Harry Potter : Bloodraven-Chapter 92: Love, Laughter, and Plans (I) (CH - 112)

Georgia, United States.

A sleek black sedan pulled up to the curb in front of a towering glass building in the heart of Atlanta. The car's engine purred softly before shutting off, and after a quiet moment, the door opened with a gentle click.

A young man stepped out into the crisp winter air. His polished shoes met the cold pavement with a measured rhythm, each step firm yet unhurried. A faint wisp of breath curled in the air as he adjusted the light jacket draped over his shoulders, its fabric offering little protection against the lingering chill. Not that he needed any.

The low winter sun reflected off the building's glass facade, casting bright streaks of light across the frosted sidewalk. Around him, passersby huddled into their coats, bracing against the wind, but he remained unfazed. He didn't squint against the light, nor did he shiver at the biting breeze that whispered through the city streets. His expression stayed calm, relaxed—almost as if winter itself bent around him rather than the other way around.

With a soft thud, he shut the door and moved toward the entrance. The automatic doors slid open with a quiet whoosh, and the cool air of the lobby brushed against his face.

People moved around him—men in suits, women balancing coffee cups and folders, a janitor pushing a cart—but no one spared him a glance. It wasn't that they were ignoring him. It was as if he wasn't there at all.

A woman chatting on her phone strode right past him, her conversation uninterrupted. A security guard at the front desk glanced up, but his gaze swept over the young man without registering his presence.

Unbothered, he walked to the row of elevators and pressed the call button. A moment later, a soft chime announced one's arrival. Stepping inside alone, he hit the button for the upper floors.

As the doors slid shut, he glanced down at the small box of chocolates in one hand and the single red rose in the other. A faint smile played on his lips.

---

When the elevator doors parted with another soft chime, he stepped out onto a floor lined with glass-walled offices. The hum of voices, the rhythmic clatter of keystrokes, the occasional ring of a phone—this was the heartbeat of a busy newsroom.

He walked through the maze of workspaces, past reporters hunched over their desks and editors reviewing proofs, but just like before—no one noticed him. It was as if he were a ghost, drifting unseen through the office.

Then, he reached a particular office and came to a stop.

A slow, knowing smile crossed his face as he adjusted his shirt, exhaled softly, and reached for the door handle.

The latch clicked, and he stepped inside.

---

She was too focused to notice.

Stacks of papers were scattered across her desk, some neatly piled, others spread out in a flurry of notes. Her pen moved swiftly over a page, her brows slightly furrowed in concentration.

She wore a sleek, high-neck blouse in a soft ivory shade, the fabric smooth and refined, tucked neatly into a dark, form-fitting pencil skirt that stopped just above her knees. The subtle shimmer of her stockings caught the light as she shifted in her seat, legs crossed with effortless poise. A silver watch rested on her wrist, its polished face gleaming with every flick of her pen.

Her golden hair was gathered into a loose, effortlessly stylish updo—carefully undone yet perfectly arranged. A few strands had slipped free, framing her face in soft waves as she worked, absorbed in thought. The afternoon light streaming through the windows kissed her hair, weaving a subtle glow through the golden strands, making them shimmer with every slight movement.

He quietly closed the door behind him, but she didn't react. It was as if the sound hadn't reached her ears.

Stepping closer, he glanced down at the papers in front of her.

An article about the Stark couple? He raised an eyebrow, amused.

With deliberate care, he placed the box of chocolates and the rose beside her hand. Then, without a word, he walked over to the side of the room, where two comfortable armchairs sat. Lowering himself into one, he crossed his legs and leaned back.

Then, finally, he snapped his fingers.

At first, nothing changed.

She kept writing, lost in thought, her pen gliding smoothly across the page. Minutes passed until she finally let out a quiet sigh, set her pen down, and stretched, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension.

Her hand reached for the pen again—but then—

"Huh?"

Her fingers brushed against something unexpected. She blinked, glancing down. A neatly wrapped box of chocolates. A single rose.

Her brow furrowed. That wasn't there before.

Slowly, she picked up the rose, turning it between her fingers as confusion flickered across her face. Then, as if sensing something, she turned her head. Her eyes widened as she saw him sitting comfortably in the corner, one arm draped over the chair's armrest, a familiar smirk playing on his lips.

"Ricky!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of surprise and delight.

Her face lit up, and in that moment, everything she had been doing faded from her mind. The scattered papers, the half-written article—none of it mattered anymore.

A rush of excitement took over. She shot up from her chair, sending the papers on her desk fluttering. The only thing on her mind was him.

Without a second thought, she ran toward him and threw herself into his arms as he sat in the chair. The force of her lunge sent the chair sliding back slightly, but she didn't care.

"Hey, hey—" he started, laughing, "you'll end up breaking the—"

His words never finished. She silenced him with a kiss, her hands cradling his face as she melted against him.

For a long moment, they stayed like that—lost in each other. The warmth of their embrace, the familiar scent, the way their bodies fit together so naturally. It was a feeling neither of them ever got tired of.

Finally, she pulled away just enough to look into his eyes, her lips curling into a smile. "I thought you were coming tomorrow."

He chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I wanted to surprise you."

She smiled, her fingers idly tracing the collar of his shirt. "You did," she said, then paused, deliberately stretching out the moment.

His brow arched, catching the hesitation. "Didn't it work?"

She hummed, tapping a finger against her chin as if considering her answer. Then, with a slow, teasing smile, she finally nodded. "It did… but you only get half the marks."

His smirk faded. "Half?"

She lifted a shoulder in an easy shrug, her tone light but smug. "You used magic. So no points for effort."

He inhaled a dramatic breath, placing a hand over his heart as if she had struck him. "You wound me, bella."

She laughed softly, shaking her head. Then, just as quickly, her expression melted into something gentler. With a quiet sigh, she leaned into him again, resting her head against his shoulder.

"I missed you," she murmured, her fingers curling lightly into his shirt.

His arms tightened around her in response, and murmured just as warmly, "Missed you too."

For a while, she simply listened to the rhythm of his breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her touch. Then, after a brief moment, she spoke again in a more thoughtful tone.

"I don't know how I would have handled the past half-year if you hadn't given me that mobile phone thing…" Her fingers traced slow, absentminded circles against his chest, as if lost in the memory.

He chuckled, the warmth of her touch stirring a quiet fondness in him. His hand drifted through her golden hair in a gentle caress. "Well, it is one of a kind... I made it just for us. Not even my company manager, Ali, has a model with as many features as ours."

Isabella's smile deepened, a quiet warmth in her eyes. She nestled closer, resting her head against his shoulder, letting the steady rhythm of his breath soothe her.

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For a while, they simply held each other, wrapped in the quiet comfort of being together again. The world beyond the glass walls of her office felt distant, unimportant. But then—

She tensed.

Her body straightened slightly, and her eyes flicked toward the window separating them from the rest of the office floor.

Through the glass, she saw the usual bustle—colleagues moving around, deep in conversation, tapping away at keyboards, flipping through documents. The realization hit her like a splash of cold water.

Had anyone seen them?

Maverick sensed the change in her expression and chuckled knowingly. "Relax," he said smoothly. "As far as they can see through the glass, you're still working at your desk."

She turned her head slowly, giving him a pointed look. "You put a spell on them, didn't you?"

He met her gaze with an innocent expression. "No."

Her eyes narrowed.

"…Okay, fine," he muttered. "Only on the people inside the building..."

She stared at him, momentarily speechless. Then, pressing her fingers to her temple, she let out a sigh. "If your grandmother finds out, she won't be happy."

He chuckled, entirely unconcerned. "Good thing they don't know I'm a wizard." He smirked. "They don't even know magic exists."

...

For a moment, silence settled between them, comfortable and warm. Then, tilting his head slightly, he asked, "Speaking of… how's my grandmother treating you?"

Isabella's face lit up. "Chief is a wonderful person," she said without hesitation. "I don't get why people think she's so strict."

Maverick chuckled, shaking his head. "That's because you're my fiancée." He shot her a knowing look. "She has a soft spot for in-laws. Mom told me she was the first one in the family to approve of her and Dad getting married—way before anyone else even came around."

Isabella just smiled at that, then nestled even closer, enjoying the quiet comfort between them.

"So, what about your internship? Learned anything interesting so far?"

"It's been going great," Isabella answered without missing a beat. "There's so much more to Muggle journalism than what we have in the wizarding world. Their methods, their approach to storytelling—it's on a completely different level."

Maverick listened attentively, a pleased look crossing his face as he took in her enthusiasm.

She lifted her head from his chest, her voice turning softer. "I'm really glad you suggested I start with the Muggle side first."

He studied her for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. Then, in a more serious tone, he asked, "Are you... truly sure this is what you want?"

A small huff escaped her as she poked him lightly in the chest. "Yes, I'm sure. I want to be a journalist." Her eyes gleamed with determination. "Especially now that you've introduced Magic Vision to the wizarding world... I want to be the first to bring video journalism to our kind."

She sat up a little straighter. "Besides…" Her lips curved into a soft smile as her eyes met his. "I want to be a part of your big plans, Ricky. And this… this is my way of helping."

Maverick's amusement faded, replaced by something quieter, more thoughtful. He studied her, and the emotions radiating from her felt more sincere than anything he had ever sensed from anyone before.

"In the future, when you start changing the magical world, I want to be your voice," Her voice was filled with quiet determination. "I want to be the one who tells your story, who helps people understand what you're doing and why it matters."

A moment of silence stretched between them, not awkward, but full of unspoken understanding. Maverick held her gaze, and his admiration for her grew even more.

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Author's Note:

Just a quick update — up to Chapter 145 is already available on P AT r30n!

PAT r30n [.] com / RyanFic