Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.

Oliver would have been content enough to complain at himself silently as he put up the charms, but the sound of footsteps behind him made him pause. His eyes closed for a moment and he tried to relax his expression as he turned around. Not a moment later, though, Alice had taken it upon herself to flip the situation and make it her mission to comfort him instead. That wasn't actually what Oliver had been going for, but he pressed his forehead to hers and brought his hands to her sides. He pulled back in surprise, though, at the intense belief she clearly had in him. Oliver wasn't sure he had earned it, but if she had forgiven him for everything he had done, didn't that mean he was allowed to as well?

Alice was probably wise to try to round off the topic, but Oliver just shook his head and offered a smile. His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at her, considering what he wanted to say. "God, I love you," he said after a moment, hardly even registering the fact that he'd let the words out.

It hit him a moment later, and impulse took him quite suddenly. Oliver leaned down enough to wrap his arms around her, picked her up and carried her over to the couch. After setting her down properly, he crouched in front of her and held his hands out, palm up. "Allie, I want to.. talk to you about something. I'm aware that it isn't exactly conventional, and I'd like to return to this later. Properly. But the thing is this, love: I think you are astounding. Genuinely. You're gorgeous, and funny, and so brave," he went on, giving her hands a squeeze. "You know, I hope, that I wouldn't want anyone else here with me. I like to think we're the sort to pick out the best in each other, and that means a lot to me."

He brought her hands together and kissed her knuckles, setting them back on her legs. "Sweetheart, I want to know that it's okay by you... if I talk to your father. I think you know why."

A bright beam lit up Alice’s face when he spoke and she laughed a little, glancing down at her feet almost shyly. She’d quailed a little under his narrowed gaze but when his words lifted into the air, she felt that contented weightless feeling return to her when she was with him. It was pure happiness, unabashed and everlasting. As soon as he had said what he had said, she knew that they would be fine. Regardless of what had happened that evening and what would happen in the future, they would always be fine. She didn’t have to be afraid of the converse because she truly believed, in fact she’d argue she knew, that it would never come to that. They would always be okay.

As his arms lifted her, Alice’s grip on his shoulders tightened and she lifted her legs to wrap them around his waist. Her laugh tumbled out of her like clinking bells. She buried her head in his neck and pressed a kiss there. She couldn’t help but cling playfully to him when he tried to set her down. Eventually she relinquished her hold, unwound her legs and bounced down onto the sofa, her brows raising cheekily as he crouched before her. She popped her hands against his, scratching her nails gently against his palms before twisting her hands so that she could lace her fingers with his.

She couldn’t help but feel that little spark of worry when he spoke and she knitted her brows together, her eyes scanning his face to try and work out whether what he was going to say was good or something she should be concerned about. As he went on, she felt the customary heat explode in her cheeks and she ducked her head, a small smile peeking at the purse of her lips. His hands tightened briefly around hers and she looked up again, the smile actually coming through. She watched him, the smile unconsciously growing, and when he finished it took her a second, just a second, before her eyebrows shot to her hairline.

“You mean…?” Her breath caught, making her words come out in a bit of a squeak. She didn’t trust her voice at all after that and she knew that she had been reduced to the colour of a too-ripe tomato but she didn’t care. Leaning forward tentatively, Alice brushed her lips against Ollie’s. It was a gentle flutter of a kiss that lingered for a moment before she lifted her head away to look at him properly. Her fingers traced across his cheek and she leaned forward to brush her nose against his. “Ask,” she whispered.

“Just don’t tell my mum,” she added after a moment, extending her arm to the side, calling for her wand. She felt the wood slide into her palm and she turned it round before pressing the tip to his cheek. The cut shined a little and then began to seal back up and heal until there was little left but a long pink line which would subside with a little bit of love and care. “Otherwise,” she continued, setting down her wand to rub her thumb across the line, “the whole world will know in a blink of an eye.” She popped a kiss to the end of his nose and continued to draw her thumb across his cheek. “Told you I’d fix it,” she teased gently.

"Of course I do," he replied easily. Her hands left his, so he let his fingers drift to her waist, curling around her sides. He felt comfortable enough until she went on and he realized, Alice wanted- she really was ready to-

He couldn't entirely process it in the time it took for her to pull back and reach out for her wand. The left side of his face scrunched up a little as the wound started sorting itself out, but he smiled regardless. "I'll be clever about it, I promise. Or, I'll try to surprise you at least. I just wanted to be sure that you wanted this," he explained, his ears coloring a bit. "I mean, Merlin knows your dad will be... Iffy."

Oliver knew full well that the issue with Paul was his own fault. But it had just made him so angry and determined and, on the whole, even more attentive. More aware of how she reacted to certain things and how he ought to act around her. That, of course, was the reason he didn't plan on asking Alice - or her father - about what Rookwood had dug out. Or why it would upset Krum. Just because it was Alice's business did not innately make it his own, and vice versa. But Oliver liked to think he had not ever been that type of person around Alice.

After all, he had just sat back while she went to Ariel all of those Fridays. He perhaps shouldn't have done, but he would never invade her privacy. Not then and not now.

Realizing he had forgotten to ask, Oliver frowned and passed his thumbs back and forth over the fabric of her shirt over and over. "All else I have," he changed back to the topic of injuries, "is a few scratches. Are you good? Do you need me to-?"

“I’m okay,” Alice murmured, leaning into her, well, almost-fiancé. She nudged her nose against his and smiled a little, her lips finding his in a soft, chaste kiss.

She glanced down at herself just to make sure and though she was peppered with little cuts and scrapes there was nothing serious. Those more serious abrasions had been sealed by Victoire amidst the chaos of the battle, as she had done for all of the Order members who had run amuck of the Death Eaters. All Alice had suffered in that regard was a large cut up her leg but now it was just a pale pink mark in her milky skin that would be forgotten soon enough. It was all over now. Sort of. There were better things to look forward to.

But then, there were also other things that stood to interrupt the good news. The bad news. The things that Augustus Rookwood knew. She swallowed and shrugged closer to Ollie, wondering whether there was anything anyone could really do about what Augustus had in his possession now. It was an inevitability, wasn’t it, that Elijah Krum would eventually know. It was an inevitability, too, that in time Mira would also know. Then, what would follow would be all of the vaguely familiar individuals she had left behind as little more than an infant.

“My papa always said to hide what I knew,” she murmured against Ollie’s shoulder. “Hide what I could remember about what happened before we met. He wanted me to be able to forget – to hide it so well that one day it didn’t even feel like it had been my life. He succeeded but …”

Alice lifted her head and sighed softly.

“I suppose you had better know given you’re mad enough to want to be with me forever,” she lifted the sides of her lips into a wry sort of smirk. “When Rookwood changed what he was calling me … he used my old surname.” She took a breath. “Anderson.”

It felt extraordinary to be saying it aloud again. She could remember being so proud. It was so prestigious to be an Anderson and the little girl with the bright, charming smile was so keen to tell everyone who knew her that she was one. Her nanny had once called her boastful, but it was said with an endearing, indulgent look.

“I wasn’t exactly truthful about how much I remembered,” she bit her lip. “I’m … well, I suppose… Bulgarian aristocracy,” she shrugged a shoulder. “We were always very close with the Krums and … Elijah … Elijah was meant to marry my sister, Mira. But he and I …” she reached up and furrowed her hands through the front of her hair. “We always got along better.”

“I don’t know … I …” she licked her lips. “My papa … Paul …” she looked down at her hands. “He never thought that what happened to me was random. He never thought it was just Muggles. He thought it was something else. I … he … he wanted me to hide it because he thought that if Elijah found out then the Krums would find out and the Andersons would find out and whoever tried to hurt me would resurface, too.”

“And … and I’m scared … that … that Rookwood is going to ensure just that.”

Suddenly, Alice was explaining, and Oliver didn't know why or what he was supposed to do while she did so. Instead of coming up with anything particularly helpful, really, he just held her to him and closed his eyes as she seemingly tried to hide herself away at his shoulder. In truth, the fact that she had lied was disappointing. It was. Oliver couldn't claim otherwise. But it was Alice. Surely she had been given a reason to keep things from him...?

But he and I...

Oliver's chin turned away, jealousy burning through him, hot and swift. How old had she been, anyway? Did he even want to know? He decided it would be better not to ask. But now he had more reason to dislike Krum than just whatever politics had gone wrong that month. Krum, who was clearly also part of this supposed aristocracy. Krum who had the position and wealth and history with Alice. He knew it was mad to get worked up over it, given she had practically just said yes.

But she spoke as though she had not seen him since whatever happened with what may or may not have been muggles. And so much could change after seeing a person after time apart. Oliver was a perfect example of that, especially when it came to Alice. Merlin, he didn't know, though. The only good thing, he figured, was that he wasn't so anxious about it that he chose to hide himself away. After the obnoxious speech he gave back at the meeting, Oliver couldn't allow himself to do so.

Instead, he pushed away and stood, holding a hand out to her. He refused to answer until she had joined him, where he could pull her against him properly and wind his arms around her.

"Whatever they did to you, I don't expect you to tell me. Okay? I would never ask you to relive that. And Krum can think whatever he wants. Y'know why?" He asked, pulling back enough to look at her. "Because I love you. And I want forever with you. And I'm going to do everything in my power to ensure that nobody ever hurts you again."

He just hoped that would be enough...

"So," he bent down to pick her up once more, hoping to lighten the mood a bit. "If there's anything else you want to tell me, I promise I won't get upset or do anything rash. But if not, I think bed might be calling, hmm?"

His chin ducked so he could kiss the spot where her jaw curved up into her ear, but he knew what the next day would bring. Death Eaters and worrying about Alice. Really, he wasn't sure how sleep would ever come. But he could at least make sure Alice got some rest.

“I want to tell you.” The words left her throat voluntarily. “I don’t want to lie to you about anything. I don’t want to start this next bit of our lives without you knowing who I am, Ollie. I’ve always known I was living on borrowed time and you have always had a right to know. I was just scared it was too much. It just sounds really dramatic for who I am now.”

She grinned when he lifted her up into his arms and she leaned forward to kiss him, mumbling a reply to his declaration of love. Snuggling into him was the most natural thing in the world. Going to bed with him in order to either just sleep or read or even lay and watch him write was a simple progression from that, the sheer joy of just being with him. So, telling him everything was even easier. It was necessary. It was an integral part of committing to him.

Climbing under the sheets of the bed that smelt so strongly of them was a relief that she did not think she would properly be able to articulate. She flopped against the mattress and a contented sigh left her lips as she tugged the bedclothes around her. Once Ollie was beside her she curled into his side and draped her arm around his middle, letting her eyes close gently.

“I can’t really remember what I told you before,” she admitted softly. “But did I tell you about how Paul and I met, technically? When he was a Ministry aid and there was a visit to the hospital I was staying in because of a chest infection? He found me, wanted to adopt me?” She met Ollie’s gaze, hoping that was so. She wished that Ollie saw the man that she had known as a little girl, not the tricky, prickly man who wanted to keep the writer at arms’ length. The father. She wished he knew the father.

“They were all Death Eaters,” she began, “sort of. Sympathisers, subsidisers, and supporters – if nothing else. I remember they used to talk about the Dark Mark but I never really realised what it was until much later, when Paul mentioned it in passing one day during one of the summers I was home from Beauxbatons. There were problems here, or something, and he said that people were found with Dark Marks on their forearms. I asked and he explained. So, I don’t think they were good people.”

“I know my mother was a socialite. Typical,” she rolled her eyes, always having found pureblood society rather distasteful. “But my father was a Quidditch commentator, I believe. Richard and Vivien Anderson. My sister was a Slytherin, I know that much.” There were always plenty of articles about Elijah and Mira to be found in the Daily Prophet’s society pages. They were always in some sort of trouble. “Mira,” she echoed her thoughts solemnly, wondering after her sister, wondering what she was like.

“I know it was Christmas because I remember how cold it was. I always had it told to me that I had been playing in the grounds when the Muggles came through the trees and attacked me. There was no rhyme or reason for it but they left me for dead all the same. I think I must have been very little more than five years old. Everything that they know about what happened was filed by the hospital the mortician had taken me to. Someone pronounced me dead but I … well, I lived, obviously. He left me there. He was going to come back but I was transferred and he lost track of me. I went with what the mortician gave the doctors but they assumed I was an orphan or something like that. When Paul adopted me, all of this information followed.”

She bit her lip and then peeled away the glamour charms around her jaw and neck, revealing a deep, red scar on the left hand side of her face. It was the one she had always kept covered, the one that only her being male had served to reveal to Ollie in a terribly brutal way. Now, though, she was choosing to let him see it. It was her decision.

“It’s ghastly, I know,” she looked down, almost ashamedly. “I guess you could call it a souvenir. It’s all I’ve got to prove that it happened and that it wasn’t something that was made up to make my origins seem interesting. Everything I know is second-hand more or less apart from bits and pieces I can remember – like how cold it was.” Alice shook her head. “Papa always said it was better to hide, because none of what happened seemed to make sense to him. So… I’ve never met Elijah and Mira the adults and I can barely remember the children. Though, I know they have a child…” Alice bit her lip. “Named after me, I think.”

“Sometimes I wonder whether it was the right thing to do Ol. I can’t help but think that maybe I should have met them, you know? But … I guess now … I guess eventually I won’t have a choice, huh?” She smiled weakly. “When you go to see him, ask my papa for the box. Look through it. Learn all you like or nothing at all. I just … I don’t want us to think about getting married without you knowing me and without you knowing why what Rookwood did scared me that much. It was like I was that little girl again, helpless. I don’t want to be the little Anderson. I want to be a Rousseau. I want to be a Connolly. But what if I can’t be either because of him?”

“I know I sound a bit mad but … I dunno. It feels like I’m in a tailspin and the only thing that’s keeping me level is you. I am so grateful for that, though. I really, genuinely don’t know what I’d do without you, Ollie.”

Oliver sank easily onto the mattress, tucking his feet beneath the blankets as he had once so feared doing. Of course, then it had been because he wanted to allow her the space he assumed she would want. Now, though, he practically molded against her, his cheek settling on her head as she spoke. Well, until she looked up for his affirmation, which he easily gave with a nod.

He couldn’t help but consider the fact that there were potions that could have made her look dead. But she probably didn’t want to hear about that, and Oliver knew it. Maybe later. Or maybe he could ask Paul what he thought. That is, if he wasn’t murdered for asking if he could marry her. Of course, her current storytelling and his instinctual need to take care of her meant that he had to focus more on what she was saying than on his theory as to why it happened. That could come later, when she wasn’t so shaken up.

He sat back when she lifted her hand, not really sure what she was up to, and then a sort of pained look crossed his features when she spoke. Not because he agreed with the word choice, but because he hated that she was so upset because of it. Did she think he would think less of her because of it? His fingers left her arm, reaching out to gently trip across the red lines, wanting to correct her, but also wanting to let her get out everything she needed to say. In the end, he was thrilled he thought to keep quiet, because one of her sentences made him draw in a deep breath in a poor attempt at keeping his joy at bay. As far as Oliver was concerned, she already was one.

“Alice, love… You don’t have to be part of that world if you don’t want to be. They can’t force you. You’re not that little girl anymore. You’ve changed. You lived,” he pointed out, inclining his head towards her. “They have no right to tell you who to be, and I won’t let them. Your father wouldn’t, either. The image of your mum being fine with that is utter madness. So, as far as I’m concerned, you’re already both of those things.”

His attention returned to his previous thoughts when his hand shifted and his gaze fell to her neck again. “You don’t have to hide anything from me, Allie. Not even this. It isn’t as though it make you any different, or any less beautiful. It just means I’m going to have to work twice as hard to ensure that I remain worthy of what you’ve shown me. If you’re more comfortable without it there, that’s fine. But you don’t have to worry about it in front of me. I knew, of course. Before. But that was unfair and I knew I had no right to ask you without your opening the floor for it. And it’s possible that there are salves of some sort that can hide it without your having to worry about charms. So if you want help with that, I’ll give it without question. But you’re just as wonderful as ever.”

Oliver sighed, dropping his chin to her shoulder, where he pressed a series of lingering kisses against the raised skin. “Sometimes,” he told her quietly, “I wish it was just you and me. …And the dogs. And Ariel could visit sometimes, but you get my point. It wish it was just you and me, where you’d be safe and happier and free to be whomever suited you. I mean, I hate admitting it, but sometimes I wonder if you wouldn’t have grown to be happier without me,” he frowned, continuing to hide in her shoulder. It might have felt shameful for her, that injury, but Oliver found a strange sort of connection to her because of it, beyond what he already felt. They were both hurt, though he knew his couldn’t come close to measuring up. “None of this would’ve happened, after all… Mind, I’m quite attached to you by now, so I’ll be hard pressed to leave you alone, I’m afraid. And if I can keep you from realizing how much more you deserve than just me…? Well, I’m more than happy to be that arse. A selfish one, obviously. But a happy one nonetheless.”

An apologetic smile curved his lips as he sat up a bit to look at her again. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. So don’t you worry about going without me, okay?” Oliver brought his fingers through her hair, leaning down to catch her lips with his own, filling the action with as much love as he could muster.

Truthfully, Alice didn’t think that she would be able to sleep without Ollie now. Indeed, the separation over the Christmas months that had felt like a surreal other universe to her, had gone far enough to prove that. She loved the feel of him around her and the rise and fall of his chest underneath her arm. She loved the little crook of space between his shoulder and neck that the gods seemed to have carved just for her. She found it amazing that there was ever such a time when it wasn’t like this, when the warmth between them was like a calm sea washing around them whether he was beside her or wearing a furrowed brow as he picked critically over his latest chapter. That room was them. Whether the world was falling apart around them or not, if they could be together, and be together here, then everything would ultimately be alright. It was the happiness from which, whether she realised it or not, her Patronus, long since having altered to a little pup reminiscent of Eric, stemmed.

She half wanted to cry as his words brushed over her skin, warming the hole in her heart that she had allowed to worm around and grow bigger within her chest. It was old heartbreak, of course. It was the age-old question she wanted to ask her biological parents. She wanted to know why they didn’t look for her. She had read the file a million times. It was deduced that the man who had brought her in had been a mortician. After she’d been transferred to Paris, it had been nigh impossible to track him down again – probably because he was a wizard. But if he could tell she was alive, why couldn’t her parents? Why didn’t they try? Why didn’t he tell them? She loved Paul and Marie with all the world. She never felt misplaced among them. They were her parents. Yet, the whatifs to drive her mad still lingered on. Ollie was allowing her to put some of them to bed by just accepting it, without question. Accepting her. All of her.

“You’re so biased,” she giggled, tucking her face into his chest as it lit up with that familiar, endearing scarlet. “Thank you, Ol,” she murmured, lifting her head again as she felt the colour begin to subside. She leaned up and nudged her nose with his, a little smile appearing on her lips that was entirely devoted to him.

“I don’t know if … I’ll ever quite get used to it. I’ve grown into it, at least. When I was younger it looked huge because I was so small and it was even worse. Mum taught me the spell and I was always happier without it. I guess… I guess I need it there because I know it’s a part of me but I don’t want to have to see it or anything like that because … I don’t know. I … I … I don’t really understand why. But … thank you for not looking at me differently for it. I didn’t think you would but I was scared and seeing that you don’t … just, yeah,” she smiled shyly again as colour spread once more and she drew her hand down his side before slipping it under his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin.

She shivered a little when she felt his mouth over her neck and she lifted her head instinctively, allowing him better access, or, rather, in an effort to encourage him to continue lavishing attention there. She knew it probably wasn’t the time and her mind was begging her to listen to what he was saying. She heard it all, of course, and her heart swelled after every word, but her desires were wandering down another path entirely. She smiled and wriggled into him, shaking her head a little.

“I don’t care about whether I would be happier with x, y, or z, Ol,” she whispered to him as her lips brushed across his earlobe. “Because I know I am happiest when I am with you. So you can be as selfish as you like because I am being very much the same. I love you and you are completely, utterly, irrevocably mine,” and with that she gave his earlobe a playful nip before lowering her lips to his shoulder. She smiled and popped a kiss there before leaning back to look at him properly. Her smile grew with his last words and her eyes closed immediately once his mouth closed over hers. She sighed happily and cupped his cheek with her hand, drawing him closer to her.

Her trailing hand took a southern route, her fingers brushing teasingly over his skin. She brought them round, skimming across the top of his jammie bottoms before dipping temptingly underneath. She lingered only for a breath before withdrawing her hand, a smirk drew into her kiss and she turned a little, pushing Ollie onto his back. She straddled his middle and broke the embrace of their lips to pepper her mouth down his neck. When she looked up at him, her eyes had swirled to a dark lustiness and her smirk seemed fixed, like the proverbial cat that knew she was going to get the equally proverbial cream by hook or by crook. Her eyebrow rose and then her hand delved back south.

"Would you rather I wasn't?" he returned, lifting a challenging eyebrow. His grin gave him away, ruining any feigned seriousness he had attempted.

Oliver felt that he might have imagined it, but it seemed like Alice's pulse sped up under his attentions, so he was only half surprised when she brushed her words across his ear. He still couldn't figure how she changed mindsets so quickly, but he figured that this time, it was his own fault, given he was so intent on making her feel comfortable. Not that he was complaining, or anything. The deep "yours" that escaped was almost accidental in that he hadn't meant to say it at all. He hadn't thought about it, anyway. It was practically instinctive.

How could she go from the girl next door - or, really, who lived down the hall - who had terrible nightmares, to this woman hovering over him and thoroughly distracting him from anything else he might have said? Nothing in his life had ever been as anxiety-inducing or exciting as the past few hours. Not the publisher calling him for his first novel's approval. Not his and Ariel's first party after moving out from their parents'. No, he had almost lost her, and then she had practically agreed to marry him already. As his hands found her waist, sneaking beneath her shirt, Oliver kept repeating it over and over in his head.

This girl is gonna be my wife.

As much fun as it surely would have been to let Alice continue with what she was intending to do, Oliver sat up and held her against his chest with one hand, the other leading her leg around his waist. It slid back up to the curve of her hip, and as his lips found her collarbone, he gave a nudge to coax her into rolling against him. The hand at Alice's back lifted to cradle her head, deciding that, come hell or high water, she was his future. Paul, certainly, was not on Oliver's mind in a moment like this, but somewhere in the back of his mind he was determined.

It was weird, he knew, to get sidetracked while someone like Alice was leading him down a plain and simple path to bliss, but the possibility of forever was laid out in front of them and Oliver knew there was no rush. Regardless of this part of the evening, he knew that this summer night would not be forgotten any time soon. This was the night that he had almost had the most important part of his life ripped away, and that changed everything.

Oliver's hold on Alice softened, and he tripped his lips up to her own, pausing to say the words that were now pushing at him. He didn't know if it was really a great idea to just say it, but it was partly to get used to it, and partly to convince himself it was true.

"Alice Connolly," he breathed, already a million steps ahead of where he was supposed to be. "Merlin, that sounds brilliant."

A muffled squeak of surprise rumbled in Alice’s throat as Ollie moved her and she blinked about, half groaning as their pelvises came together, creating some of the friction she was so desperately after. She wiggled experimentally in his lap, half to register her dismay at his interruption – after all, she had plans for him, for them, for the rest of the evening. She couldn’t help but smile at him, though. Her legs curled around him as he wanted and she dropped her arms around his shoulders. In that moment, and for all of the moments yet to come in her life, she knew there was nowhere else she wanted to be.

She hummed happily against his mouth as his lips found hers and her fingers rose a little, tightening around his shoulders, as she let herself fall back into the embrace of their mouths. The heat between them was almost intolerable for, although much of that was one-sided, the result of her all-consuming lust. When he pulled away, she whined and reopened her eyes, a smile already leaping across her face. Her smile widened all the more when he spoke and she couldn’t help the flip-flop of excitement within her. He hadn’t even asked and yet it all seemed sorted – and there wasn’t a quiver of fear within her.

“You are brilliant,” she countered, drawing her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. She leaned in and kissed him chastely, her smile growing warm and dreamy. “Thank you,” she murmured, “for wanting to make me your wife. Alice Connolly,” she tried it out, trying to imagine herself indignantly introducing herself when someone in a courtroom or in government dared to question her authority as a professional. It made her giggle a little bit and she buried her head in his neck, pressing a kiss at the juncture where his neck and shoulder met.

“Hey!” She snickered, lifting her head. Her eyes were twinkling with amusement. “What if I want to keep my name, huh?” Her smirk grew and grew. “What if I’d rather you be Oliver Rousseau, hm?” She giggled and popped a kiss to his nose. “I’m kidding,” she murmured, although she knew he already knew as much. “This is like a dream. To quote arguably my favourite film ever: you were my new dream, Ollie. Knowing I get to have my dream come true … it’s … I just … I love you. More than anything.”