Wyrmwood Grove; evening.



In a vast, towering forest stretching farther than the eye can see, crickets trilled from their perches, coaxed by nightfall and warm air.

Summer persisted in Wyrmwood, despite the cutback in daylight and the chill creeping in elsewhere—as it would continue to do so until Aisling decided otherwise, which was unlikely; the fiery-haired witch lazed back on her elbows, eyes bright despite the flush warming her cheeks. Present company – one Leon Faulkner, sculptor, barista, and best mate since first year – relaxed beside her, a bottle of wine sitting between them, half consumed. Drinking under the stars had become something of a tradition for them since they were old enough to enjoy it, and with Aisling owner of the nursery it was one that clearly thrived.

“…An’ then he made that noise again, so I asked him, was he sure he didn’t need a lozenge?” Husky tones went reedy with dubious recollection. The palm on her chest lifted slightly, thumb up, as if in supplication. “I didn’t have one on me, but there was a really sweet old couple a few tables down, they had to have one on them, right? So like. He admitted he’d been… y’know…”

With a twitch of a wrist – one hand loosely curled into an ‘o’ – Aisling popped it a little ways from her mouth, tongue poking against a cheek. She faced Leon with an earnest look of amazement. “All night.”

And then the expression fell away to nonchalance as she continued with a similarly casual shrug, “ ‘course I congratulated him.”

All things considered, it had actually been a pretty brilliant date. Busy night aside, the guy had been smart, funny… fun, even; he had been surprisingly savvy about muggle pop culture. They had spent the rest of the afternoon discussing the pros and cons of more accessible public transit (Americans were pretty keen on it, she was told, especially those in New York) and wizarding reality television (hexing or no hexing? Slice of life documentaries, or something challenging?). Not a conversation many could hold up their end of, that.

A thought occurred to her and she twisted in her seat, pinning Leon with an intent look he knew all too well. “Does Rick have that kind of stamina?” she asked, eyes round with frank curiosity. Her friend’s beau looked like he could bench press a hippogriff, but she was also familiar with irony.

An attentive listener, Leon didn’t comment on the story, sticking to muted noises of encouragement. Or at least, he tried not to, but some things couldn’t pass unmentioned. “All night?” Leon’s nose wrinkled as he considered the idea. Sure, it sounded good at first, but there were so many other things to do. Rick certainly preferred to use his mouth for other things.

As Aisling finished her story, Leon laughed. It was probably the best response – certainly better than his would have been. But then, Aisling had been on dates where far more troubling revelations had been made. Some of Aisling’s exes (Duck man stood out as supremely weird) had been weird in a way which was… creepy, frankly, someone who might be a sex addict seemed like a good option. In fact, it probably didn’t qualify as a negative.

“So… are you going on a second date?” It was hard to tell, because Aisling was good humoured about all but the creepiest of exes (at least in retrospect. Porcelain Doll Guy had needed time before the creepiness was outweighed by the absurdity, and Leon still wasn’t sure it was), but (hopefully) she’d had a good time. Leon wasn’t sure when he’d stopped questioning that Aisling’s new boyfriend would be weird, and instead started waiting to find out how they were weird, but now it seemed like a law. Maybe unfair, because everyone had their own quirks, but Aisling always managed to pick guys with extra-quirky quirks.

“We’ve never tried doing just that, but otherwise? Yeah,” Leon’s voice didn’t exactly go misty as he sank into recollection, but he stopped paying quite so much attention to Aisling. Right up until she hit him, that was. “You asked,” he protested, “what did you expect? Me to tell you actually, Rick’s been having problems lately?”

“He is allowed at Samhain, right?” Leon had known Aisling long enough that he didn’t doubt he would be invited, but although the Spectre family were generous and hosted a large number of guests, Leon still didn’t want to assume he could just bring someone. Even if they didn't mind, he would still feel rude without some kind of approval.

     So… are you going on a second date?


Aisling cocked her head to the side, letting it loll about her shoulders, a pensive look taking over. “Maybe?” As fun as it had been, there was still a matter of whether there had been a spark or not, and as fun as the date had been, she wasn’t sure there had been. He’d seemed pretty keen about giving head. Maybe that was a sign…?

At this point, she was almost definitely an expert. That, or she had become jaded, which – she hoped she wasn’t. But maybe that was just inevitable.

     “You asked. What did you expect? Me to tell you actually, Rick’s been having problems lately?”

“You’re disgusting,” she informed him, lowering her fist. It was better than conceding.

Then, for his other question, Aisling stared at him. And punched him again. “How is that even a question?” she demanded, sitting up to give him an incredulous look. Her voice went high and thin: “No, Leon, you’re supposed to bring a stranger.” She rolled her eyes and, reaching out, took another drink straight from the bottle before flopping gracelessly back onto the ground. “You’re such a dork. You’re family; of course he’s allowed.”

They had been friends through thick and thin, the good and bad. Leon had seen her at her worst and best, been there for nearly every bad date and shitty ex—had held her hand when she’d stepped foot in this very forest for the first time in seven years. Her cousins knew his name—and if their memory wasn’t spotty (or snobbish), so did her aunts and uncles. Hell, Balthair treated them like a package deal. In turn, Leon’s family knew her. If that didn’t make them family, then she would call bullshit. With her fists.

“What’re you guys going as?” she asked, knocking the back of her hand against him as she craned her head to see him. “Are you doing a couple costume?”

More importantly, “Will it be sexy?” Aisling waggled her brows beguilingly.

That was sheer hypocrisy. They’d shared much worse over the years, usually while drunk. “You were literally just talking about your date having a sore throat from giving too many blow jobs,” he retorted, “so ‘s not like you’re any less disgusting.” And really, if she was going to bring it up, he didn’t know what else she had been expecting.

The punch got a reproachful look, and a hand lifting to rub his arm. Aisling punched hard, and she didn’t hold back, even though it was completely unnecessary. Aisling did qualify as family to him, and vice versa, but family events were about more than the opinion of one person, and even though his arm was going to bruise, he was glad that he’d asked. “Okay,” he agreed, “I won’t ask again.”

He was of the opinion that Rick was sexy no matter what he wore, although if he ever saw Rick dressed as a clown he might have to revise that. But since Aisling had punched him last time he mentioned his feelings about Rick’s attractiveness, he didn’t mention that. “Yeah, we’re going to match,” he said. He paused, because their outfit – well. It wasn’t his idea.

“We’re going as stags,” he said, half-sighing, because it was so ridiculous, “It’s Shona’s idea – or fault, I’m not sure.” When Rick had to do something embarrassing, the chances were that one of his sisters, almost certainly Shona, was involved in some way. But wizards couldn’t be counted on to know about muggle culture, especially at a pureblood family gathering, and going as a stag wasn’t the worst thing. Probably.

“What’re you going as?” It was strange not knowing so close to the event when for several years they’d done matching costumes, or at the very least helped each other to make their costumes. It was a reminder that, whether Leon liked it or not, their friendship had changed. Not that they were any less close, but living with Rick had changed things.

Aisling blinked. “Stags,” she repeated. “Like…” Still lying down, she pointed her fingers and held them up by her temples. “Stag stags?”

It seemed so. Amusement burst forth in a peal of husky laughter, the sort hard to suppress in spite of reprisal. She laughed and laughed, until a plaintive I will tell you how Rick persuaded me, Aisling poked her side, causing the witch to wriggle away.

“Sorry, sorry.” Aisling wiped away an imaginary tear. “It’s just—that’s just amazing. Just–” Thumb and index finger pinched into an ‘O’, leaving her other three fingers to fan out. “A-plus.” God, she loved Shona. She was glad Leon met Rick, if not for his own happiness then at least for the guy’s sisters. Amazing witches, all of them.

A heavy but happy sigh found her breath; calming, the redhead let her hand drop back onto the grass, where she raked her fingers through verdant blades thoughtfully. “A bear,” she said, scratching the ground like one would a pet. (Though she could feel the forest hum beneath her hand, stretching like a sleepy cat—so maybe not an entirely farfetched comparison?) “Someone suggested I go as a phoenix or an owl, but…”

As much as Aisling loved birds, neither suggestion felt right. This was the first time in a long time that she was going alone. And though it had been years since her mother’s death (and was still months away from her anniversary), she had begun to think about her again, more so than usual. The last Samhain they had celebrated together hadn’t been so long ago that features had blurred, but this year imagining Myrna’s dark hair and smile against the backdrop of a burning tree inspired an ache. Not one so deep that it caused a pang, thankfully, but poignant enough to escape as a sigh.

Nothing good ever came from wishing things were different, and so she didn’t try. But if she could do something for her…

Aisling stared up, up into the leaves, the little bits of evening peeking through them. “Cornelius came up with it,” she said quietly. “I told him I wanted to do something for Mum, and…”

The old man had pulled out a ragged but heavy tome. Setting it on the desk, he had flipped to a page and turned the book towards to her—busying himself with other things until she was tracing a slightly shaking finger over a stylized outline of a bear. It had just felt right.

A freckled shoulder lifted itself in a lazy half-shrug, before she craned upwards a faint smile. “I’m glad you have Rick,” she told Leon, knocking a hand back against his, and she meant it. Even if it meant coming up with a costume would be a more solo activity from now on, she was glad for the other things it meant, too.

Leon knew that she’d laugh, because it was a completely ridiculous costume, but that didn’t stop him from digging a finger into her side, prodding her in an attempt to get her to stop. “I will tell you how Rick persuaded me, Aisling,” he threatened, and eventually – though still taking longer than he wanted – the laughter subsided. He sighed, tilting his head back. Aisling’s response was making him regret his decision, but he’d already agreed. Rick could be very persuasive, when he wanted to be.

“Not you?” Leon suggested. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Aisling would look amazing as a phoenix (or an owl, but phoenixes were much more fun, and her hair meant that it was a more obvious choice), but being comfortable in a costume was more than just how good you looked.

Aisling didn’t talk about Myrna often, but the wistfulness in her voice whenever she was mentioned was proof enough of her feelings. The Spectres were a tight knit family, and Leon imagined – he hoped – that it helped with Myrna’s absence, but it wasn’t a replacement. “It’s a good idea,” he said, quieter. “If you need a hand, I can help.”

Leon wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed, considering what he should say. He was glad he had Rick. Rick might be kind of a grump, but he was sweet underneath that, thoughtful in a way which made Leon’s breath catch in his throat. But, no matter what he thought of Rick, that didn’t mean that Aisling wasn’t his best friend. “I’m glad I have you,” he insisted, “Rick’s awesome too, but – he’s no replacement. He wouldn’t chuck dungbombs at McGonagall with me.” Not that Leon had ever asked, but he thought it was a reasonably safe bet – and the point was that Aisling was his best friend, and had been for years.