Chapter Text
New Prefects. They were always the same; so excited about the chance to wield the slightest bit of power in September, then stressed and bored with the responsibility by June. None of them tended to bother him much – apart from Stannis, but he followed a set patrol route from which he refused to deviate, so Sandor knew where to avoid if he wanted a bit of peace and quiet. He folded his arms and waited. Joff was a Prefect now; he’d definitely want to exercise his authority. That ought to be a laugh.
But it wasn’t Joff.
Of course she was a Prefect. Little Miss Perfect. The only person in the entire school who could get him to move, and she wouldn’t even need to hex him. He was debating sprinting straight back to his common room so he wouldn’t have to deal with speaking to her, but that would undermine his dignity even more than last year’s incidents already had. He couldn’t avoid her all year. Best to get it over with now. She wouldn’t want to talk to him anyway.
Her fat little patrol partner squeaked with fright when he saw him, stopping in his tracks. ‘Sansa? M-Maybe we’d better go back and check that other corridor, I think I heard a – a noise…’
She was looking at him. He could feel it.
‘Why don’t you go and check it out, Sam? I’ll finish up here.’
‘You don’t have to – I mean, you could come with me – the noise might be a two-person job.’
‘I’m sure it’s fine,’ she told him kindly. ‘You go back and take care of it. I can handle Sandor Clegane.’
‘Better use two hands.’ Sandor leered at her. She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were pink. Sam seemed to be fighting an internal battle to determine whether or not he should stay and help, but ultimately cowardice won out and he scurried off into the night.
Sansa walked over. Her hair shone copper in the torchlight, her ribbon the same shade of blue as her Prefect badge. She seemed to have grown taller over the summer. Her tits had grown too. He yanked his gaze away and stared at the wall behind her.
‘You’re not supposed to be here,’ she said.
‘Probably not,’ he agreed. He was trying to emit an air of indifference, which was somewhat dependent on her not noticing how hard he was flexing his muscles.
‘It’s after hours.’
‘Yup.’
‘You should be in your common room.’
‘Don’t feel like it.’
‘Or your dormitory.’
‘Or your dormitory, how about that?’ Sandor suggested. ‘You must get lonely in that big bed, all by yourself.’
‘Maybe sometimes.’ He stared at her, and she giggled. ‘Did you have a nice summer, Sandor?’
He snorted. ‘What do you think?’
‘How’s your arm?’ she asked quietly. ‘I’ve been worried about you. I tried to visit you in the hospital wing, but they wouldn’t let me see you. Did Madam Mordane heal it?’
‘It’s fine,’ Sandor muttered. He took a deep breath. ‘Look, have you told anyone about that day?’
‘Of course not.’ She took a step towards him, and laid a light hand on his forearm. ‘I wouldn’t do that.’
Sandor grunted, distracted by her touch. He knew he ought to say something. She must think he was the most pathetic bloke on the planet.
‘I wanted to write to you,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t know if you’d want me to – I thought the letter might reach someone else first.’
‘Gregor would have fought me for it,’ he agreed bitterly. ‘No sense making yourself a target.’ Even a letter from a pretty girl was too much to ask. By the time he was living in a place where arriving owls didn’t routinely get their wings broken, he’d have left Hogwarts and she’d have no cause to even think of him.
‘I don’t suppose he gets much attention from girls,’ said Sansa. She tugged gently at his arms, and they unfolded for her.
‘Not without the Imperius curse.’
‘We don’t want him getting jealous.’ Her hand slid down his arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and then her fingers entwined with his. Sandor stared down at where they were connected, her skin so soft and pale against his own. His palms were sweating.
‘Sansa, what…’ His voice sounded thick and dull, as if his throat was full of treacle. He swallowed.
‘It’s all right,’ she said gently. She took his other hand. He was rooted to the spot. ‘I didn’t understand before, but I do now. You like me.’
Fuck. Sandor was about to deny it, to utter the biggest lie he’d ever told in his life, but the expression on her beautiful face was so level and clear it stopped him in his tracks. Pride in tatters, he shut his mouth and looked away.
‘Arya always said you did, but I didn’t believe her,’ Sansa said, her thumbs ghosting feather-light strokes across his skin. ‘It seemed like I just annoyed you. But she got it right, didn’t she? You’re always looking out for me, and I know you think I’m pretty.’
‘Look, I’m sorry for offending your delicate sensibilities,’ he snarled. ‘I’ll stay away from you, all right? You don’t have to go on about it.’ He went to take his hands out of hers, but she held tight and stepped closer.
‘I don’t want you to stay away from me,’ she informed him. ‘I want you to take me flying this weekend.’
Sandor’s jaw dropped.
‘Is this a joke?’ he demanded, shaking her a little. ‘Or a bet? Or – or Polyjuice Potion, if this is Ami Frey under there –’
‘I think you know it’s not.’
He stared down at her helplessly. Sansa Stark was holding his hands. She was smiling up at him, her chest inches from his. She didn’t want him to stay away. She wanted him to ask her out.
‘Flying?’ he said, voice sounding thin and uncertain to his own ears.
The smile she gave him was so bright it was like staring directly into the sun.
‘That would be lovely, thank you.’
This was a dream, it had to be. Maybe Gregor had finally killed him, and Sandor had somehow achieved a victory in death he’d never dreamed of in life. Either of those explanations made more sense than what currently seemed to be happening.
Sansa was tugging on his hands, giggling when he remained immovable.
‘Come on,’ she said, her eyes alight with laughter. ‘You really do need to go back to your common room. It’s late, and you’re breaking the rules.’
She was right, he supposed, but she was so pretty and playful just now that he couldn’t help but draw things out. Any number of things could go wrong between now and the weekend. By the time Saturday rolled around, she might hate him again, so really it was only common sense that he seize the moment. When she tried to tow him away from where he stood, he gently pulled her closer until their chests were flush. Sansa’s cheeks were crimson, her breath shaky, her eyes starry. Sandor’s head was inclining, he couldn’t help it; he searched her face desperately for any sign of repulsion, but he couldn’t find it. She was blushing, gazing at him in what looked a hell of a lot like excitement.
He was so close, he could do it, but his face, his scars – she couldn’t possibly want it –
Smooth as silk, Sansa rose onto her tiptoes and closed the gap between them, pressing her mouth against his.
He’d got off with a girl before. Course he had. A Muggle girl, a couple of years ago at someone’s house party back in Birmingham. She was older, had no doubt assumed he was older than he was due to his size, and she was drunk enough to drag him to a corner and shove her tongue in his mouth and grope him through his jeans. He hadn’t liked it, not really. Her hair was greasy, and she smelled and tasted so thickly of cigarettes that he almost expected to find tar stains on his hands and mouth when she finally let go of him. He had thought about stopping her, but who was to say she wouldn’t be the only girl who would ever let him kiss her?
Kissing Sansa was worlds apart.
She smelled of lavender, tasted of lemons, like an artisanal dessert way out of his price range. Her hands were cool in his, and he was gripping them so tightly he was worried he was hurting her, but she didn’t seem to mind. He couldn’t understand it, but she was here, she had chosen it, had chosen him. His belly swooped. He was trembling. Her lips were soft and gentle against his, and he was sure he could feel her smiling.
She slowly pulled away, letting out a dreamy sigh.
‘Sandor,’ she murmured sweetly. ‘Would you like to be my boyfriend?’
‘Yes,’ he said hoarsely. He yanked her back towards him, threw his arms around her, and kissed her again, releasing four years of pent-up longing. She squeaked and then hummed into his mouth, her arms closing around his neck, and he held her so tight he lifted her off her feet. She was warm and willing, her tits pressing against his chest, and he knew she must be able to feel his hard-on digging into her stomach. Hopefully she would just assume it was his wand.
His hand tangled in her hair, pulling insistently at the ribbon until it unravelled completely. Her hair was thick and silky; everything about her was smooth and soft and perfect. And she was his girlfriend, his. She bit gently at his lip, and he made an embarrassingly loud groaning noise into her mouth. She giggled.
Someone cleared their throat. Loudly.
Sansa pulled back at once, gasping, and Sandor reluctantly let her slide out of his arms. She was flustered and dishevelled, hair loose and lips swollen and fucking hell, he wanted to have her on his bed. He glared at Professor Lannister, who was rudely interrupting what had without question been the best experience of his life.
‘Well, well, well,’ said Lannister. ‘Sneaking around after hours to meet a boy. Aren’t you supposed to be preventing this sort of behaviour rather than engaging in it, Miss Stark? That badge on your robes isn’t just there to look pretty.’
‘It was my fault,’ said Sandor. ‘She was trying to get me to go back to my dormitory. I coerced her.’
Lannister snorted, giving him a remarkably piercing look. ‘Nice try, Clegane. You wouldn’t dare. Well, Miss Stark?’
‘I’m so sorry, Professor,’ said Sansa, her cheeks bright red. ‘I promise it won’t happen again. It’s just that I hadn’t seen Sandor since last term, and I had to… say hello.’
‘I sincerely hope you don’t say hello to everyone like that. It doesn’t end well – just ask my sister. Now, can I trust you to go back to your common room, and not to say hello to anyone on any future patrols, or should Professor Reed reconsider his choice of Prefect?’
‘Oh, no – please, you can trust me, I swear –’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Lannister, waving a hand wearily. ‘Run along.’
Sansa nodded. She smiled at Sandor and gave him a little wave, before hurrying down the corridor, her hair tumbling messily about her shoulders. Her ribbon was clutched tight in his hand. He blew out a shaking breath.
She was his girlfriend.
‘I suppose I’d better escort you back to your dormitory,’ remarked Lannister. ‘Otherwise you’d probably try to break into hers.’
They walked in silence, but Sandor could sense the professor looking up at him from the corner of his eye. Outside the Hufflepuff common room, Lannister paused and surveyed him. Sandor shifted and scowled, hands deep in his pockets. He was waiting for an interrogation on how the hell he had managed to procure a love potion.
‘Good lord, you’ve landed on your feet,’ Lannister said, shaking his head. ‘I owe my brother ten Galleons.’
That gave Sandor pause. Had he really been that obvious? Had Sansa been obvious, perhaps, and he had been the only one to miss it? How long had everyone been able to see this coming?
‘Not very professional, is it?’ he muttered. ‘Betting on students.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll cope.’ Lannister said. ‘Try not to lose focus on your studies, won’t you? You know the grades you need to get into Auror training.’
‘Who said I want to be an Auror?’
‘Certainly not you, but you do seem to be conveniently taking all the required classes. And let us not forget that you’re the duelling champion of the school. It would be a shame to see all that talent go to waste.’
Sandor eyed him suspiciously. It had sounded an awful lot like a genuine compliment, and he wasn’t buying it. Lannister rolled his eyes.
‘Well, an attempt was made. Now, to bed with you. And Clegane?’
‘What?’
‘She’s a sweet girl,’ said Lannister. ‘Don’t mess this up.’
*
He took her flying.
It was a bright day, the warmth of the summer still lingering. The castle grounds were more populous than he would have liked, but at least once they were in the air nobody would overhear whatever humiliating things he was bound to end up saying to her. Due to the overwhelming volume of homework Hogwarts deemed necessary, they had barely seen each other since they had kissed. Every night in bed Sandor had managed to convince himself it had all been some elaborate joke, losing hours of sleep in impotent, self-loathing rage… and then he would see her at breakfast.
She would smile at him from the Ravenclaw table, blushing so prettily he was desperate to drag her off to a broom cupboard and kiss her senseless. On Friday morning she had gleefully waved her wand at him, and he had looked down at his plate to see his fry-up rearrange itself into the shape of a heart. Sansa, convulsing with silent giggles, must have assumed it would appal him, and on one level it did, but he couldn’t account for the way his chest squeezed tight with emotion.
When she came to meet him by the broomstick shed, she gently pulled him towards her so she could kiss him on the cheek, and he snatched her around the waist, turning his head to kiss her properly. By the time they pulled apart, several people were staring.
‘What?’ he snarled, and most of them scuttled away. Sandor paused, remembering that he should probably tone down the shouting a bit. There was no way Sansa would still want to be his girlfriend when she experienced the full extent of his personality. He glanced at her somewhat guiltily. She was trying to look at him with reproach, he could see, but her eyes were laughing.
‘Grumpy,’ she said. ‘I would have thought a bit of kissing might cheer you up.’
‘Obviously haven’t done it enough,’ he said, stroking the hair that cascaded down her back. ‘Anyway, shouldn’t have been staring, should they?’
‘Not everybody is as well-mannered as you.’
A laugh escaped him before he could stop it. She was funny. It had never even occurred to him that she could be, since he had been fixated enough upon her sweetness. But as well as being pretty and clever and kind, she was witty and confident, and, until she came to her senses, she was his girlfriend.
Fucking hell, he was toast.
‘Where’s your broom?’ he asked her. ‘Unless you meant take you flying as a figure of speech.’
Sansa gasped and lightly smacked him on the chest, giggling. ‘I most certainly did not!’
‘Pity.’
‘And I don’t have a broom,’ she informed him, sparkling with amusement at the way they were teasing each other. ‘I’m a lady. Ladies can’t possibly be expected to fly themselves. It’s uncouth.’
‘I’m uncouth,’ Sandor pointed out.
‘I know,’ said Sansa. She looked at him demurely through her eyelashes, and he came dangerously close to chucking her over his shoulder and making for his dormitory.
‘You coming on my broom, then?’ he said, his voice sounding scratchy and low.
‘Yes. Just like you said on our first date.’
‘First – what?’ Sandor squinted at her. ‘What are you on with?’
‘When we went to Hogsmeade together,’ she said. ‘Remember? I know you do. You’ve never gone with any other girl.’
‘Bloody hell, all right,’ said Sandor. ‘But that wasn’t a… wait, was that a date?’
‘Of course! What did you think it was?’
‘Well... politeness, mostly.’
Sansa had that look on her face, the one that seemed to see under his skin and take a detailed inventory of every miserable part of him in an instant. ‘That’s why you didn’t kiss me,’ she said slowly.
‘Didn’t think you’d want me to,’ he muttered. ‘Why would you?’
‘Sandor,’ Sansa cupped his burned cheek and gazed at him, her wide blue eyes painfully earnest. ‘I’ve liked you since my first year.’
He goggled at her. All this time, longing for a chance with her. Laying awake at night imagining her, pretending his big ugly hands were hers. Attempt after attempt to transfigure his face, the scars always bleeding through, and the whole futile thing inevitably ending with him smashing the mirror again after it made an arsey comment. He had dwelt on their trip to Hogsmeade endlessly, wishing it could have been more than her pity and gratitude, that it could have been what he wanted. And now she had spoken a few quiet words, as though casting her own secret spell, and the past four years had been transformed.
His mouth opened but no sound would come. It all sounded like a lie, but it was Sansa – she would never. Before he was overwhelmed completely, Sandor mounted his broom, snatched her into his lap, and pushed away from the ground. They rose higher and higher into the air, over the forest and the lake and the castle, Sansa laughing with delight. Sandor held her close and buried his face in her hair. She liked him. She had always liked him. It hardly felt real.
Down on the ground, he could see the small figure of a girl, mounting a broom while gesticulating furiously up at them. He snorted. Arya Stark could hit him with as many hexes as she liked. He’d even put his wand in his pocket, stand still in front of her and let her have at it.
She might as well get it out of her system. If his luck held out, she’d have to put up with him for a while.