I've been really into cousincest lately, and I have no idea why.
The lyrics belong to the song, Bloodstream by Stateless- it's awesomesauce, btw.
This will be a five-shot.
I don't own Harry Potter.

I think I might've inhaled you
I could feel you behind my eyes
You've gotten into my bloodstream
(Bloodstream, - Stateless)


Rosie's eyes were extremely expressive. The kind that draws you in immediately, luring you, hypnotizing you.


Rosie liked autumn. She liked how the leaves would change colours and the way the wind would blow freely through her silky, red tendrils.

James liked autumn too; because of Rose, of course.


When the sun shone, Rosie's hair was multiplied. Thousands of rays of redredsparkles illuminating the air; like fireworks.

When the sun was down, Rosie's hair still looked beautiful, and lush ... and sparkly.

But you're James Sirius Potter, first cousin to Rose Katherine Weasley, and thoughts like that shouldn't exist.


Oh shit, it's getting bad.

Because Louis is beginning to notice that there is far too much emotional starring in Rosie's direction. Damn kid's always been too perceptive for his own good.

"It won't work out you know." Louis says, gesturing at Rosie whose full attention was focused on Scorpius Malfoy; that git. She's placing her hand on his chest and twirling a strand of heaven around a finger on her other hand, and it's too much.

Every onlooker from every angle just thinks they're so fucking adorable; the perfect couple.

You clench your fists and hope for a miracle anyway.


"James, James... earth to James!" Rosie's voice is ringing in your ear. Her perfect, soft, melodic voice that-

"James Sirius Potter, I swear to Merlin if you don't listen to me, I will hex you on the spot!" She says, her brown eyes glaring mischieviously.

"Sorry Rosie, what were you saying again?" Somehow deep in your heart, her happiness is a result of your future misery.

"I'm engaged, Jamsie! Scorp proposed!" She squeals, grabbing your hand, her warmth barely breaking through the numbness.

Breathe, dammit, James breath. You can fucking do this!

"I-I damn, Rosie I'm so happy for you."

But you're ripping my heart.


"And so I'm thinking green for the bridesmaids dresses because if I went with the pink Aunt Fleur suggested, us Weasley girls would look like blushing strawberries, and I really don't want that because my wedding day is supposed to be the best day in the world, you know and I kinda really don't want to fuck it up and-"

"Rose! Calm down, fireball. I get it, green equals good, pink equals bad. But did you even stop to think of yourself yet?" You ask. It's a simple question, and from the look on Rosie's face I can tell that she's over-analyzing it... again.

"Well... not really." Her brown eyes are trained so deeply on a string on her shirt that it's killing me.

"What do you want, Rosie? Not your mum, not Aunt Fleur, not Mrs. Malfoy, you." You ask and it feels as though a dead silence was just dumped in the room.

"Just me and Scorp and a perfect day."

"Then do it." You fucking idiot, you did not just help her with this.

"Do what?" You sigh, she's so clueless sometimes.

"Get married, you and Scorp and your perfect day."

Without me.


Rose decides to keep going with the big, white, Weasley wedding. She's just not assertive like any other bride to be. And so, as honorary Man of Honor, you help her create the most fabulous, magical wedding the Wizarding World has ever seen.

Because, in all honesty, she's your favorite cousin and you love her (more than you should) and you just want her to be happy.

And Scorpius Malfoy made her happy for reasons you just cannot fathom.

"How do I look?" Rose tumbled out of the dressing room, her vibrant hair in a disaray, her hands smoothing out the front of the ivory dress.

Your mouth can't form words, it's like everything you've ever learned in all of your twent-six years has been immediately erased from your mind. Delete.

She was stunning; a vision clad in silk and lace, with a perfectly fitted corset, hugging her every curve.

"You're beautiful, Rose." A grin overtakes her face and she suddenly hugs you out of nowhere.

"I think this is the one." She says, her head resting right against your heart.

"Me too."


"Hey James." Your father says as he enters the kitchen, glasses, messy hair, and lightning bolt scar all included.

"Hey, dad." You reply. Rose's wedding is in two months.

Two months. Eight weeks. Sixty days.

It's all the same, give or take and it haunts you, daily.

Because had this been any other woman, you would have done everything to put a stop to it. But Rosie's your cousin, and even if she returned your feelings, the family would be in shambles and your relationship would be frowned upon.

"You okay?" He inquires.

"Just dandy."


"Flowers, shit! I forgot all about the bloody flowers!" Rose is practically hyperventillating at the new knowledge that had crossed her mind.

Damn, women and flowers.

They're flowers. You can go into the back yard, steal enough from Grandma Molly's garden, and be done with it, but no.

The flowers had to be freshly picked, not pulled out of the Earth just how nature intended. They had to have glitter blasted all over the fucking place, and they needed to be artificially sprayed with water to resemble to cool effect of a natural spring rain.

Whatever that meant.

Rose decides that she wants narcissus flowers at her wedding. For Scorpius' late grandmother so she could be there in spirit for her grandson's big day, from what Rose said.

It's sweet. But you can't help but think that if she was marrying you, would she choose lillies?


You're cringing in absolute disbelief. Why did it go so quickly? How did this happen?

But how could you not be prepared after all that you have both been through?

Rose is getting married in one week.

And you're just James Sirius Potter, stuck in a sea of denial.


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