to learn when he really meant what he said; it happened a lot more than she'd originally believed.

"Shush, shush," she hushed into his mouth as the door of the coat check swung open. They were buried between the jackets and Carys was suddenly quite grateful for the chilly night. Her arms were tight around his neck, and his hands were gripping to her thighs as he held her up against the back wall of the large closet.

"I'm going to kill Jimmy!" the restaurant owner yelled, and Carys caught a glimpse of him over the hangers as he stormed by. Oh, if he'd looked to his right for just a second---"This kid is going to get such a beating when I see him----"

The door slammed and the second it did Carys let out the loud laugh that had been ready to burst out of her mouth at the situation. She dropped her head down to try and figure out where Drake wanted to go from here, her hair falling into his face. She wasn't keen on letting go at the moment, but she also knew that neither of them were very good at being sweet and cute and---

"Oh---" Drake kissing her again and pushing back against the wall, ignoring any look of concern or confusion on her face, answered her silent question. Carys grinned against his lips as the snog continued, glad that the short interruption had not killed the mood. It actually heightened the excitement; who knew when the owners of these coats would be heading home for the night? What a shock they'd give them, what a sight---Merlin, she couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten such a high from something other than playing quidditch, something that wasn't artificial like alcohol. As much as she hated to admit to herself, and would never admit out loud to him, of all people, maybe, just maybe, Carys was excited to be with Drake Parkin in this coat check closet.

Oh, hell.

return to top

Her ceiling no longer looked white, but an eggshell color.

Carys had been staring at the ceiling of her bedroom long enough for her eyes to go blurry and to fall asleep for about a half hour. She'd awoken at the sharp knocks made on the door by her mother, but had remained lying spread eagle on the hard wooden floor of he bedroom, her hair splayed out around her head in a straggly, unkempt halo.

Her mother's knuckles wrapped quickly on the door again and Carys blinked a few times, frowning that her numbed state had been interrupted once again. "Carys! I swear, if you don't get out of there we're going to leave without you!"

This was exactly what the seventeen year old wanted to hear, and she remained silent as she listened to her mother huff outside her door. Honestly. What did it matter if she went with her? All Carys had done with the press is avoid them and shoot them dirty looks; what good would she be at some stuffy ward dedication at St. Mungo's? Did they think she would appreciate that they'd stuck her dead father's name on a wing of a place that her father had hated to visit? His hospital trips had never lasted through the night, if he managed to escape before they knocked him out with some sleep potion.

The Dai Llewellyn Ward for Serious Bites? They couldn't have been more insensitive if they tried.

The shrill voices of Arwyn and Brynna penetrated the barrier her door created between herself and her obnoxious sisters. Carys rolled onto her stomach, elbows holding her up as she listened to their bickering, and she knew that they were fighting about who should attempt to deal with her.

"Carrie," Arwyn cooed, "It'll look so strange if you're not there."

Carys rolled her eyes and pushed herself up to sit back against the foot of her bed, her Hogwarts trunk still unpacked from her sixth year of school. She'd rather do all of her summer assignments than go to the blasted event. All the reporters ever liked to do was ask her how she was feeling, had she had felt, how was she doing, and all Carys wanted to do was hex their faces off. Which, now that she was a legal witch, she could most certainly do...

Brynna's voice pierced Carys' malicious thoughts, "They're going to think you're ashamed of him, Carrie."

The idea shot straight through her heart. Brynna had always been able to twist Carys' nerves in ways no one else could, and she felt her eyes sting with tears at the thought of someone, even if it was one lousy reporter for some no good paper, insinuating that she hadn't showed up to the dedication because she was ashamed of her father. Carys adored her father, her love for him was the furthest from that of an ashamed daughter and---

"GO AWAY!" Carys shouted, cursing herself because she sounded as if she was holding back tears. She picked up her shoe and chucked it at the door, scaring her sisters into shrieks on the other side, "I'M NOT GOING!"

"Fine!" Brynna snapped, "You'd just muck it all up anyway!"

Carys listened to her sisters stomp away, glad that they'd given up so easily. They never put up much of an effort with her, and now with her father gone, there was absolutely no sort of bridge to keep them connected. The sounds of their shrill voices could be heard from the room below hers, and within minutes there was a slamming of the doors and she knew that her mother and sisters had left her alone.

As much as she'd fought to stay, she suddenly found herself feeling quite sad that they'd actually left. They never put up much of a fight with her, and Carys knew that they didn't care enough to do more than shout. The idea left a sinking feeling in her gut that she needed to get rid of. Twisting, she opened up her trunk; there was quidditch equipment and ink, quills, parchment, clothes, all thrown around in a huge mess that she'd never be able to organize. It took her a few minutes, but finally she pulled out the bottle of firewhiskey Dimitri had nicked for her around finals time. Carys popped the cork and took a long swig of the drink. The liquid burned, but it felt good as it filled up the cold hole left in her heart.

return to top

Her legs hurt.

Carys sped through the high grass of the vast acres of her home, the bulrush whipping her in the face as the ground grew muddy underneath her bare feet. Her brand new sneakers were still sitting on the porch, forgotten as she raced as far away from the house as she physically could. They'd never catch her, her sisters would never catch her. Carys felt the slick mud splatter against her knobby knees as she neared the lake, and stopped abruptly as she reached the small beach. The back of her hands pushed hard against her eyes as she tried to stop herself from crying, but she couldn't, and she dropped down into the wet sand and wept.

"Oy, wee one."

She let out a hiccup at the sound of her father's voice, and Carys looked around before noticing the shadow that had fallen over her. She looked up, unamused at her father hovering over her on his broomstick. He always managed to find her if he was on his broom.

"I'm running away! I hate them!" Carys lashed out, turning from her father and crossing her arms tightly across her chest. She had absolutely no desire to return to their house, where her sisters would just continue to pick on her for being so tall for her age, because her front teeth were gigantic, because she didn't need to wear a bra yet and she liked to play quidditch, "---I'm not a boy!"

Her father let out a breath and landed moved the broom to hover only a foot off the ground, and he expertly perched himself, cross-legged. He stared at her, obviously trying to make her feel uncomfortable, but she was not going to budge. Carys felt herself sinking deeper into the mud with each passing second, but she was going to make a point. She did not want to live in that house anymore, and she did not care if her daddy wanted her to, because no matter what he said her sisters would still want to make her life miserable.

"You're not a boy," her father said, reaching out and poking her in the side of the head. Carys swatted his hand away, but she was glad to hear him say that, "Obviously, you're a caterpillar."

She blinked a few times to try to make sense of his words, wondering how he'd managed to compliment her and insult her at the same time, "You're calling me an ugly bug?"

Her father puffed his cheeks, looking ready to zoom off on his broom like he usually did when he didn't want to answer questions (or give his sisters extra allowance), "It's a metaphor, or something, love. You're like---oh, no that's a simile---you're like a caterpillar, who's going to grow up into a beautiful butterfly in time."

Carys felt herself blush; beautiful was not something she'd ever have considered herself. She was gawky with long limbs and big feet that made her trip when she walked, making being on a broomstick the only place she felt comfortable. A stupid little caterpillar couldn't fly, but a butterfly moved through the air with breath taking ease. She didn't think she'd ever feel like that.

She wriggled her toes deeper into the mud, knowing that her mother was going to have an absolute fit when she got back into the house---which she wasn't going to go back to! Carys sniffled, "Brynna said I'm ugly."

"Brynna," her father said with a tone of annoyance, "still sleeps with her stuffed unicorn."

Her eyes widened to the size of quaffles with this revelation. Carys gaped at her father, "Really? I didn't know that."

"Brought good ol' Mister. Rainbow to Hogwarts," her dad said, grinning widely, "And Arwen begged me to get her teeth straightened before her fourth year."

Now Carys couldn't suppress her joy at her sisters' follies. The two were always behaving as if they were absolutely perfect, and here was their father letting Carys know that her sisters had plenty of things about themselves that they didn't like either. Not that Carys didn't like herself---well...she would like to be able to throw the quaffle a bit farther, but...

"But don't you tell them I told you that!" her dad warned her as she stood, wagging a finger, "I just wanted you to know that they're not as perfect as they like to think they are. All that's between you and me, Caterpillar."

"Caterpillar Catapult!" Carys exclaimed, her hands spreading out in front of her, mimicking her name being spread out across the big scoreboard at Caerphilly Pitch. Her dad laughed approvingly, maneuvering his broom and himself to give Carys room to hop on behind him. She did so happily, wrapping her arms tightly around him and pressing her face into his back, "When I join the Catapults, can that be my nickname?"

"Carys 'Caterpillar' Llewellyn?" Her father tried out the moniker with a laugh, not wasting a second before shooting out into the air and over the fields again, "Maybe that's one that we should keep to ourselves."

return to top

Carys woke with a start, and she had to blink and rub her eyes before she could figure out where she was. Kitchen, kitchen table. She was in the kitchen, why was she dead asleep in the kitchen? She stretched out her legs, wiping her face with her hands because there was something sticky and hard on her cheeks---and on the table. It took her a second to realize that it was a bowl of cereal that had spilled across the table, the bits sticking to her face and drying over night. What the---

She let out a quick gasp at the empty high chair that stood in front of her. James! James! Where was James?!

Her chair skidded back and down to the floor behind her as Carys jumped to her feet. Baby, baby, where was her baby? The night was coming back to her in great startling flashes. James had been crying, but it was nearly five o'clock anyway, the usual time he got up (an early bird like his father, something she wished the boy had not inherited), so Carys had just set him up in his chair and...and poured the milk for the baby mix of cereal that he liked and...she dropped down to her knees, to check under the table to see if maybe, hopefully, James was just sitting there, unharmed and completely calm, unlike his mother. He wasn't, though, and Carys let out a low whine of terror. She'd lost her baby.

But where could he have gone? He could barely crawl and the gate was still up! Had he performed some sort of baby-magic and poofed himself up to his crib? Could that be the case? Carys felt ready to pull out her hair, her face contorted in terror as the ideas of the danger James could be in flooded her mind. She would never forgive herself if something happened to him, and she was ready to burst into tears when she heard...singing? Not very good singing, but it was singing. Low, soft, singing, and it was coming from the porch. Carys hadn't noticed that the glass door of the kitchen was slightly pulled ajar, and she crept toward it in confusion. Her baby couldn't sing.

She pulled back the shades and was surprised to see Drake out in the morning sun, bouncing James in his arms and muttering a little tune she'd heard him whistling before. It wasn't that she'd forgotten that Drake stayed over from time to time it was just that....well, no, she'd forgotten completely. In her sudden jolt from being asleep to awake, to the realization that her baby was not where she'd left him, Carys had somehow managed to ignore the fact that there was another adult in their home, who was quite capable of taking care of a child. Their child.

"Why didn't you wake me?" she said, interrupting the quiet serenade.

Drake sent her a look over his shoulder and kept on with the melody, and Carys sighed, pulling her long shirt down before plodding out onto the porch. At least the weather was nice, and at least James wasn't crying---hey! He wasn't crying! She came close and smiled down at how mesmerized their son seemed to be as he watched his father. James was entranced by Drake's voice, even if it wasn't that good, but maybe it was the fact that something so out of character was coming out from him. Drake continued to glare at Carys, maybe even a hint of a blush slowly, barely creeping onto his cheeks at being caught, but it did not seem like he was going to stop singing. Maybe entertaining his son and keeping him soothed was worth the teasing and embarrassment she was going to put him through later. It would definitely be worth the sex he was going to have later, after James was asleep because as much humiliating ammo that she had just acquired in these few seconds, it was also the biggest turn on to see Drake be so gentle and kind with their baby. Their baby. It still sounded so strange to say, to Carys, but it was something that she was also quite fond of.

Carys leaned into Drake's side and kissed his arm, looking down at James as his eyes fluttered shut.

return to top

Crack!

Thud.

Crack!

Carys watched the bludger soar across her pitch with great pleasure. Her frilly pink skirt flapped roughly in the strong breeze of the Welsh moor, and the ribbons her mother had tied into her hair were holding on by their last threads. She'd escaped the family get-together early, and no one had bothered to find her because she was more of an annoyance at the dinner table than anything. Carys usually made it a point to irritate one of her sisters to get herself excused, but this time she'd just slipped away while dessert was being brought out (but not before she'd snuck a pastie into her pocket--). For the past half an hour she'd been on the practice pitch in their backyard, though it was a good ten minute walk to the broom shed and the actual goal posts. Her mother hadn't wanted it close to the house, so Carys and her dad had to trudge through the high grass that surrounded the estate to practice or play a pick-up game. It was annoying, but it was better than listening to her sisters and cousins talk about nail polish and dolls.

Carys was revving up to hit the rebounding bludger when some movement down on the pitch caught her eye. She twisted just in time to get out of the hurling bludger's way, and swept down to touch ground on the pitch. The balls they used were charmed to drop to the ground when there were no players in the air, and Carys heard the bludger land with a large thump a little behind her.

"Is my mum yelling for me?" she called out to her little cousin Ophelia, who was trying to seem invisible on the side of the broom shed. Carys liked Ophelia the best out of her cousins, not that she really talked to the girl a lot. Ophelia just wasn't as loud about how different she was from Carys, like her own sisters, or little Winnifred who acted older than all of them combined. Ioan was fun enough, but he also liked to pester the girls very much. Carys liked being rough and playing quidditch, but her only boy cousin was just that...he was too much of a boy.

Ophelia seemed to find a middle ground between her two siblings, however. Carys tried to wipe some of the dirt off her hands on the grass as the little girl came up to her, her hands folded behind her back and her light blue dress impeccable compared to Carys' wrinkled mess. She'd probably been sent out as a messenger, to let Carys know that she was beckoned and had to come back to the house now before her mother had a conniption. Carys could hear her mother's voice already---

"Is it hard?"

Carys looked up from her bent position, confused by Ophelia's question. She looked somewhat embarrassed for her question, but Carys was just confused, "Huh? What is?"

Ophelia shrugged awkwardly and then nodded her head to the broomstick that was propped up against the bench. It took Carys a second, but then her eyes lit up, "Quidditch? Is quidditch hard?"

Her little cousin's face lit up and flushed as she nodded. Carys definitely had not seen Ophelia look this excited when Brynna was showing off her new dollhouse, and was very, very interested in this new development. Carys knew that her aunt and uncle would never let their girls on a brutish broomstick, and the slight bit of interest Ophelia was showing now gave Carys enough nerve to annoy her elders just a bit more tonight.

"Do you want to try it?" Carys offered, standing and grabbing her broomstick. She maneuvered it to float beside Ophelia, whose face was pinched as if she was trying to hold back a scream. Carys knew that she was thinking about the trouble she'd get into if her parents caught her flying in her dress, especially with dirty little Carys, but--what could they really do, huh? "You could just say I made you play, if you want."

"I wouldn't lie," Ophelia let out, and it seemed like that admission gave her the courage to take hold of the broomstick's handle. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

Carys grinned as her cousin had begun to mount the broomstick before she could answer. She pointed toward the sky, and Ophelia's smile was one she'd never seen from the girl. Ophelia pushed off the ground and Carys' hair whipped in the gust she left behind.

Maybe she'd have something to do at these family functions after all.

return to top

No matter how hard Carys tried, no matter how much she oiled the hinges or used a silencing spell, the door to the bedroom always gave the slightest of creaks when she pushed it open. It was as if she were not allowed to enter their bedroom unnoticed, and part of her was beginning to feel like Drake had charmed it to be that way.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Speak of the devil. Carys’ eyebrows rose as she searched for the voice in the nearly pitch black room, a low, grumbling mumble of a voice that belonged to her husband. Her hand found a light switch and it took a lot of effort not to start laughing at the sight on their bed. At Drake on their bed.

The poor dear had caught some ridiculous bug and had been sick as a…as a something that got very sick for the last three days. Carys had never seen Drake so much as wince, but being that his body was so finely-tuned, a bug like the one that was floating around the wizarding world had sent him into this godforsaken realm of the sick. She wasn’t ready to laugh at how terrible her husband looked, because she couldn’t actually see him. Their quilt was wrapped so tightly around Drake’s body that Carys reckoned he looked like a giant cocoon. A giant cocoon that was shifting over to its side and muttering some choice words at her.

“It’s my room too, you know,” she said, even though she’d been banished from it. The bug was incredibly contagious, so upon officially learning what had caused him to fall ill, Drake had sentenced himself to solitude. He’d offered to bunk up in the guest room, but Carys hadn’t thought the somewhat unfamiliar location (really, who went into their own guest room? Felt nothing like home) would help him get over the cold. She’d been camping out with James in his room, but after three days she’d deemed the six-month old far too boring for her taste.

Of course she loved her baby boy, she’d just grown tired of the babbling and the lack of response to her stories and jokes.

“You’re going to get sick,” Drake growled, but it must have hurt his throat because he began to cough an guly and loud cough. Carys was at the bed in an instant, tugging away some of the quilt to rub his back. Drake pulled his shoulder away, still keeping turned away from Carys, “If---you get sick then…James will get sick and---you won’t be able to play!”

Carys sighed as she continued to listen to his scolding, kicking off her shoes and pulling off her socks. She’d pulled enough blanket away from Drake to shimmy under the covers and when he felt her cold feet against his leg he finally turned to her with a hard glare.

“Carys!”

“You poor thing,” she cooed, putting a hand to his face. His hot, sweaty face. Carys had never seen Drake look anything but perfect, so even though she’d wanted to laugh at his state just minutes before, she instead frowned deeply and felt terrible for not being able to do anything for him. She also knew how aggravated with himself he must be, and she dropped her hand to put two fingers to his lips before he could scold her again, “I caught this same bug when I was five, the healers said I’m immune.”

Drake stared at her as if he were trying to read her mind to see if she was telling the truth. Carys wouldn’t deny that lying about being immune was definitely something she would do, but she’d actually gone to St. Mungo’s to see if there was anything she could do, and after some blood work they’d checked her files and found out that she was indeed immune. It was the best news she’d heard in days, and felt very good about being in bed with her husband right now. She’d missed him, and she knew they weren’t very good at being caring and adoring, but Carys had definitely felt a lack of something as she went through most of the last few days without him.

“So, can I stay?” she asked, rubbing a foot against him.

Drake still looked suspicious, “What about James?”

“My mum’s got him,” Carys said with her eyes wide; Drake would know how serious she was about this if she was letting her mother help out. He let out a breath from his nose like a bull ready to attack and in an instant his heavy arm was around her. Carys hummed happily as he pulled her tightly against him, knowing that he’d be fast asleep soon enough. It might be physically uncomfortable to share a bed with someone so sick, but she finally felt like she was doing something for him and that would get her through the night.

return to top

He always seemed to know where to find her. Whether it was three in the morning or lunch time or bed time, he knew where to find her. She wondered if he’d put some sort of tracking spell on her, but as Drake’s shadow fell upon her, Carys rid those thoughts from her mind. He just knew her too well, and sometimes she hated him for it. She let out a long breath and didn’t look up at him; she’d spotted him apparating into the cemetery and had kept her gaze down ever since.

“How long have you been here?”

Carys scrunched her nose in thought, but she had no idea what time it was now so she couldn’t say. The sun was pretty high out in the sky, and her eyes winced against its rays even though she still refused to look up at Drake.

“I came here instead of practice,” she said, her mouth twisting as she realized that if the sun was that high it had to be at least noon, and she was supposed to be at practice at four-thirty this morning. With tomorrow being the first match of the season, she knew that Griff was going to absolutely ream into her for missing their last pre-season session, but when she went to floo her way to Caerphilly Pitch, she instead disapparated to the graveyard only a few blocks from her home.

She tugged at the grass around her, sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of her father’s tombstone. Knowing that tomorrow she was going to be back on the pitch with all the eyes of Caerphilly on her had really scared her senseless. A large part of her wanted to go up to Griff and tell him that she wasn’t ready, because if she was ready, would she be having such doubts? Carys felt like getting sick, she actually had thrown up last night and was finding it harder and harder to believe that she’d be in top shape for the team.

This was a new feeling, this…being vulnerable bit. Carys had always lived her life to the extreme like her father had and it had worked for her. Now she gravely wondered why she had taken on this lifestyle in the first place; the white tombstone perched up before her should have taught her a lesson.

“I don’t think I can play tomorrow,” she said without prompt, her voice cracking as her thoughts had caused a fury with her emotions. Carys’ lips twisted, taking short breaths, still unable to look up at Drake, “I don’t think I’m ready.”

He crouched down beside her and her breaths grew shaky. Carys knew what was coming; he was going to tell her to stop whining and get back onto the pitch like the good player she was. She really owed Drake so much for helping her get through her recovery, but right now she did not know if she’d be able to live up to the high expectations he always had for her. Carys finally caught his gaze, teeth almost chattering as she tried to keep her tears at bay. She was so bloody nervous, she couldn’t stand this feeling!

Drake reached out and took her chin, forcing Carys to keep her eyes on him, “You’re ready. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you were ready, or if I didn’t think you were better than before, or if I didn’t love you.”

Carys blinked furiously, unsure if she’d actually heard him correctly. If he hadn’t kept his hold on her chin, her mouth would have dropped, but instead her eyes just widened as Drake smirked.

“I do think you’re ready, and better,” he let go of her chin and flicked her nose before standing again, “and I do love you, but you’re an idiot for skipping practice.” Drake stuck out his hand for her and Carys gaped up at him for a few seconds longer before taking it. He tugged her up quickly, his arm going around her shoulders to lead her out of the cemetery.

She wiped her eyes, “That was really un-romantic,” she managed, though her weepiness betrayed her. Drake shoved her away then, but Carys managed to grab onto his wrist and pull herself under his arm again, “Not bad, just not romantic!”

“Shut it and hold on,” he said with a shake of his head, his grip around her tightening as they disapparated away.

return to top

There was a word for Drake Parkin’s abs, but Carys refused to acknowledge it. Actually, she was refusing to even look at said abs and she was refusing to touch them as well. He was undeserving of her most delicate displays of affection, and Carys was going to be sure that she kept strong. This whole stalemate had started with a simple comment. Drake had flat out stated that she would not be able to hold out on sex today after Carys had laid down a no-sex punishment for…she couldn’t even remember why she’d made the judgment call, but she had, and damn it, she was sticking to it!

It was proving difficult however, as her fiancé liked to do his pull-ups in the doorway of the bedroom, which gave Carys a beautiful, beautiful view of his shirtless body. She used a book to block most of her gaze, but reading was boring and the book had no pictures and----she’d gotten about a chapter done when Drake finally dropped to the floor. Her eyes shot back to the pages, having read the same line at least ten times. She felt him look over at her, and when she heard a sound of success escape him as he turned into the bathroom, Carys felt a new sense of strength.

The second Drake shut the door she jumped off the bed, her book flying across the room. Carys pulled off her jeans and tossed them into her designated bin, ripping off her t-shirt a second later to replace it with an extra large Catapults shirt that she’d left from another night. With a skip she jumped over her pile of clothes and back into bed, under the covers and with her head on the pillows before the water of the shower had even turned on. The lights were shut, and Carys’ eyes followed suit. She would be fast asleep before Drake left the bathroom, the only way that she would be able to resist him. Carys was very good at getting what she wanted, and she was very bad at not getting what she wanted, so if she forced herself to sleep before Drake got into bed, she would not feel any sort of worry.

Carys was in that almost-asleep-sleep when Drake finally exited the bathroom, and was so comfortable that she didn’t move a twitch. Her mind, her subconscious she supposed, knew that he was walking around, but it would take a lot of effort on her part or his to get her out of this very content sleep. The bed creaked as he finally joined her under the covers, and there was silence for a few minutes. More than a few minutes, actually. The lack of disturbance was what actually woke Carys up, but she did not move a muscle. Had he really gone to sleep without a word? Was he really fine with her blockade?

Oh, that was infuriating. But she was going to win, damn it! Patience was a virtue Carys did not have, or really care to have, but she was going to prove Drake wrong!

Barely letting out a sound of frustration, Carys’ eyes bore into the clock on the night stand. She watched as it clicked over from eleven fifty-nine to midnight, and it was within the next second that she felt a hand drape over her waist and pull her over. Carys wasn’t quite sure how she’d gone from glaring at a clock to her lips pressed firmly against Drake’s, and she pushed him away to squawk and gawk.

“Excuse me! I said no sex!” she let out, attempting to remove his hand from its very precarious position, trapped in the elastic of her knickers. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the room and that smug smile was once again on Drake’s face.

“You said no sex ‘today,’” he responded in what Carys liked to refer to as his ‘Ravenclaw Drawl’ When Drake was in the right, you could hear the certainty in his voice and there was no arguing it. She blinked, unsure of his logic because she was the furthest thing from a Ravenclaw you could get, “It’s past midnight. No sex was for yesterday.”

Ah. Carys considered this as Drake dipped down to take hold of her neck with his lips. She stared up at the ceiling, wondering if she should accept his reasoning and let out a gasp as his hand began its work again.

“Does this mean I win?” she managed before her brain completely melted. Carys felt him nod against her and she was suddenly very, very awake.

return to top