The Fairy Pools

James stood at the entrance of his room, looking not at the inside of it but at the large Slytherin banner above the big mahogany door, signaling Moire's room. He had found his room to be a door away from his sister, who was directly across from Moire, while the rest of them and her cousins were placed here and there down the long hallway, which somehow only fit a little over half of the rooms designed for Moire and her cousins, the rest of them being on the perpendicular corridor they had come from. He was certain that he would not be able to get around just yet without one of the family members to help him out, at least for the next day or two, but it seemed like Moire and her cousins moved in one giant pack so they would most likely all head places together, which made him feel a little better about finding his way around the gigantic estate Moire called her home. He took a second to imagine how she felt when her cousins weren't all around; she would have the entire wing to herself, her parents sleeping at the other end of the Manor, and he could feel the empty silence. For a little moment, he imagined a young Moire in her bed, scared of monsters, with her parents halfway through the Manor, and then it occurred to him that she probably slept closer to her parents' room as a child, and besides, she was Moire Bonnie McLeoch and she probably laughed in the face of imaginary monsters. He could not picture her as anything less than fearless.

"I ken I left Hogwarts all of three years ago, but thaur is nae way I am seeing James Potter here," a redheaded girl he recognized vaguely from Slytherin said, drawing him out of his thoughts, followed by two boys, one who had finished Hogwarts the year prior and the other who he knew to be a fourth year, who both looked strikingly similar to her from their grey eyes to their wildly curly hair.

"Och, didne I tell ye, Aileen!" The youngest replied. "They're mates now!"

Aileen looked at her brother, whose name he remembered to be Harris, raising an eyebrow the same way he had seen Moire do thousands of times.

"Yer taking a rise out a' me?" She asked, and when he shook his head, she burst into laughter. "After we hud tae hear all her complaining?"

James uncomfortably cleared his throat.

"Um… Hi," he awkwardly said as the three siblings looked at him.

"Sorry 'bout that, mate. Ye jist have tae understand, this is very strange tae most ay us. We," Aileen answered with an apologetic smile. "Aileen Fraiser. Ye micht recognize me an' my brothers frae Hogwarts. This is Duncan, and our youngest Harris."

They chatted mindlessly for a bit as more of their cousins arrived, which was always celebrated with a round of cheers and several hugs. It took James a minute, but he eventually got used to the varying strength of accents, to the point where he didn't even notice anymore. After a little while, he excused himself and stepped inside his room. He hadn't seen it until then but let out a low whistle as he took in the large canopy bed made of dark wood and covered in a pristine white blanket, and his trunk sat at the bottom of it. The room, though large, was very standard with its antique stone walls, a closet on the corner where all of his clothes had been placed, a vanity, large windows that took up most of the wall opposite to the door with a padded windowsill to sit on, and a door that he found out lead to his own small bathroom. He understood suddenly the aristocracy that seeped through every one of Moire's pores: this girl's family had practically been royalty a few centuries back. While being a Laird was only technically about owning land, from what she had told him once at the Burrow, this was so much more. He could feel the importance of the title to Lairds and to the people who lived in their courts, and he felt like he finally understood the pride Moire took in her clan's history. It was rather intimidating at first, and he was certain that in her place, he would have caved under the silent pressure of being the only child in a family as ancient and noble as the McLeoch clan. The door of his room swung wide open, interrupting his train of thoughts, revealing Fred who waltzed in, looking around curiously.

"Bloody hell, James, your girlfriend has some serious money."

"She's not my girlfriend," he sighed.

"Whatever. We can both act like the two of you didn't almost start shagging when we opened presents this morning."

"We didn't… why do I even argue with you anymore?"

Fred plopped himself on his bed, ignoring his cousin.

"She even had your room near hers! Don't do anything I wouldn't do, Jamesie."

"Which doesn't leave much, you heathen."

Fred responded with a rather rude gesture from where he was laying on James' bed. The two fell silent for a bit and the Gryffindor captain looked at his closed door. Fred was right, he was way too aware of how close to him Moire would be sleeping. She had been way closer at the Burrow than she technically would be later that night, but they weren't sharing rooms like they had at his grandparents', granted they both slept in their respective rooms instead of the dozen-in-a-room sleepover he was told about. It was rather thrilling to know that if one of them tiptoed across the hall, there would be no cousin to wake up, no parent to hear them, no one to disturb them as he kissed her lips and as she rummaged her hands through his hair. He stopped his thoughts before they could take him past the point of no return.

"Hey, do you want to check on the others?" Fred asked. "I think Roxy is a couple doors away from me, Al and Scorpius are in Rose's room a few rooms down, and Hugo is not too far either."

James nodded without saying anything before he headed to the door. But, aside from Fred's exaggerated grunt as he got out of the overly plushy bed, he heard Moire and Callum's hushed voices. The rest of their cousins seemed to have retired to their rooms for now.

"I don't know why you're so surprised, it's not like the Laird would've chosen anyone else."

"I know," she answered, sounding a little irritated. "Salazar's knickers, Callum, he's never said anything until today, less than a week before the New Year's Eve party. Said he didn't think it was necessary to say it out loud, because it was always a given. He just went right into how the ceremony would go, I had to stop him to ask what he was on about."

There was a short silence between the two of them before Callum started chuckling.

"What's so funny you twat?"

"Imagine Fergus' face. That bawbag was certainhe'd be chosen."

"Stop it, Maureen will hear us!" Moire chastised, although James could hear the smile in her words.

"She's not here yet! And please, no one will tell her, I'm pretty sure no one likes her father. It's like he's got an entire fern tree shoved up his arsehole."

"Fergus does take himself too seriously… gets that from Aunt Bridget."

The laughter doubled.

"Aunt Bridget is going to absolutely lose her marbles! She was so convinced her darling Fergus would be picked as heir."

James frowned, not fully understanding what was being discussed. Fred had been staring at him with a questioning expression, having not heard the voices outside, before he dashed past him and opened the door, interrupting the cousins who were discussing outside of Callum's room located a couple of doors down from Moire's.

"Oh, hey guys! Are you settling in well?" Moire asked with a smile.

"Dang, McLeoch, had I known we could've been invited to the Manor and stay in rooms like these, I would've forced James to be friends with you sooner," Fred joked, earning himself a sharp elbow to the rib.

"He's kidding," James clarified, giving him a glare. "Everything is perfect, Moire."

"Good," she answered. "My cousins are having tea in the parlor and they took yours with them. We were just about to go too, if you guys would like to come with."

"Lead the way!"

The four of them walked down the corridor, lined with portraits of men in quilts and women in large tartan dresses and berets, and slowly, James and Moire fell to the back as Fred and Callum discussed Quidditch.

"How much of that did you hear earlier?" She asked, looking straight ahead.

"Not much. Something about an heir."

Moire's expression was undecipherable, and she was still not looking at him. He reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"If you need to talk, I will listen. And if you just need to hang out in silence, I can do that too. It's no fun when you're not being a pain in my arse."

She still wasn't looking at him, but she had one of her trademark smirks on her face, so he knew she felt a little better at the prospect of spending time together. She intertwined their fingers together long enough to return his comforting squeeze with a thankful one of her own before she let go of his hand, just as they reached yet another set of double doors – seriously, who designed that place? – which Callum opened with a bang. A whole room full of varying degrees of redheads, Scorpius' platinum blonde, Albus' jet black, and McKenzie's light brown hair, turned towards them, some sitting on chairs and couches, others straight on the large rug that covered most of the floor, and quite a few of them twisted in what seemed to be strange positions. He realized why as, upon seeing the four of them, they all relaxed and straightened out revealing several bottles of Firewhiskey.

"Lads and lassies, and apparently alcoholics," Callum joyfully called, earning himself a fuck off, ye wee cunt coming from somewhere in the room, "I have found the lady of the house!"

A few cheers answered him as Moire stepped in front of him. Faking humility, she cleared her throat and spoke to the audience of her relatives:

"Let's close these doors and have some tea, shall we lads?"

More cheers followed and Callum closed the doors.

"I thought the party didn't stay until tonight?" James smiled as he took a seat on the floor next to her.

"Oh, this is nowhere near what the party will be like," she assured him as she poured herself some tea and a generous portion of alcohol in it.

oOo

James' buzz from the afternoon "tea" wore off a couple hours after they had left the parlor. He had found himself wandering around the Manor, looking at the tapestries, the statues, and paintings that rivaled Hogwarts in age and grandeur. Most of them depicted scenes of battle, but quite a few were just Scottish wizards who he assumed were from the McLeoch clan based on the tartan color. The deeper he got in the Manor, the more portraits greeted him, and he knew he should stop before he was truly lost in the maze that was Moire McLeoch's home, but the more paintings and busts he saw that greeted him as he passed by them, the more he felt he could understand the kind of world Moire lived in. The one he did not realize was so different from his that same morning.

He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of a giant frame that took up a big chunk of wall. It showed a stern looking redheaded man with a on a pedestal, wearing the McLeoch tartan, sitting on a large chair with a beautiful woman with jet black hair on his right and a little black-haired boy who could not have been more than ten years old. In front of them, a line of several men in kilts of different colors as they went up, one by one, to the pedestal and kneeled by the imposing man, exchanging a few words, before leaving. The boy looked bored and he seemed to stifle a yawn every once in a while, as he fidgeted in his seat. The woman was trying to be still and regal, but James could see her tap her fingers on the arm of her chair as well as look around the room discreetly from time to time. The man, however, nodded after each man passed by him, a solemn expression on his face, as he periodically stroked his red beard.

"Ah. I see the annual Cèilidh caught your eye," a gruff voice said from behind him.

He turned around and immediately felt small as a man with impossibly broad shoulders made his way towards him. He was wearing the McLeoch kilt with a pristine white shirt tucked into it, and his dark hair and beard were carefully brushed and maintained, making him feel self-conscious about his own messy mop. The man, who he immediately guessed was the Laird, stopped next to him, his eyes taking in the large painting in silence for a few seconds before he turned around to face him.

"You must be James Potter. I have met your father on occasions," the Laird said, his thick accent coating his words, before he extended a large hand towards him.

James shook his hand, immediately intimidated by the strong hold he received and the fleeting thought of having to shake his daughter's hand at their game at the end of the season terrified him. As they both lowered their hands, James thought it would be a good idea to finally open his mouth and speak.

"The art in here is just amazing."

He almost bashed his head against the nearest statue. Really? His first words to the Laird were those? He didn't seem to mind though, as a small smile moved the thick mustache a couple of millimeters.

"This art tells the history of our clan. From its founder, down the hall in the first floor, to the portraits of every one of its members a little further up. The battles we have fought, both as wizards against evil and as Scotsmen against British occupation. Times of peace and times of war and famine."

James nodded, trying to match the solemnity of the man next to him, but as much as he tried, it seemed impossible to stand as straight and proud as the Laird did. He had a commending presence and while he hadn't raised his voice once, his words seem to echo in the empty corridor and he just knew that even in a crowded room, he could silence the room in an instant.

"The Cèilidh," he spoke up again in a way that gave no other choice to James but to listen, "is a tradition that we have kept for centuries. It translates to gathering in English. This painting shows my great-grandfather, Donnchadh McLeoch, and his allies pledging to him. As you might have guessed, we are one of the oldest clans in the Highlands."

"Yes, sir."

The Laird nodded with a gruff sound of agreement.

"Out of all our allies, we are the oldest and the strongest which means we are the head of our alliance. We have helped those clans during hard times, took care of them in hunger and war, in exchange for their allegiance. Nowadays, those allies are the clans my sisters' and cousins have married into. The ones we allied ourselves with centuries ago have also integrated into our family through marriage at some point in time. I know other clans do something similar as well, but for the clan of McLeoch, every New Year's Eve, our allies gather and swear their oath of allegiance to the head of the clan."

"Even today?"

"Now it is more a tradition than anything. Us Scots like our customs."

"Does this mean that if a war broke out, they would have to go into battle with you?"

He laughed, the booming sound reverberating around the hallway.

"Aye, it does mean that they would have to follow us into battle. But it also means I have responsibilities towards them. If one of those clans struggles with anything, we would have to send help and resources. The clans who have disappeared were those who did not properly care for their allies and ended up alone with no one to help them fight if needed."

"Oh, here you are! Fred said you'd wandered off, and—Da?"

James practically spun in place to face Moire, who was coming up to them, a curious expression on her face. The warm lights from the flying candles and the chandeliers gave her hair a coppery hue, and Merlin knew they made her eyes shine brighter.

"Hello, a bhobain. I was just telling your friend about some of our traditions."

Moire tensed up a bit at that statement.

"Oh…"

"He seemed quite interested in the Cèilidh. Isn't it fortunate he will be attending one in a few days?"

"One could call it that," she mumbled.

Her father nodded solemnly before he excused himself, saying he needed to oversee a few things about dinner, and left the two of them.

"The Cèilidh can be a little boring," Moire spoke after a second of silence. "It's just a long line of people who swear to the clan that they'll be loyal to us. They all practically say the same thing in different fancy wordings. Gets old after two or three of them."

She was rambling now, looking nervously at the painting.

"Moire, is everything alright?" He finally asked. She let out a sigh.

"Let's go for a walk, shall we?"

The two of them wandered around the Manor and she pointed at each statue or painting that caught his eye, telling him the story behind it. Unlike the Cèilidh painting, all of those were vocal.

"That's my great-great uncle Hamish," she said as the man, his face decorated with the thickest moustache James had ever seen, spoke in such a thick accent he couldn't understand him. "Don't worry, none of us can make out what he says half of the time."

They had finally reached the family portraits and Moire gave him a crash course in knowing who her aunts and older cousins that he hadn't met were, pointing at their faces in a large painting that showed all of her aunts and her father standing behind two chairs where her grandparents sat. She had warned him that her aunt Bridget, the oldest, was a bit stuck up, something he remembered her say to Callum earlier and that her aunt Aoife was a chipper woman who was known to have one too many drinks. Her other aunts ranged between the sweet and soft spoken Nairne, the tomboyish and loud Cadha, the sassy and hilarious Greer, the easy to get along with Lainie, and her youngest aunt, Gavina, who liked to meddle in others' love lives and was the one to go to for gossip.

"Not that I would engage in such a scandalous activity," she exclaimed, faking an appalled expression, hand clutching her chest.

"Naturally not, I would never assume that the daughter of the Laird would be anything less than a proper young woman," he smirked.

There was also a rather flattering portrait of Moire's parents right next to the large one of her aunts, father, and grandparents, although it was quite smaller than the extravagant family canvas of the eight McLeoch siblings and their parents.

"You told me your mother was from a small village. Did she meet your father at Hogwarts?"

"My father is a few years older than my mother actually. He was in his seventh year she came in as a first year. If I recon, she was a Ravenclaw in your mother's year. They didn't interact back then. No, they met when she was finished with Hogwarts. You see, my mother likes plants. So, she worked at the apothecary in Diagon Alley. A year or so after she started, my father went into the store while she was working, and he immediately fell in love with her. He didn't want to scare her, so he asked in a very Laird-like manner if it would be okay for him to take her to dinner. I don't think he told her he knew within seconds of meeting he would do anything to marry her one day until well after she said yes," she chuckled at that last bit as her mother's painting nodded in agreement, her gentle smile on her face, her husband next to her looking at her like she was the light of his life.

As for the cousins, the only one he was told to really steer away from was Fergus, the oldest of them.

"He was my grandparents' first grandchild, and since he was a boy, Grandfather doted on him," she said, her tone slightly bitter. "I told you he was old fashioned. The reason I have so many aunts is because Grandfather couldn't fathom leaving the clan to one of his daughters or letting his younger brother and his children have it instead of one of his own kids. Since my parents only had me and I'm obviously not a male heir, Fergus was convinced he'd be Laird after my father."

James frowned and looked at her.

"Well that's stupid of him."

"I know. Especially since the Laird called me in earlier to tell me he was announcing me as his successor at the Cèilidh. So, I'm not exactly looking forward to it."

Oh, so that's what Callum and Moire had been talking about earlier.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, repeating his suggestion from earlier. She let out a huge sigh still looking at the extravagant portrait of her father and his sisters.

"We've just never… had a conversation. I was never sure I would be taking over the clan, but my father, he's just… well you've met him. He never thought for a second Fergus or any of my cousins would be a better fit than me because they were men. And now that I'm of age, he wants me to officially be introduced as the heir to the Manor and to the clan. We haven't had a woman be in charge for nearly three hundred years," she sighed again, rubbing her forehead. She looked exhausted.

"Do you want to be Laird? Or whatever it is they call women Lairds?"

"Usually Lady. And yes, more than anything. I just… I wasn't sure I would be. Which is stupid, because now that I look back at it, my father would never pick anyone else. It's just…," she trailed off, seemingly unable to properly voice her feelings. But James had known Moire for a little while now and even during the many years they were at each other's throats, he had known how she operated by now.

"It's just that you spent years not knowing and now that it's clear that your father never had any doubts and thought it was so evident that he didn't need to mention it, you need some time to process everything," he finished for her.

She nodded, finally looking at him, the light of the candles bouncing on every single golden fleck in her eyes and he couldn't help but reach out and grab her hands in his and she stepped a little closer at that.

"You are going to be an amazing Laird. Lady. Whatever you want to call it. So you might as well get used to it, McLeoch, because you are going to live in this Manor for a very long time," James said, his voice an octave lower than what it usually was, as he spoke low enough for only her to hear.

Moire shivered and that was James' cue. One of his hands let go of hers and settled on her neck, where he could feel her pulse quicken under his palm, a thumb stroking her cheek. She was tense, the same way as the night before the wedding that he had mistaken as unease. But now, after their talk in the kitchen that morning, the way she had told him she didn't mind kissing him and he had understood that she wasn't indifferent to whatever this was either. How they had looked at each other as they had exchanged gifts told him that it was only a matter of time, that she had felt every spark, every charged moment, whether it had been under the mistletoe when she all but dared him to kiss her, in the laundry room where her mere presence made him forget that his entire family was crammed in the neighboring rooms, on the bench in the garden under her tartan. All of this he could trace back to the little girl in first year with the braid who had walked up to the Hat like she owned it, the second year longing, the third year screaming matches, the fourth year snarky and violent quips, the fifth year taunting followed by ice cold shoulders, the sixth year where, after a particularly confusing potion class that put quite a few things in perspective, he noticed that her eyes were not fully brown and that her auburn hair shone like dark copper in the sunlight. All of those moments brought him to this instant, where under the painting where they were stared at by the judgmental eyes of Bridget and the severe gaze of her grandfather, Gavina having already left the portrait to gather around other relatives and ancestors. A loud crack interrupted them and a second later, Moire was standing six feet away from him, arranging her hair.

"Miss Moire, mister James," he heard a particularly high-pitched voice say and he was confused at not seeing anyone for a second before looking down at a small house elf.

James only had a very vague recollection of Kreacher, his father's old house elf, before he had passed away. He had been in diapers then, and it had been quite a feat for him to even survive that long, but he had been stubborn. Besides Kreacher, he had met a few house elves during his escapades to the kitchens. The one in front of him had large, bat-like ears, the biggest eyes James had ever seen on any house elf, and a nose round like a tomato. She was also sporting a toga made of white, pristine sheets.

"Hi, Dolly. Is anything the matter?" Moire answered with a smile, smoothing invisible wrinkles on her shirt.

"Dinner will be served shortly, miss. Dolly thought miss would enjoy a little notice in case you wanted to get changed."

"Thank you Dolly, it would probably be a good idea to freshen up before dinner."

"Dolly also wanted to wish miss a happy return to the Manor, and welcome mister James."

A genuine smile stretched Moire's face as she crouched down to the little elf's height and gave her arm a little squeeze.

"I'm happy to see you," she assured, and the elf gave her a last, wide smile before she curtsied and disappeared with another crack.

"You know Aunt Hermione will talk your ear off about this once she finds out, right?" James smirked as they started to make their way back. Moire looked scandalized.

"We have never mistreated our house elves! In fact, we make sure they are happy, they have their own quarters, and we show them respect! My father has always said that while elves worked for us and made sure the house was clean and that food was made, we were to protect them in exchange, just like we would our allies."

The more he heard about the Laird's strong moral compass and sense of duty, the more James understood the jokes between Moire and her friends. He had always thought them exaggerated, but it seemed like the Laird was a character straight out of a play from the Muggle playwright his aunt had made him read. What was his name? Shakespeare?

"Any dress code for dinner?" He asked, suddenly self-conscious about the maroon Weasley jumper with a large gold J on it.

"Not until the New Year's Eve party," she said, and he had a small smile at the thought that she would be wearing her own Weasley jumper to dinner that night.

As they were about to reach their wing of the Manor, she grabbed his hand, halting both of their steps.

"Not a word about what I told you earlier. No one knows about this but you, me, my parents, and Callum," she warned, her brow slightly furrowed in worry.

"Don't worry. My lips are sealed," he promised.

oOo

The main hall looked exactly the same as it had in the painting of the Cèilidh. It had stairs at each edge of the room to lead up to balconies that overlooked the room and, though they were currently empty, James was certain they would be full of people watching the Cèilidh from above. Its high arches still stood, unmarked by time, and he felt like he had stepped back into the fifteenth century, the whole room with its stone walls bathed in the lights of candles floating in the air and the fire roaring in the fireplace behind the main table where the McLeoch siblings and their spouses sat, the Laird and Fiona in the middle. James could already recognize Bridget by her pinched expression and Greer, who was already making one of her sisters laugh. The rest of the tables were reminiscent of the Hogwarts Great Hall, and the noise of conversations almost drowned out the Laird's voice. Almost.

"Listen up, all!"

The clamor died down as every head turned towards him.

"Welcome back to the Manor. I hope you all had an easy and comfortable trip. My wife, my daughter, and I have missed you all and hope you enjoy the next few days as we prepare for the New Year's Eve party and the annual Cèilidh for our clan. Now, without further ado, dig in."

As he sat down, the plates in the middle of each table filled up with vegetables and meats, and James happily dug in. It seemed like Lily and Hugo were already getting along well with Alia, and James had a good laugh as Callum, across the table from him, tried to feed haggis to Fred and was cheered on by Kenzie. Moire, who had sat next to him, seemed to have a glint in her eyes, and he wondered briefly if she had felt the same relief at her family and his getting along so well. It seemed like, throughout dinner, her arm always seemed to brush up with his and his mind went to his realization from earlier, that something was meant to happen between them sooner than later. He knew she felt it too, and he was jittery at the mere thought of it.

Dinner had been a lively affair, or at least on their side of the room. The tables seemed to have been divided by age, with the eldest cousins and their children sitting at the first table and the next two tables containing the boisterous people who were of age to attend the barn parties. James thought he recognized Fergus at the head of the first table by his expression that looked seemingly the same as his mother. He sat with his wife, who had an amiable smile, and their younger two sons who looked quite prim and proper. He was the only one sporting such a sour face, as the rest of his siblings and his cousins seemed to have fun and were chattering happily. His daughter, Maureen, who he recognized to be a fourth year in Slytherin, was sitting with the rest of her cousins rather than with her siblings and parents and seemed to be having a great time.

After a dessert that rivaled the ones at Hogwarts, and one of the best Treacle tarts James had ever tasted, the adults retreated to the parlor for a few drinks, which Moire had told him were quite eventful themselves, and the rest of them returned to their wing. James was surprised to see everyone retreat to their rooms immediately as they reached them.

"Don't worry, everyone is putting pajamas on and grabbing blankets or instruments," Moire reassured him as they reached the end of the hallway.

"You did not just say the word instruments, McLeoch," he laughed, bewildered, but her smirk told him otherwise.

"Oh, I'm deadly serious. If you want to change, go ahead, come to my room after."

James headed in the room to gather his thoughts. He went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth – just in case, he told himself – and changed into his pajamas, slipping his Weasley jumper on top of his t-shirt. He only realized that it was the black shirt with the muggle band on it that Moire had stolen from him and returned when he was suddenly surrounded by the smell of bergamot, which brought a smile on his face. Grabbing his wand and a small blanket he found in the dresser, he headed to Moire's room.

"Come in," she said after he knocked. "I think your siblings and your cousins already went ahead with some of mine."

"Is McKenzie coming here too?" He asked as he closed the door behind him and took a look at her room.

It was significantly bigger than his was and the walls, similarly to his, were made of a cream colored stone. She had a changing screen in the corner of the room painted with beautiful green and gold snakes. Her dark wood vanity was enormous, and its mirror was full of pictures of her and her friends and family. Because it wasn't enough space, however, she had more pictures in frames all over the wall behind it, and James was surprised to see himself in quite a few that seemed to have been taken either at the Burrow that past summer or throughout the past few months as they slowly started becoming friends. The closet door was slightly open, and James could make out a large, yet organized space where everything seemed to be folded to the millimeter. There was another door, though it was closed, that he suspected to be her bathroom, and finally, the large canopy bed made of the same dark, solid wood her vanity was made of that he plopped himself on, with its thick blankets and seemingly millions of pillows.

"Pretty sure I saw her leave with Callum so she might already be there. C'mon, let's head out, we can't be too late," she said, putting on a pair of black slippers.

He took a good look at her and a smile came over his face. She had taken her makeup off and was wearing her hair in a braid, a pair of thick flannel pants and a baggy emerald green jumper.

"What?" She asked with a smile.

"Nothing, you're just tiny," he answered with a chuckle, standing up.

She punched him in the abdomen, not hard enough to really hurt him, but enough to knock the air out of his lungs for a second or two.

"Shut up, Potter," she mumbled before grabbing him by the wrist.

They exited through a side door that gave right into the garden and he regretted not draping his blanket over himself the same way she did with her tartan.

"Warming charm?" He suggested, trying not to show how cold he was.

"No, the barn is right there," she replied, looking unbothered by the weather, pointing at the old looking barn a few steps ahead.

"It looks like there's light inside."

"I'm sure Callum and Kenzie got there earlier so they probably lit the bonfire. Some of us got everything else ready earlier, so there should be Firewhiskey and butterbeers in there already. Anyone younger than fifteen isn't allowed to touch the Firewhiskey, we enchanted it, so they won't be able to grab it," she clarified as the barn came into view.

"What do you mean by not able to grab it?" James asked, puzzled.

"Literally that. Their hands go right through it. They had to learn the hard way after Fergus decided to break the rule and ruin it for everybody on his first year at the parties," she told him, rolling her eyes, as she pushed the door open.

The barn was significantly warmer than it had been outside, but it wasn't too hot for his jumper. In fact, the temperature was just perfect. He hadn't expected the barn to be an actual barn, but there were stacks of hay everywhere. In fact, the stacks, all of different heights, seemed to have been placed around a fire that was lighting up the entire barn, and those already there were sitting on them.

"A cushion charm," Moire told him with a small chuckle as she saw his bewildered expression. "C'mon."

As they settled down amongst them, Moire insisting to sit behind Lily who looked quite happy to have her hair braided again, Aileen offered James a plastic cup like those he had seen in Muggle movies his Granddad had taken them to see at the cinema. Upon inspection, it was full of Firewhiskey. He realized there were a few jugs of them on the ground, about three times the size of the ones that were sent to the wedding, and as he looked up, he saw an old wooden table placed against the wall a little further away that seemed stacked with similar jugs and several cases of butterbeer.

"Who's the poor fucker who had to go to Portree and get those?" Moire questioned, laughing earnestly as she was handed a similar cup to his.

"That would be me," Dougal groaned, not looking very happy about that fact.

"I cannot believe you sent the one of us who always gets confused by Muggle money."

"That's what makes it funny, aye?" Aileen responded with a loud laugh that was soon joined by others.

"Och, fuck you."

"What I cannot believe is that you all casually drink the type of Firewhiskey that Pure Blood families can barely get their hands on," Fred exclaimed, causing another round of laughs around the barn.

"Aye, it helps when yer uncle makes it," Duncan replied good-naturedly.

"Oi, did anybody bring a fiddle this year?" Callum asked. "Because we dinnae want a repeat of last year."

"Fuck off, Callum, we got three fiddles tae drown out yer awful bagpiping."

"Shut ye geggie, Ewan, I'm the best bagpiper in the family!"

A short argument ensued, during which the last people arrived, and as the door closed behind the last of them, Moire stood up.

"Alright, enough!"

Her Captain voice, which James would never admit brought the fear of Godric into him, immediately shut down the barn. He took a second to admire the scene before him, as several teenagers and young adults settled on hay, some sitting and others laying, a few of them stacked high enough to tower over everybody, as the fire illuminated their faces. Moire, standing taller than he had ever seen her, looked breathtaking to him. Her hair tie had fallen to the ground on the way there and her braid had loosened up, revealing thick waves of copper hair that looked like her head was on fire.

"Welcome, all of you. We have a few new people tonight, some from our own family, and some who will be treated as such. There are only a few rules tonight, and they will be the same every night until the New Year. Rule number one, what happens in the barn…"

"… stays in the barn," almost everyone answered, and she smiled, satisfied.

"Rule number two," she continued. "No Firewhiskey for anyone under fifteen. If anyone breaks the charm that does not let them touch it will be banned from the barn."

A few groans were heard, though James could only make out Maureen's, as she complained about her father not being able to hold his liquor.

"Damn right, Maureen!" Someone yelled.

"Rule number three, every new person must carve their name on the table before the end of the year," she said, pointing at the old table that held the alcohol. "Rule number four, have fun!"

A concert of cheers answered her, and Callum stood up as she sat down.

"Thank you to the Lady of the house! Now, to follow up this beautiful speech, if someone doesn't have a drink in hand, I suggest you get yourself one, after all poor Dougal had to embarrass himself in front of the wee pimply Muggle teenager to buy these cups…," he said, before being interrupted by Dougal with a rather floral curse being sent his way.

"Oi, watch yer mouth, ye bawface," Moire admonished, putting both her hands on Lily's ears. "All of ye fuckers are lost causes as far as I'm concerned, but this angel still has some innocence left."

"Don't let her fool you, she spends too much time with Uncle Ron to not know curse words," Albus laughed, which landed him a playful slap to the head by Rose.

"He's right, you know," Hugo laughed.

There was more banter exchanged around as everyone grabbed a glass and filled it up.

"Now, if ye would start us off with a song, your Ladyship," Aileen called at Moire.

"I really don't think…"

"Oh, this is about to be good," Scorpius smirked, propping his feet on the stack of hay he was half laying on.

After some pleading, Moire agreed and there was a short silence before she started. James had to admit, she had quite a lovely voice. By the giggles around the room, James gathered they knew the song she was singing, and his doubts were quickly confirmed when she was accompanied by a flute and a fiddle and by the voices of his cousins as she reached each chorus. It told a story of a Scotsman who had come out of a bar, drunk out of his mind, and laid down in the grass to sleep. James realized the story would take a left when two girls passed by and wanted to confirm the rumors that Scotsmen didn't wear anything under their kilts, and he laughed in bewilderment as the girls tied a bow around the man's private parts. He could see that Albus and Scorpius were laughing so hard no sounds were coming out of their mouths. He soon joined them when Moire finished the song with the man going to answer nature's call and discovering the bow.

"…Oh, lad I don't know where ye've been, but I see ye've won first prize!" She finished, drawing a concert of laughs from her cousins.

"This one never gets old," Callum said, still chortling.

James had to admit, a good old dirty joke was never not funny.

"Alright, I'm done until I have at least half a handle of Firewhiskey in my system," the Slytherin Captain exclaimed.

"Sure, just try not to cry when you sing that song about the Loch Lomond, will ye," someone teased.

"Shut yer mouth, I never cry!"

oOo

James was drunk. In fact, everyone seemed to be drunk, which made the laughs louder and the music sound more harmonious, even though some of Moire's cousins could be extremely tone deaf. While the younger members present that night seemed to have fun, very few of them sang anything or told any story, letting the older ones take care of the entertainment. During a very funny moment, a few of the people present, including Fred and Albus, broke out in something that could only be described as half a reel and half a jig, under Callum's bagpiping and Dougal and Ewan's fiddling. Most of the songs were a little more on the raunchy side, and he double checked a few times to see if his sister was uncomfortable but she, and Hugh for that matter, were laughing along to the McLeoch clan's antics.

Moire sported a smile and a full cup every time he looked to his side. The only indication that she was even affected by the alcohol was that, as time passed, she leaned more and more against him. James tentatively intertwined their fingers, looking around to make sure no one noticed. They all seemed to be either too inebriated, falling asleep, or too enthralled by Fred and Callum, who each had their arm around the other's shoulders, singing a drinking song. He could see Moire smirk as she tightened her grip slightly around his hand.

"I have something to show you," she whispered in his ear and he felt goosebumps over his arms.

As half of the population in the barn gathered again to dance, she stood up and discreetly dragged him outside. The cold air snapped like a rubber band, but James barely felt it, as both the alcohol and his blood rushing through his veins from the beautiful redhead beside him distracted him.

"You might want to cast a warming charm on yourself," she said, doing so herself. "It's a bit cold where we're going."

He let go of her hand, immediately missing its warmth, to grab his own wand and do as she told him. When he was finished, she held out her arm with a smile. He grabbed it, and with a pop, both of them disappeared. Before he even opened his eyes again, he heard the sound of water. He opened them back up and was faced with the clearest body of water he had ever seen in his life. There was a waterfall that fell on rock before bouncing off it and breaking through the frozen, clear surface of the pool. A thin formation of rocks broke through the water, separating it in two, the second part covered with a smooth, thin sheet of ice, unbothered by the waterfall.

"Welcome to the Fairy Pools," Moire simply said, casting a few charms around them and sitting on a rock big enough to accommodate the both of them. She patted the spot next to hers and he complied. "My father and I used to come here around this time. Muggles tend to stay away from here at night this season because of the cold but a few extra charms for them to leave us alone never hurt."

"This is beautiful," he said, still looking around like a wide-eyed child.

"Isn't it? There are a few of them, but this one is my favorite. You'll see why in a bit. I think we scared them off with the noise of the Apparition, but they should come back in a bit."

Her hand sought his out as they waited, and soon enough, little balls of light rolled out from behind rocks, under cervices, and from inside the waterfall itself.

"Are those…?"

"Faeries," she said, cheerful. "Well, pixies, to be correct. That's why these are called Fairy Pools, even though they don't usually show themselves to Muggles."

As the balls of light came closer, James could make out features, clothes made out of twine and tiny flowers. Some had small, razor sharp teeth, others had long ears, all were looking at him curiously.

"I come here every year, I think they know me by now," Moire said as a couple of them rushed to her hair. They looked like little pompoms of light, diving in and out of her deep red locks, and soon a few more joined in.

"I heard Faeries were dangerous, though. I always heard Gran tell stories of them kidnapping children."

"Some do, yes. They love children. My father never let me come here alone when I was little. But pixies are mostly playful and as long as you don't offend them or disrespect them, you should be fine."

There was a small silence as she leaned her head against his, more pixies coming out to play on the surface of the water. James thought they looked like little tea lights, zooming around on the ice.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," she said after a little moment. "You want to kiss me about as much as I want to kiss you, right?"

"I think I've wanted to kiss you since I saw you in the Prefects' bathroom," he replied.

"Bloody hell, a pair of tits really can draw in any man," she joked, her head still nestled against his neck.

"Although it is a very nice pair, and they definitely did help a bit, it was mostly about you trusting me. And not yelling at me for a total of ten minutes."

She chuckled, not disturbing the little balls of lights who had now started to braid her hair in a quite haphazard manner.

"That day in the laundry room, though, and every day after that, I thought my family would notice and call me out," he added. Another silence settled between the two of them, but she didn't move.

"I was scared I'd snog the daylight out of you under the mistletoe," she finally told him after a minute. "I was certain that if I kissed you at all, it would be obvious to everyone just how much I wanted you. How much I still want you."

"What's stopping you?" James risked.

There was another silence but this time she did move. Straightening up, she dove her brown eyes deep into his. He realized just how close she was when he noticed for the first time that she had tiny, microscopic freckles splattered on her nose. She was biting her lip in an act that betrayed that she was just as nervous as he was. Then, she stopped, a light of determination in her eye and all the confidence Moire Bonnie McLeoch possessed seemed to return to her body. James thought she looked particularly stunning in that instant, wearing a large jumper and thick flannel pajamas, her hair sporting half a dozen messy braids, and the gleam of certitude in her eyes as she was surrounded by the little balls of light gathering around her head.

"For once? Nothing," she said, before grabbing him by the collar and crashing her lips into his.

In an instant, he had grasped her by the waist and pulled her onto his lap, her hands burying in his hair and his traveling up her back. They kissed under the light of the moon and of the Faeries for what seemed both like two minutes and two centuries at the same time before she untangled herself from him, her lips swollen and slightly parted as she caught her breath.

"Let's go," she simply panted out.

She didn't need to say it twice. They stood up and she Apparated them both to the side door they had exited the Manor from what seemed like so long ago, and she grabbed his hand as they both tiptoed their way around the estate trying not to giggle like schoolgirls. She signaled him to be quiet as they reached their wing and noticed lights and hushed laughter coming out of a few of the rooms. There had been one incident, as they reached Moire's room, where Kenzie came out of hers, not noticing them until her hand was on Callum's doorknob. She froze as she saw the two of them, realizing immediately what was happening.

"You're shagging Potter?"

"Not a word of this, because it seems like you're shagging Callum."

There was a short silence until McKenzie spoke.

"You didn't see anything and neither did I."

"Deal," James answered, Moire nodding at that.

"Throw silencing charms for Salazar's sake," the Slytherin captain begged as Kenzie disappeared in Callum's room.

The two Quidditch captains hurried in the room and Moire locked it behind them.

"I'm going to need you to Obliviate me so I can forget my cousin and my best mate are having sex a couple of doors away," she said, looking disgusted.

"I think I have a better way," James said mischievously. He closed the gap between them, hungrily covering his mouth with his.

Less than a second later, his lips traveled to her neck and as he hit the base of it, she let a gasp out. Considering it his green light, he nibbled on it, eliciting a moan from her throat, and he lifted her in his arms. Her legs instinctively wrapped themselves around his waist.

"So, is that effective enough?" He asked with a lopsided smirk, trying to control his voice so she wouldn't realize just how badly he wanted to feel her skin under his fingers.

"Potter, stop talking, and fuck the brains out of me," she groaned.

The words stirred something in his stomach, and all he could do was oblige.

Sorry for the delay y'all. Things are finally starting to heat up! Please leave a comment to let me know what you think, and I'll see you in the next chapter, which hopefully will come really soon.

Also, the song Moire sang at first is called The Drunk Scotsman. A lot of the inspiration for this chapter came from the show Outlander if you noticed.