Chapter Text
Bill Weasley had never trusted Aurors.
That opinion had not improved simply because his youngest brother and Harry had both joined the profession. Ron and Harry were exceptions—reckless, infuriating, heroic exceptions—but exceptions nonetheless. In Bill’s experience, most Aurors possessed an extraordinary talent for arriving too late, missing the obvious, and then compensating for it with excessive authority.
Unfortunately, from what he had seen so far, the American department appeared no different.
The headquarters of the American Magical Enforcement Bureau was cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. The towering marble corridors gleamed with sterile perfection beneath a ceiling charmed to imitate daylight, though outside it was well past midnight. Every footstep echoed too loudly. Every conversation sounded muted and tense.
Bill stood rigid near the observation chamber doors, exhaustion settling heavily into his bones. He had not slept in nearly three days. Not truly. Not since the owl. Not since his world had been shattered into something unrecognizable.
His body felt hollowed out by fatigue, but sleep had become impossible. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind circled back to the same impossible conclusion and rejected it all over again. It had to be wrong. Some mistake. Some manipulation.
Because the alternative was absurd beyond comprehension. The very idea felt grotesque.
Bill pressed two fingers briefly against his eyes, fighting off the pounding ache behind them. Around them, American Aurors swept through the corridor with clipped efficiency, their dark robes embroidered with silver insignias unfamiliar to him. None of them looked particularly sympathetic. Not that he blamed them. The entire magical world was currently imploding.
Next to him, Ginny paced like a trapped animal. The sharp tap of her boot against the polished floor had been steadily eroding what little remained of Bill’s patience for the last hour.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Finally, unable to bear it anymore, Bill muttered, “Ginny.”
She ignored him.
Tap.
“Gin.”
“What?”
“You’re going to wear a hole through the floor.”
“Good.”
Bill exhaled slowly through his nose as he looked at his sister. Merlin, she looked terrible.
Her hair was tangled, her eyes bloodshot and swollen from crying she would never openly admit to, and there was a dangerous tension coiled beneath her skin that reminded Bill unpleasantly of a curse waiting to be cast.
He lowered his voice carefully. “You really should’ve stayed with Mum.”
Ginny let out a short laugh utterly devoid of humor. “Like hell I was staying behind.”
“Ginny—”
“No.” She spun toward him sharply. “No one was keeping me away from this.”
Bill watched her struggle for composure. It hurt to look at.
“Mum isn’t alone,” Ginny continued tightly. “Percy and George are with her and Dad. Fleur’s there too.”
At the mention of Fleur, guilt twisted unpleasantly in Bill’s chest. He had left so quickly he hadn't even said goodbye.
Ginny folded her arms hard across her chest. “And the media can say whatever they want,” she said bitterly. “This can’t possibly be true.”
Bill said nothing.
Ginny’s voice cracked slightly. “There has to be another explanation.” She swallowed hard. “He couldn’t have...”
Bill wanted—desperately wanted—to agree. But what could he say? He looked away before he had to answer.
The lump in his throat had not disappeared since the moment he received the emergency Portkey summons to America. He suspected it never would.
Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor. Both Weasleys straightened immediately.
Director Samuel Graves entered the hall flanked by two Aurors. He was a broad man with iron-gray hair, severe features, and the kind of gaze that measured people like potential threats before anything else. His robes were immaculate, every silver clasp polished to a mirror shine.
Bill disliked him instantly.
Graves stopped directly in front of them.
“Mr. Weasley. Ms. Weasley.”
His tone suggested formality rather than greeting.
Bill inclined his head politely. Years working with goblins had taught him the value of diplomacy even toward people he wanted to hex.
“Director.”
Graves’ eyes lingered on them both with undisguised caution.
“You are here under highly unusual circumstances,” he said flatly. “Your presence was permitted solely due to negotiations conducted with Gringotts International and the… pressure applied by certain interested parties.”
Bill did not react outwardly. It was astonishing what doors opened when goblins became invested in a matter. Wizards liked pretending they held power over Goblins right up until their vault access became uncertain.
Graves continued. “You will observe only. You will not interfere, speak to the prisoner, cast magic, or interrupt these proceedings in any way.” His gaze sharpened. “If you do, I will have you both removed immediately. I do not care who that offends.”
Ginny bristled beside him. Bill answered before she could.
“Understood.”
She shot him a furious glare.
Graves gave a single curt nod and moved toward the chamber doors.
Bill leaned sideways and muttered under his breath, “Behave.”
Ginny muttered something deeply unflattering in return.
The doors opened and the director walked in leaving them with the two other Aurors.
The wall shimmered suddenly like disturbed water before turning transparent. An observation barrier.
The interrogation chamber beyond was circular and dimly lit, protected by layers upon layers of enchantments Bill could feel humming through the air.
The center of the room contained a single metal chair bolted to the floor on which Hermione Granger sat restrained.
Bill’s stomach tightened. Ginny inhaled sharply beside him.
Magic-restricting chains wrapped around Hermione's wrists and torso, glowing faintly blue against pale skin.
For one wild moment Bill genuinely considered blasting through the barrier and taking her out of the building. Political catastrophe be damned. Because this—
This was Hermione.
Brilliant, terrifyingly clever Hermione who had fought beside his siblings since they were children.
Hermione who was just as much a sister to him as Ginny next to him.
Hermione who loved Harry.
Merlin.
She looked broken. Her curls hung loose and tangled around her face. Dark shadows bruised the skin beneath her eyes, and she stared straight ahead with a terrible emptiness that frightened Bill far more than even hysteria would have.
There was nothing in her expression. Nothing at all.
Director Graves approached her slowly. Two other Aurors remained stationed near the door, wands already drawn.
“Miss Granger,” he said evenly. “Are you prepared to confess?”
No response. Hermione did not even blink.
The silence stretched heavily.
Ginny whispered hoarsely beside Bill, “Hermione…”
Hermione could not hear her through the barrier. Bill suspected she would not have heard her even if they had been standing right beside her. Whatever remained of Hermione Granger seemed impossibly far away now, buried somewhere beneath the hollow emptiness in her eyes.
Graves clasped his hands neatly behind his back.
“We have eyewitness testimony,” he said evenly. “We have confirmation of magical residue. We have the scene itself.” His voice sharpened, just slightly. “There is no path out of this for you, Miss Granger. Cooperation would be... advisable.”
Silence. Not even the flicker of a reaction.
Then Graves spoke again, quieter this time.
“Well, Miss Granger,” he said, “would you care to explain why you murdered Harry Potter?”
***
Eight months earlier...
Harry sat on the hood of his vampire boyfriend’s Jeep in the far corner of the student parking lot, one leg bent while the other hung lazily over the bumper. Around him, Forks High moved through its usual dreary morning ritual—car doors slamming, students rushing through misty drizzle, laughter echoing faintly through the cold Washington air.
Grey clouds pressed low overhead, heavy with rain. The scent of wet pine and damp asphalt lingered thickly in the air.
Over the past few months, Harry had grown strangely fond of this place. Forks was quiet in a way the wizarding world had never been. No reporters lurking around corners. No Ministry politics. No endless whispers following him through crowded corridors like restless ghosts. Well. Fewer ghosts, anyway.
Today, however, everything felt wrong. Every sound was just slightly too loud. Every movement just slightly too sharp. A dull ache pulsed behind his eyes like a second heartbeat.
Harry closed his eyes briefly and rubbed at his temple, trying to make the motion look casual.
Merlin, this headache was going to kill him. Not literally, probably. Apparently nothing could manage that anymore.
Though admittedly, that particular existential crisis was probably best saved for a moment when he could form coherent thoughts without feeling like his skull was being split apart from the inside.
Beside him, Jasper leaned against his side, cool arms wrapped loosely around Harry’s waist while his chin rested lightly on Harry’s shoulder.
To anyone watching, Jasper looked perfectly relaxed. Harry knew better.
His empathic vampire boyfriend was absolutely cataloguing every flicker of pain passing through him right now, and unfortunately Harry had no idea how to hide it from him. Apparently, Occlumancy did not cover up emotions. Which felt deeply unfair, honestly.
Jasper had entirely too much free time these days. Having officially graduated and declared himself on a “gap year,” he now spent most mornings dropping Harry off at school with the anxious intensity of a Victorian wife seeing her husband off to war.
Harry strongly suspected Jasper then went home and continued worrying until it was time to pick him up again.
Rosalie and Emmett had officially started at Yale. In actuality, they were currently somewhere in Africa and were due back tonight for Bella’s birthday party.
A party Bella very obviously did not want. Alice, naturally, had treated this fact as entirely irrelevant.
Harry sympathized deeply with Bella’s suffering. Under normal circumstances, he probably would have attempted to rein Alice in at least a little. Unfortunately, his brain currently felt as though someone had hammered a railroad spike directly through his skull.
With a quiet groan, Harry reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a slim crystal vial filled with shimmering blue potion.
Jasper’s eyes narrowed instantly.
That was the problem with supernatural boyfriends. They noticed everything.
“This is the second one today,” Jasper said quietly.
Harry uncorked the vial anyway. “I’m aware.”
Jasper’s expression tightened further as Harry swallowed the potion in one practiced motion.
“You really shouldn't be taking Pain-Relief Draughts this often.”
Harry suppressed the urge to sigh dramatically. Giving Jasper unrestricted access to magical literature had truly been one of the worst decisions of his life.
At the time, it had seemed harmless. Endearing, even. Jasper had become fascinated by wizarding magic with almost frightening intensity once Harry finally trusted him enough to explain things properly. And unfortunately for Harry’s peace of mind, Jasper learned frighteningly fast.
The vampire was already comfortably reading at roughly OWL level now. Which would have been alarming enough on its own. Combined with the deeply unfortunate friendship he had somehow developed with Hermione Granger, however, it became a genuine threat to Harry’s ability to lie about his health.
Hermione had tried very hard to distrust Jasper in the beginning. Very hard. But Jasper had two unfair advantages.
First: he asked intelligent questions.
Second — and significantly more dangerous — he looked at Harry like he personally hung the bloody moon.
Hermione had never really stood a chance against that combination.
While Harry was lost in thought, Jasper was already halfway through a lecture.
“Extended use of these potions can damage magical regulation,” he said. “Especially Dreamless Sleep Potion.”
Harry grimaced. There it was.
“You’re mixing sedatives with pain suppressants daily.”
“Not daily.”
Jasper looked at him flatly.
Harry paused. “…Only most days.”
Jasper’s jaw tightened. “That is not any better.”
Harry leaned his head back against the windshield with another groan. “Please don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything,” Jasper replied calmly, which somehow sounded far more intense than if he had snapped. “I am expressing concern that my boyfriend appears to be self-medicating his way through existence.”
Harry cracked one eye open. “You’re starting to sound like Hermione.”
“I’m sure she shares my opinion on this.”
“That’s because Hermione thinks healing potions should require Ministry authorization forms, psychological evaluations, and three signed witness statements.” Harry sighed dramatically. “She tried to recruit me into that once, but after the entire S.P.E.W. disaster I learned to run while I still had the chance.”
Jasper ignored this completely. “Dreamless Sleep Potion is not intended for prolonged use,” he continued. “Repeated use may interfere and destabilise natural magical —”
“Oh my god,” Harry muttered, covering his face with one hand. “You memorized the textbook.”
“I’ve memorized multiple textbooks, but that’s hardly the point.”
“Of course you did, you absolute geek.” Harry peeked at him through his fingers. “Honestly, you and Hermione should probably be supervised when left alone together. She's a terrible influence on you.”
Jasper’s gaze softened slightly despite his obvious frustration.
The emotional shift brushed lightly against Harry’s senses—warm concern threaded through irritation.
That was another thing Harry still occasionally forgot about. Jasper did not just look concerned. He felt concerned. Even when he tried to keep his empathic abilities restrained, they slipped through whenever he was worried. Over time, Harry had grown strangely accustomed to it. Worse — he had grown attached to it.
The constant, subtle emotional reassurance wrapped around him almost instinctively these days. Gentle calm when nightmares dragged him awake. Steady warmth during panic spirals. Quiet affection woven invisibly through entirely ordinary moments.
It should not have felt as precious as it did.
And perhaps that was exactly why Harry was trying so desperately not to think about what would happen if he lost it.
Jasper shifted slightly, crouching in front of him now, dark golden eyes fixed intently on Harry’s face.
“We should see a healer.”
Harry immediately shook his head.
“No.”
“Harry.”
“It’s just headaches.”
“That keep worsening.”
“They’re not worsening.”
Jasper merely stared at him.
Harry scowled. Traitorously perceptive vampire.
Jasper exhaled slowly, visibly restraining himself.
“I think I should speak with Hermione.”
Harry straightened immediately. “There is absolutely no need for that.”
Jasper’s eyes narrowed. “…Hermione does not know you are taking Dreamless Sleep Potion every night, does she? Or about the headaches.”
Harry lifted one shoulder in a shrug of exaggerated innocence.
“It’s really not a big deal.”
Jasper actually looked offended by that. “Not a big deal?”
His voice remained low, but tension slid sharply beneath it now.
“You barely sleep without potion assistance. You are taking enough pain draughts to concern trained healers. You look exhausted half the time lately, and every morning you tell me you are ‘fine’ while holding your head like someone cursed you.”
Harry looked away.
The headache was easing slightly now thanks to the potion, though a strange pressure still lingered unpleasantly behind his eyes.
He knew Jasper was right. That was the irritating part. Dreamless sleep potions were not meant for long-term use. Madam Pomfrey had warned him years ago after the war.
Hermione would probably murder him herself if she knew how much he was taking now.
But sleeping naturally meant dreaming.
And dreaming meant—
No.
Harry shoved the thought away ruthlessly.
“I’m fine,” he said quietly.
Jasper stared at him for a long moment. Then, softly: “You are very clearly not.”
Something twisted uncomfortably in Harry’s chest. He hated this. Hated worrying people. Hated that look in their eyes when they realized he was struggling yet again. Hated becoming something fragile. Something broken.
So instead he forced a crooked grin and said lightly, “Look, it’s not like it can actually kill me. Apparently nothing can.”
Jasper went completely still. Every trace of irritation vanished instantly beneath something far rawer. Fear. Sharp and visceral enough that Harry regretted the joke the moment the words left his mouth.
Jasper’s eyes darkened, molten gold bleeding slowly toward black. “I would really rather not test that theory,” he said quietly.
Harry immediately felt like an absolute idiot. After everything Jasper had already been through… after everything they had survived together… he really should have known better than to joke about his own death.
But before Harry could apologize, the familiar silver Volvo glided smoothly into the parking lot.
Edward parked beside the Jeep just as Alice practically launched herself out of the passenger seat with her usual impossible amount of energy.
“Oh good, you’re both here!”
“Alice,” Harry said immediately — perhaps a little too enthusiastically — grateful for the distraction.
He could still feel Jasper’s eyes on him. Still sense the lingering echo of worry curling through. Harry ignored it.
Alice bounded toward them, dark curls bouncing wildly as excitement radiated off her tiny frame like static electricity.
“Bella is going to pretend she hates tonight, but secretly she absolutely won’t, and Rosalie and Emmett should be back by two, and Esme’s already started decorating, and Edward says—”
Harry tuned her out with the ease of long practice. He nodded occasionally and made the appropriate noises while Alice enthusiastically spiraled through party logistics.
Beside him, Jasper remained silent. Too silent. Harry did not need Legilimency to know that the conversation was absolutely not over. Jasper might temporarily retreat from an argument, but he never truly let go of concerns once he latched onto them.
From the corner of his vision, Harry caught Edward meeting Jasper’s eyes over Alice’s head. A subtle nod passed between them.
Harry suppressed a groan. Fantastic. Edward was absolutely going to spend the entire day monitoring him now.
Before Harry could complain, Alice abruptly grabbed his sleeve. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”
Harry had barely managed half a step before Jasper caught his wrist gently and pulled him back.
Then Jasper kissed him. Slow enough to steal Harry’s breath completely. Warm hands settled briefly against his waist while that familiar calm washed softly through Harry’s chest, steadying him before he even realized he needed it.
When Jasper finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against Harry’s for a moment.
“I’ll miss you, darling,” he murmured softly.
Alice made a loud impatient noise behind them. “Stop hogging him.” Then she immediately seized Harry by the arm and started dragging him toward the school entrance before he could protest further.
Harry glanced back once over his shoulder. Jasper was still standing beside the Jeep watching him with that same worried intensity.
Yeah. This conversation definitely was not over.
***
Now that Harry was at school with only the "younger" Cullens, he had unfortunately become far more accessible to the general student population than he preferred. Which was to say: His school life had become much more unbearable.
Without Emmett’s massive presence looming nearby like a grizzly bear, Rosalie’s terrifyingly effective death stare, or Jasper’s unnervingly subtle ability to discourage human interaction before it even began, Harry found himself constantly exposed to the full force of teenage social behavior.
It was horrifying. Humans, Harry had discovered, were much scarier in groups. Particularly American teenagers.
So naturally he adapted accordingly.
By strategically positioning himself between Alice and Edward whenever possible. Edward was intimidating enough to deter most people from approaching directly, while Alice tended to overwhelm potential conversational threats through sheer velocity before they could properly engage Harry themselves.
It was an effective system. Mostly.
Bella, unfortunately, could not be relied upon whatsoever. If anything, she actively sacrificed him for her own survival. Harry had realized this very early on after several incidents where Bella had abruptly stepped behind him the moment Mike Newton appeared nearby with romantic intent in his eyes.
Apparently Harry radiated “safe distraction.” Traitorous behavior, honestly.
At least Alice had ensured they shared nearly every class this year. Harry strongly suspected schedule manipulation had occurred. Not even slightly ethical schedule manipulation. But he had decided not to ask questions because the result benefited him enormously.
And despite himself— Despite every instinct telling him that becoming emotionally attached to immortal chaos gremlins was probably dangerous— Harry was genuinely beginning to adore Alice.
She was exhausting. Invasive. Manipulative in the way only someone with precognition could truly achieve. But she was also fiercely affectionate in a manner Harry still did not entirely know how to handle.
Alice had simply… decided he belonged with them. And unlike most people, once Alice Cullen decided something, reality had a disturbing tendency to rearrange itself accordingly.
She had declared—very confidently—that Harry would eventually love her most out of the entire family. Admittedly, considering Harry was catastrophically in love with her brother, that particular prophecy might have been slightly overambitious.
Then again, Alice had also saved Harry’s neck in class often enough—always leaning over to whisper the right answer seconds before a professor called on him—that Jasper was no longer quite as secure in his position as one might assume.
The headache from earlier had dulled to a manageable throb now, though faint pressure still lingered unpleasantly behind his eyes. The potion had helped, thankfully. Even if Jasper would absolutely lecture him about it later. Probably with research notes. Possibly with Hermione. A deeply horrifying combination.
As the day dragged on, Bella appeared to finally accept the inevitability of attending her own birthday party that evening. Accept was perhaps too generous a word. Resigned to her fate like a condemned prisoner seemed more accurate.
Unfortunately, Alice had apparently informed Mike Newton’s mother about Bella’s birthday while arranging to get her out of her shift at Newton’s Sporting Goods for the day. Which meant the information had now spread through the school with terrifying efficiency.
By third period nearly everyone knew. And with every cheerful birthday wish directed her way, Bella looked increasingly like someone informing her of an approaching natural disaster.
Harry honestly sympathized. He understood disliking attention. Wizarding Britain had thoroughly beaten any enjoyment of public recognition out of him years ago.
Still…This was becoming slightly ridiculous. By lunchtime, Bella looked one mildly enthusiastic greeting away from psychological collapse.
As they walked across the rain-damp courtyard toward the cafeteria, Harry finally sighed and said, “Bella, you really should cheer up. You look like someone died. Are birthdays really this terrible?”
Beside him, Edward let out an exhausted sigh.
“It’s not the birthday,” Bella muttered darkly. “It’s the aging.”
Alice made an affronted noise beside him. “Oh please. Bella, you are far too young to start worrying about aging.”
Bella looked deeply unconvinced.
Harry opened his mouth to comment further when Angela Weber approached them carrying a stack of books against her chest.
“Hey, Bella—happy birthday!”
Then she paused. Her smile faltered slightly as Bella somehow managed to look actively distressed by the sentiment.
“Oh,” she said uncertainly. “Or… not happy birthday?”
Harry gave her a helpless shrug that hopefully communicated: We’ve all tried. Nothing can be done. Angela looked relieved by the solidarity.
Alice, meanwhile, was already dragging him out of earshot of the group of muggle students and moved on entirely, speaking at a nearly inhuman speed.
“—and the decorations finally arrived this morning, but Carlisle thinks the silver ribbons are too much, which is ridiculous because obviously they tie the whole aesthetic together, and Esme said we should keep the lighting softer but then the floating candles won’t blend in properly—”
Harry hummed absently, barely listening.
Then his brain caught up to what he was actually hearing. He stopped walking.
“…the what candles?”
Alice blinked at him innocently. “The enchanted floating candles?”
Harry stared at her. “Alice,” he said carefully, “what enchanted floating candles?”
She rolled her eyes as though he was the unreasonable one. “The ones part of the party decor George sent over, of course.”
Harry made a strangled noise of alarm.
“Alice Cullen, It is extremely important,” he informed her gravely, “that you tell me exactly what George Weasley sent you.”
Alice waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, relax. I already told George Bella doesn’t like too much attention, so he said he’d curate something appropriate.”
Harry looked deeply unconvinced. “Uh-huh,” he said slowly. “And what exactly does George Weasley consider ‘appropriate’?”
Alice began counting enthusiastically on her fingers. “Well, there are floating candle things that sing birthday songs, and confetti charmed to explode, and one of the banners apparently gives personalized compliments, and the baloon animals, of course—though George refused to explain that one properly which is honestly a little concerning—”
Harry stared at the sky in silent despair while she continued enthusiastically describing what sounded increasingly like a catastrophic magical accident waiting to happen disguised as party décor.
Introducing George Weasley to Alice Cullen had proven to be yet another catastrophic addition to Harry’s rapidly growing list of mistakes. At the time, he’d thought, Oh, they’ll get along.
What Harry had failed to grasp was the horrifying implication of that statement.
Together, Alice and George possessed the combined energy of two highly chaotic supernatural beings with absolutely no respect for restraint, boundaries, or consequences.
Frankly, it was astonishing civilization still stood.
“—and then George said he included emergency anti-flammable wards because apparently the last version caught fire—”
“Caught fire?” Harry repeated weakly.
Alice waved dismissively. “Only briefly.”
Harry sighed heavily. Capable of physically aging or not, he was fairly certain that particular friendship would give him grey hair eventually.
***
.
Jasper sat in the Cullen living room, barely registering the activity unfolding around him.
Esme was tidying the already immaculate house in preparation for the party Alice was determined to inflict upon Isabella. Rosalie and Emmett had arrived nearly twenty minutes ago, yet Jasper had scarcely said more than three words to either of them. He was too busy worrying about Harry.
Even though Harry kept insisting it was nothing, it was becoming increasingly obvious that it was not nothing. The headaches were getting worse.
From what little Jasper understood about potions, the near-constant use of Dreamless Sleep Potion could very well be causing them. But Harry could hardly stop taking it either. Not after the last nightmare.
Jasper’s entire body went cold at the memory. He still couldn’t think too closely about that without something inside him locking up in terror.
So what exactly were they supposed to do? Because clearly this could not continue.
Which meant he really did need to speak with Hermione, regardless of how firmly Harry objected to the idea.
The couch dipped suddenly beneath additional weight. Emmett slung an arm over the back of it and grinned at him.
“Seriously, man,” he said, “you’ve got to stop looking this tragic. You saw your boyfriend, like, five hours ago.”
“Five hours and forty-two minutes,” Jasper corrected automatically.
Rosalie rolled her eyes from where she stood near the window, she studied him before walking over and taking a seat beside Emmett, expression sharp with familiar suspicion.
“What are you worrying about now?”
“Who says I’m worrying?”
Rosalie snorted. “Please. Let’s hear it then. What’s the latest catastrophe?”
Jasper hesitated before sighing quietly. “Harry has a headache.”
Rosalie blinked. Emmett looked thoroughly unimpressed.
“That’s it?” he said. “Dude, you’re dating a human. Well—an immortal magical human, apparently—but still technically human. You’re gonna have to adjust to occasional headaches.”
“It was a bad one,” Jasper muttered.
Rosalie exchanged a look with Emmett before rolling her eyes.
“You are brooding for the sake of brooding now,” she informed him. “Go help Esme with the decorations before Alice comes back and gets back and decides the ceiling needs fireworks.”
“Why don’t you help her?”
“Because,” Rosalie said patiently, “it wasn’t my mate who introduced Alice Cullen to a magical joke shop owner.”
Jasper groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face.
“Why did nobody stop this before it escalated to this point?”
Rosalie one elegant eyebrow at the question. “We were away,” she said. “And you’ve practically moved with Harry at this point, so who exactly was supposed to tell Alice no? Esme and Carlisle?” she scoffed. “Please.”
Fair enough. Jasper sighed long-sufferingly, accepting his fate and finally pushed himself upright.
The moment he entered the dining room, he stopped dead. Boxes on top of boxes. There were boxes everywhere.
Towering stacks stamped with the unmistakable logo of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes occupied nearly the entire table and half the floor.
One of them rattled ominously.
Another emitted what sounded suspiciously like muffled singing.
Jasper stared at the pile for a long moment before making a swift executive decision.
“No,” he said flatly.
Esme looked up from untangling silver ribbons.
“No?”
“All of this,” Jasper declared, pointing at the mountain of magical contraband, “is quarantined until Harry inspects it personally.”
A box near the top exploded with purple sparks.
Jasper narrowed his eyes at it immediately.
“Especially that one.”
***
By the time Edward’s Volvo pulled into the driveway with Alice and Harry, Jasper was already outside waiting. He had already sensed Harry approaching long before the car actually appeared.
The familiar emotional signature of his mate had brushed against his awareness from several miles away—warmth, exhaustion tucked carefully beneath amusement, affection threaded through everything—and Jasper had found himself moving toward the front door before he fully realized what he was doing.
The Volvo barely stopped before Jasper was opening the passenger door. Harry stepped out immediately, rolling his eyes with long-suffering familiarity.
At this point, he no longer protested Jasper’s relentless gentlemanly tendencies. In the beginning he had argued every single time Jasper opened a door for him, pulled out a chair, carried things for him, or hovered whenever Harry looked remotely tired.
Now he mostly just accepted it as an unavoidable part of dating Jasper Whitlock.
“How are you feeling?” Jasper asked quietly.
Harry shut the car door behind him. “I’m fine,” he said easily. “No headaches whatsoever.”
Jasper hummed softly, studying him carefully. He could feel no pain from Harry. No discomfort. No lingering distress.
Satisfied, some of the tension in his chest loosened slightly. Jasper had learned a very important lesson early in their relationship:
Harry Potter could not be trusted where his own health was concerned.
Harry would cheerfully insist he was “perfectly fine” while actively bleeding.
Fortunately, Jasper’s gift made deception somewhat difficult in that regard. Harry could lie with words all he liked, but emotions were considerably harder to disguise. And right now all Jasper sensed from him was fond exasperation and quiet affection.
Relief settled through him instantly.
Without another word, he reached forward and pulled Harry against him. Harry melted into the embrace immediately.
Jasper kissed him slowly, savoring the familiar warmth of him, the steady heartbeat beneath fragile human skin, the way Harry always sighed softly against his mouth like coming home.
It still never got easier being apart from him all day. Ridiculous, perhaps. But true nonetheless.
Harry finally pulled back with a grin tugging at his mouth—only for that expression to fade almost immediately into a frown.
His fingers brushed lightly beneath Jasper’s eyes. “I thought you were supposed to go hunting today.”
Ah.
Jasper was indeed supposed to have gone hunting. Normally he preferred being as well-fed as possible whenever he was around humans in general and Isabella Swan in particular. Her scent was still uniquely difficult for him to tolerate.
Not impossible anymore. But difficult. The burning thirst never fully disappeared around her.
Still, he had not been able to bring himself to leave today. Not when Harry had been feeling unwell. He had preferred remaining nearby in case Harry needed him.
Besides, Harry’s presence made Isabella’s scent far more tolerable than it otherwise would have been. Jasper’s focus tended to narrow rather dramatically whenever his mate was around.
Harry sighed heavily, already reading the answer on Jasper’s face. “You stayed here worrying all day,” he accused.
Jasper smiled without remorse.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Why am I even surprised?”
Because, Jasper thought privately, you nearly collapse from headaches and expect me to behave rationally afterward.
Before he could answer, the front door burst open behind them.
Emmett appeared first, grinning broadly.
“Well, look who finally got here,” he announced. “How’s our favorite resident wizard doing?”
“Speak for yourself,” Rosalie said from behind him. “I’m still mad at him for what he did to my car.”
Harry grinned. “That wasn't really my fault.”
Rosalie looked deeply unimpressed. “You turned my engine into mush.”
Harry pointed at her defensively. “In my defense, transfiguration and cars are apparently much more intricate than I thought.”
“You melted my BMW.”
“In my defense, Arthur makes it look easy,” Harry muttered.
Rosalie stared at him in disbelief. “You used my car as practice because you could magic your way through muggle engineering just because you saw someone else do it?”
Harry looked mildly sheepish now. “When you say it like that, it does sound questionable.”
“It sounds criminal. Because it was.”
Harry opened his mouth, seemed to reconsider several possible arguments, then finally offered weakly, “I did get Arthur to fix it for you. So… all’s well that ends well?”
Rosalie continued staring at him for another long moment. Then, against all odds, the corner of her mouth twitched upward slightly.
Esme emerged from the doorway before the argument could continue, smiling warmly the moment she saw them.
“There you are,” she said fondly. “Honestly, you two should come over more often. I feel like I never so you both anymore.”
Harry rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck, guilt flickering through him so strongly Jasper could practically taste it. Harry always felt vaguely guilty about “stealing” Jasper away from his family despite the fact that none of the Cullens minded in the slightest.
“We will,” Harry promised quickly. “And everyone should come over to my place too.”
Rosalie snorted. “That’s a little harder when we’re supposed to be pretending to attend Yale.”
Harry blinked. “Oh. Right. That would probably raise a few questions, wouldn’t it?”
Rosalie continued dryly, “Not all of us have the excuse of being embarrassingly whipped enough to take a gap year just to follow the new British bloke around like a lost puppy.”
Jasper scoffed. “Ha ha. Very funny.”
Harry, traitorously, looked delighted by this statement. “Oh, she’s absolutely right though,” he informed Jasper cheerfully.
Jasper narrowed his eyes at him in mock offense. “You really should stop making fun of your boyfriend and go sort out Alice’s disaster in the dining room,” he said. “There are approximately twelve deeply suspicious boxes from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes that require your attention.”
Harry’s expression immediately fell. “Why do I have to do it?” He whined.
Jasper smiled serenely. “Now, now, honey. We agreed that anything magical automatically becomes your responsibility.”
“We absolutely did not,” Harry muttered.
But he was already walking toward the dining room anyway. A second later they heard him stop abruptly.
“Oh dear lord. Why are there so many boxes?" Harry’s voice floated back toward them in growing horror. "And what in Merlin’s name is a sentient party streamer?”
From the dining room came the sound of a box popping open followed immediately by Harry swearing violently.
Jasper leaned casually against the doorway, as he watched his mate holding a violently wriggling length of glittering ribbon at arm’s length.
“I’m going to kill George.”
The streamer attempted to bite him.
“Actually,” Harry corrected darkly, “I’m going to tell Molly on him.”
Jasper pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. “Oh, how evil of you, darling. Have mercy.”
The ribbon lunged again. Before Harry could even react, Jasper moved. One hand caught Harry by the shoulder, pulling him smoothly backward while the other snatched the snapping streamer neatly out of the air.
The ribbon twisted furiously in Jasper’s grip, trying to curl toward Harry again like an offended snake.
“That’s it,” Harry declared, glaring at the snapping streamer dangling from Jasper’s fingers. “I’m quarantining all of this.”
He reached for his wand, but before he could cast anything, Alice swept into the dining room.
“No!” she gasped, throwing herself dramatically between Harry and the pile of enchanted boxes, arms spread wide. “You can’t quarantine all of my boxes!”
Harry pointed accusingly at the streamer as it hissed from inside the carton. “It tried to eat me.”
“It was just saying hello.”
“With its teeth?”
“Tiny adorable teeth.”
One of the boxes labeled "baloon animals" abruptly rattled ominously.
Harry narrowed his eyes. “Did that one just growl?”
Alice smiled innocently. “….no?”
Harry made a strangled noise and lifted his wand again. “Nope. Absolutely not. Magical containment. Right now.”
Alice darted forward, clutching the nearest box protectively against her chest. “Harry, wait! You haven’t even seen everything yet.”
“I don’t need to see anything else!”
“But the glitter explosions—”
“No glitter explosions,” Harry interrupted firmly.
Alice looked scandalized. “But they are tasteful glitter explosions.”
“No explosions of any kind!”
“They’re celebratory!”
“They’re dangerous.”
“They’re magical.”
“You say that like it makes it better.”
“It does make it better.”
From the sitting room, Rosalie snorted while Emmett immediately called out, “Are outside explosions still on the table?”
“No!” Harry shouted.
“Aw.”
Harry dragged a hand down his face with a sigh. “Why does there have to be an explosion anyway?”
“Because it’s a party,” Alice said at once, as though this explained everything. “It’ll be fun.”
Harry stared at her. “You do realize it’s Bella’s party, right? She wants something quiet.” He paused. “Actually, scratch that—she doesn’t want a party at all, so what the hell are we even doing here?”
Alice’s expression softened into an immediate pout. “It’s her birthday,” she said, like that alone should settle the matter. “There has to be a party.”
Jasper finally pushed himself away from the doorway, stepping in before Harry could begin arguing himself into another headache.
“Let’s compromise,” he suggested smoothly, slipping an arm around Harry’s waist. “Muggle decorations only for tonight, hm? We can honor at least that much of Isabella’s wishes.”
Alice pouted harder, clearly suffering greatly. “Fine,” she sighed dramatically. “Since it’s Bella’s birthday and she wouldn’t want magical decorations, we won’t do it.”
Harry visibly relaxed. “Yeah,” he said, nodding placatingly. “Birthday girl gets to dictate what goes.”
Alice brightened instantly. “So for my next birthday, we get to go all out with the most magical party ever, right?”
Harry gaped at her. Alice continued quickly before he could recover.
“Oh! We should write to George immediately. Actually—first I’ll need an owl. You’re getting me an owl, Harry. And no, that does not count as my birthday present.” Alice pointed at him accusingly. “I have extremely high expectations for something outrageously magical, so don’t disappoint me, Harry.”
She barely paused for breath before continuing at full speed.
“Oh, and there’s so much shopping to do and absolutely no time. There’s that magical town nearby George mentioned—we are definitely going there—and I need to find out whether Americans do birthday enchantments differently because, frankly, their holiday standards seem tragically underwhelming—”
Harry slowly lowered his head into his hands. Jasper stepped behind him, wrapping both arms loosely around his waist before resting his chin on Harry’s shoulder.
“Walked right into that one, didn’t you, darling?”
Muffled through his hands, Harry groaned, “I didn’t even see it coming.”
Jasper nodded sympathetically. “You’ll still need several decades of practice to keep up with Alice.”