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Chapter Text

The silence in Godric’s Hollow had started to feel personal.

Not peaceful—watchful.

Not quiet—expectant.

Lily Potter could feel it breathing down her neck every time the clock ticked past another hour with no owl, no knock, no voice calling her name with warmth or irritation or love. James was gone. Peter too. Sirius and Remus had vanished into the forest-thick corners of whatever mission Dumbledore had whispered to them with grave eyes and steady hands.

Frank and Alice—gods, she hadn’t seen Alice’s face in two months. Just coded notes, sent through too many charms to carry warmth.

That left Harry. And a kettle.

And the man with the scars and the green eyes who kept showing up like he didn’t know how to stop.

–0–

She didn’t jump when the knock came—three soft raps, evenly spaced.

Not hesitant. Not pushy. Expected. Her pulse lifted all the same.

She opened the door to find Joseph Arte Martyr leaning against the frame, wind tugging at his coat. His hair was a tumble of black chaos, with that single white streak catching the dusk like moonlight through ink. His scar—starting high on the left side of his forehead and trailing diagonally to his temple—was red today. Weather-sensitive, maybe.

He was holding a foil-wrapped parcel in gloveless hands.

“Pumpkin bread,” he offered, green eyes narrowing just a little. “Bribery. I figured you might be sick of toast.”

Lily blinked, then arched a brow. “You bake?”

“I bribe,” he corrected, stepping inside without waiting. “I bought it. But I’ll lie to maintain my mystique.”

She closed the door behind him, slower than she needed to. Her heart felt loud.

“You’re losing your edge,” she teased, folding her arms. “No surprise fire whiskey? No hidden daggers in your boots?”

He smiled—just a curl, like something half-remembered. “You sound disappointed.”

“I sound lonely,” she said, before she could stop herself.

The smile faded.

–0–

He moved through the kitchen like someone who’d done it a dozen times. Enough to know where the mugs were, not enough to feel like he belonged there. That mattered. Lily watched the subtle hesitations—the way his hand lingered before opening a cabinet, the way he glanced at her before flicking his wand toward the kettle.

Still, he looked comfortable.

Or rather—he looked like a man who knew how to make others comfortable with his presence. And wasn’t that the most dangerous kind?

She watched him unwrap the bread and slice it with a conjured blade. His fingers were long, scarred, deliberate. Not pretty. Efficient. He always carried himself like someone who’d been honed by war—and not just this one.

“You haven’t been by in a few days,” she said, taking the offered plate.

“You noticed.”

She looked away. “The couch has been cold.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Or maybe it was the right thing, and that’s what scared her.

–0–

They sat at the table with tea between them. A candle burned low and soft. The kind of quiet you could fall into without realizing.

“Charms practice?” he asked.

Lily smiled—relieved to chase something safe. “Went well. I finally reinforced the kinetic buffer on the windows.”

“Good. That’ll hold against a small blast at least.”

“Unless someone tries to level the place,” she said. “In which case, I’ll throw pots at them.”

“You say that like it wouldn’t work.”

She laughed, and he watched her laugh, and she felt him watch her laugh.

“You should teach me that tea charm again,” he said after a beat. “The one that keeps it warm without burning the leaves.”

She tilted her head. “You’re always pretending you’re worse at magic than you are.”

“And you’re always pretending you’re not brilliant.”

Her breath caught. Just a little. The compliment came without flirtation, which made it land deeper.

“I just don’t want to get soft,” she murmured. “I can’t afford to.”

Joseph looked at her for a long time. “You're not soft,” he said finally. “You’re tired.”

She blinked down at her tea.

It tasted bitter all of a sudden.

–0–

Harry’s cry pierced the moment, muffled but urgent. Her body moved before thought—years of mother-instinct now second nature.

“I’ve got it,” she said.

“I’ll reheat the tea,” Joseph replied quietly.

She paused at the stairs, glanced back.

The candlelight hit his face just so—highlighting the arch of that scar, the white stripe of hair, the way his expression softened only when he thought she wasn’t looking.

Something in her chest ached.

He had no right to be so gentle.

–0–

When she returned, Harry tucked back into sleep, the table was cleared. The dishes cleaned. Her teacup hovered beside her favorite armchair like a ghost offering kindness.

Joseph had taken the couch—long limbs stretched out, coat removed, sleeves rolled to the elbow. His wand lay on the side table, just within reach.

“You’ve done this before,” she said softly, nodding at the tea.

“I remember things you show me.”

“That’s dangerous,” she whispered, mostly to herself.

He looked at her then, eyes steady. “Only if you don’t want me to.”

She didn’t reply.

She didn’t ask him to leave either.

She sat beside the tea, sipped slowly, and let the silence close in again. But now, it didn’t feel as cold.

It felt like something… waiting.

–0–

Chapter Text

Lily had never feared stillness before the war.

She used to find silence soothing—quiet corners in the Hogwarts library, the hush of the Greenhouses after hours, the whisper of her own quill across parchment. But now silence was a different creature. Heavy. Watching. Full of spaces where voices should be.

Potions helped.

They obeyed.

They followed her lead.

They didn’t lie.

Which was more than she could say for most things lately.

–0–

Joseph stood at the kitchen counter with his sleeves rolled past his elbows, a worn apron tied clumsily around his narrow waist, and a stubborn scowl aimed at the cutting board.

“I think I’m winning,” he muttered.

The blade in his hand hovered threateningly over a knobby root.

“That root is trembling in fear,” Lily deadpanned from across the room.

“It should be. I’ve got a wand and no regard for tradition.”

She snorted and crossed to him. The air between them warmed. He always radiated heat. Even when he wasn’t touching her, it clung to her skin like the ghost of a spell.

She reached for the knife in his hand. “Here. You’re gripping it like a dueling wand. No finesse.”

“I duel better than I slice,” he said, but let her take his wrist without protest.

Her fingers wrapped around his. Firm, instructive. She moved him through the motion—slow, steady pressure through the root.

“Let your hand guide, not force,” she murmured. “The blade follows your intent.”

“Is that a metaphor?” he asked, voice lower now. Closer.

Her hand didn’t move from his. “Maybe.”

They stood like that a moment too long.

She felt the edge of her thumb brush the pulse in his wrist.

She pulled back first.

–0–

The potion simmered in the cauldron—lavender steam curling through the kitchen like an incense of domestic magic. For a moment, it didn’t feel like wartime. It felt like something else.

Not quite peace.

But close.

Close enough to make her ache.

“You’re good at this,” she said finally.

Joseph glanced at her, sweat just beginning to form at his brow from the heat of the stove. “Lying?”

She smiled despite herself. “Potions.”

“I’m not.”

“You are when I’m here.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at her.

The silence between them was no longer empty. It was full of the things they weren’t saying.

Lily turned to the cupboard to fetch the next ingredient, mostly to hide the flush creeping up her neck.

“What made you ask me to teach you?” she asked lightly. “You’re not exactly the slowest wand in the room.”

He shrugged. “Potions aren’t about power. They’re about patience. Detail. Grace. All things I’ve... learned to admire.”

She placed the jar of nettles on the table. “You mean things you’re shite at.”

“Exactly,” he said, grinning.

She laughed, and he looked at her like he wanted to keep that sound somewhere inside his coat pocket. Like it was rare. Like it was precious.

It made her heart twist.

–0–

An hour later, they were on the floor in the sitting room. The potion was cooling in its vial, glowing faint gold on the shelf behind them. The book of spell diagrams lay open in Lily’s lap, and Joseph’s shoulder was pressed against hers—warm, unmoving, intimate in its stillness.

Harry was upstairs, asleep, the baby monitor crackling softly in the corner like a sleeping ghost.

Joseph leaned toward her slightly, enough for his breath to stir a wisp of her hair. “Which one is it? The stasis charm you used last week.”

Lily traced a finger across the page. “Here.”

His eyes followed her hand—her cuticles ink-stained, her fingers calloused, nails short.

“Your hands don’t look like a mother’s,” he said softly.

She blinked. “What does that mean?”

He didn’t hesitate. “They look like a woman’s. One who fights. Who makes. Who wants.”

She closed the book.

Too fast.

Too loud.

“Joseph…”

He didn’t move. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

Silence again. Thicker than before. But not colder.

She stood, brushing her knees. Her limbs trembled—not visibly, but enough for her to notice.

“I should check the back perimeter.”

He nodded once. “I’ll tidy up.”

She made it to the hallway before she heard his voice behind her, soft as candle smoke.

“You smell like rosewood.”

She paused, hand on the doorframe.

“That’s the potion,” she said.

“No,” he replied, low. “That’s you.”

–0–

The perimeter was fine.

It always was.

She just needed air. Space. Something to keep her heart from cracking her ribs.

He was getting too close. She was letting him.

And still… she hadn’t told him to stop.

When she returned, the lights were dimmed. The potion had been bottled and labeled in her handwriting—only she hadn’t done it. The book was back on the shelf. The floor swept. The dishes clean.

Joseph was on the couch, blanket over him, one glove missing from the side table.

He looked up when she entered, gaze soft and unreadable.

“I didn’t want to leave anything undone,” he said.

“You didn’t,” she whispered.

She stood at the base of the stairs a beat too long. Part of her wanted to say goodnight. Another part wanted to crawl onto that couch, curl beside him, and pretend none of this was real.

Instead, she turned away.

“Sleep well,” she said.

“Always do,” he murmured. “When I hear you laugh.”

–0–

Upstairs, in her bed, Lily touched her lips with her fingertips.

They hadn’t kissed.

Not yet.

But she could feel it like a spell humming against her mouth—waiting.

-0-

Chapter Text

The wind had been screaming for hours.

It shoved at the trees like an angry god, turning every branch into a threat and every shadow into something with teeth. Rain lashed against the windows in relentless sheets, and the wards flickered every now and then like tired lungs.

Godric’s Hollow was buried under something heavy and unnatural.

Lily stood barefoot in the kitchen, one hand on the windowsill, watching the storm tear its way through the hedge line. There would be no owls tonight. No news. No comfort.

She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she felt the ache in her ribs.

Then—

Three knocks.

Low. Firm. Not rushed.

Her heart jerked in her chest.

She didn’t need to ask who it was.

She already knew.

Her pulse always seemed to know him first.

–0–

Joseph stood soaked on the doorstep, a blur of dark and silver and steam.

His coat was drenched, heavy against his frame. His black shirt was plastered to his chest, sleeves clinging to his arms. Rain clung to his lashes like tiny spells that refused to fall. His hair, usually wild, had been pushed flat by the downpour—except for the jagged white streak, which curved out from his temple like a comet crashing down his skull.

But it was his face that held her.

Those scars.

She never stopped seeing them.

Thin, pale lines—not one, but several—crossing the left side of his face like a shattered window pane. One bisected his brow and vanished into his hairline. Another curved from beneath his eye to the edge of his cheek, tugging faintly at the skin when he moved. Smaller ones scattered around them like remnants of a story no one had earned the right to hear.

Together, they distorted his symmetry, fractured his expression. They didn’t make him less beautiful. They made him harder to look away from.

And when he smiled, like he did now—small, tired, knowing—it was like watching someone learn to smile all over again.

“You’ll ruin your wand, walking through this storm,” she said, voice too quiet.

“Better my wand than your wards.”

She stepped back.

He stepped in.

The door closed with a soft click. And the house, somehow, felt fuller.

–0–

Steam rose from the hearth. Joseph laid his coat across the back of the chair, casting a drying charm that hissed and spit from the soaked wool.

“You weren’t supposed to come tonight,” she said, kneeling by the fire to stoke the logs.

“You weren’t supposed to be alone during a magical weather surge.”

She glanced up, brow furrowed. “You think this was cast?”

“Feels like it. It’s not wild. It’s… layered. Like it’s trying to listen.”

She shivered.

“You’re staying, then,” she said.

Joseph gave a mock sigh. “If I must suffer your tea and couch hospitality, I will bear it bravely.”

She rolled her eyes. “Blanket’s still folded.”

“I’ll make it homey.”

“You already do.”

The words were out before she could stop them.

And when he turned toward her, eyes steady, she didn’t correct herself.

–0–

Later, they sat on the floor, legs crossed beneath the kitchen table. The power had flickered once, just enough for them to light two extra candles and laugh too loudly in the darkness.

Harry was asleep upstairs. The baby monitor pulsed gently with magical energy beside the breadbox. The world was washed away in wind.

Lily poured tea with shaking hands.

“You always come when it’s worst,” she said.

“I come when you don’t have anyone else.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s the truth.”

She looked at him—really looked.

His hair had dried into unruly curls again, the white streak curling against his temple like a mark from another life. His face caught the candlelight unevenly, the scars throwing tiny shadows across his cheek and eye.

She didn’t flinch when she saw them now.

But they still made her chest ache.

“They never healed properly,” she said.

“No. Dark magic rarely lets you forget.”

“Do they hurt?”

“Only when I see someone look at them like you are.”

She blinked. “How am I looking?”

“Like you want to reach out,” he said, voice soft. “And touch something that can’t be undone.”

Her breath caught.

He didn’t move. He just waited.

And gods, that was worse.

Because he never asked.

He let her want.

–0–

That night, Harry stirred once and Joseph went to him without being asked. Lily watched from the stairs as Joseph lifted her son with careful, precise hands—held him against his chest and whispered something low and rhythmic.

Harry calmed almost instantly.

When Joseph returned, she was still watching him.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said.

“I know.”

“But you do it anyway.”

“I’m not doing it for you,” he said. “Not really. I’m doing it because… I want this boy to grow up with someone who doesn’t walk away.”

“That’s not your burden.”

“I’m not calling it one.”

–0–

The couch creaked as he settled under the blanket. The fire cast him in gold and shadow. One scar caught the light, drawing a slanted gleam across his face like a curse frozen in time.

She stood at the bottom of the stairs, her hand on the banister.

He looked up at her with sleep-heavy eyes. “You okay?”

“No,” she whispered. “Not really.”

He didn’t push. He just lifted a hand slightly—like an offering.

Like a door left cracked open.

“I can leave if you ever say the word,” he murmured.

“But you haven’t yet.”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Instead, she turned and went upstairs, the wood warm beneath her bare feet. Her chest hollow and full at the same time.

–0–

In bed, she stared at the ceiling. She could still hear the fire downstairs. Could imagine the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his scars stretched as he exhaled, as if even his wounds were tired of carrying memory.

You want to reach out and touch something that can’t be undone.

Gods help her—

She did.

-0-

Chapter Text

The storm had eased sometime in the night, but the world still felt waterlogged. The light creeping through the window was gray and muffled, like it didn’t want to intrude.

Lily lay tangled in her sheets, pulse thick in her throat, sweat cooling at the base of her spine.

And her dream still burned.

–0–

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep thinking of him.

Joseph had simply lingered—like the scent of smoke after the fire, like heat in a room long after someone leaves it.

But in the dream, he hadn’t left.

He had cornered her in the hallway, shirtless, glowing faintly in candlelight, his scars catching the flicker of flame like old spells etched in flesh. He hadn’t asked. He hadn’t explained.

He had taken her mouth with his like a man starving.

And she—gods—she had opened for it.

His tongue had pushed into her mouth with such raw certainty that her knees had buckled, and she’d gasped as he caught her, lifting her by the waist and pressing her against the wall. Her legs locked around his hips. His body solid. His hands under her nightdress, calloused fingers dragging up her inner thighs, slow and heavy with intent.

She moaned into his kiss, clung to his shoulders.

He thrust his hips into her—once, hard—just enough to make her cry out against his lips. She could feel the pressure of him through his trousers, thick and perfectly placed between her legs.

“You don’t want this,” she’d panted.

“I do,” he’d growled. “And so do you.”

His mouth found her throat, biting gently just beneath her jaw, while one hand cupped her breast and the other slid between her legs.

The dream dissolved as he slipped two fingers inside her—

But not before he whispered: “I’m going to make you scream for me.”

–0–

She woke with a choked gasp.

Her body was already desperate—hips grinding into the sheets, nightshirt twisted high around her waist, thighs trembling.

No.

No, no, no—

But the heat between her legs was too sharp, too real. Her sex throbbed, slick and needy, pulsing with the ghost of his fingers.

She pressed her hand between her thighs, breath catching as she found herself wet, dripping, already soaked from the dream. Her fingers slid against her clit with a friction that made her knees curl.

The image of his mouth on her breast—his tongue circling, his teeth grazing—flashed bright behind her eyes, and she moaned aloud.

She tried to keep quiet. Gods, she tried.

But her hips bucked, chasing the rhythm. Her clit throbbed beneath her touch. She curled her toes, bit the corner of her pillow, imagined his mouth between her thighs—

And then it hit her.

Her orgasm was sudden, sharp as shattered glass—ripping through her with a breathless cry:

“Joseph—!”

The name broke from her like a spell cast too loudly.

Her whole body arched off the bed. She shuddered, thighs trembling, back slick with sweat, hips jerking into her hand until the aftershocks finally faded.

The silence that followed was deafening.

She stared at the ceiling, chest heaving.

And the shame rushed in like cold air after fire.

–0–

She stripped the sheets in silence, refusing to meet her own eyes in the mirror. Her thighs still trembled. Her skin flushed hot, as if it hadn’t finished blushing.

The shower was scalding. She let it burn.

She scrubbed her skin hard—wrists, collarbone, the curve of her inner thighs. She wanted to erase the memory of her own touch, the feel of her fingers working over the heat he left behind in her dream.

She wanted to erase the name she’d screamed into the pillow.

But it lived in her now. In her bones.

In her hips.

You’re weak, she thought.

You’re lonely. You’re wrong.

And yet—

Even as she stepped from the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, her body still hummed. Still felt empty, hollowed out, like it was waiting for the real thing.

She bit her lip.

He’s downstairs.

What if he heard you?

What if he knows?

Her knees nearly buckled.

–0–

She crept down the stairs in a dressing robe, damp hair clinging to her neck, heart in her throat. Her fingers twisted the edge of the towel like she was trying to tear it in half.

And then she saw him.

Joseph lay on the couch, bare-chested, one arm folded beneath his head, the other sprawled loosely across his stomach. The blanket had slipped down to his hips.

His torso was lean—ropey muscle and pale skin, broken by a constellation of scars. One long diagonal slash ran from just under his ribs up to his opposite shoulder, splitting his symmetry again. Smaller ones traced his sternum, his left pectoral, the edges of his abdomen like rough brushstrokes over a painting once perfect.

But he wasn’t perfect.

He was devastating.

Her stomach flipped.

And then—his eyes opened.

Not suddenly. Not surprised.

Just… open. As if he’d been waiting.

He looked at her.

Her damp hair. Her robe. The way she clutched it around herself like armor.

He didn’t say a word.

And she didn’t breathe.

For a moment, the air crackled—more dangerous than any storm.

And in the back of her mind, she heard her own voice again.

"Joseph!"

Louder this time. Raw. Wanting.

She turned away first.

And fled to the kitchen.

-0-

Chapter Text

Joseph had once sworn to himself: no entanglements.

No softness. No sentiment. No distractions.

He had come back through time to stop a murder.

To understand the spell Lily Potter had cast that had fractured death itself.

To study her, quietly. Manipulate, if needed. Extract the knowledge, then vanish.

That had been the plan.

He hadn't expected her.

–0–

Getting close had been easy.

He’d played his part well — the British pureblood raised in America, wounded from war, scarred and self-contained. A gifted duelist. A soldier with no past. The Order needed him. The Potters welcomed him.

Lily had liked him instantly.

Their shared love of charms, her amused patience with his occasional ineptitude at potions. The way she smiled when she taught, when she explained something with her hands and not just her words.

He let her take care of him in small, manageable ways — a patch mended here, a spell corrected there.

It made her feel safe. In control. Necessary.

It made her open.

He watched her soften to him. Lean on him. Trust him.

But somewhere in those long evenings and half-lit mornings, Joseph had made a critical miscalculation.

Because he’d begun to crave more.

Not just her secrets.

Her attention. Her warmth. Her body.

The mission was no longer enough.

He wanted her like a man, not a tactician.

–0–

Peter was handled — the Imperius cast, the plan executed. He’d sent James to Australia with him under pretense. Remus and Sirius were chasing false intelligence in Albania. The Fidelius was recast. The wards were secured.

The house was quiet.

And Joseph had made himself indispensable.

He brought Lily tea before she asked. He held Harry while she napped. He sat quietly beside her in the evenings, book in hand, just close enough for his knee to brush hers.

He never crossed the line.

But he stood on the edge of it, every day.

And Lily?

She had started to notice less.

Or — more accurately — she’d stopped caring who noticed.

–0–

He noticed everything.

The way she’d stopped hiding her body in thick robes or shawls. She moved through the house in old Quidditch shirts and loose nightshirts now — worn soft, falling open. Sometimes she bent to pick something up and her dressing gown would part enough to flash the smooth inside of her thigh.

Once, he saw a nipple slip free from the collar of her shirt as she turned too quickly to grab a teacup. She didn’t even react — just tucked the fabric back without thinking, without embarrassment.

And that was the part that undid him.

Not the glimpse.

But the ease of it. The comfort.

She didn’t mind if he saw her like that.

Sometimes, she even stretched in front of him — arms above her head, back arched slightly, the hem of her shirt rising to expose the soft plane of her stomach. Her breasts would shift under the thin cotton, nipples faintly outlined against the fabric.

She never blushed.

Not anymore.

It was domestic. Innocent, even.

But to him, it was torture.

He memorized every curve.

Every freckle.

Every careless glimpse.

And every night, he lay on the couch, hard and aching, replaying it all in his mind — wondering if she knew how close he was to breaking.

–0–

But nothing compared to last night.

She’d been quiet all day, distant.

And then, in the dark—

He heard her moan his name.

It was soft at first. Then louder.

Joseph.

The sound of her climax echoed through the walls — the shudder in her voice, the sharp inhale, the whimpering release of it.

And Joseph had frozen in the hallway outside her door, hand braced against the frame, breathing hard.

He knew what she was doing.

He knew exactly what image she had in her head.

Him. Between her legs. Inside her.

Making her scream that name instead of whispering it.

He pressed his palm against the bulge in his trousers and cursed himself for how much he wanted to open that door and give it to her.

To ruin her for anyone else.

To claim the moan as his victory.

But he didn’t.

He just walked away.

Half-hard and shaking, haunted by the sound of her pleasure.

–0–

This morning, she poured him tea like nothing had happened.

But her hands trembled slightly.

And her cheeks were too flushed.

She didn’t know he’d heard.

But she wondered.

And that alone made his cock stir again beneath the table.

She’s close, he thought. So close I could kiss her and she’d kiss back.

But he didn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, he said what she needed to hear:

“He’s lucky to have you.”

Her head turned slowly.

Her eyes locked on his.

Too long.

Something cracked in the air between them.

Want.

Fear.

Guilt.

Promise.

She whispered, “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“It makes this worse.”

He didn’t push.

He only nodded, like it cost him nothing.

But inside, he was howling.

He wanted her to want him.

He wanted her to choose him.

Even if it meant destroying the timeline.

Even if it meant never going back.

Because she had already made him forget why he came here in the first place.

Chapter Text

The cauldron flared at the wrong time—

A shimmer of steam, a lurch of copper—and her hand skimmed the rim before she realized how hot it still was.

Pain shot up her fingers like wildfire.

“Bloody hell—!”

She pulled back fast, sharp enough to slosh the potion and nearly upset the whole stand. Her hand hovered, rigid, the burn blooming along her palm like angry lightning. She didn’t cry out again, but her knees felt suddenly weak beneath her.

No wand. No salve within reach. She held the hand steady, away from her robes, away from instinct.

Her breathing was shallow. Idiot. Idiot.

“Lily?”

Joseph’s voice carried in before he did, low and firm.

“I’m alright,” she snapped, trying to hide the wince in her voice. “Just—burned myself. Not bad.”

But he was already in the doorway.

His eyes swept her hand and didn’t believe a word.

“Let me see,” he said.

She should have refused.

Should have waved him off and pretended she could handle it. But the sting in her skin throbbed deep, and her exhaustion had no more shields left.

She nodded once.

He stepped close. Too close.

Joseph took her hand in both of his, cradling it as though it were something delicate. His touch was careful—cool fingers brushing the blistered skin, tilting it toward the light without making her flinch.

She tried to focus on the pain.

But all she could feel was him.

His skin was rough and warm. Calloused in places that told stories. His thumb brushed the unburnt edge of her palm as he examined it, and the contact sent a shiver up her arm.

Not from pain. From something else.

From heat. That different kind of heat.

“You’ll blister if we don’t treat it,” he murmured, more to himself than her.

His voice was like velvet pulled taut.

Everything he said had weight. Like he only spoke when it mattered.

Lily couldn’t look up.

Not with her cheeks starting to burn in a way the salve couldn’t fix.

She was keenly aware of the pulse between her legs. A low throb that had no business waking up in the middle of a potion accident. Her thighs pressed together instinctively.

“You alright?” he asked again, this time quieter.

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Just… lightheaded.”

Lie.

The only thing making her dizzy was the way his hands moved—firm but reverent, as though touching her meant something.

As though he wanted it to.

–0–

He guided her to the kitchen stool without letting go.

She let him.

He retrieved the burn salve, uncorked it with practiced ease, and dabbed a dollop onto his thumb.

“This might sting a little,” he murmured.

“It already does.”

But when he smoothed the salve over her skin, the pain dulled—softened by the cool, the pressure, and the fact that she couldn’t stop watching his fingers.

She bit her lip when he circled near the tender edges of her palm.

She had to.

Because otherwise, she might’ve sighed. Or worse, moaned.

The tension that had started in her hand had moved lower now—pooled in her abdomen, tightening her nipples beneath the thin cotton of her shirt, making her hyper-aware of how damp her knickers had grown.

Her breath caught in her throat when he looked up.

Joseph froze for the briefest second—eyes flicking to her mouth.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

His jaw tightened.

Did he see what she was feeling?

Gods, did he smell it?

She hated how much she wanted him to.

–0–

After Harry’s nap was settled and the cauldron disaster cleaned up, Lily moved into the sitting room, drawn more by the gravity of him than anything else.

Joseph sat with his book open in his lap, back leaned into the corner of the couch, forearms bare. There was something wild in how relaxed he looked—scarred, unshaven, utterly at home.

She hated him for how safe he made her feel.

“Mind if I…” She trailed off.

He looked up, and that was all it took.

He nodded once.

She sat. Close. Closer than she needed to.

Her body moved before her mind could argue.

She leaned into him.

Head resting just below his shoulder, her temple against the solid heat of his chest. Her injured hand limp in her lap, the other resting between them—close enough to feel the warmth of his thigh, the steady thrum of his body beside hers.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t tense.

Didn’t breathe faster.

But she did.

Her breasts brushed his arm with every inhale, nipples stiff and aching beneath her shirt. She hadn’t worn a bra. She hadn’t expected to want to be seen today.

And now her body was betraying her.

Soaked between her legs.

Heart hammering.

Throat dry.

Her lips were inches from his collarbone. His shirt was undone at the top, skin exposed just enough to tempt her gaze.

He smelled like rain-warmed cedar and old magic.

She wanted to press her mouth there.

To taste the salt on his skin.

To let herself fall into the heat he offered without ever saying a word.

And that terrified her.

Because this wasn’t grief.

This wasn’t loneliness.

This was desire.

And it was hers.

All hers.

And she couldn’t decide if that made her want to run…

Or pull him down and never stop.

Chapter Text

The storm pressed against the house all night — rattling windows, pulling at shingles like it wanted to tear them loose. Lily had long since stopped listening to the thunder. Her whole world was Harry — flushed, shivering, his little chest rising too quickly under her palm.

“Harry?” Her voice cracked. “Oh, sweetheart…”

The fever radiated off him in waves. It was wrong. Too sudden. Too much.

“Joseph!” she called, sharper than she meant.

And then he was there.

He didn’t waste a second. Crossed the room in three strides, took one look at Harry, and reached into the crib with arms that didn’t tremble. He lifted the boy against his chest, whispering something low, something that wasn’t a spell but steadied Lily anyway.

“I’ve got him. Lily, breathe. I’ve got him.”

-0-

The next hours blurred.

Joseph carried Harry like he was spun glass, murmuring charms under his breath. He stripped his own shirt off when it soaked with sweat, baring a body that looked carved by battle and scarred by it too. Thick, pale lines crisscrossed his chest, some jagged, some fine, all old. The candlelight caught them, made him look more myth than man.

He worked without hesitation — a potion brewed in minutes, cool cloths charmed to draw heat, his hand stroking Harry’s hair back in rhythm with every whispered spell.

And Lily, watching, felt her chest twist.

Because yes — she was afraid for her son.

But beneath that fear, something else stirred.

The sight of Joseph bare to the waist, scarred and strong, sweat trailing down his throat as he cradled Harry close… it pulled something raw out of her. Her breath came faster. Her thighs pressed together without her meaning to.

She hated herself for noticing.

But she couldn’t stop.

-0-

By dawn, Harry’s fever had broken. His skin was cool against Lily’s cheek when she kissed his forehead, tears prickling her eyes. Relief stole her strength, leaving her swaying.

“He’s sleeping,” Joseph whispered, settling the child back in the crib with a gentleness that made her throat ache. “He’ll be alright.”

When he turned, she saw it: his hands shaking. His chest rising too fast. His hair damp against his forehead, that streak of white glimmering like a brand. He looked exhausted. Human. Breakable.

“Joseph,” she said softly.

He didn’t answer. He leaned against the wall, eyes half-closed, letting the tremors run through him.

She stepped closer. Slowly. Bare feet whispering against the floorboards. When she reached him, she took one of his hands. His fingers twitched as though to pull away, but he didn’t.

She lifted it to her lips.

Kissed the back of his scarred knuckles.

Soft. Certain.

“Thank you,” she whispered into his skin.

His breath caught. He didn’t move, didn’t speak — but his chest shuddered once, like the crack of a dam.

And Lily felt heat surge low in her belly at the sound.

Her nipples tightened against the thin fabric of her nightshirt. She pressed her thighs together harder, pulse thudding between them. This wasn’t relief. Not anymore. It was want — sharp and shameful and undeniable.

She almost kissed him again.

Almost.

But she pulled back, trembling.

-0-

That night, the storm had passed, but her mind hadn’t. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him again: shirtless, scarred, holding her son like he belonged in this house.

She found him on the couch, sprawled with a blanket over his legs, half-asleep. His chest still bare, his arm bent behind his head, candlelight painting every line of muscle and scar.

She didn’t ask. She didn’t think. She simply went to him.

He looked up when she sank down beside him, eyes soft, unreadable.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he murmured.

“No,” she whispered. “Not without you.”

His eyes flickered — startled, but not angry. Not mocking. Something else.

She leaned into him. Rested her cheek against his chest, skin warm beneath her lips. His arm hovered for a second, then lowered, wrapping around her shoulders. Steady. Protective.

It was the first time she let herself imagine falling asleep in another man’s arms.

The first time she admitted to herself that she wanted to.

As her body melted into his, the ache between her thighs sharpened, insistent, and her pulse throbbed with every rise and fall of his chest.

She closed her eyes.

Not thinking of James.

Not thinking of what this meant.

Just listening to Joseph’s heartbeat and wondering how long she could pretend this was still innocent.

Chapter Text

Lily woke to warmth.

The first thing she noticed was the rise and fall of a chest beneath her cheek. The second was the arm cinched firmly around her waist. The third—what made her stomach drop and her thighs tighten—was the pressure of something hard pressed against her through thin cotton.

Her eyes flew open.

Joseph.

He was asleep, head tilted back against the couch cushion, lips parted. The morning light made the white streak in his hair gleam against the tangled black. Scars cut across his cheek, his temple, his jaw—softened now in sleep.

But his body was awake.

And she was sprawled on top of it.

His arousal pushed against the heat between her legs, perfectly aligned, almost unbearable. Her nightshirt had ridden up in her sleep. Only a thin pair of knickers separated her from him.

Her breath hitched.

Move away, she thought. Get up. Run.

But her hips betrayed her. They tilted, just slightly, grinding her sex against him.

A pulse of pleasure sparked low in her belly, so sharp it made her bite her lip to keep from gasping.

She froze. Waited.

He didn’t stir.

The temptation clawed up her spine.

She rocked against him again—slower this time, pressing the length of him between her folds. Her clit caught on the ridge of him, pressure sweet and unbearable.

“Oh—” It slipped out, a soft whimper.

Her nipples tightened under the thin fabric of her shirt, brushing against his chest. Each small grind dragged her clit harder, sent shocks through her hips. Heat spread down her thighs, wetness soaking her knickers.

“Joseph…” The name whispered from her lips before she could stop it.

The sound of it broke the spell.

Her eyes snapped wide. Her body stilled, trembling with shame.

What am I doing?

Her face burned hot. She scrambled off him, adjusting her nightshirt, heart slamming in her ribs. He stirred faintly, shifting but not waking.

Thank Merlin.

She fled upstairs, breath ragged, thighs slick, guilt tearing through her. She changed quickly, dressing with hands that shook. She splashed water on her face, but nothing washed away the memory of his hardness pressed to her, the ache still pulsing between her legs.

She wanted him. Gods help her, she wanted him.

-0-

The afternoon light slanted low when she found him again on the couch. A clean shirt hung open across his chest, scars pale against sun-burnished skin. Each line drew her eyes—memories carved into flesh.

He caught her staring.

“You want to ask,” he said quietly.

Her throat tightened. “About… them?”

“The scars,” he said. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “They don’t heal right when the magic’s dark enough.”

“Who did this to you?”

He was silent for a moment too long.

Then, softly: “I lost people. Fought battles. Some I won. Some I didn’t.” His gaze locked on hers, steady, unflinching. “I can’t lose you too.”

Her breath stuttered. The words rooted deep in her chest. Lose you. As if she were already his.

Her hand lifted before she could stop it. Fingers traced the jagged scar at his neck, just above his collarbone.

He shuddered beneath her touch. Not a flinch—something deeper. A sound escaped him, low in his throat.

She felt it vibrate against her fingertips.

“Does it hurt?” she whispered.

“Not when it’s you,” he murmured.

Her chest tightened. The air between them snapped.

He leaned closer. She didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Then his mouth crashed onto hers.

The kiss was nothing like she’d imagined in guilty midnight moments. It wasn’t tender. It was desperate, messy, edged with fear. His lips were hot, insistent, claiming. His tongue pressed past her lips, and she let him in with a whimper.

Her hands clawed at his shoulders, then slid into his hair, nails grazing the white streak. He groaned into her mouth, the sound sending fire through her.

Her body pressed into his, breasts crushed against his chest, nipples aching from the friction. His hand gripped her back, pulling her flush against the hardness she already knew too well.

Heat surged through her belly, sharp and liquid, flooding lower. Her clit throbbed, remembering the grind of his body that morning, now teased again by the pressure of his thigh against hers.

She moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled but raw.

“Lily,” he gasped against her lips, as if saying her name was both surrender and prayer.

She kissed him harder, teeth catching his bottom lip. Fear tangled with want, and it only made the fire burn hotter.

When they broke for air, her forehead fell to his. Her chest heaved, her thighs clenched. She felt soaked, trembling, undone.

Then the enormity of it hit.

Her chest tightened. Her stomach dropped.

What she had just done—what she was still feeling—was too much. Too dangerous. Too damning.

“Joseph…” she whispered, breath shaky.

He opened his eyes. His hand was still warm at her back. His lips, still red from her kiss.

She jerked away, stumbling to her feet. “I—I can’t—”

Before he could stop her, before he could say a word, she fled.

Back up the stairs. Back into her room.

She closed the door with trembling hands, pressed her back against it, and slid down to the floor.

Her lips were swollen. Her knickers were damp. Her whole body hummed.

She hated herself for wanting to run back into his arms.

And for the first time, she didn’t try to stop wanting him.

-0-

Chapter Text

The next day dragged like penance.

Lily had spent the day wrapped in silence. Every time Joseph came near, she pulled back. Every time his eyes lingered, she found an excuse to leave the room. She busied herself with Harry, with books, with meaningless chores.

But it hadn’t quieted the storm inside her.

Every time she closed her eyes, she felt him again — his mouth on hers, the heat of his chest, the hardness of him pressed against her. Shame gnawed at her, yes, but so did hunger. The memory of how her body had pulsed, how her knickers had soaked when she ground down on him in the morning light.

By nightfall, she was trembling with it.

And when Harry finally slept, she padded down the stairs barefoot, robe loose over her nightdress. The house was quiet except for the fire’s low crackle.

Joseph was on the couch.

Asleep, or nearly. His book lay forgotten on the floor. His arm draped over his chest, scars stark in the firelight. His lips were parted, breath slow.

“Joseph.”

His eyes opened instantly, sharp green flashing even in the dim. “Lily?”

She hesitated, heart racing.

“Come upstairs,” she whispered.

He blinked, unreadable. “Why?”

“Just to talk.”

Her voice shook. She hated the lie.

He studied her a moment longer. Then stood.

And when she reached for his hand to tug him along, he let her.

-0-

In her room, she shut the door behind them, heart thudding like a drum.

The firelight painted the walls gold. Her robe slipped down one shoulder, and she didn’t fix it. She stood there, chest rising and falling, while he lingered by the bed, silent.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said softly.

“I know.”

“Then why—”

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

The words broke something in her. Her throat was tight. Tears threatened. But what she wanted burned hotter than fear.

He stepped closer. His hand brushed her waist where the robe had fallen. Her skin leapt at the touch, her breath hitching audibly.

“Say it,” he murmured, voice rough. “Say yes.”

She closed her eyes.

“Yes.”

-0-

The kiss that followed was slow at first, then breaking, desperate. His mouth covered hers, coaxing, claiming, his tongue sliding against hers until she moaned.

The robe slipped entirely, pooling at her feet. His hands explored — sliding over her hips, her ribs, up to cup her breast through the thin nightdress. Her nipple peaked instantly, aching against his palm.

“Oh—Joseph—”

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered against her lips, against her throat, his mouth dragging heat down her skin.

Her nightdress rose as his hand slipped beneath it, fingers tracing her stomach, lower, until he found the damp heat between her thighs.

She gasped, knees nearly buckling.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, lips at her ear. “For me.”

“Yes,” she whispered, shuddering.

His fingers teased her folds, circled her clit slowly until she clung to his shoulders, whimpering. Then one finger slid inside her, and her head fell back, a cry tearing out.

Another finger joined, stretching her, curling deep. He stroked her just right, finding the spot that made her thighs shake.

“Let go for me,” he urged.

She shattered, clenching hard around his hand, crying out into his shoulder as pleasure ripped through her.

-0-

Before the aftershocks even faded, he kissed down her body, slow, steady, until he was kneeling at the edge of the bed. His hands parted her thighs, spreading her open to his gaze.

“Joseph—” she gasped, flushed, trembling.

“Trust me.”

And then his mouth was on her.

She arched instantly, a strangled cry tearing from her throat as his tongue swept over her clit, slow, deliberate. He licked her like he had all the time in the world, savoring every twitch, every gasp.

Her hands fisted in the sheets, hips grinding up into his mouth. His tongue circled, pressed, flicked. When he slid two fingers back inside her, curling in rhythm with his tongue, she thought she might lose her mind.

“Oh, God—Joseph—oh—”

She was wet, dripping, his mouth gliding, drinking her like nectar. Her thighs clamped around his head, but he only pressed deeper, tongue working her clit faster.

The climax hit her hard, tearing a scream from her lips. For a dizzy second, the sound of her own cries blurred — strange, sibilant, like hissing in the dark.

She didn’t know if it was her ears playing tricks, if it was just the storm outside, or if the sound came from him.

But she didn’t care.

Her body convulsed, shuddering around his tongue, flooding his mouth with her release. He groaned against her, the vibration making her spasm harder.

When she finally collapsed back onto the sheets, drenched and shaking, he kissed her inner thigh, then moved up her body again, leaving wet trails of heat along her skin.

“Every sound you make,” he whispered against her lips, “I’ll take it.”

-0-

When he finally eased her back onto the bed fully, nightdress discarded, she was trembling. Naked beneath his gaze.

“Are you sure?” he asked again, eyes searching hers.

“Yes,” she whispered, desperate. “Please.”

He pressed the head of his cock against her, nudging through her slick folds. The blunt heat made her gasp.

And then he pushed inside.

Slow. Stretching. Filling.

Her mouth fell open in a cry as her body yielded to him, walls clenching around the thick intrusion. She dug her nails into his shoulders, arching, overwhelmed by the fullness.

“Oh—Gods—Joseph—”

He kissed her, swallowed her cries, holding still until she adjusted, until her whimpers softened into moans.

Then he began to move.

Long, deliberate thrusts that slid him deep, pulling back almost to the edge before sinking inside again. Each stroke rubbed her clit against his pelvis, sparks shooting through her nerves.

Her breasts bounced softly with each motion, nipples tight and aching. His mouth claimed one, sucking hard, tonguing the peak until she writhed beneath him.

Her legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him deeper, grinding her clit against him with every roll of his body. The pressure built sharp and hot, her belly tightening.

“Joseph—oh, I—”

“Come for me again,” he growled softly, thrusting deeper.

Her orgasm ripped through her, a scream tearing from her throat as she clenched around him, body shaking. He didn’t stop, hips driving into her, dragging it out until she sobbed into his shoulder.

Then another built, faster, sharper — his thumb finding her clit as he thrust harder, faster, until she cried out again, body slick, sheets damp with sweat and arousal.

By the time he groaned her name and spilled deep inside her, she was wrecked — thighs trembling, chest heaving, nipples swollen, body soaked in sweat and satisfaction.

-0-

After, he held her close, chest heaving. He kissed her damp cheeks, lips gentle now.

She realized then she was crying.

“I’ve betrayed him,” she whispered.

Joseph kissed her tears, one by one.

“This isn’t betrayal,” he murmured like a vow. “This is survival. This is us.”

She sobbed again, but softer now, curling into his chest.

And when his arms wrapped tighter around her, she let herself believe him.

-0-

Chapter Text

The kitchen smelled of simmering stew, herbs steeping in broth. Harry was finally asleep upstairs, his tiny snores muffled by the baby monitor charm. Lily slipped into the pantry to fetch dried rosemary, skirts brushing her ankles, blouse loose around her shoulders.

The door shut behind her with a click.

She turned, startled, and Joseph was there.

“Joseph—”

He didn’t give her time to finish. His hand caught her wrist, pulling her flush against him. His other hand slid to her hip, fingers gripping firmly.

“What are you—” she whispered, breathless.

“Taking what I’ve wanted all morning.”

Her back pressed against the shelves, glass jars rattling. She gasped when he hiked her skirt up with both hands, bunching it around her waist. His eyes burned, dark and intent, as he stepped between her legs.

“Joseph—Harry—”

“Asleep,” he said, mouth on her neck. “And I’m starving.”

She shuddered, clutching the shelf. His fingers hooked into her knickers, tugging them down, letting them fall to her ankles. Cool air kissed her thighs, followed by the heat of his hand sliding up between them.

“You’re already wet,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

She whimpered, pressing her forehead against his shoulder.

“Say it,” he urged, thumb circling her clit. “Say you want me.”

“I want you,” she gasped.

That was all he needed.

In one motion, he freed his cock and thrust into her, deep and sudden. She bit down on a cry, legs spreading wider, hands scrabbling against the shelves.

“Quiet,” he growled, hand clamping over her mouth as he set a brutal rhythm, slamming her into the wood.

Her eyes rolled back, body clenching around him, each thrust stretching her, filling her. His pace was relentless, his grip bruising. The jars above her head shook, something clattered to the floor, but she didn’t care.

She came hard, muffled screams spilling into his palm, thighs trembling, cunt pulsing around him. He groaned low in her ear, teeth biting her shoulder as he spilled inside her, hot and deep.

When he pulled back, she slumped against the shelf, skirt still bunched, blouse slipping off one shoulder. Her legs shook.

“Hungry now?” she managed, voice shaky.

He smirked, tucking himself back in. “Ravenous.”

-0-

The afternoon air was sharp, the sky streaked with silver clouds. Lily stood barefoot in the grass after lunch, wand raised, skirts brushing the damp earth. Her blouse clung to her curves in the breeze.

Golden threads of magic wove outward from her wandtip, circling the house in tightening arcs. She whispered incantations under her breath, sweat beading at her temple.

Joseph leaned in the doorway, watching her. Arms crossed, shirt half-unbuttoned.

“You’ve done this circuit three times already,” he said.

“Then I’ll do it a fourth,” she replied without looking at him.

He stepped closer, boots crunching on gravel. “You can’t lock the world out forever, Lily.”

Her hand trembled. She lowered her wand, chest rising and falling.

“But I can try,” she said, voice breaking. “If I can make this place stronger, safer—then Harry…”

Her throat closed. She blinked fast.

Joseph’s hand covered hers, lowering the wand fully. “You’re not alone in this. Let me help.”

Her gaze lifted, meeting his. His scars caught the sunlight, his eyes steady, unyielding.

“I don’t want to lose either of you,” he said softly.

Her heart clenched. She wanted to tell him she felt the same. She wanted to tell him he already belonged here.

Instead, she let his hand stay in hers, their magic threads fading into the day together.

-0-

The house was hushed just after dinner, firelight flickering across the walls.

Joseph sat sprawled on the couch, a book in his lap, when Lily entered. She stopped, blouse loose, skirt swaying, cheeks flushed.

His eyes lifted. “What?”

Instead of answering, she strode forward, grabbed the book, and tossed it onto the floor.

Then she shoved him back onto the cushions.

“Lily—”

“Shut up.”

She straddled him, hiking her skirt up around her hips. He reached for her waist, but she smacked his hands away, tugging her blouse over her head in one swift motion. Her breasts spilled free, flushed and heavy, nipples stiff.

His mouth parted, a groan escaping.

“You talk too much,” she said, and shoved one breast into his mouth.

He moaned against her, tongue circling her nipple as she ground down against him, wetness soaking his trousers.

She stripped her skirt off, knickers following, baring herself completely. His cock was out in seconds, thick and hard against his stomach. She gripped him, guided him to her entrance, and sank down in one slow, relentless push.

“Oh—fuck—” she gasped, head falling back, hair tumbling down her spine.

“Lily—” he groaned, muffled still against her breast.

Her hips rolled, taking him deeper, her cunt clenching tight around him. The stretch made her whimper, nails digging into his chest, but the pleasure surged hotter. She rode him hard, bouncing on his cock, the wet slap of skin loud in the quiet house.

He tried to speak, but she shoved her nipple back into his mouth, smirking. “Suck.”

He obeyed, lips closing, tongue flicking as she rode him faster, chasing her orgasm.

“Oh—Gods—Joseph—yes—”

Her climax tore through her, body shaking, cunt clenching around him, soaking his cock. She screamed into his hair, grinding through every wave until she collapsed against him.

His thrusts grew frantic beneath her, muffled curses vibrating against her breast until he groaned, spilling hot and deep inside her.

For a long moment, she stayed there, panting, chest heaving, his mouth still latched to her nipple.

Then she laughed breathlessly. “Guess that shut you up.”

He smirked against her skin. “Do it again sometime.”

-0-

Chapter Text

The morning sun cut pale light across the garden when Lily stepped onto the grass, wand in hand. Her blouse hung loose, almost indecent, one side open enough that a stiff pink nipple peeked through with every shift of her body. Her skirt was far shorter than she normally wore, charmed that way when she dressed, riding high up her thighs. She hadn’t bothered with knickers.

Joseph noticed instantly.

His green eyes narrowed, his scarred jaw tightening as he circled her.

“You’re trying to distract me.”

“Maybe,” she said lightly, twirling her wand. Her breasts swayed as she moved, the fabric slipping open further. “But you should be able to duel without staring.”

He huffed a laugh, though his gaze dipped again — catching the glint of sun on her nipple, the pale swell of her breasts, the teasing flash of bare thigh.

“Dangerous game,” he warned.

“Scared you’ll lose?” she shot back, smirking.

He flicked his wand; a jet of red light shot toward her. She deflected, sparks exploding. Another came, faster, harder. She dodged, her short skirt flipping up, baring her completely.

Joseph’s jaw clenched.

“Eyes up, Joseph,” she teased, biting her lip.

“You’re playing with fire, Lily,” he growled, sending a stunner that whizzed past her ear.

Her heart pounded — from the duel, from his stare, from the rush between her thighs. Her blouse slipped further open, baring the curve of her breast fully now. She didn’t fix it.

She parried his last spell, then shouted her own incantation. His wand flew from his hand, clattering into the grass.

Breathless, flushed, hair wild, she grinned. “Ha!”

Joseph didn’t move. He stared at her — chest rising and falling, eyes burning with something far hotter than defeat.

“You wanted me distracted?” he said roughly. “Congratulations.”

Her smile faltered, a thrill of heat racing down her spine.

“Joseph—”

He closed the distance in two long strides, his hand seizing the open edge of her blouse, yanking her against him so her bare breast pressed hard into his chest.

“You’ll pay for that,” he murmured against her mouth, before kissing her hard enough to steal her breath.

-0-

The bathwater steamed lavender-scented mist across the tiled room, the master tub wide and deep enough for two. Lily sat between Joseph’s legs, back against his chest, as he poured warm water over her hair.

“Lean back,” he murmured, cupping her scalp with steady hands.

She obeyed, closing her eyes as water streamed down her face. His fingers lathered soap into her red hair, working it through in slow, deliberate circles.

“Mmm,” she sighed, melting against him.

“Feels good?” His lips brushed her damp temple.

“Dangerously good.”

He chuckled low in his throat, fingertips massaging harder. “I could wash you like this forever.”

“Careful,” she teased faintly, “I’ll make you my maid.”

“Not maid,” he corrected softly, voice darker. “Husband.”

Her breath caught — but she said nothing, letting the word sink, warm as the bathwater.

He rinsed her hair with a charm, then moved lower, sliding soap over her bare shoulders, down her arms, over the curve of her breasts. His palms lingered, thumbs brushing her nipples until they stiffened, hard peaks against slick skin.

“Joseph,” she gasped, hips shifting under the water.

“Yes?” His mouth trailed down her neck, teeth scraping gently.

“Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” His fingers teased lower, spreading suds across her stomach, her thighs, between them. “Touch you here?”

She moaned, arching, water sloshing.

“You’re cruel,” she whispered.

“I’m patient,” he murmured. “But I’m done waiting.”

He turned her in his lap, pulling her astride him, water splashing over the sides. Her breasts pressed to his chest, nipples dragging against his scars. His cock pressed hard between her legs, hot and heavy under the water.

She guided him to her entrance, gasping as he slid inside.

“Oh—Gods—”

He filled her completely, stretching her around him, the heat of him sharp even beneath the water’s warmth. His hands gripped her arse, helping her rise and sink. She clung to his shoulders, head falling back, breasts bouncing with every wet slap of their bodies.

The tub rocked, water spilling over, steam curling around them. He thrust up into her harder, relentless, his mouth latching onto her breast, sucking until she cried out.

“Joseph—oh—yes—”

She came hard, cunt clenching, thighs trembling. He fucked her through it, lips never leaving her skin, until another orgasm hit, then another, each wave breaking her louder, wetter.

When he groaned her name and spilled deep inside her, she was sobbing, wrecked, trembling in his arms.

They stayed tangled, steam wrapping them like a spell, water lapping gently now. He kissed her softly, whispering, “Mine.”

And she didn’t argue.

-0-

Later, they lay in bed, fresh sheets beneath them, hair still damp, skin clean but sore. Lily rested on her side, one hand tracing idle patterns across Joseph’s chest.

“We should mend the loose stair,” she murmured.

His scarred eyebrow arched. “Planning chores already?”

“You’d trip if I didn’t,” she teased faintly.

“Mm. Anything else, wife?” he drawled.

She rolled her eyes, but her lips curved. “Yes. The roses need pruning. And Harry’s clothes are getting small, I should charm the hems out. And… maybe… it’d be nice to have Alice over for tea, once it’s safe.”

Joseph’s hand slid down her back, warm, steady. “Sounds perfect.”

She tilted her face to him, searching. He looked at her as though she already belonged to him. As though she’d always been his.

Her chest ached. She pressed a kiss to the jagged scar at his collarbone.

“I wish I met you first,” she whispered.

His arms tightened, breath shuddering once.

And though neither spoke again, she fell asleep with her lips still on his scar, his heartbeat steady beneath her cheek.

-0-

Chapter Text

The kitchen table creaked beneath them, but neither cared.

Lily was bent over it, blouse hanging wide open, nipples dragging across the worn wood with every thrust. Her skirt was bunched up around her waist, baring the pale curve of her arse, the wet heat of her cunt stretched around Joseph’s cock.

He drove into her mercilessly, one hand pressing her down flat, the other tangled in her hair.

“Joseph—ah—oh God—” she gasped, voice raw.

“You walk around this house with your blouse open, skirt short,” he growled against her ear, teeth catching her lobe, “no knickers—do you know what that does to me?”

Her breast slid against the cool surface, nipple stiff, sending shocks through her chest. His pace was brutal, hips slamming into her arse, cock thick and heavy inside her, dragging against the spot that made her knees buckle.

“I—I was teasing—” she stammered.

“Mission accomplished,” he snarled, pulling her upright, her back against his chest. His hand circled her throat, firm but not choking, holding her still as he fucked her harder, deeper.

Her tits bounced wildly, nipples aching, sweat dripping down between them. Her cunt squeezed around him, wetness spilling down her thighs, every thrust making a slick, obscene sound.

“Yes—yes—Joseph—” she screamed, body clenching violently as her orgasm tore through her, sharp and overwhelming.

He groaned, lifting her onto her toes, cock spearing her deeper as she convulsed.

“Fuck, Lily—” His hips stuttered, cock twitching as he came inside her, hot and thick, flooding her cunt until it leaked down her thighs.

For a long moment, they collapsed onto the table, panting, tangled, his chest pressed to her back.

Then, with a loud crack, the table gave way beneath them.

They both shouted in alarm as they crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs and splintered wood. For a heartbeat they stared at each other, wide-eyed.

Then they burst into laughter, clutching their sides, tears streaming from the sheer absurdity of it.

“James would have killed us for that,” Lily gasped between laughs.

Joseph grinned wickedly. “Worth it.”

-0-

The oven glowed warm later that afternoon, the smell of yeast filling the kitchen. Lily stood at the counter, kneading dough with practiced hands, her sleeves rolled high. Joseph leaned nearby, watching her arms flex as she worked.

“You’re too rough with it,” she said, not looking at him.

“Like this?” He pressed down on the dough, palms flattening.

“Gentler. Bread needs coaxing, not pounding.”

He smirked. “Funny. I seem to recall you liking pounding this morning.”

Her cheeks flushed crimson. “Joseph!”

He laughed, reaching to rub flour from her cheek with his thumb. His hand lingered, cupping her face, before sliding to her shoulder.

“You’re tense,” he murmured.

She blinked. “I’m kneading bread.”

“And carrying the world,” he countered softly. His strong fingers dug into her shoulder, massaging gently, easing knots she hadn’t realized were there.

Her breath left her in a soft sigh. “Mmm… you’re not terrible at that.”

“Not terrible?” His hand slid lower, caressing down her arm. “High praise.”

She chuckled, covering his flour-dusted hand with her own. For a moment, it felt like they weren’t hiding from war — just a husband and wife making bread together, warmth thick in the air.

As the dough rose, they sat side by side, talking charms — Lily explaining an idea for layering protection spells, Joseph sketching counters in the air with his wand. His hand brushed her knee absentmindedly, and she leaned into him, head resting briefly against his shoulder.

“See? Not bad at coaxing after all,” he teased.

She smiled, small but real.

-0-

That night, hunger came back like a storm.

Joseph had her pinned against the bedroom wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, blouse ripped open, skirt long gone. His cock drove into her hard, slamming her body back into the plaster with each thrust.

“Joseph—fuck—” she screamed, nails raking bloody lines across his back.

“Gods, Lily—” he growled, burying himself deep. “So tight—so wet—”

Her breasts bounced with every brutal thrust, nipples red and swollen from his mouth. Her hair stuck to her damp face as sweat slicked their bodies together. Her cunt clenched violently, sucking him in, wetter with every stroke.

“Yes—yes—yes!” she sobbed, her orgasm exploding, sharp and endless.

He didn’t stop. He fucked her through it, cock pistoning, balls slapping against her arse, until she was shaking uncontrollably. Another orgasm slammed through her, leaving her screaming his name, body writhing.

“More,” she begged hoarsely, delirious. “Please—again—”

He snarled, pulling her from the wall and throwing her onto the bed. He entered her again in one hard thrust, cock spearing her open, making her cry out.

Her tits bounced wildly, her stomach taut, her thighs shaking as he drove into her harder, rougher. His thumb found her clit, circling mercilessly until she screamed, clamping down around him, cunt pulsing as another climax ripped her apart.

“Lily—fuck—I’m—” he groaned, hips slamming deep, spilling hot inside her, his cock twitching as her cunt milked him greedily.

She collapsed beneath him, chest heaving, body trembling, cunt leaking his seed.

When the world stopped spinning, he pulled her close, sweat-soaked and panting.

“You’re going to kill me,” she whispered weakly.

He kissed her temple, lips tender after brutality. “Then you’ll die happy.”

-0-

Chapter Text

The morning sun had barely lit the curtains when Joseph pushed Lily onto her back and slid between her thighs.

She was already wet, the heat of her cunt slicking his cock as he pressed against her folds. With a growl, he thrust inside in one long, claiming stroke that made her cry out.

“Joseph—oh God—yes—”

Her legs locked around his waist, dragging him deeper. His chest pressed to hers, her nipples dragging across his scars, hard peaks brushing each thrust.

“You tease me every day,” he groaned, hips slamming, cock pounding into her soaked pussy. “This is what you wanted.”

“Yes—yes—oh fuck—I need it—”

Her breasts bounced against him, sweat already slick between them, her nails clawing his back. His mouth found her nipple, sucking hard, teeth scraping until she sobbed.

Her orgasm hit fast and brutal, cunt clamping down, gush spilling hot around him as she screamed his name. He kept fucking her through it, each thrust harder, until he buried himself deep and groaned into her throat, cock twitching as he filled her.

They collapsed together, panting, kissing messily, sweat and cum smeared between them.

Then, without a word, he lifted her in his arms — still inside her, still hard — and carried her out of the bedroom.

-0-

The hallway wall was cold and unyielding against her back.

Joseph slammed into her, lifting her thighs high around his waist, his cock driving deep. Her breasts bounced wildly, her hair stuck damp to her face as her cries echoed off the plaster.

“Joseph—oh God—you’re splitting me open—”

“You love it,” he snarled, pounding harder, one hand gripping her arse, the other sliding up to pinch her nipple.

Her pussy was soaked, juices running down her thighs as he fucked her harder and faster. Her body clenched violently, orgasm crashing through her, scream tearing her throat raw.

“Yes—yes—yes!”

He groaned, thrusting deep, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside her again, hot and thick. She sagged against him, sweaty, trembling, head pressed to his scarred chest.

“Bedroom. Hallway.” He kissed her hard, biting her lip. “This house will remember us.”

-0-

The sitting room rug scratched her knees as Lily knelt, mouth stretched wide around his cock.

Joseph sat back on the couch, watching her lips glide down his shaft, saliva dripping down her chin. She gagged softly as she took him to the back of her throat, then pulled off with a wet gasp, smirking as she stroked him with both hands.

“Fuck—Lily—you’re gorgeous like this,” he groaned, hand in her hair.

She licked him slowly, tongue tracing the vein, then swallowed him whole again, cheeks hollowing as she sucked hard. He gasped, hips jerking into her throat.

When he was close, she pulled back, stroking him fast with her hand while licking the tip.

“My turn,” she whispered, eyes gleaming.

He dropped to the rug, dragging her onto her back, spreading her thighs wide. His mouth closed over her cunt, tongue lapping hard at her clit, fingers curling inside her.

“Joseph—ah—fuck—” she screamed, hips bucking.

He devoured her, tongue plunging, sucking her clit until she was writhing, sobbing, her orgasm tearing through her so hard she nearly blacked out. He didn’t stop — coaxing another, then another, until she was shaking uncontrollably, thighs clamped around his head, tears streaking her face.

He rose, face slick with her cum, and kissed her hard, making her taste herself.

“Basement,” he rasped.

-0-

The basement was cool, stone walls echoing their ragged breaths.

Joseph bent Lily over the workbench, spreading her cheeks wide. His cock, slick with her release, pressed against her tight hole.

She froze, trembling. “Joseph—”

“Shh,” he soothed, kissing her spine. “I’ll make it good.”

He pushed slowly, stretching her inch by inch until the thick head slipped inside. She gasped, face pressed to the bench, nails clawing the wood.

“Oh—oh—fuck—”

He sank deeper, her tight hole clenching around him. “Gods—you’re incredible—”

He set a brutal rhythm, cock dragging in and out, stretching her wide, making her sob with every thrust. His hand found her clit, rubbing hard as he fucked her arse mercilessly.

She screamed as her orgasm tore through her, body convulsing, cunt spasming even as her ass squeezed him tight. He groaned, slamming deep, spilling hot inside her.

She collapsed, trembling, dripping. He kissed her damp neck and whispered, “Upstairs.”

-0-

The dining room table rattled beneath them.

Lily straddled Joseph, riding his cock hard, tits bouncing wildly, nipples raw and swollen. Her hair clung to her sweaty face as she slammed down onto him again and again.

“Joseph—fuck—I’m gonna—I can’t—”

“You’re so beautiful,” he groaned, watching her tits bounce, cock buried deep. “So perfect. So mine.”

She ground down hard, clit rubbing, her orgasm exploding through her, scream echoing off the walls. He thrust up into her, groaning, filling her again.

The table creaked dangerously. They both froze.

Then Lily burst into breathless laughter. “Careful—we’ve already broken one this week.”

-0-

The kitchen filled with afternoon light.

Joseph bent Lily over the counter, her breasts dragging across the wood, nipples stiff, hair wild. His cock slammed into her from behind, hard and fast, wet slaps echoing.

“Yes—yes—yes!” she screamed, sweat dripping down her back.

Her reflection gleamed in the window: flushed face, bouncing tits, mouth open in ecstasy. The sight drove her higher, her clit throbbing.

He gripped her hips, pounding harder, thumb circling her clit until her orgasm detonated, violent and consuming. She screamed, body convulsing, cunt milking him until he roared, spilling inside her.

They sagged forward, panting, trembling, their sweat-slick bodies pressed together.

“That—was—the—best—” Lily gasped, lifting her head, eyes bright. “Joseph, that felt—”

Her words cut off.

The kitchen door had opened.

Alice Longbottom stood frozen in the doorway, one hand still on the knob. Her face was pale, eyes wide, mouth open in shock.

She had come for tea. Instead, she found Lily bent over the counter, Joseph still buried inside her, both naked and glistening.

“Lily?” Alice whispered, horrified.

-0-

Chapter Text

Alice stood in the doorway, hand still gripping the knob. Her eyes went wide, her mouth parting soundlessly as she froze.

Lily felt the world stop. She was bent over the counter, Joseph still inside her, sweat dripping, both of them flushed and naked.

Alice’s voice cracked. “Lily?”

Heat flooded Lily’s face. She scrambled upright, tearing herself off Joseph, covering her breasts with her arms though the shame felt hollow. Sticky wetness slid down her thighs. Her voice caught. “Alice, I—”

Alice shook her head, color draining from her face. “How could you? In James’s house? With Harry upstairs?”

Joseph stepped forward, scarred chest heaving, body gleaming with sweat. He didn’t cover himself. His green eyes locked on Alice’s.

“You shouldn’t have come without warning.”

“Joseph!” Lily hissed, horrified.

Alice’s voice sharpened, trembling with fury. “You’ve been circling her like a vulture since the day you arrived. I’ll tell James. I’ll tell Dumbledore. The Order will know—”

The words broke off.

Joseph’s wand was in his hand, his voice cold and steady. “Stupefy.”

The flash of red light struck her squarely in the chest. She dropped instantly, sprawling unconscious on the kitchen floor, hand still slack on the knob.

Lily gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. For a heartbeat, panic flared hot.

Then the logic followed — swift, unrelenting. Alice would have told James. Dumbledore. The Order. Which meant danger. To Harry. To Joseph. To the fragile world they had carved inside these walls.

Her pulse slowed. Her choice was clear.

“What do we do?”

Joseph’s eyes softened at the question, as if he’d expected a protest. Instead she was already with him.

“We move her outside before she wakes. Make it look like she tripped the wards at the boundary.” He was already pulling his trousers on, tossing Lily her dress from the laundry basket. “You’re better with memory work than me. You’ll rewrite the last ten minutes. I’ll handle the cleanup.”

They dressed quickly, fingers fumbling with buttons, tugging fabric over sweat-slick skin. The kitchen still smelled of sex, of them, but Joseph flicked his wand and the counters gleamed, the wood dry, the scent erased.

Lily knelt beside Alice, brushing a lock of blonde hair from her still face. Her chest rose and fell steadily. She looked peaceful, almost like she was only napping.

“Ten minutes?” Lily asked quietly.

“That’s all she’ll lose,” Joseph said, crouching beside her. “She won’t know. It’ll be like nothing happened.”

Her wand shook faintly in her hand. “I’ve never—done this to a friend.”

Joseph’s scarred fingers closed over hers, steadying the grip. “She gave you no choice. You’re protecting Harry. Protecting us.”

Lily exhaled shakily, then aimed at Alice’s temple.

“Obliviate.”

Golden light swept across Alice’s features, smooth and clean, stripping away the last ten minutes.

Joseph slid his arms under Alice and lifted her easily. Together they carried her out into the yard, laying her gently on the grass just inside the wardline. Her hair spread pale against the autumn earth.

Joseph straightened, brushing dust from his hands. “When she wakes, she’ll believe she crossed the wards wrong and triggered a defense charm. Embarrassing, but harmless. She’ll never suspect.”

Lily’s stomach twisted, but it was steadier than she expected. This wasn’t betrayal — not really. This was protection. She had Harry to guard. Joseph to hold. Alice’s outrage had only proven what Lily already knew: her loyalties had shifted long before this. James was gone. The Order was distant. All that mattered now lived within these walls.

Joseph turned to her, his green eyes burning against the pale streak of hair at his temple. His scarred hand cupped her cheek.

“No one will separate us,” he said softly, voice like steel. “Not her. Not James. Not even Dumbledore.”

Lily shivered at the weight of it. And to her own surprise, she liked how that weight felt.

-0-

Chapter Text

The house was still again.

The wards hummed faintly in the walls. Upstairs, Harry’s soft breaths rose and fell in sleep. And in the quiet aftermath, Lily and Joseph finally collapsed onto the couch together, exhausted in a way that was more than physical.

For a while, neither spoke. Lily leaned her head back against the cushions, the tension seeping out of her shoulders as though wrung from them. Joseph sprawled beside her, one arm draped lazily along the back of the couch, his scarred chest still rising a little too fast.

She should have been rattled. Perhaps even wracked with guilt. But she wasn’t.

Instead, her mind replayed Alice’s visit — and how, surprisingly, after the disastrous way it had started, it had gone… rather well. Once Alice had woken in the yard, embarrassed and flustered, they had shifted seamlessly into old rhythms. Conversation over tea had felt almost normal, almost like a scrap of her old life returned.

Still, Lily had made certain to fix the terms of any future visits. “Owl ahead next time,” she had said firmly, smiling just enough to soften the edge. “So the wards don’t catch you again.” Alice had nodded quickly, eager to agree.

That part had gone smoothly.

But the rest—

Heat bloomed in Lily’s cheeks. The memory surged vivid and absurd: the sitting room, just before tea. Alice walking behind her with the tray, chattering about Neville’s first words. And Lily, glancing at the coffee table — only to see them. Two perfect, round, dusty imprints pressed side by side on the dark surface. Her breasts. Flattened there earlier when Joseph had bent her over it.

For a terrifying instant she’d frozen, blood hammering in her ears. Alice hadn’t noticed yet — her angle was wrong, the tray obscuring her view. With quick thinking and shaking fingers, Lily had flicked her wand. A simple Scourgify, passed off as “Just tidying the table for tea.”

She could still hear Alice’s laugh in reply, still feel the way her own face had burned as the prints vanished.

Now, sitting safe on the couch, the absurdity of it crashed over her. Her lips twitched, then her shoulders shook.

Joseph’s head turned immediately, his sharp green eyes catching the flush on her cheeks. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said too fast, biting her lip.

His brow arched, scars pulling faintly. “That blush says otherwise.”

Her face flamed hotter. She tried to look away, but the memory was too much. Her shoulders began to tremble, a strangled giggle escaping her throat.

Joseph frowned, leaning closer. “Lily?”

The laughter broke. She doubled forward, clutching her stomach, helpless peals spilling out of her. Tears pricked her eyes from the sheer force of it.

He stared at her like she’d gone mad. “Are you going to tell me, or let me die of curiosity?”

She tried — failed — tried again. “It’s—oh Merlin—it’s so stupid—”

Joseph’s hand rubbed circles on her back, steady and curious.

She wheezed, laughter bursting free. “Breast prints!”

He blinked. “…What?”

“In the dust!” she gasped, wiping at her eyes. “On the coffee table! From me — when you — when we — oh God—” Her words tangled into another fit of hysterics.

Joseph’s mouth fell open, then curved slowly into a grin. He dropped his head into his hand, chuckling low in disbelief.

“You mean to tell me,” he said finally, voice rumbling with amusement, “that your friend sat down for tea today, and the only reason she didn’t see evidence plastered on the furniture was because you erased breast prints first?”

“Yes!” Lily howled, collapsing sideways against him, her laughter shaking them both. “I told her I was just tidying up! Oh Merlin—Joseph—it was like a crime scene!”

His chuckle deepened, rolling into full laughter. He pulled her against his chest, both of them trembling with it now.

The house echoed with their joy, bright and unrestrained, spilling into corners usually heavy with tension. For those minutes, the war didn’t exist. Neither did James, or Dumbledore, or Alice.

There was only them.

At last, Lily caught her breath, cheeks sore, lips aching from smiling. She slumped boneless against Joseph, her head nestled against the warm line of his shoulder. His arm curled around her, protective, grounding.

And she realized, with startling clarity, that she hadn’t felt this alive — or this herself — in years.

-0-

Chapter Text

The night after Alice’s visit was quieter than any they’d had in weeks.

Harry slept upstairs, the steady rhythm of his baby snores muffled through the wards Joseph had set to amplify any cries or stirrings. The house breathed with them—wards humming faintly, fire sighing low, ink drying on parchment.

The living room had transformed into their command post. Maps of Britain sprawled across the coffee table and onto the rug, corners pinned with half-drained teacups, Joseph’s wand, and Lily’s dog-eared book of charms.

Lily sat with her knees tucked under her, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, red hair falling wild around her face. She tapped her quill on a dot marking Ottery St. Catchpole. “We could fortify here, maybe. The land itself is good for anchoring wardlines.”

Joseph leaned closer across the table, scars catching the firelight in harsh relief. His green eyes followed her finger. “Too close to Burrow territory. If the Weasleys are watched, so will their neighbors be.”

She frowned, chewing on the end of her quill. “All right. What about—”

“Too exposed,” he said softly, already pointing to the next mark she hadn’t voiced. “The coast there’s open, no natural choke points.”

Her brow arched. “You’ve thought about this.”

“I think about little else,” he admitted, and when he looked at her, his gaze softened.

-0-

They circled the map for nearly an hour, weighing every town, every bit of countryside, every coastline. Fortification versus flight. Dig in, or disappear.

Lily curled her legs sideways on the couch, leaning nearer until her shoulder brushed his. She didn’t move away. “If we stay, I can layer the wards threefold. Detection charms, trip-lines, sigils tuned to Harry’s magical signature. They’d warn me before anyone crossed.”

“And if the Ministry leaks again?” His voice was quiet, but there was no missing the edge of steel in it. “Or if one of the Order starts talking?”

She swallowed. “Then we run.”

Joseph didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for the firewhisky bottle at his side, poured a splash into her teacup, then his own. He handed hers over, his scarred fingers brushing hers, deliberate, grounding. “And if they corner us on the way?”

“Then you do what you do best,” she said. A ghost of a smile touched her lips.

He huffed softly, a low sound in his throat. “And you?”

“I keep Harry alive.” Her hand, trembling faintly, smoothed the map between them. “Whatever it takes.”

-0-

For a long while, they didn’t speak. The fire popped, shadows danced across their faces. Lily traced the space her wedding ring used to be, then closed her fist until her knuckles whitened.

Joseph noticed but said nothing. Instead, he shifted closer, their shoulders pressing now, their knees brushing beneath the blanket she had pulled across both of them without really thinking about it.

“Say it out loud,” he murmured, not unkindly.

Her throat tightened, but she did. “Harry first. Always. If it comes down to him or anyone else—James, Alice, Dumbledore, the Order—it’s Harry. And me. And…” Her voice faltered.

His green eyes locked onto hers, steady as stone. “And me,” he finished for her.

The words hung between them like a vow spoken into flame.

“I’ll be the blade that keeps him safe,” he said, his voice quiet, absolute. “The blade that keeps you safe. Whatever it costs.”

Her breath caught. Not because of fear—but because of how easily she believed him.

-0-

By midnight the maps were folded, quills capped. Lily tidied the table with a flick of her wand while Joseph stoked the fire back to embers. The house exhaled around them, their little boy sleeping soundly upstairs, the night calm for once.

She returned from the kitchen with two small glasses of fire whisky. “No more tea,” she said, handing one to him. Their fingers brushed again. “To surviving.”

He touched his glass to hers. “To Harry.”

The whisky burned warm and sharp. She leaned back into the couch beside him, the blanket still draped across them both. Their arms touched, their knees pressed. She didn’t move away, and neither did he.

They clinked their glasses again, silently this time. A vow not spoken in words, but in closeness, in the shared warmth of fire and whisky and the unshakable truth they had drawn like a line across the map:

Harry first.

Always.

-0-

Chapter Text

By morning, the cottage no longer felt like a cottage.

It had become a living diagram of defense: runes etched into the lintels, charms laid into the hearth, trip-lines threading the hedges and stone path outside. Lily worked with her sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair pinned up and already sliding free as sweat dampened her temples. She moved from door to window, wand flicking in complex patterns, lips whispering incantations under her breath. The air around the house thrummed faintly, as if the cottage itself had drawn a breath and held it.

Joseph shadowed her, though not to supervise. His hands were full with other work: forged documents spread on the kitchen table, money satchels tucked open, foreign coins glittering in the light. The papers were uncanny—passports with her face but slight variations on her name, magical licenses in languages she couldn’t read, Harry’s curls captured perfectly in a photograph that flickered subtly between one expression and another. Joseph checked each with the tip of his wand, murmuring charms that slid over the surface like oil.

Lily paused beside him, wiping her forehead with her sleeve. “Those look… disturbingly official.”

“They are,” Joseph said. He didn’t look up, but a crooked smirk pulled at his mouth. “The Ministry’s easier to fool than they’d like to admit. Too much bureaucracy, not enough vigilance.”

She raised her brows. “That sounds like experience talking.”

His green eyes flicked up to hers for a beat. “Someday I’ll tell you how I know this,” he said quietly. Then he bent back over the papers, as if that ended the matter.

The words lingered like a shadow, a door closed but not locked.

She laughed softly, because it was either that or dwell on the weight pressing in. “And the goblins?”

His eyes sharpened. “Already accounted for. Gold stashed in three caches. Two here, one along a travel chain I don’t plan to tell anyone about. Not even the Order.”

Her smile faded, but she nodded. “Good.”

-0-

By midday, two neat satchels leaned against the couch—go-bags in all but name. One for her, one for Harry.

Lily’s bag was practical: spare robes, blankets shrunk small with a compression charm, a few sealed potion bottles, and a handwritten list of spells she thought she might need in panic. Harry’s was smaller but no less deliberate: bottles, tiny jumpers, nappies, even the stuffed toy rabbit he dragged by one ear. She smoothed her hand over the top of it, throat tight.

Joseph set a third satchel down beside them. It didn’t look like much—a worn leather bag—but when he opened it, the gleam of steel caught the light. Enchanted daggers, throwing knives, slim potion vials nestled in padding. A stack of magical sigils inked onto parchment for instant defense.

She arched a brow. “Yours looks less like a go-bag and more like a war chest.”

He shrugged. “Paper protections—” he nudged the pile of forged documents with his boot, “—and real ones.” He tapped the satchel. “We’ll need both.”

She didn’t argue.

-0-

That evening, when the house was quiet and Harry finally down for his nap, Lily dropped onto the couch, boneless with exhaustion. Her hair had come half loose, ink streaked her fingers, and there was a smudge of ash on her cheek where a defensive rune had blown back against her. She didn’t care. She slumped sideways until her shoulder found Joseph’s, the blanket slipping from her lap to cover both of them without thought.

“Every time I think I’ve sealed every crack,” she murmured, “I see another one. It’s like trying to patch a sinking ship.”

His arm shifted, settling along the back of the couch so her head rested more securely against him. “You’ve done more in a day than most of the Order’s wardmasters could do in a week.”

She huffed. “That’s not comforting. It just makes me wonder if the rest of them are fools.”

“Some are,” he said dryly.

She laughed into his shoulder, the sound small but real. For a moment, it felt almost normal—like two tired parents sharing the end of a long day.

Then she whispered, so softly she wasn’t sure she’d meant to say it aloud: “If it comes to it, I’ll leave it all.”

Joseph stilled beside her.

She lifted her head, eyes finding his in the low firelight. “The house. My books. Every memory.” Her hand tightened around the marriage ring still circling her finger, until her knuckles whitened. “Everything but Harry.”

Her voice trembled on the last word.

Joseph studied her for a long moment. His scarred face was unreadable, save for the steady burn in his eyes.

“And you,” she added, barely louder than a breath. “I’d leave everything but Harry. And you.”

Something shifted between them then—like the floor had tilted, or a ward had clicked into place.

Joseph’s hand slid down from the back of the couch, covering hers where it gripped the blanket. His thumb brushed once across her knuckles, slow and deliberate. “You won’t have to choose,” he said quietly. “But if you do—then I’ll already be standing where you need me.”

Her throat tightened painfully. “You mean that.”

“I do.”

-0-

Later, when she went upstairs to check on Harry, Joseph followed without a word. They stood side by side at the crib, watching their son breathe softly in the dim light. His tiny hand clutched the rabbit’s ear, his curls damp from sleep.

“He looks like James when he’s dreaming,” Lily whispered. There was no venom in it, only a quiet, aching truth.

Joseph’s arm brushed hers, warm. “And he looks like you when he smiles.”

She looked up at him then, eyes shimmering in the half-light. “We have to keep him safe. Whatever it costs.”

Joseph nodded once, steady as a vow. “Whatever it costs.”

For a long moment they stayed like that, standing shoulder to shoulder at the crib, their hands almost touching on the rail. A family, drawn together by choice as much as blood.

-0-

Downstairs again, Joseph carefully packed the forged documents into the hollowed space beneath the couch cushions. Paper protections. Then he slid the leather satchel of weapons into the hidden compartment under the floorboards. Real ones.

Two safeguards for one promise.

-0-

Chapter Text

The morning sky was heavy with cloud, the kind that threatened rain but never quite committed. The light was dim, silver-gray, the kind that made everything feel quieter, muffled.

They set out early. Joseph wore Harry strapped to his chest in a soft sling Lily had charmed to resist cold. The boy’s curls poked free, a small hand curled into Joseph’s shirt. Lily walked beside them, her satchel bumping lightly against her hip, wand loose in her hand.

“This isn’t a run,” Joseph said as they left the cottage lane. His voice was low, steady. “It’s practice. We leave as if we have to vanish. We move like ghosts.”

Lily adjusted her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “And if the neighbors see us vanish like ghosts?”

“They won’t,” he said, and when her brows rose, he added, “That’s the point.”

-0-

The first jump was disorienting. Lily braced herself for the tug of Apparition, the squeeze of air, the jolt—yet what came was softer, stranger. The world folded, then unfolded again, with no sensation of pressure, no lingering ache. It was like walking through a door she hadn’t noticed until it was already behind her.

She blinked, steadying herself against the trunk of a beech tree. “That wasn’t Apparition.”

Joseph adjusted the sling, checked Harry’s sleeping face, and finally met her eyes. “Not standard Apparition.”

Her lips parted. “Then what was it?”

He hesitated, long enough that she noticed. “Safer,” he said at last. “No splinching. No trace for anyone to follow.”

“Safer?” she pressed.

His mouth twitched—not a smile, but not quite stern. “Someday I’ll tell you how I know this.”

The words hit her like an echo. Someday. The same as when he’d waved off the forged documents with that same shadowed promise. A pattern forming.

She swallowed, her mind flicking back to the passports too perfect, the Ministry seals too clean. Just what had he done before she met him? Who had he been moving through the cracks for, with all that skill?

It was a dangerous thought. And yet, when she looked at him—at the scars cutting across his face, at the baby bundled safe against his chest—she only felt the weight of safety, not fear.

“Fine,” she said softly. “Someday.”

-0-

By midday, they reached the coast.

The bolt-hole was a squat stone cottage tucked against a bluff, facing the endless gray-blue water. Its shutters sagged, the roof was patched, but the walls were sound. Lily’s wand hummed as she scanned the threshold. “No curses. No signatures.” She pressed a palm to the doorframe, feeling the grain of the wood. “Just sea salt and mildew.”

Joseph shifted Harry in his sling and pushed the door open. Inside smelled of damp air and old wool. He set Harry carefully into a makeshift crib by the hearth—a wicker basket lined with blankets—and then went window to window, assessing sight lines, muttering under his breath.

“Two wards here,” he said, tapping the front sill. “One at the back, facing the cliff. Easy anchors. We could thread lines down into the rocks, make them bite hard. Isolation’s an advantage. Anyone who comes, we’ll see them.”

“And if they come by sea?” Lily asked, standing shoulder to shoulder with him at the window.

His lips curled faintly, scars pulling with the motion. “Then I’ll sink them.”

Her laugh came out in a soft puff. “Practical as always.”

“Would you want me any other way?” he asked, only half teasing.

She shook her head, hair brushing his arm. “No.”

-0-

That evening, the three of them walked the shoreline. The tide was low, leaving wet sand shining like glass. Harry toddled between them, one hand clasped in Lily’s, the other gripping Joseph’s. Each time the boy stumbled, Joseph steadied him with a patient lift, murmuring encouragement.

Lily watched them both—the boy’s wide grin, Joseph’s quiet steadiness—and felt a pang that was not grief, not guilt, but something dangerously close to longing.

Later, when Harry slept in the wicker crib, they sat on the worn sofa in the front room. The window was open a crack, the sea breathing in and out like a living thing. Lily curled her legs beneath her, brushing his thigh with her feet. He shifted so her toes rested against him, his hand absently smoothing the blanket over them both.

“You’re quiet,” he said softly, turning his head to look at her.

She stared at the waves through the gap in the shutters. “I was thinking… we could live here. Not just hide. Live.” Her voice cracked, but she pushed on. “Harry could grow up with sand in his hair, salt in the air. No masks. No maps. Just… life.”

He didn’t speak right away. His hand slid down her calf, thumb drawing lazy circles through the fabric of her trousers. It wasn’t bold, wasn’t claiming. It was steady, grounding. “You’d like that.”

She turned her head, meeting his eyes. “Wouldn’t you?”

For once, he didn’t deflect. “Yes.”

The word was quiet but struck through her like a bell. She leaned into him, her head settling against his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, his scarred hand splayed over her hip in an anchor’s grip.

Her lips parted, a breath escaping against his shirt. The urge to tilt her head, to press her mouth to the steady pulse in his throat, flared strong enough to startle her. She swallowed it down, clinging to the safety of his warmth.

Harry’s cry broke through the spell.

Lily groaned faintly, pushing herself up. “He has a cruel sense of timing.”

Joseph’s hand lingered at her waist for one more heartbeat before releasing her. “Always.”

She scooped Harry from the crib, kissing his curls, murmuring soft reassurances. When she turned, Joseph was already beside her, hand brushing her back as if to steady both of them.

“Shh,” she whispered, rocking Harry. “Mummy’s here.”

“And Daddy,” Joseph added quietly, not claiming, but not denying either.

Her eyes flicked up at him, wide and soft in the half-light. She didn’t correct him.

-0-

When she returned to the sofa, Harry still nestled against her, Joseph lifted the blanket again, tucking it around the three of them. His knuckles brushed her cheek as he smoothed a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

For a long moment, they sat like that, the sea sighing beyond the window, their son breathing between them.

It felt like the future she had dared to picture: sand, sea, and a life beyond war.

-0-

Chapter Text

The tide was low, the beach wide and gleaming, scattered with shells and seaweed. Harry squealed at the edge of the surf, stamping tiny footprints that the waves immediately washed away. He threw shells back into the sea as if daring the tide to bring them again.

Lily sat on the sand, her skirt hitched above her knees, the breeze pulling at her blouse. Sunlight spilled across her hair, salt clinging to her skin. She was laughing—light, unguarded, her eyes brighter than he’d ever seen them.

Joseph crouched beside her, brushing sand from her thighs with a scarred hand. His touch lingered, sliding higher, roughened fingers grazing the warm skin just above her knee. Her laughter softened into a sharp inhale.

She turned her face toward him, lips parted, eyes dark. That was all it took.

His mouth claimed hers—salt, heat, desperation—and she kissed him back, pulling hard at his shirt. They tumbled sideways into the dune-grass, mouths pressed together, teeth knocking. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, his hip pinned between her legs.

“Merlin,” she gasped against his lips, half laughing, half frantic.

“Not Merlin,” he growled, kissing her harder.

The grass scratched her back through thin cotton, sand clung to her calves, and none of it mattered. His hand slid under her blouse, palm against her skin, and she arched into the touch, hungry, reckless.

-0-

Harry’s sudden shriek carried across the beach.

They froze, tangled together, lips swollen, breath ragged.

Lily pressed her forehead to Joseph’s shoulder, laughter bubbling through her chest. “Oh, we are the worst,” she whispered.

Joseph let out a long groan, rolling half off her but not letting go. “We really are.” He kissed her hair once before pushing up, brushing sand from her blouse.

Harry shouted again, delighted with the sandcastle he’d smashed with both fists. Lily’s laugh cracked into a snort. “Not even looking our way.”

Joseph’s hand lingered at her waist. “Still—”

“I know.” She sighed, though her eyes glinted wickedly. “Later.”

-0-

Later came quickly.

Back at the cottage, Harry was tucked safely in his crib, already yawning into his toy rabbit. Lily and Joseph barely made it past the door before she shoved him back against the wall, kissing him like she had to consume him. Her fingers dug into his hair, dragging his mouth down to hers.

He growled against her lips, hands gripping her hips, pulling her close until she could feel his arousal straining against her belly. She moaned into his mouth, pressing against him, her thighs already trembling.

“You’re still sandy,” he rasped.

“Then take it off me.” Her blouse was already sliding down her arms. She let it drop, baring pale skin flushed pink. Her nipples were tight peaks, brushing his chest as she pressed close.

“Fuck, Lily.” His mouth closed over one, teeth grazing before his tongue soothed the sting. She gasped, clutching at the back of his head, arching her breast deeper into his mouth.

Her skirt bunched around her waist, his hand sliding between her thighs. Her knickers were already damp, clinging to her folds. He groaned into her skin as he rubbed her through the thin fabric, his thumb circling her clit until her knees buckled.

“Joseph—” Her voice cracked, need flooding every syllable. “Please. Inside me. Now.”

He hooked her knickers aside and thrust two fingers into her, hard and fast. She cried out, head hitting the wall, nails raking down his back.

“So wet,” he muttered against her neck. “You’ve been waiting for this all day, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” she gasped, rolling her hips against his hand. “Yes—just—fuck me, please.”

That undid him. He tore his trousers open, lined himself up, and lifted her in one swift motion. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her back pressed to the wall. He thrust into her in a single, hard stroke, burying himself to the hilt.

Her scream was muffled against his mouth, her nails biting into his shoulders. “Oh gods—yes—”

He groaned, forehead pressed to hers. “So fucking tight.”

Every thrust slammed her harder into the wall, the plaster creaking behind her. Her breasts bounced against his chest, nipples scraping, her clit grinding against him with every snap of his hips.

She broke for air, gasping, “Harder—don’t stop, Joseph, don’t stop—”

He obeyed, pounding into her, his teeth grazing her throat, leaving faint marks down her collarbone. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room, slick, raw, messy.

Her orgasm tore through her with brutal suddenness, her body clenching around him, her cry echoing against the walls. He groaned into her mouth, grinding deep as she spasmed around him, milking every inch.

He thrust twice more, then buried himself deep, shuddering as he came. His groan was guttural, low and rough, muffled by her kiss.

They clung to each other, trembling, panting, sweat and sand mingling. Her thighs shook against his hips, his scars damp against her skin.

-0-

Afterward, they staggered into the sitting room and collapsed onto the sofa, clothes half-hanging off them, hair tangled, skin flushed. Lily leaned against him, chest still heaving, her laugh bursting out in ragged breaths.

Joseph brushed sand from her shoulder with deliberate care. “I think that qualifies as an itch scratched.”

She choked on a laugh, smacked his shoulder with no real force. “You absolute bastard.”

He caught her wrist, kissed the inside of it, his lips lingering against her pulse. She melted, head falling to his shoulder, still laughing, still burning, the sound of the sea still in her ears.

-0-

Chapter Text

The storm came after they returned to Godric’s Hollow.

Not rain—though the sky pressed low and heavy, the night thick with mist—but the storm Joseph had carried inside him since the beginning.

Lily felt it in the walls as soon as they stepped through the door. The seaside cottage had been salt and air, horizon wide, freedom tangible in the hiss of the waves. Godric’s Hollow was closer, smaller, thick with shadow and memory. Safe, perhaps, but the safety of a cage.

Joseph sat at the table long after Harry was asleep, candlelight hard against his scars. The quiet of the house pressed down, heavy with the contrast—no roar of surf here, only the tick of the clock and the weight of wards humming faint around the walls.

Lily leaned against the counter, arms folded. She had let him keep his silences for months. She had seen it in the forged papers too perfect, the “safe” travel spell that wasn’t Apparition, the way he seemed to know the shape of a battlefield before it unfolded. But tonight, back in this place that had always felt like a halfway point between sanctuary and trap, she couldn’t.

“You’re holding something back.”

His eyes lifted, caught hers, then dropped again. “I am.”

Her stomach clenched. “What is it?”

For a moment, he said nothing. The candle hissed as a drip of wax slid down. Then he drew a breath, deep and ragged.

“I’m not from here,” he said.

She frowned. “Not from Britain?”

His gaze rose, steady now. “Not from this time.”

The words struck like a curse.

Her mouth opened, shut. “You—”

“I’m a time traveler,” he said. “I came back because the war I knew was worse than this one. Because Voldemort didn’t die, even after every Horcrux was destroyed.”

Horcrux. The word meant nothing—but it stuck sharp in her mind. Something she would demand later. Not now.

“I lived it,” he pressed on. “I fought it. I watched people die—people you’ve never even met. I came back because I had to find out why he fell here. Why your protection—your love—succeeded when everything else failed.”

Her arms tightened around herself. The sting of betrayal rose sharp in her chest. “And you never told me.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy as lead.

It stung—like betrayal, like a line drawn between them. All the months of quiet nights, of trust built brick by brick, and beneath it all this secret coiled.

His jaw worked, as though dragging the words from stone. “When I first came back, it was supposed to be simple. Help with the war. Get close enough to learn what you did. Nothing more.”

Her breath hitched.

“But I realized quickly—I couldn’t. You’re too brilliant, Lily. Too alive. I thought I could keep it cold, keep it detached, but… I didn’t stand a chance.”

Her breath caught.

His voice broke, just slightly. “I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you. Especially not me. But I don’t care anymore.”

Her throat closed. The sting twisted, reshaped into something sharper, hotter. Fear, fury, and the ache she had been fighting for months all tangled together.

She crossed the room before she could think.

Her hand pressed to his cheek, and she felt him give the tiniest flinch the scars rough beneath her palm. “You idiot,” she whispered, trembling. “You thought this would make me turn from you? After everything?”

His eyes shut, and he leaned into her touch as though it was the only anchor he had left.

“Lily—”

“No.” Her other hand slid to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. “You’ve already proven who you are. A hundred times. That’s what I’ve measured you by—not secrets, not scars.”

She kissed his temple, sure and soft. “And I’m not afraid of you.”

-0-

The air between them broke like a bowstring loosed.

He rose from the chair, hands gripping her waist as if to hold her in place. She tipped her face up, lips parted, and his mouth found hers.

It wasn’t frantic—not like the dune-grass, not like the desperate bursts they’d stolen before. It was steady, consuming, edged with fear and relief both. His kiss was a vow, and hers an answer.

She pressed into him, chest to chest, lips parting for him with a soft gasp. His tongue met hers, slow and deliberate, tasting her like he had all the time in the world now. Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, refusing to let go.

When they broke for air, their foreheads pressed together, breath mingling.

“Whatever time you’re from, whoever you were,” she said, trembling but resolute, “this is where you belong now.”

His eyes shut tight, and the storm finally eased.

-0-

Chapter Text

The map of Britain stretched across the table, its parchment edges held flat by candle stubs and a half-drained mug. The wax ran in rivulets, spilling like veins of blood across the wood.

Joseph’s finger pressed against the North, sliding down, tracing as if the whole land were his enemy’s body. His jaw was tight, his scars stark in the candlelight.

“Horcruxes,” he said, and the word itself felt like it rotted the air. “You split your soul—tear it apart—and bind the fragment into something else. So long as even one piece survives, you can’t truly die.”

Lily’s hands gripped the chair back so hard her knuckles blanched. “He did that?”

His eyes lifted to hers, steady and grim. “Six times. Six objects. And the seventh piece is still inside his body. Seven anchors keeping him tethered to life.”

Her throat closed. “That’s—monstrous.”

“Worse than monstrous,” Joseph said. His voice was flat, carved from stone. “To make a Horcrux, you don’t just kill. You commit deliberate, cold-blooded murder—planned, unrepentant, done for the sake of it. Every Horcrux was a choice to rip his soul smaller.” His hand curled into a fist on the table. “That’s what he is—fractured rot in human skin.”

Lily felt sick. “And you’ve destroyed them before?”

“One by one,” he said. “The diary. The locket. The ring. The cup. The diadem. Even the snake. Every single one smashed. And he still lived. Because in my time, he didn’t fall to any weapon. We couldn’t stop him at all. The only time anyone ever did it didn’t last, but it’s the only thing that worked. He fell to you.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. “Me?”

“Your protection,” he said. His eyes softened, though they burned no less brightly. “The sacrifice you made for Harry. Whatever else you did as well, when you gave your life, willingly, it bound him. It turned his curse against him. That’s why he died there, when all else failed.”

Her breath hitched. “I… died?”

“Yes.”

The chair scraped back as she stepped away from the table, hands to her chest. “You mean—that’s what’s supposed to happen? That I—”

Panic rose like bile, the idea of Harry alone, of leaving him. Her knees nearly buckled.

Joseph was on his feet before the thought fully formed, hands gripping her arms, fierce, unyielding. His green eyes blazed, every scar cut sharp across his face.

“No.” The word cracked like a whip. “That is not happening. That is never happening. No world where you die is one that should exist—and I’ll burn the whole world down to make sure it doesn’t come to pass.”

Her breath shuddered. His grip was firm, grounding, his voice savage with conviction.

“Do you understand me, Lily?” His forehead pressed to hers, rough and tender all at once. “I did not come back to let you die again. I came back because I need you alive.”

The fear twisted in her chest, burning into something else—fury, fire, want. The sheer force of him, the way he defied death itself just to keep her, made her knees weak.

And before she knew it, her mouth was on his.

-0-

The kiss was savage, desperate, all teeth and heat. Her hands clawed at his shirt, dragging it down his arms until scarred skin was bared under her touch. His hands seized her waist, hauling her onto the table, maps scattering to the floor like useless relics.

He tore her blouse open, buttons flying. Her breasts spilled free, pale skin flushed, nipples already hard. He groaned low, mouth fastening on one, sucking hard until she cried out, back arching, the sharp tug making her thighs quiver.

“Joseph—” Her voice broke. “Please. I need—”

“Say it.” His fingers shoved her skirt up, dragging her knickers aside. His hand pressed against her slick heat, two fingers thrusting in deep, curling to stroke her spot until she nearly screamed. “Tell me what you need.”

Her head fell back, hair wild, mouth open. “You. Inside me. Hard. Now.”

He growled, fumbling open his trousers, cock springing free, thick and flushed dark with need.

With one brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt.

Her scream echoed through the cottage, nails raking his back. “Oh gods—yes—”

He drove into her again, harder, the table groaning beneath them. Her breasts bounced with every slam, nipples brushing his chest. The wet slap of their joining filled the room, raw and primal.

“Fuck—so tight,” he panted into her ear. “You’re perfect—made for me.”

Her clit rubbed on the coarse hair at the base of him, sparks exploding through her. Every thrust jolted through her belly, her nipples dragging against his chest, the heat building unbearable.

Her legs locked around him, pulling him deeper. “Don’t stop—Joseph—harder—”

The table shuddered, wood whining, then a leg splintered with a sharp crack. He slammed into her once, twice, and the whole thing collapsed, spilling them to the rug.

They broke apart with a startled cry, then laughed breathlessly—until Joseph grabbed her hips and thrust back inside, pinning her to the floor.

“Not stopping,” he growled.

“Don’t you dare,” she gasped, wrapping her legs high around him.

On the floor it was rougher, harder. He braced himself on his arms, pounding into her, sweat dripping from his temple, scars red against his flushed skin. Her breasts rocked with every collision, nipples aching, the rug burning her shoulder blades as she arched into him.

She rubbed her clit frantically, desperate, body slick with sweat and sex. Her orgasm hit hard, ripping through her, her cunt spasming around him, soaking him as she screamed his name.

“Fuck—Lily—” His thrusts grew erratic, desperate. He slammed deep, buried himself, and spilled hot and thick inside her. His roar muffled as she dragged his mouth to hers, devouring him in a bruising kiss.

-0-

They collapsed tangled on the floor, sweat slick and shaking, the air thick with sex. Lily’s breasts pressed to his chest, nipples stiff against his scarred skin. Her thighs trembled around his hips, wetness dripping between them, his seed already leaking from her.

She panted, heart hammering. The word Horcrux echoed in her mind, heavy as lead, but his presence grounded her. His scarred hand slid down her thigh, rubbing softly, reassuring.

Joseph pressed kisses to her damp temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, reverent now after the storm. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Always.”

She curled closer, tucking her face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the salt and sweat of him. His heartbeat thudded against her ear, steady, alive.

When he shifted, she winced at the soreness between her thighs, and he stilled immediately. “Too rough?” he asked softly.

She shook her head, a small smile tugging her lips. “No. Needed it. Needed you.”

He exhaled shakily, kissing her again, gentler this time, his lips lingering over hers. His hand brushed hair from her damp forehead, fingers tender where they had been fierce.

They lay there on the rug for a long time, skin cooling, their breaths gradually syncing. She thought of the horror of what he’d said, of the fragments of soul and the fate she’d once embraced. But pressed against him, his arms wrapped around her, she felt anchored, tethered to something stronger than fear.

She turned her head, met his green eyes, and let her breath ease.

Whatever death demanded, whatever future loomed—they would fight it together. And she would not die.

-0-

Chapter Text

The cottage kitchen had become their war-room. The table—recently repaired after its collapse beneath them—was cleared of dishes and strewn instead with parchment, quills, and half-finished maps. Ink stains pooled in the grain of the wood where wax had been only days before.

Joseph stood with one hand braced on the table’s edge, the other sketching symbols onto the margin of a map. His scarred face was bent in concentration, shadows cutting harsh lines along his cheekbones.

“The locket, the diadem, the ring,” he said, tapping each mark in turn with the end of his quill. “Those are our first strikes. Small footprint. Direct. We can take them with less noise.”

Lily sat opposite him, her chin propped on her hand, red hair tumbling in loose strands around her face. Her eyes followed his movements carefully, absorbing every detail.

“And the others?” she asked.

His mouth pressed into a hard line. “The cup. The diary. The snake. Those are trickier. He guards them tighter. They’ll take more planning. More force.” His gaze flicked up to her, steady and unflinching. “They’ll take both of us.”

Something inside her tightened. Not just the words—both of us—but the way he said it, without hesitation, without even the faintest trace of wanting to shield her. He wasn’t pretending she could sit out, wasn’t treating her as someone to be protected and put aside. He saw her as necessary.

Her quill scratched across the parchment, her notes running along the margins of his rough sketches. She drew sigils for ward-breaking, escape sequences, charms to shatter cursed locks. “The locket in Grimmauld Place,” she murmured. “The diadem hidden at Hogwarts. The ring in Little Hangleton. All cursed, all dangerous, all worth the risk.”

Joseph leaned over the table, green eyes catching the firelight. “That’s why we plan harder than they ever expect. I’ll take the blows. You’ll find the cracks. Together we break them.”

Her lips parted, and she simply stared at him for a moment—the white streak slashing through his black hair, the jagged scars that broke and reshaped his face, the intensity written into every line of him. A man who had clearly given himself to war, now giving himself to her fight.

Her throat tightened. “Together,” she whispered.

His gaze softened, but he didn’t smile. “Together,” he echoed, like a vow.

-0-

Later, after Harry was asleep upstairs and the maps were stacked neatly at the edge of the table, Lily lingered in the kitchen alone. The fire burned low, the air thick with smoke and the faint sweetness of old tea leaves.

She reached for the kettle, but her eyes snagged on something else—an old dish at the back of the counter, half-hidden by clutter.

Her own wedding band gleamed dully inside it.

She froze. The memory came sharp and unbidden—her hands slick with soap weeks ago, slipping the ring off to scrub beneath it. She had set it there, meaning to slip it back on once her hands were dry. But she hadn’t. And each day since, she had walked past it, never picking it up, never wanting to.

Her throat closed. She stepped forward slowly, as if moving too fast might shatter her. Her hand hovered above the dish before closing around the ring, the metal cool against her palm.

The weight of it felt heavier than it should.

Joseph came in quietly, sleeves rolled, hair damp from washing. He froze when he saw her hand clenched around the band, his eyes flicking between the ring and her face.

“You don’t have to wear it,” he said softly. His voice carried no judgment—only a quiet truth.

Her chest tightened. “I know.”

She stared at the ring, silver glinting faint in the firelight. A piece of a life that already felt distant. Not gone, not erased, but no longer hers.

“I kept telling myself I’d put it back on,” she whispered. “That it was just because I forgot, or because I was tired, or because… because I wanted to avoid the look on James’s face if he noticed it missing. But the truth is—I didn’t want it back.”

Her hand trembled as she slipped the band into her pocket. The metal was cool against her thigh, a finality she had been circling for weeks.

Her breath shook. “It’s strange. For years, that ring felt like… like safety. Now it feels like a lie.”

Joseph crossed the room in two strides. His hand rose, rough but steady, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. He cupped her jaw, thumb brushing her skin with a reverence that made her chest ache.

“That was his promise,” he said quietly. “But it doesn’t bind you now.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “It doesn’t.”

She swayed into him, and he caught her. His mouth found hers, slow and deliberate, the kiss lingering like a seal on her decision. His scarred arm circled her waist, tugging her flush against his chest. She clutched at his shirt, breathing him in, the solidness of him steadying her.

When she broke the kiss, her lips hovered against his. Her voice shook, but the words rang true. “This is what binds me now.”

Joseph pressed his forehead to hers, eyes burning green in the firelight. “Then I’ll never let you go.”

She closed her eyes, a small smile breaking through, and tucked herself into his chest. His heart thudded steady beneath her ear, grounding her in the now.

-0-

Upstairs, Harry stirred in his sleep. Lily crept to his bedside, kissed his forehead, and smoothed his hair. Joseph lingered in the doorway, his broad frame outlined in the dim light, arms folded across his chest.

When she turned back, her lips trembled into a smile—sad, but sure. “It’s time to hunt,” she said softly.

Joseph stepped forward, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Then we hunt.”

-0-

Chapter Text

The playground was empty, damp with yesterday’s rain. Rust streaked the swings, and the slide gleamed dull under a grey sky. Harry’s laugh carried through the air anyway, as if he didn’t care that the world outside was coming apart.

Lily pushed him higher on the swing, her hands light on his back. Each time he soared, his giggles rang out like music. Joseph stood nearby, leaning against the fence, scarred arms folded, a rare softness on his face as he watched.

“You’d never know there’s a war on,” Lily said, almost to herself.

Joseph’s mouth tilted into the faintest smile. “That’s the point, isn’t it? Give him one place where the shadows don’t follow.”

She glanced at him. The streak of white in his hair caught the grey light, his face roughened by scars but gentled by the way he was watching Harry. The thought struck her unbidden—he looked more like Harry’s father in that moment than James ever had.

Her chest tightened, but not with guilt. With certainty.

-0-

That night, the cottage glowed with candlelight. Shadows moved across the walls, soft and wavering. Upstairs, Harry slept soundly.

In their room, Lily sat at the edge of the bed, hair loose around her shoulders. She reached for Joseph as he approached, tugging him down beside her.

“Let me,” she whispered.

Her kisses trailed down his collarbone, then lower, along the scars that marked his chest. She could feel his heartbeat under her lips, quickening with each brush of her mouth. When she reached his trousers, she glanced up. His eyes burned green in the low light, half-question, half-surrender.

Lily freed him slowly, deliberately. Her hand curled around his length, hot and heavy in her palm. She marveled at how alive he felt, how utterly real—proof that despite the war, despite all the shadows, here was a man who wanted her, trusted her, let himself be vulnerable with her.

When she lowered her mouth onto him, Joseph’s breath shuddered out. His head tipped back against the pillows, a groan tearing from his throat.

She hollowed her cheeks, tongue tracing him, savoring the weight of him against her lips. He whispered her name, rough and broken, and the sound of it filled her chest with something fierce and tender all at once.

He’s been carved by pain, by battles, by scars, she thought, sliding deeper, and yet he lets me do this. He lets me take him apart in gentleness.

“Lily—” His voice cracked. His scarred hand twisted in the sheets. “If you keep—”

She let him slip free, kissing the swollen head softly. “Not yet,” she murmured, her breath warm against him.

She stroked him with her hand, watching his chest heave, delight sparking through her at the way his control frayed. She teased him with her mouth again, bringing him close, only to ease off, leaving him trembling on the edge.

He groaned, wrecked. “You’re going to kill me.”

Her smile was soft, secret. “Not tonight.”

-0-

She shed her clothes and climbed astride him, guiding him inside with aching slowness. Her gasp mingled with his, her body stretching around him as she sank down fully.

Joseph’s hands gripped her hips, but he let her lead. She rocked gently, deliberate, her breasts brushing his chest with every roll. Her hair curtained their faces as she bent to kiss him—slow, tender, unhurried.

“Gods,” he whispered against her lips. “You feel… unreal.”

Her thighs quivered, pleasure sparking each time she rolled her hips. “No,” she whispered back. “This is the most real thing I’ve ever felt.”

His hands cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples until she shivered, her back arching. Their rhythm deepened, unhurried but inevitable, candlelight flickering across sweat-slicked skin. Her climax came like a tide rising, unstoppable. She clung to him, shuddering as it crested, her cry muffled against his shoulder.

Joseph groaned her name, thrusting up into her as he followed. His release pulsed deep inside her, his arms circling her tight. She collapsed against his chest, both of them trembling, their breath ragged in the quiet room.

-0-

Later, with the candles burning low, Joseph’s thumb traced circles on her spine. Lily rested with her cheek against his chest, listening to the thrum of his heartbeat.

For a long time, she was quiet. Then, softly, “I’m not afraid.”

His hand stilled. “Not afraid of what?”

“Of what we’re about to do. The Horcruxes. The danger. All of it.” She lifted her head, green eyes shining. “Because I have you.”

He stared at her, something raw flashing across his face. “You don’t know what that means to me.”

“Yes, I do.” She pressed her palm over his heart. “I’ve seen it in the way you fight for me. The way you look at Harry. The way you never ask for anything, but give everything anyway.”

Joseph’s breath caught, and his scarred hand came up to cradle her face. “You saved me,” he murmured. “Not just from the war. From myself. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you, but I did. And I won’t let go.”

Her lips trembled into a smile. “Good. Because I won’t let you.”

He kissed her then, slow and reverent, sealing the vow in candlelight.

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