Thestral Kisses

Title: Thestral Kisses
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Wordcount: 1.3k
Rating: PG13
Fandom(s): Harry Potter Series / Pride and Prejudice
Pairing(s): Harry Potter/Darcy
Prompt: For Valeria. “Harry Potter/Fitzwilliam Darcy (in Regency Era).”

Warning: Time travel (you decide), Darcy is gay, there is no Elizabeth, Ginny bashing (sorry not sorry), shameless crossover

The letter was not delivered through the post—but then again, they never were.  Fitzwilliam Darcy was at breakfast at Netherfield Hall, having been in residence as a guest less than a week, when the letter appeared next to his plate of eggs as if he had set it there just a moment earlier.

He looked at it for a moment but did not react, instead taking a sip of his tea and inquiring of Bingley if he had plans for the day.

“Returning some of the visits I received from my new neighbors,” Bingley gladly offered.  “You’re welcome to come.”

“No, no,” Darcy responded, standing smoothly and picking up the letter as if it were an afterthought on his way to the window.  “You are their neighbor.  It is you whom they would like to see.”  With his thumbnail, he caressed the seal of the House of Black almost lovingly before breaking it, slipping it open while allowing his posture to reveal nothing.

Caroline, his host’s sister, took up the conversation, “And who is it today?”

As they spoke of Bennets and Gouldings, Darcy’s eyes flicked down to see that in the evening he should retire early and leave the sash open to his room—the usual colors.  As his eyes caressed a signature, Caroline’s voiced pressed through his thoughts—

“And what do you think, Mr. Darcy?”

“Of the Bennets?  I have not met them,” he stated, slipping the letter closed and turning back toward the breakfast room at large, his face betraying only idle curiosity.  His thumb and forefinger pinched the parchment, too heavy for modern nineteenth century usage, before he moved forward and relinquished the letter to the top of the pile of his post.

Caroline, to her credit, managed what appeared to be a genuine smile.  Darcy was well aware that she meant to catch him.  The only problem (for her) was that his heart had been caught several years earlier—and he had no intention of relinquishing it.

Still, Caroline smiled, and said, “I meant that Mr. Bennet has five daughters and no sons.”

“I would say that is his misfortune and your brother’s gain, for now he has five willing dancing partners at the Assembly,” Darcy countered with a flair of dry wit before picking up his teacup, his gaze meeting hers.

She, impressively, stared back for a moment before cutting her gaze to her brother.  Darcy thought less of her for it but returned to the window with his tea, saying nothing.

It had been forty seven days since he had last seen Harry Potter, scion of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, and it had been forty eight days since he had last heard Harry affirm that he was loved and cherished.  Before the night eight years ago when Harry’s carriage had broken down outside of Pemberley, Darcy never would have considered himself a romantic, but now he counted the days between when they might see each other, he counted the kisses they exchanged in secret, he counted the declarations of love they shared.

In so many ways they might never have found each other.

… Harry’s carriage might have broken down closer to Lambton than to Pemberley.

… Harry might have decided to spend the night in the carriage instead of braving the storm clouds hovering over Pemberley.

… Harry might have tried to distract Darcy some other way from realizing that his horses weren’t exactly horses than grabbing Darcy and kissing him in desperation.

… Darcy might not have been brave enough (or stupid enough) to kiss a bold sixteen-year-old Harry back.

… Darcy might have let something as foolish as thestrals and magic frighten him off of Harry completely.

… Darcy might have let his fear of what the world may say to dictate his actions—he might not have let himself love a man.

… Harry might have let his fear of what the wizarding world may say dictate his actions—he might not have let himself love a Muggle.

The day, of course, waiting for Harry was dull and full of anticipation.  He allowed Caroline to beat him at cards and went riding for several hours in the afternoon, learning the small corner of Hertfordshire he was to spend the next month and half.  He thought, at one point, he saw a gaggle of young misses on the road to Meryton, but he soon managed to steer his horse away from them.

He ate little at dinner, claiming a headache from too much riding, and didn’t bother to check Caroline as she simpered over him.  It allowed him an easy escape, and she sent up a tonic.  He told the servant he was going directly to bed and sent his valet away shortly before seven. 

Darcy then did as he always did when he received a letter.  He opened every window up, flew out the sash, and tied his Cambridge scarf out the window all the way to the right.  Then, as arranged, he turned out the candles in case Caroline should check.  Knowing her, she would sneak up.

“Miss me?” a familiar voice asked, and he smiled.

He was reclining on the bed, his arms above his head, and he turned toward the fire where he undoubtedly heard Harry’s voice.

“I didn’t even see the floo come on,” he admitted, sitting up.

The candles flickered on, low, but all at once, and the figure of Harry Potter appeared near the end of the bed.  His hair was just as messy as always and his lips were spread up in a smile.  “Perhaps it’s because you had your eyes closed,” he suggested.

Laughing a little, Darcy sat up and moved forward toward Harry.  He reached forward just as Harry swayed toward him, and they met in a smooth, unawkward kiss.

“Hello, you,” Harry greeted, pulling away so he could adjust his spectacles.

Darcy’s eyes darted up to them, always amazed at how large they were, and then up to the scar on his forehead before he murmured, “I’ve missed you.”

This was met with another kiss, unhurried, like the last, and then Harry was pulling himself over the railing of the bed, and Darcy was pulling him over.  Before long, they were a mass of limbs, and Darcy was chuckling, Harry outright laughed, and smiles spread over both of their faces.

“How long do we have?” Darcy asked.

Harry snuggled closer, breathing in deeply.  “All night.  I would stay longer but this isn’t Derbyshire, where I could pretend to be your guest, is it?”

Darcy ran his hand through Harry’s messy hair and sighed, dropping a kiss on Harry’s scar.  “No.  I’m staying with friends in Hertfordshire.”

Looking up, Harry mused, “How much do you hate that?  Meeting new people who see you only for your monetary worth?”

“About as much as you hated it with Ginny Weasley,” he answered grimly, remembering Harry telling him about his oldest friend’s younger sister and her—pursuit of him.  “No one will catch me,” he promised when Harry went still in his arms.

“I would never ask that—” he began, but Darcy caught his green gaze and stated,

“You’re not asking.  I’m in love with you.  Do you think I could betray you—us—myself?”

A small smile teased the side of Harry’s mouth before he reached up and kissed Darcy lingeringly, “No more than I could,” he promised.  “My estate will go to my godson, Teddy.”

“And mine to my sister, Georgiana,” Darcy agreed, settling deeper into Harry’s embrace.  “We have all night?”

A wicked gleam shone out of Harry’s eyes.  “Fitzwilliam Darcy—what are you—?”

But he was silenced with a kiss.

The End.