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opiomancy · 3 years

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cumulonimbus ix

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Harry Potter, Sirius Black x Remus Lupin, Hermione Granger x Ron Weasley

Summary: When asked about how Harry's life got turned upside down he's going to blame a Farrah Fawcett poster, a second magical diary, and Draco Malfoy in that order.

Word Count: 1873

[Part One: Mid Day] Part Two: July 2nd, 1998: Early Morning

It’s well past midnight and Harry is still loitering in Sirius’ old bedroom; the dinner Kreacher placed on the nightstand has been left cold and untouched. Instead of eating like a normal functioning adult, Harry decided to stare at the ceiling. The face of Farrah Fawcett and her red swimsuit still beaming down at him as dusk fell into night. He’s not quite sure why he’s just sitting here… staring at the pearly white smile of the blonde bombshell above him. Maybe if he stares long enough he’ll find some divine intervention on what the hell he’s supposed to be doing. It’s only been a few months since the battle of Hogwarts, and Harry feels as if he’s running out of time. He always feels like he’s running out of time. As if he’s late for something important, or there's a deadline that’s just a few days away, but for once in Harry's life he doesn’t. He has absolutely nothing to do.

“Except clean this bloody house” he says to two dimensional Farah, as if she’ll respond to his complaints. Harry groans, running his calloused hands over his sticky face, dried sweat clogging his pores. The result of hours of grueling labor stains him. It’s something he should be used to by now but isn’t, and probably never will. After staring at the American actress some more he’s come to the conclusion that he’s completely mad. It’s the only explanation really. Why else would he decide cleaning up this mansion, alone, was a good idea? Why did he think breaking up with Ginny was a good idea? Why did he think that when the moonlight hit Farrah’s hair in just the right way it reminded him of...

Yep. Definitely madness. A one way ticket to the Janus Thickey ward if it pleases the court. Harry flipped over on the bed to bury his face in the dusty satin pillow, anything to not stare at the Hollywood starlet again. When Harry thought about it, it makes sense that madness would take him in the end. You don’t survive the killing curse twice without it screwing something up inside. He could see The Daily Prophet headline now: “THE CHOSEN CRAZY ONE!”

No, Rita would definitely come up with something more clever. “THE BOY WHO WENT OFF HIS ROCKER: THE TELLING TALE OF HARRY POTTER’S QUICK DESCENT TO INSANITY!” That sounds better, more Rita.

Harry supposes he’s had a good run of it all. Nearly eighteen years old, a war hero, wealthy beyond his needs, half a virgin. It’s been a life. Better to be done in by an army of dust bunnies and outdated aristocratic decor than Voldemort. At least now it’s quiet, he can let his mind slowly slip away into the unknown without the stress of his friends and loved ones getting hurt. Maybe he should eat the dinner Kreacher left, at least it’ll be something else to do.

Harry accios his wand that fell to the floor at some point in the evening and heats up his kidney pie. He eats it slowly, trying to forgive its mushy texture and cold bits. He’s never been that good at cooking spells. Harry begins to take inventory of the room as he eats. Sirius’ style in decor was much better than the rest of his family, especially considering it was decades out of fashion. One solid wooden king size sleigh bed that Harry was currently sitting on, with Gryffindor red sheets gently stretched across it. A bookshelf to his left filled to the brim with old Hogwarts textbooks and muggle literature with the covers removed. A large wooden nightstand to his right with a few girlie magazines stuffed inside the drawer, something Harry refused to touch in fear of them being much more solid than magazines ought to be. In front of him was a window that was charmed to display a dense forest at all times, with large thick black curtains that shrouded the room in darkness when closed. On the other side of the room laid a desk with an antique stationary set resting on top, and a yellow record player beside it. The walls were covered with pictures and posters like the marvelous Miss. Fawcett, splattered around with no rhyme or reason, and shelves to display a fantastic classic rock record collection. It looked like a muggle teenage boy’s room, and that’s just how Sirius liked it.

Every part of this room screamed Sirius Orion Black, and that just made Harry miss him that much more. He wished his godfather was here to help him renovate the house, but he knew that would never happen. One thing Harry knew for sure was that he was going to keep this room exactly as it was, a time capsule of Sirius’ youth. Deep down he knew that his godfather would appreciate it, even if he’d never admit it if he was here.

Harry sighed as he placed the half eaten kidney pie on the nightstand, too exhausted to finish it. He laid back down to stare at Farrah some more, he understood why she was so popular in her day. Her smile was bright and beautiful, and people tend to like bright and beautiful things. Harry didn’t see a lot of that in his life, and now he can say he finally has. A bright and beautiful... poster. Yes, undeniably mad.

Harry slammed his fist on the wall behind him with a groan. Stupid Farrah, stupid Hermione, stupid Sirius. He could be doing so much with his life but he’s just sitting here! Harry got up and began to pace around the room. Shouldn’t he be thinking about his future? Shouldn’t he begin thinking about a career? Dating? Getting a life? And why does all of that sound so much more monumental than fighting a facist overlord? He wants to do nothing, but needs to do something. The contradictions of his life were wearing on his psyche and he just... needs. He has this major need deep within himself and he doesn’t know what to do with it all.

Harry could feel his magic begin to overwhelm him, a feeling he hasn’t had since he was eleven and could barely control his magic. Before he knew it books were flying off the shelves and Farrah had fallen off her post. When Harry opened his eyes to see the mess he created he slumped with exhaustion.

“Great more bloody mess” Harry said to himself. He began to levitate the books to their rightful place, making sure they weren’t out of order. He noticed Farrah was lying limply against the wall as if she was as tired as Harry was. Madness . When he went to pick her up Harry saw a loose floorboard at his feet.

“Think there’s something underneath it Farrah?” as per usual, Farrah didn’t respond. Harry levitated her back to the ceiling where she belonged with a sticking charm, and went to work on the floorboard. The corner of the dark wood lifted up at the edge, and squeaked when Harry put pressure on it. After some finagling the board finally gave way. Inside was a large cigar box, an old crown royal bag, and small metal tin. Harry decided to check out the tin first, he blew off the dust and pried the rusty hinges apart. Inside were a pack of matches from a place called The Beaver Dam and some joints. Harry went to smell one of them and it nearly disintegrated in his hands.

“Better off. ‘ Mione would kill me anyway,” he thought to himself. He could almost hear her commanding voice now: “Do you know what drugs could do to your brain Harry? It can affect your memory, your lungs, your libido! Marijuana just makes you okay with being bored and that’s not good for your mental health either!” A walking D.A.R.E program that one. Harry could remember back in sixth year when she caught a couple of Hufflepuffs hotboxing the greenhouse. Hermione went on and on about how it could damage school property, or damage their bodies, or worse get them expelled. Harry himself was too obsessed with watching Malfoy’s name on The Marauder’s Map to listen to her speech. His mates gave him endless flack for it, but he turned out to be right in the end.10 points to Gryffindor.

Harry opened up the crown royal bag next. Inside was an array of seemingly meaningless knick knacks: a mood ring, an old coke bottle cap, an empty carton of clove cigarettes, and a plain brown tie. Harry was curious about why Sirius decided to put in the effort to hide this pile of junk. It all seemed harmless enough, but knowing Sirius each item probably had their unique own story to tell; the sentimental oaf.

The cigar box was the last item hidden away under the floorboard. The box itself wasn’t that magnificent, it was a faded yellow wood with the King Edward Tobacco logo imprinted on the top with the royal crest repeatedly stamped along the borders. When Harry opened the box his stomach plummeted to the floor. Inside this innocuous box was an old leather diary, reminiscent of the one that made his life hell in second year. Harry immediately shut the box and tossed it across the room, begging his heart to stop hammering in his chest.

“It’s just a diary. Not every diary is a trojan horse attempting to kill you. Sirius would never keep a cursed item in his bedroom. Just breathe.” Harry repeated to himself. He found himself staring at Farrah once again, breathing slowly as his heart rate returned to normal. Her once brilliant smile appeared to be mocking him, panicking over a silly little diary, such a childish thing to do. Harry steeled himself once again, he wasn’t going to let some dusty book get the best of him. He defeated the darkest wizard of the century at seventeen. Dust bunnies were one thing, but a dumb diary? Harry refused to be bested by this nonsense. He stood up from his fetal position on the floor, puffed up his chest, and stalked towards the worn tobacco box.

“Nothing to worry about, just an old diary” Harry said as he opened up the box, pretending that his hands weren’t shaking as he did. As he held the well loved leather diary in his hands, Harry questioned whether or not he should open it. This could easily be Sirius’ diary, and that would be a major invasion of privacy. Downright disrespectful. What kind of godson would he be if he just nosied his way through all of Sirius’ belongings? Nothing cowardly about respecting boundaries.

“Scared Potter?”

Harry flinched as a certain blonde haired git’s voice buzzed in his head. He was not scared. He could read this diary if he chose to. No problem with it all. In fact he was going to sit down and read the entirety of this diary… tomorrow.

Harry hastily placed the diary on the nightstand and fled out of the bedroom towards his own. He was in desperate need of sleep if he was hearing that voice in his head.

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opiomancy · 3 years

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cumulonimbus ix

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Harry Potter, Sirius Black x Remus Lupin, Hermione Granger x Ron Weasley

Summary: When asked about how Harry's life got turned upside down he's going to blame a Farrah Fawcett poster, a second magical diary, and Draco Malfoy in that order.

Word Count: 584

Part One: July 1st, 1998: Mid Day

The United Kingdom is experiencing what we like to call an “Indian Summer.” Even with the multitude of cooling charms over Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Harry still finds his shirt sticking to his back from sweat. He just finished disposing of all of the petrified Hippogriff dung Buckbeak left in the master bedroom, bloody disgusting, and has since moved on to vanishing dead doxies, even more bloody disgusting. Why he let Hermione convince him of this pet project in the midst of summer he’ll never know. It was just after the last death eater trial when she suggested it; the thing that will become the bane of Harry’s existence for the foreseeable future.

“Oh Harry, all this place needs is some tender loving care. You’re not very busy at the moment, it's the perfect time! It would be such a shame to let years of abandonment ruin such a historical home. You know, I’ve read that ancient wizarding homes have-” and that’s where Harry stopped paying attention. Once Hermione starts on one her tangents it’ll be at least an hour before she circles back to the original point.

Not very busy at the moment, she says. Like he hasn’t spent the last eight years of his life fighting against dark wizards and death eaters, like he hasn’t been recuperating after weeks of testimony and witnessing trials for said dark wizards and death eaters, like he hasn’t re-broken up with his endgame girl a week and a half ago, like he doesn’t deserve to just do nothing for once.

But Hermione hasn’t been wrong yet, so he decides to suck it up and clean the place. Grimmauld Place. The ancestral home of the Great and Noble House of Black. Harry scoffs to himself, he can almost hear his godfather’s gravelly voice of disdain in his head.

Harry stops vanishing his seventh doxie corpse when a wave of, something, fills his gut. Loneliness? Frustration? Disappointment? Sirius left him this tomb of a house, and now it’s his responsibility to take care of it. Sirius washed his hands clean of his childhood home when he gave it to Harry, and Hermione dirtied Harry’s when she suggested this renovation project. He’s really unprepared to be dealing with all of this. He truly has no idea what he’s doing. Harry grew up with muggles; what the hell is he supposed to do with a wizarding home?

He decides to leave one of the many spare bedrooms of Grimmauld to go visit Sirius’ room again. Even though he hasn’t lived in this room in decades, Harry still feels it’s an invasion of privacy every time he ventures inside. Passing through the many dark and dingy hallways of his burden, he finally spots the door, the plaque labeled S.O.B still plastered on the front of the old mahogany door. Despite being disowned, his face blasted off the family tree, the plaque remained on Sirius’ bedroom door. Harry wonders why Walburga Black kept it, the entrance to the mausoleum of her dead-to-me son. Harry would have never dreamed of saying this to Sirius while he was here, but sometimes he thinks deep down there must have been some love there. Why else would she keep his name on the door? His room in pristine condition? Just as Sirius left it, so if he ever returned it’d be just as it was. In the end Sirius Black did return, Walburga just wasn’t around to see it herself.

Harry opens the door.

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opiomancy · 3 years

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does anyone have good pansy parkinson x female!reader fics? i’m desperate

#pansy x reader #pansy parkinson x reader #pansy parkinson #pansy parkinson fanfic #harry potter fanfiction

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opiomancy · 3 years

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These cunning folks use any means to achieve their ends

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opiomancy · 3 years

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@hogwartsonline | Pride

LGBTQ+ Founders

Bisexual Salazar Slytherin

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opiomancy · 3 years

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Slytherin Christmas Aesthetic

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Twinkling lights, and snow days...

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Mood music:

Within You- David Bowie

Sisters of The Moon- Fleetwood Mac

Stigma- BTS (V solo)

New Eyes- Adam Lambert

Chasing Cars- Snow Patrol

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opiomancy · 3 years

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draco malfoy

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opiomancy · 3 years

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opiomancy · 3 years

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m o o d b o a r d ; slytherin

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opiomancy · 3 years

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The Slytherin Aesthetic

Elegance. Tradition. Family. Power. These are things Slytherins hold dear to them more than anything else.

Things associated with Slytherins: velvet green. greed. crystal chandeliers. snakes, of course. dark waters. suspenseful figures. fountain pens. the violin dramatic violin. poisons. old books that have been treated well. expensive clothing. looking out the window during the Victorian age. carriages. dark wood. iron gates. mansions. darkest academia. revenge, not so much pranks. green or black flames. fog. aged oil paintings. silver. shiny ornate dress clothes. grey clouds before a storm. melancholy poems. gossip. symbolic statues. only the best wine. raging storms, not just rain. hurricanes. cold floors. whispers. thrillers. wrath. emerald jewelry. death before dishonor. betrayal is unacceptable. extravagant masquerade balls. hiding true feelings. blunt truth. success. victory. seizing control when the opportunity arises. smugness. glass vials. silver daggers. pure black cloaks. dragon heartstring cores. thrones. black quills. everything has a reason, even if it’s not clear. slow burn, never love at first sight. popularity. black fingernails. very grim funerals. always side with family. never giving up or in. never letting oneself be trapped, always finding a way out, even if it means death. center of attention or lurking in the shadows. punctuality. independence. sacrifice. pride.

some pictures I found:

If you liked this post, maybe consider dropping a like or even following me! I post as often as a good thought pops into my head!

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opiomancy · 4 years

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London Boy

Draco X Muggle!Reader

Request: @chaotic-good-gemini: draco falling for muggle! reader but he knows that’s stupid so he tries to at least befriend her to keep her close and eventually tells her how he rlly feels(?) I don’t know haha it’s dumb but sounds cute

A/N: So this may or may not be over 7k words… anywho. This is a few years after the war and Draco more or less gets adopted into the Weasleys and Co because he demands that he’s there to see Teddy grow up, and well Mrs. Weasley has a thing for strays. It’s just super cute and I don’t even know at this point but I love you guys and this request and can only dream at this point of a better life for Draco. There’s also so much more I wanted to write but ugh there’s not enough hours in the day. Also for fanfiction sake Astoria doesn’t exist.

Tags: @un-limiteddd @geekysimmerthings @coffee-addicti @ilikestuffproductions @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18 @whygz @crazywritingbug @dolphincommander @bisexualbumblebeesstuff @fuzzy-panda @bitemebro522 @zombiesnips-blog @jillanaholland @shookyungsoo @savingdraco @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @akari180 @slytherin-emerald @chaotic-good-gemini @memalfoy-spidey @theres-a-dog-outside-omg @queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise @dietkiwi @katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things @tmnt-queen @mccloudchloe @hxneybgb @justsomerandomgur @belcvayelena @moviesbooksandfandoms @howdycharlie @littlethingsinmymindla @xtrashmouthxtozierx @cocochanelthepupper @ninacotte @mccloudchloe @braelynn-j @jiggllyy @honeymarvel @go-whovian-universe @darcypottah @whiskeywinter89 @half-blood-muggle @kinseywray

After the war Draco had a different view on life. Sure, he did some really—really—stupid shit, but he was offered redemption from Potter’s weird family, and of course, he wasn’t going to abandon Teddy. Draco was dead set on raising Teddy right, not like his father had raised him.

So that was why he was suffering this hell hole muggle restaurant. Teddy was turning two and everyone insisted on going out to a local restaurant in London to celebrate. Not that Draco had much against Muggles anymore, he just thought that there was a better way to live and giving that up for a stupid dinner was… well, stupid.

There he sat, in the midst of muggles with his very odd wizard family, celebrating his little cousin’s birthday, sulking.

Keep reading

#draco malfoy x reader

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