5 October 1923
10:17pm
Trophy Room
Morgan had not snuck out past curfew.
She was simply… taking a walk. At 10pm. In the direction of the trophy room where she knew Brooks had Prefect patrol. With David in her bag because he went everywhere with her and that was not suspicious at all.
It had been four days. Four days of passing in corridors, sitting in the same class, and exchanging looks across from each other that said later and then later never coming because it was always something: his patrol, her Head Library Assistant duties, homework, the general chaos that came with being sixth years at Hogwarts. There were too many responsibilities and not enough hours.
She could swear that her step-mother was doing it on purpose; giving her extra work in the library to keep her from sneaking outside with her boyfriend to do the new thing they always did: snog.
But with responsibilities and her desire to keep nosy portraits out of her business and therefore away from her father’s ears, she was determined to follow her own self-made rules about the whole thing.
Morgan pushed open the door to the trophy room quietly, the glass cases catching the moonlight coming through the high windows. She could see him before he saw her.
She didn’t say anything, just let the door close behind her.
He turned.
And then he crossed the room in two strides and pulled her in before she’d gotten even a sound out. It was… well, it was everything she had been thinking about for exactly four days. She melted into his embrace, enjoying his lips on hers.
From somewhere to her left, a portrait cleared its throat.
“There are trophies in this room,” said a man in Quidditch robes, arms crossed, looking deeply unimpressed. “Won through years of dedication and sacrifice. And you’re using it for…” he gestured vaguely, “that.”
It took every fiber of her being to manage to push against Rook, pulling her mouth from his and looking up at him, her face flushed. “No, Rook, the… the portraits…” she bit her lip, her eyes drifting to the one who had spoken, then back at her boyfriend’s lips and then eyes.
Brooks was on patrol, something that was required now that he was Prefect for Ravenclaw. He still wasn’t sure what the adults were thinking, but he wasn’t going to question it. Being allowed outside his house after hours was a luxury he rather liked.
And the bathroom was amazing.
That being said, the trophy room was boring. Nothing ever happened in the room filled with displays and shelves. He spent most of his time in the halls outside the room, and walking around reading names he didn’t recognize.
Tonight was no different.
Two portraits hanging opposite one another had once again reached the part of the evening where civility had completely broken down.
The wizard on the left wore emerald Quidditch robes trimmed in silver, his thick moustache twitching with hate.
"You wouldn't know strategy if it flew into your face on a Bludger, Montgomery!"
Across from him, a broad-shouldered witch in faded scarlet robes scoffed loud enough to rattle her frame.
"Strategy? You called flying in circles a strategy. We won because your Chasers accidentally confused the referee!"
"It was called tactical misdirection!"
"It was called getting lost!"
The Slytherin captain puffed out his chest.
"Three House Cups."
The Gryffindor captain folded her arms.
"Against the weakest Hufflepuff side in recorded history."
"A Cup is still a Cup!"
"A lucky Cup!"
"Skill!"
"Luck!"
"Leadership!"
"Wishful Thinking!"
Brooks stopped beside a display case containing tarnished medals and sighed.
"Evenin', you two."
Neither portrait acknowledged him.
"Three Cups!"
"Lucky weather!"
Brooks rubbed at his temple. "Y'know..." he said conversationally, "I've been standin' here for about thirty seconds, and I've already decided neither of you would've made my team."
Silence. Both portraits turned toward him. The Slytherin captain looked scandalized.
"...Excuse me?"
Brooks shrugged.
"Good captains don't spend seventy years arguin' about who's better." He gestured toward the trophy cases. "The trophies already decided. Seems a bit late to try changin' their minds."
The Gryffindor witch opened her mouth. Closed it again. The Slytherin captain harrumphed loudly.
"...He's got a point, Edith."
"Don't agree with him just because he's insulted us both. He’s a Ravenclaw, what does he know?!"
"I wasn't agreeing."
"You literally just did."
Brooks chuckled to himself and continued his patrol. Behind him, the argument immediately resumed.
"For the record, my Beaters were better!"
"Your Beaters couldn't hit water if they fell out of a boat!"
Brooks shook his head with a grin, but stopped short as the door opened. In all his patrols, he had never come across someone actually sneaking out. As the door opened, he saw who was joining him and didn’t think.
Two quick steps towards the door and Morgan was in his arms. His lips hit hers as his arms went around her, pulling her close. Gods, he had missed her.
They had classes together, at lunch together, walked in the halls hand in hand, but they were still trying to keep their relationship quiet and away from her parents.
“There are trophies in this room,” said the man in Slytherin robes. “Won through years of blood, sweat and tears. And you’re using it for… that.” Pulling away from Myst he groaned at the captain who would not shut his mouth.
“No, Rook, the… the portraits…” It took him a beat to realize what she was saying. Mumbling under his breath, he breathed out a ”Fuck…” while looking down at his girlfriend.
”I’m sorry, I didn’t even think,” he said, squeezing her hand.
Turning toward the two portraits that had been at each other's throats moments ago, and were now united in their disappointment, Brooks cleared his throat.
"Right..." rubbing the back of his neck. "Before either of you run off to Professor Barlowe..."
The Slytherin captain folded his arms.
"The rules are quite clear."
"A Prefect fraternizing on patrol." Edith sniffed. "I'm dissapointed."
Brooks winced.
"Do you even know what the definition of Fraternizing is? Fraternizing means to spend time together or be friendly with someone." He gestured vaguely between himself and Morgan. "I don’t see the problem in that. We’re just spending time together."
Both portraits stared at him. Yes, he glossed over the kiss. He hoped they had both taken one to many bludgers to the head and were also able to forget the details.
He looked at Morgan. Looked back at them.
Brooks sighed.
"Come on, it was only for about..." he glanced toward Morgan as though she might somehow know the answer, "...ten seconds?"
"Twelve," the Slytherin captain corrected.
Brooks blinked. "You counted?"
"I had nothing else to do."
Shrugging, he said. "Fair enough."
He shoved one hand in his pocket, while keeping the other firmly in Mysty's hand. "Whats it going to take to keep your mouths shut?"
Morgan looked at Rook as he asked the portraits what it would take to keep them quiet about the snogging they witnessed. She kept his hand secured in hers, like she always did anytime she was around him.’
When she looked back at the portraits, she saw the Slytherin captain had the expression of someone who knew they had leverage and was enjoying it enormously. Edith looked like she was already composing her report in her head.
This would be fine. She could fix it.
“An apology,” said Edith. At the same exact moment that the Slytherin captain said, “Gossip.”
The portraits looked at each other.
“Gossip first, then apology.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Edith.”
“Montgomery.”
“The gossip is more useful.”
“The principle is more important.”
Morgan looked at Rook and squeezed his hand, then stepped forward in the way she always did when she was about to go to battle with her words or otherwise.
“Gossip, I can do,” she said and smiled at Montgomery. The portrait shot a ‘winning’ grin at Edith, who made a noise of outrage.
She didn’t hesitate. Hesitation was the enemy of a convincing lie.
“The portrait on the third floor corridor,” she said, dropping her voice slightly like she was sharing something she probably shouldn’t. “The one with the old Charms professor. He was talkin’ about you last week.”
“Was he.”
“Mmhmm,” she nodded seriously, glancing over at Edith before looking back at Montgomery. “He said the only reason your team won anything was ‘cause your Keeper had exceptionally long arms. Nothin’ to do with strategy at all apparently.”
“He said WHAT –”
“Hey, I’m just the messenger,” Morgan said, holding up her free hand. She had yet to let go of Rook and she wouldn’t be anytime soon. “I thought you deserved to know.”
“That absolute –” Montgomery turned to Edith, apparently forgetting entirely about the snogging. “Did you hear that? Long arms! LONG ARMS!”
“I heard,” Edith responded to her fellow portrait, then turned to look at Morgan directly. “...Which portrait exactly?”
Morgan met her gaze without blinking. “The one of… oh, what was his name?” She narrowed her eyes slightly, trying to recall. There really was a portrait of an old Charms professor, but she could not remember the man’s name. “Honestly, I can’t remember his name, but he is entirely un-rememberable. But he also said you were the worst student he had ever taught. So it's whoever your Charms professor was back then.” The last comment was directed to Edith.
Morgan looked at her boyfriend, wondering if that would be enough to get them off their backs. While the gossip was not true, it was entirely possible they would forget completely about the snogging they had witnessed that started the whole thing.
Montgomery looked ready to climb right out of his frame. "Long arms?" he sputtered. "LONG ARMS? Humphrey Finch said that?"
Brooks blinked. Humphrey Finch? No idea if that was the right name. Didn't matter. He was all in now.
"Aye." Brooks nodded. "He was going on about it for a while. Said if your Keeper had arms any shorter, you'd have finished dead last.”
He shot Mysty a sideways glance then kept going. ”Even said that your keeper was some sort of… what did he say? Half giant or troll of something.”
Montgomery's moustache practically vibrated. "THAT CHARLATAN!"
Edith looked suspicious. "You were there?"
Brooks didn't even hesitate. "No, not that time. But he likes to talk about it to anyone waiting for the Charms class to open. So, basically everyone. It’s honestly castle lore at this point. Your team, allowing a half giant to play. Absolutely disgraceful." He said, shaking his head in mock disappointment.
A beat. Then he shrugged. "This Finch sounds like an arse."
Montgomery jabbed a finger across the room.
"HE IS AN ARSE!"
"Montgomery!"
"Don't 'Montgomery' me, Edith! Do you hear how he is disparaging the Slytherin name! LIES! All LIES!”
"He taught Charms!"
"Exactly! He was jealous of the BESST TEAM EVER!"
Brooks leaned down toward Morgan, speaking quietly enough that only she could hear. "I have absolutely no idea if we're making this better."
Grabbing her hand, he began to walk backwards slowly while the portraits continued to bicker back and forth.
"Walk casually. Don’t make eye contact. Go slow." He whispered
Then just as they're almost out… Montgomery yells without even looking.
"And if either of you snog in my trophy room again, at least have the decency to win a Quidditch Cup first!"
With a grin, Brooks glanced back over his shoulder at Montgomery, gave him a sloppy two finger salute and replied, "Deal."
Before either portrait could object, he was already halfway out the door, Morgan's hand laced with his. Behind them the argument started again almost immediately.
"Your team couldn't catch dragon pox!"
Brooks laughed as they disappeared into the corridor, the shouting growing quiet with every step. They turned a corner and he tugged Morgan into a small alcove hidden between two large stone statues. Hidden from view, everything seemed quieter.
He leaned back against the wall, catching his breath for a second before looking at her.
"Hope you don't mind," he said with his crooked smile. "I really don't like having an audience."
His hand slid to the side of her face, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear the way he always did. He couldn't help the smile as he looked at her. It still amazed him that she was his.
"Much better."
He closed the distance, kissing her again. Slower this time. No rushing, no sorry afterward. Just the warmth of her soft lips and the feeling that for a few quiet minutes, nothing else in the castle mattered.
Morgan smirked as Brooks expanded upon the story she’d created for the portraits. Whoever this Finch person was, he sounded absolutely dreadful, but she honestly couldn’t think of the name of the Charms professor.
She let herself be pulled backwards towards the door, her hand firmly in Rook’s, the portraits still going at it.
She kept her eyes forward, not looking at either of the portraits, just like he told her. Slowly with no sudden movements, not making eye contact. Morgan was good at this. She was small and had snuck out of situations like this in the past.
The pair was almost out when Montgomery’s voice rang out without him even looking.
“And if either of you snog in my trophy room again, at least have the decency to win a Quidditch Cup first!”
Morgan looked at Rook when he accepted. He looked at her.
She was absolutely going to lose it the moment they went through that door.
“Your team couldn’t catch dragon pox!”
The portraits had begun arguing again and Morgan turned her face away before the laugh escaped, quiet and real. The unarmored kind.
Rook tugged her around a corner and into a small alcove between two stone statues and she let herself be tugged, the shouting fading with every second.
“Hope you don’t mind. I really don’t like having an audience.”
She looked up at him, his crooked smile. His hand found her face the way that it always did, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Much better.”
Then his lips were on hers. Morgan felt herself melt into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his middle. This kiss was slower, not rushed, and said more than the other had.
This was okay. No one would say anything. Her father wouldn’t find out.
Brooks smiled against her lips before reluctantly pulling back, though not very far. His forehead rested against hers as he breathed out a quiet laugh. ”Much Better.” He muttered.
It could have been minutes, or hours, that they were in that alcove. His hands in her hair, on her hips, pulling her close. It would have continued if the sound of footsteps down the hall hadn’t interrupted their makeout session.
Pulling away, Brooks tried to catch his breath, putting his finger in front of his lips to keep Mysty quiet. The steps got louder, then from the privacy of their little hidden alcove, he could see someone walk by… but they kept walking. The sound got quieter as they continued walking.
"Ya know..." he said softly, looking into her eyes. "I was fully prepared to spend the rest of the year being blackmailed by two dead Quidditch captains." A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Think we got off easy."
And then, the only sound was their breathing in the small space.
Kissing her on the temple, Brooks looked down at her with his trademark crooked grin. ”I like this alcove. I wonder how many more there are around the castle.”
Tucking some hair behind her right ear, mischief clear on his face his smile got wider. ”I think we should make it our mission to find them all.”
Somewhere out in the corridor, the muffled sound of two portraits arguing drifted around the corner.
"Three Cups!"
"Lucky weather!"
Brooks couldn't help but laugh.
"They're never gonna let that go, are they?" He looked back down at Morgan, giving her
"Good. Means they're too busy yelling at each other to worry about us.” Without another word, he leaned in and stole another quick kiss.
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