#golden trio era fic

[happyyyandcrazyyy]

liquid dreams (draco malfoy x reader)

summary: (y/n) is gone and if the only way for draco to see her is through dreams, so be it

or

“grief is the price we pay for loving.”

warnings: it’s written in non-chronological order, draco is really going through it, grieving process, mentions of blood (not detailed)

(if there’s any more warnings you think i should add let me know!)

a/n: i’m usually one to write fluff, but i wanted to write something more personal, more raw. this one was a roller coaster to write. hope you enjoy it!

i. five months and twelve days after the accident

Draco opens his eyes in panic, breathing labored and loud. He’s scared and confused, and he would be downright spiraling into an anxiety attack if this wasn’t such a common occurrence.

(The first night it’d happened he found himself unable to breath. He’d desperately stumbled out of bed, the haziness of sleep making everything distorted and disorienting. He’d hit his knee against the door, he’d bled on the white tiles of their bathroom floor. He’d spent two hours in the shower that night, fully clothed. The coldness of the water hadn’t been enough to soothe the burning heartbreak that gnaw on his soul, but it’d been enough to anchor him back.)

It takes him a moment to realize he’s frozen mid-action, one of his hands reaching forward and his fingers slightly curved, as if they’d been grasping something.

No. Not something. Someone.

Suddenly everything comes back, jumbled pieces of a half-remembered dream.

Her smile, the small crinkle by her eyes, the warmth of her skin under his fingertips.

Draco chokes out a gasp.

He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

In desperation he reaches for his own throat and grips it tightly, just firmly enough to feel the thumping of his blood under his palm. The unsteady pulse tethers him to reality, reminds him that he’s still alive, helps him settle enough for air to fill his lungs.

He chokes out a gasp, coughs roughly.

Instinctively, almost as an afterthought, Draco reaches for her side of the bed only to immediately reel his hand back when he’s met with cold, unused sheets. It’s been months and he still doesn’t dare to sleep on her side, still keeps everything of hers untouched— her blue toothbrush by the sink, her favorite slippers, the book she left on the coffee table. He knows preserving her things won't bring her back, he does it anyways.

Draco sighs and the sound reverberates, taunts him. It’s a reminder that he’s all alone, a reminder that a room once filled with soft snores and gentle laughter is now quiet enough for him to hear the pounding of his own heart, a reminder that over the last couple of months everything around him has been slowly filling itself with grief and sadness and pain and regret.

No wonder Draco can’t sleep, he’s suffocating.

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, hard enough to have dotted spots of light fill his vision, firmly enough to keep the tears at bay. If he concentrates, he can still see the outline of the face he’d been dreaming about.

(Her, her, her. Always her.)

Once his heart settles and he can breathe properly, Draco reaches for the little vial by the bed. It’s already half empty. Without a second thought Draco downs the remaining liquid before tossing the glass aside, ignoring the way it smashes against the floor. He forces himself to lay still, wills his eyes to remain shut. He lulls himself back to sleep, lets the potion bring him under.

(It does not matter that waking up will feel like his soul is being carved out and his heart ripped out of his chest, that he cannot handle coming back to a reality where she’s gone. If dreams are the only place he can be with her, he’ll dream.)

The last thing he remembers before losing consciousness is turning to his side and hugging himself close; a poor attempt at replicating the safety her arms once provided.

ii. two weeks and six days after the accident

Narcissa Malfoy arrives through Floo Network on a Saturday morning. She turns up without a warning, completely uninvited, and makes herself at home. Draco reckons it’s partially his fault, after leaving the magical world he’d been the one that had insisted they connect their home to the Floo Network, for precaution. He’d never shared their location with his parents, but he isn’t surprised his mother had been able to easily locate him. She is a Malfoy, thoroughly resourceful.

She doesn’t hug him, neither does she make any attempt to offer words of condolences. Draco wasn’t expecting them, they’re Malfoys, after all; kind touches are scarce, gentle words even more so, but it still stings, like alcohol burning over a wrongly healed scab. His mother gives him a dismissive look, one that has Draco shrinking into himself.

“This is unacceptable,” is the first thing she says, voice as firm as the last time they spoke to each other, almost eight years ago. Draco can’t help the way he flinches. He doesn’t know if she’s talking about the state he’s in— because he's in disarray, hasn’t showered in three days, hasn’t changed clothes in even longer— or the mess around the house.

She steps closer, scrunches her nose and looks him over with something akin to disgust, then clicks her tongue in distaste.

“Go shower.”

Draco finds his feet moving before he can even process the instruction.

(It’s rattling, having her here after not seeing her for years. It’s also frightening how quickly he goes back to obeying her every order.)

As he showers Draco tries to shake himself out of the whirlwind of emotions that his mother’s presence has unleashed. It’s hard to do so when his mind feels as if it’s been split in half; one part mourning the loss of his wife and the other still expecting her to come home. He’s struggling to grasp his reality, trying to ignore the ever-growing emptiness in his chest. Draco closes his eyes and sighs deeply, he lets the cold water numb his skin, lets it steel him just enough to face his mother.

He thinks he’s handling himself better when he walks into the kitchen— new clothes on his skin and hair still wet —but then he catches his mother’s house-elf reaching for (Y/N)’s dirty wine glass, the one she left half empty when she walked out that night, and Draco loses it.

It’s been years since he’s used magic, but it’s instinctive the way he reaches for his wand. (He never did get rid of the habit of carrying it with him everywhere.) He points it at the creature, hand shaking, but voice surprisingly stern, “Do not touch her things.”

His vision blackens at the corners, blood rushing through his ears. He can’t let them erase the traces of her in their home. He can’t. He can't. Not right now, not when he sees pieces of her everywhere, not when his heart has an open wound that keeps on bleeding and Draco hopes he could just wake up from this hellish nightmare and go back to a place where she's still here, where she's still alive.  

“Now, don’t be childish, Draco.” It isn’t until his mother speaks that he realizes that he’s been mumbling under his breath, loud enough for her to hear. His vision clears, the hazy feeling in his brain diminishes. He blinks back into reality, catches a glimpse of his mother’s impassive face from the corner of his eye, realizes the house-elf has backed away from the glass and is now bowing to him, limbs trembling in fear and nose almost touching the floor.

He lowers the wand slowly, almost mechanically, as he turns to his mother.

“You will not touch her things.”

She clicks her tongue. The sound makes him flinch away— because it always came before a slap in the wrist, or his ear being pulled tight — but he somehow manages to hold his ground, wand still held tightly, fingers becoming numb.

“You’re living in a dumpster, look at all the mess,” she gestures around the room with revulsion.  Draco can’t see anything but residue of love around the house. It’s everywhere, in the doodled notes left on the fridge and the bottle of wine they never got to finish. He won’t let them take that away from him, take her away from him. Not yet. Not with his heart is still bleeding and missing and yearning.

“No touching,” he repeats himself. His voice doesn’t waver in the slightest, it sounds steadier than he feels, and there must be something in his semblance because his mother relents.

It’s with distaste that she spits out, “Fine, have it your way,” and sends the house-elf back home.

She doesn’t leave, however. She takes over the kitchen, the smell of sugar and cinnamon filling the air— and that’s how Draco knows she’s truly stressed, because his mother only ever bakes when she feels as if she’s losing control of the situation at hand and money can’t fix it. Draco swallows down the pastries when they’re placed in front of him and he’s given a pointed look. (He pretends they aren’t insipid; pretends they don’t feel like ash going down his throat. He doesn’t tell his mother that his appetite is mostly gone, that eating feels like an arduous task, that these days he throws up just about anything he eats. He doesn’t have the energy to do so, he reckons she wouldn’t care, anyways.)

Draco chews and chews and chews until it becomes a mechanical habit and then he disconnects his brain. He ignores the way the buttery, sweet smell that lingers around the house reminds him of the apple pie (Y/N) used to bake, he blinks away the tears when a little voice in the back of his head reminds him that he won’t ever get to taste it again.

His mother lingers in the background— just like she’d done when he’d been a child and she’d wanted to see how much he’d progressed on his French after a two-hour tutoring session, ready to make vile comments about his accent and his grammar —and Draco can’t do anything without hearing an offhanded mumble about how pathetic he’s being. Her lingering used to petrify him, it made him want to be perfect for her, but now it just irks him. Draco wants to yell at her to leave him the fuck alone, but his anger is feeble, and grief smothers the fire before it turns into rage. The words remain stuck at the back of his throat.

Sometimes, when the sorrow eases and Draco is lucid enough to pay attention, he catches the glimpses of annoyance in his mother’s eyes. He knows that the only reason she’s here is to play damage control, to make sure he doesn’t derail too far and tarnish their last name even further. (The reputation of the Malfoy family had taken a hard hit after the Second Wizarding War when his father had been declared guilty and sent to Azkaban. It’d only worsened when Draco failed to fulfill his responsibilities of stepping up as patriarch in his father’s absence, instead deciding to elope and disappear to the muggle world.) Draco also knows that his mother wishes for simple solutions, she expects to place a bandaid over his ruptured soul and have him immediately snap back to his younger self. That won’t ever happen— Draco won’t ever go back to who he used to be before meeting his wife, before discovering love and warmth and safety —and her slowly rising frustration is a sign that she’s beginning to realize that.

In the end it’s his inability to get out of bed that gets her to snap.

“I’ve had enough.”

Draco blinks up at her.

Today is a bad day, the kind of day where breathing hurts and the feeling of his heart pumping is just a reminder that he’s alive and she’s not, the kind of day where he feels as if he’s underwater and slowly drowning.

He sees her mouth moving, hears the distorted words she’s saying, but can’t engage. It’s like he’s watching her through a screen, witnessing a scene far removed from him.

“I’m done letting you play your childish games. I’ve been lenient enough.” Her irritation is palpable, but Draco can’t process it.

He’s sinking and sinking and sinking.

“Get up.”

Why is she yelling?

“Get up, Draco.”

He can’t.

“Unbelievable.” And now she’s grabbing the end of the sheets and pulling them off the bed. Draco can’t bring himself to care. He can’t bring himself to even lift a finger. It angers her. He might be slipping away, but he sees it in the way her mouth tightens into an ugly sneer. Instinctively, he prepares himself for the harshness that always accompanies that look.

“She was just a silly little girl, Draco.”

The words cut sharply through the water and the grief and the pain. Suddenly Draco isn’t sinking anymore, suddenly it’s like he’s been zapped with an electrical wire. The numbness is pushed to the back of his mind and replaced with something darker, something ugly.

His mother doesn’t stop there.

“I thought letting you have your fun would be enough. I thought you would grow tired of her.” And now his brain is functioning properly and the words are making sense and Draco can’t help the way his brows pull up in confusion. His mother notices, of course she does, and she lets out a mocking laugh, one that has Draco’s blood turning cold.

“What? You think you ran away and got married behind our backs?” she scoffs, arms crossing over her chest. “I knew all along, child. I let you run around and play out your foolish little fantasy of love. See how that turned out.”

Draco can’t breathe. There's pressure in his chest, tightening and contracting. Anger begins to ignite; it goes from a fleck to a small flame.

“It’s over, Draco. You’re coming home.”

He shakes his head, manages to find the strength to sit up. It’s the first time he’s moved in hours and his muscles protest.

“I am home.”

That makes her snort, a mixture of disgust and insulting laughter.

“This place?” His mother looks around in disgust. “This isn’t your home.”

She clicks her tongue.

“And that dumb girl? She’s dead,” she scoffs and under her breath adds, “and thank Salazar for that, all that mudblood ever did was stain our name.”

Anger takes over, the flame becomes a blazing inferno, scorching everything around, it runs hot through his veins until all that is left is unrestrained, seething rage. It’s the first time it’s burning enough to destroy.

And Salazar does Draco want to consume everything around him.

“Never talk about my wife that way again.”

The words come out strong for a voice that hasn’t been used in hours.

He doesn’t know when he moves but now he’s towering over her and his hands are shaking by his side.

Silly little girl.

Mudblood.

To dare use those words to describe the love of his life, someone who could light up a room with a single smile and could fix all troubles with a few kind words, makes Draco enraged.

Draco looks at his mother and he just wants her to hurt.

“You don’t know the first thing about love, so who are you to come preach about it, mother.” He spits the words with disgust, uses a tone he knows will sting.

He’s never talked back to her, ever, and her shock is evident in the way she gapes at him with disbelief.

“I won’t have you speaking to me in such—”

“Get the fuck out.”

Draco has never cursed at her before. He’s never interrupted her, either. His mother looks like she’s been slapped, like she doesn’t recognize the person standing in front of her.

“Draco—”

“Out.”

She looks him over one last time, something akin to disappointment in her eyes, before jutting her chin and slamming the door on her way out.

With a sigh, Draco walks back to bed and curls into himself. It doesn’t take long for the anger to evaporate and for him to slip back into despair, to sink and sink and drown.

Numb. Numb. Numb.

Hours, or maybe just minutes, later she comes back. Her tone has been schooled back into the indifferent one Draco is more than accustomed to. She tells him that she’s leaving because of his father, that ever since being released from Azkaban he hasn’t been coping well and she must return home to ensure his health. Draco doesn’t call her out on her bullshit, doesn’t even turn around to face her, he just hums.

Numb. Numb. Numb.

His mother doesn’t come back.

iii. five days after the accident

It feels like floating through a dream, everything hazy and limbs lethargic. He goes through the motions out of pure muscle memory, mind disconnected and hidden somewhere far away. It’s like an outer body experience, as if he's watching himself move and talk without having any true control over it. He hurts so deeply, and the pain is so raw that Draco pushes it away and stores it in a dark place in the corner of his mind, a place where it can’t kill him. He takes all other emotions, too, until nothing but numbness is left behind.

Reality doesn’t seem real, because how can the world keep moving and the sun rising and the birds chirping if she’s gone. How can his heart keep beating if hers doesn’t?

The muggles at work worry about him, even with his mind clouded by grief he can tell. Mrs. Bailey, the kind older lady for who he works by serving tables and mopping floors, hugs him tightly when he walks into the cafe shop less than a week after the accident. She doesn’t say a thing about him missing work, but rather pulls him close, shushing him gently and running a hand through his hair. It's a motherly act Draco is unfamiliar with. Her eyes show so much sympathy, but Draco doesn’t let himself think too much about that because that might end up causing him to spiral, and he won't allow himself to slip (he can't let himself slip, last time he slipped he spent hours in the bathroom floor, pulling at his hair to try to ground himself back to reality, biting down on his lip and bleeding).

Her hug should provide some sort of comfort, but Draco can't feel a thing. That should make him sad, and maybe it does, but all emotions are muted, and he doesn't even try to understand them.

His coworkers are also gentle with him, so much so that if he were in his right mind Draco would find it annoying, but he allows it because he feels as if a single wrong touch might break him apart beyond repair.

They try to reach out to him, too, but Draco finds himself hiding away at home, rejecting every offer to hang out or keep him company. He wishes to be alone— even when the loneliness sometimes claws up his throat and suffocates him —so he can wallow in the waves of sorrow and let them pull him under.

Draco wants to hurt, he thinks, because at least then he’s feeling something.

He floats away in dreams of despair and struggles to find a will to live, sometimes he’s not even capable of picking himself up from bed, and the only reason he doesn’t starve is because Mrs. Bailey drops him leftovers every night.

Draco is so unbelievably grateful for her, even if he doesn’t verbalize it, even if he just nods and offers him a half smile and closes the door in her face. He hopes she knows.

iv. two months and four days after the accident

Draco wouldn’t say he has withdrawn into himself, Pansy thinks otherwise. She never says so— she wouldn’t, she’s been unbelievingly gentle with him the last couple of months, far kinder than Draco ever thought her capable of being — but Draco overheard her talking to Blaise, tone filled with worry.

And Draco, well, he’s dealing as best as he can. It’s just hard to function properly when the sadness never settles and instead becomes stronger, grips his heart and squeezes at the most unexpected moments. Some days are good, and other days he’s drowning and sinking and choking on grief, always halfway through a nervous breakdown. Those days he can’t leave his bed, he can’t even eat, breathing and moving become the most painful tasks. Draco will admit he has become more quiet, more absent, but withdrawn feels like going too far.

In the past, he would've argued with Pansy that he hasn't withdrawn into himself, that he's alright, that he's managing as much as he can. In the past, he would've petulantly argued that she just doesn’t get it, explained that everything hurts and maybe— if ever under the influence of Firewhisky —might’ve even confessed that he feels as if sadness has its clutches so deep into his heart that the wound is slowly getting infected, admitted that he’s scared it will never heal. But this isn’t the past and Draco is nothing but the broken pieces of who he used to be, so he doesn’t open his mouth. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t call her out for speaking about him behind his back, doesn't even try to contradict her.

Existing is tiring and Draco just doesn’t have the energy to spare.

Pansy watches him with something akin to pity and fear, like she can see how he's fading and is scared he'll disappear if she looks away. (Draco doesn't blame her. Some days it does feel as if he could vanish, as if his body could fade into nothingness, as if his mind could give in into despair and anger and just never return. Part of him had hoped time would soothe the emptiness in his heart, but it’d been like applying salve on an open wound. Time hadn’t done a fucking thing.)

And it’s just because he doesn’t have any fight left in him that Draco lets Pansy be— he allows her to coddle him, he eats as much as he can muster when she begs and drinks the tea she prepares before leaving at night.  It’s the only reason he’s here right now, back in wizarding London and walking at a stagnating pace through Diagon Alley, because Pansy said fresh air and a change of scenery would do him good and Draco just didn’t have it in him to argue.

He tugs at the hood of the cloak he’s wearing— it’s an old one of his, one Pansy found buried in the depths of his closet, one that fits awkwardly and smells musty but does a good enough job at concealing his distinguishing silver hair— and follows closely behind her.

It’s weird, he thinks to himself, being back in the wizarding world after many years spent in muggle London. He can’t deny that there’s a sense of familiarity at seeing and feeling the magic around, a warm tugging in his chest— probably his own dormant magic, one that hasn’t been used for far too long, responding to the energy around him —but there’s also an underlying sense of unsettledness.

He’d promised (Y/N) to return to the magic world once tension lessened and things sorted themselves out. They were meant to walk these streets together. Draco walks them all alone.

Something twists uncomfortably in his chest. He’s grown accustomed to the pain, so he pushes it down and allows Pansy to grab the hem of the cloak and pull him into a shop.

The smell hits him first, it's a mixture of wet parchment and mint with a hint of licorice. Surrounding him are what feels like a thousand objects— some small, some larger —but all unrecognizable to Draco. It's uncomfortable to see with his own eyes how the magical world has kept on evolving, even after they left. It's even more unbearable that his first reaction is to turn around to meet (Y/N)'s eyes, only to find his side empty. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, one that intertwines itself with melancholy and agony.

Draco distracts himself by looking around. Pansy follows him around for a while, and after realizing that he won't suddenly burst out into tears and collapse (which Draco can't blame her for believing as it has happened before) she leaves him to buy whatever she came here for.

It's as he's mindlessly looking through the stands, fingers flickering uninterested through small parchment pieces that transcribe whatever is mumbled to them, that Draco sees them; small vials, no bigger than his thumb, containing a blueish substance. There's a tag sticking to the lid. Draco moves closer, turns the paper around gently and is met with neatly written, italicized words.

He skips over the first few words, eyes drawn to the last few sentences.

"Our amazing liquid formula lets you control your dreams so you can visualize any event that has happened in the past with vivid detail. Imagine being able to wake up feeling like you just spent the night with your childhood best friend who moved away 10 years ago, or a loved one who has passed away. All it takes is a few drops before bed and voilà! You chose the memory, and we do the rest.  The opportunities are endless with our state-of-the-art formula that helps you unlock the past and immerse yourself in memories like never before. Make sure to..."

Liquid Dreams, they call it.

Draco buys a few vials before he's even done reading the tag.

v. two months and three weeks after the accident

Draco stares at the little vial, unblinking. Somewhere out in the living room there's an old clock, the type they don't really fabricate anymore, antique, made of old deep wood and with its classic curvy shape. It's quiet enough that Draco can hear it ticking all the way to the master bedroom.  

Tick. Tock.

The vial remains where it was placed by Draco when he bought it almost three weeks ago, contents untouched. It mocks him, an unwanted reminder that he could see her again if he wasn’t such a coward.

Tick. Tock.

He steps closer, reaching out for the glass, before hesitating and backing away, resuming his pacing around the room. The sole of his foot hits the wooden ground soundlessly, the lack of noise makes him feel all the more alone.

Tick. Tock.

Draco chews on his lower lip, makes it bleed. All he wants is within his reach, but he's so fucking scared. Because what happens if he sees (Y/N), or the memory of her, and it does nothing to soothe the burning in his heart. He'd be doomed then, destined to walk the rest of his life with a bleeding wound in his soul, destined to dance with grief until his feet ache and blister and his body just gives up and he dies, too. Draco’s heart wouldn’t survive that.

Tick. Tock.

But then again, a little voice chimes at the back of his head, it can’t get worse than this. It can’t get worse than days that blur into one another, than the way he loses control of his mind, fog condensing in his head, and he blinks awake only to find himself in a place he can’t remember walking to. It can’t get worse than coming back home to an empty house, a cold bed, to solitude, with his heart feeling so heavy it weights him down. It definitely cannot get worse than it is because he’s already missing her with his every breath, with every beat of his heart.

Tick. Tock.

It comes from somewhere within him, the sudden impulse, a surge of energy that has him moving forward to undo the lid. He tips the blue substance back, swallows it down in one go before he can second guess himself. No going back now. In the rush, Draco forgets to think of a specific moment.

Tick. Tock.

The taste is strange, indescribable: sweet and bitter all at once. Draco can feel the liquid burning as it goes down, it leaves an aftertaste that lingers heavily in his mouth. It tastes weirdly artificial, like someone tried hard to make it taste like fruits and flowers but failed, he can feel it at the back of his throat. The effect of the potion is almost instantaneous, the abruptness hitting Draco strongly and making him stumble into the side of his bed.

Tick.

He tries to fight the exhaustion, but it’s like his eyelids are trying to shut themselves together. Draco can do nothing but give in to sleep, let himself be swept under.

Tock.

When he opens his eyes, he isn’t lying in bed anymore. The sun shines brightly in the sky, it makes him squint and look away. He recognizes the smell immediately, salty and musky, like seaweed and sunscreen. Draco knows where he is— the beach near Sussex to which they apparated once they left the Wizarding World all those years ago —and he knows exactly who is behind him. With his heart beating so hard it’s almost painful, Draco turns around to be greeted with a smile he knows too well, one he could paint with his eyes closed.

(Y/N).

Her eyes crinkle with mirth. Something within Draco deflates. It feels as if, for the first time since the accident, he can finally breathe.

When he wakes up in the morning, Draco tells himself he'll be careful with the potion, won't abuse it. But he finds himself chugging down the blue liquid every night, buys a box of Liquid Dreams and keeps the vials hidden under his bed.

Anything to see her one more time.

vi. six months and a day after the accident

Draco could choose any memory, he knows that, and sometimes he does. He picks the first time they kissed (under the snow during a trip to Hogsmeade), he revisits their arrival to the beach near Sussex (because she’d never seen the beach before, had never felt the sand under her toes, and Draco basks on the feeling of her happiness), he relieves their short honeymoon (the dinner under the moonlight, the wandering hands, the stolen kisses, the feeling of her breath against his cheek and her skin pressed right against his). Most of the times, however, he brings himself back to that night. It isn’t intentional, it happens when he doesn’t focus hard enough on a memory, almost as if his mind wishes to torture him further. Because it is torture, going back to their last moments together— to the last time he ever saw her alive —without the blissful ignorance of what’s to come.

On nights like that he wakes with his heart ready to leap out his chest, sometimes halfway through a panic attack, tears cascading down his cheeks, and then he lays awake for the rest of the night, pulling himself together piece by piece, stitching the metaphorical laceration on his heart with deep breaths, before forcing himself to go through the motions, get through the day.

The sadness never disappears, it follows him like a shadow on the sunniest of days. Sometimes it seems to grow smaller— or maybe Draco gets used to its looming presence, it’s darkness —and it gives space to anger, which settles between his ribs and climbs all the way up to his throat and burns. Sometimes it feels as if the rage will seep out of his pores, tainting him. He’s angry at everything, at the world, at her, at himself. Waking up every morning to a reality in which she’s gone makes the anger increase by a tenfold, it’s so so fucking painful, but at night, when he sees her and feels her and holds her— even if it’s just in memories and dreams —the feeling mellows and that’s why he must return to her, must drink the cloudy blue potion every night, because if he doesn’t he knows the mixture of grief and rage and resentment will consume him.  

It isn’t a problem, it really isn’t— so what if he sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night screaming for her to stay, what if sometimes he wishes he could stay in his dreams to keep on holding her close, what if coming back to reality just makes the whole in his heart deeper, that’s no one’s business but his own. That is, until he starts seeing her outside the dreams.

It begins with shadows, the outline of her body. Draco blinks once, twice, and then it’s gone.

“Malfoy? You good?”

He meets his coworker’s eyes. Mark is young, barely twenty, started working in the restaurant only a couple of months ago. He wasn’t here when Draco lost (Y/N), didn’t get to see the way he broke down and pieced himself back together, didn’t experience the gentleness and leniency with which they all treated him, but he seems to be acutely aware that something happened because he’s soft with him too.

“What?”

Mark cocks his head to the side, eyebrows furrowing, “You look like you saw a ghost.”

Draco thinks he might’ve. He decides to blame it on the lack of proper sleep.

“I’m fine.”

But he’s not fine, because he keeps seeing her. It becomes more recurrent as time goes on, and (Y/N)’s ghost goes from being a just dark shape to taking full on corporeal form. He can even see the little freckles on her skin.

It’s concerning.

Draco knows she’s not real, not really, just the remnants of a memory, a side effect of drinking Liquid Dreams every night when the wizarding company that produces the potion suggests a maximum of two vials per week.

He should stop.

He doesn’t.

He can’t.

He keeps on tipping the vial back, drinking the liquid, making a grimace at the flavor. He keeps being a spectator from within his own body, keeps going back to that night.

It's the only way to be with her.

It always starts the same way, the smell of garlic and oregano in the air, the soft jazz tune playing in the radio. Draco finds himself moving without his own permission, the glass of wine he holds in his hand guiding itself towards his mouth. He's long learned that the experience is gentler for his mind, and overall better, if he doesn't fight it. It's useless, anyhow, he can't change what already happened, he's just reliving his memories.

"Merlin, that smells so good," his voice sound foreign to his ears. He reaches forward to hug (Y/N) from behind, swaying her to the beat of the song and humming the last notes against her skin. She smiles and tips her head back a little, enough to allow him to place a chaste kiss to her neck. Draco's heart tightens at the ease in which they move around one another, the familiarity of her body pressed to his own.

"It's your favorite," she responds gently, moving the wooden spoon with which she's mixing the sauce towards him, tipping it back so he can taste it. It's thick and buttery, rich and only slightly sweet, just like he likes it.  

Draco groans playfully, presses his forehead to the crook of her neck.

"I'm the luckiest man."

"And don't you forget it," she teases, moving aside to let him take over. She steals the glass of wine from his hand and moves away giggling when Draco makes a poor attempt at following after her. She drinks the remaining alcohol, sticking her tongue out at him.

He feels his throat close up, melancholy settling deep within his bones. He tries to memorize the curve of her smile, the sound of her laughter. Draco wishes he could change what comes next, wishes he could instead rush forward and capture her lips in a kiss, make her stay with him. He can't, because that’s not what he did that night. Instead, he rolls his eyes, soft laughter falling from his lips. It’s ironic how he’s laughing in his memory, but slowly dying inside as he forces himself to live this moment over and over again.

From the corner of his eye, Draco watches as (Y/N) refills the glass, taking a small sip. He cleans up some pieces of onion, listening as (Y/N) sings softly to herself, the cadence of her voice is smooth, it flows and mixes effortlessly with the one coming from the radio. Draco could hear her sing forever. There's a light patter of rain against the window as he preheats the oven, so he closes the window to prevent any water from slipping in.

It's a slow night, a Saturday night, the type of nights in which they'll cook together and drink a bit, and then some more, and dance drunkenly around the kitchen only to end up in their bedroom, discarding their clothes and rediscovering each other's bodies.  

It should've ended that way.

It won't.

Don't say it. Don't say it.

"Hey, love, where did you put the mozzarella? Can't find it on the fridge."

There's a small, soft, "Oh, shit," in the background. Her singing stops. The rain becomes heavier.

"Forgot to buy it," she replies, already moving for the keys to their small car.

It's alright, he wants to scream out, we don't need it. Stay. I'll cook something else. Don't leave.

What falls out of his mouth instead is, "My forgetful little one."

Please stay. Please.

She scrunches her nose up, just the way she always does when he calls her by that nickname. Draco always thought it made her look cute. Now it only makes him want to cry. She crosses the room, presses a quick kiss to his lips.

"I'll be back soon."

He's yelling inside his own head, can feel the dread settling somewhere in his stomach.

Please don't leave.

Don't go.

Stay.

Stay.

"Be safe," he calls out. He rages within himself, desperate to do something different, say something different.

I love you, and it feels like his throat is going raw with how loud he's crying out. He tries to open his mouth, to move, to do anything, but it's futile.

Because that night, (Y/N) walks out the door, and Draco doesn't tell her he loves her one last time.

vii. seven years, three months and two days before the accident

Draco falls in love quick and hard, and once he realizes it, he's in too deep. He doesn't know how it happens, he just knows that one day he looks at (Y/N)— watches the way snowflakes fall on her hair, slowly painting it white, and how she looks up the sky as if it's her first time ever seeing the snow, smile so bright it makes something in Draco's chest tighten —and he thinks to himself yeah, fuck, I would spend the rest of my life by her side.

(And Draco can't pinpoint where along the line he fell in love, but he knows precisely why. It's all in the way her laugh floats around the air and settles somewhere within his heart, the sound soft and comforting, and how her eyes become gentle when they set on him, like she can see through him and wishes to take away anything that could cause him harm. It's the soft caresses of his hair, the delicate kisses to his forehead, the way in which her hand subconsciously searches for his. It's in the way that (Y/N) sees all parts of him, including the dark and ugly, the sides of himself that he's ashamed of, and she doesn't flinch away in disgust, but rather pulls him closer. It's the way she loves, so effortlessly, and the way she teaches Draco how to be better every day, a better human, a better friend, a better lover.)

Falling in love is not something he ever planned on doing, the last thing Draco wanted was to drag someone into the mess that was his life, but by the time he has half a mind to think about stopping it, his heart has already crawled out of its place deep within his chest and has settled in (Y/N)'s hand, where it's being tenderly held and thoroughly cherished. It might just be the worse time to be thinking of love— because, despite what the Ministry of Magic insists on, the Dark Lord is back, and the unmistakable mark that contrasts his father's pale skin has never been darker, and there's people with masks coming and going around the Manor, and slowly the pressure on Draco's shoulders is piling and piling and piling and he's beginning to feel like he can't breathe— or maybe it's just the right time. After all, (Y/N) is like a breath of fresh air, like warm, soothing hands on his blemished soul. Draco feels weightless when he's around her, like all his troubles are unimportant and nothing in the world matters but the two of them. He feels at peace, like he can finally rest.

She becomes his best friend, his confidant, and so much more. Draco loves her, can't think of a life without her, wants to keep her safe, wants to be with her.

Maybe that's the reason why a couple of years later, when the Second Wizarding War comes to an end and they're holding each other close after the Battle of Hogwarts, skin torn open, wounds still oozing blood, muscles aching, but both of them undeniably still alive, that Draco cups her face between his hands and whispers against her lips, "Let's start a new life, you and I."

They do.

They leave a shattered Wizarding World behind. They escape the clutches of Draco's family. They abandon magic.

It's the beginning of the happiest eight years of Draco's life. It's also the beginning of the end.

Years down the line, a bottle of Firewhisky in hand and alcohol running through his veins, Draco will wonder if he should've kept quiet, if they should've stayed instead. They would not have been together, his family would've never allowed the union between a Malfoy and a muggleborn, but at lease she would still be alive.

viii. the accident

(Y/N) dies on a Saturday. Her favorite day of the week.

Draco is waiting for her, fingers working steadily to knead the dough for their dinner. She hasn't been gone long, maybe half an hour, but in that time, he's changed the radio station from soft jazz to something more pop. He knows she'll bicker about the music when she's back, will pout and definitely win that battle— because if there's one thing Draco is weak for, it's her —but for now Draco enjoys the bubblegum boyband music that's playing.

Outside, the rain has grown stronger, and the wind howls, creating a low whistling noise that resonates around the kitchen.

The landline phone rings, and Draco's already halfway through teasing her about forgetting her keys and the umbrella— something along the lines that the only reason she doesn't lose her head is because it's permanently attached to her body —when he picks up the phone.

"I'll come out to get you, but you'll owe me a kiss." He's already gripping the umbrella by the handle.

"Uh, I'm sorry, is this the Malfoy residency?"

The grin falls off his face immediately. The voice on the other side is deep and gruff, muffled by the static and the rain. Draco doesn't recognize it.

"Who is this?"

There is no gut feeling, no intuition to tell him there might be something wrong. It doesn't sink in that this has to be about (Y/N) until the voice starts talking again.

The man introduces himself, but Draco forgets the name by the time he's done hearing it.

"Sir, there's been an accident. Your wife..."

It's like Draco's heart falls to the bottom of his stomach.

The umbrella drops to the floor, a loud thud resonating around the room.

He can't breathe.

The man keeps going, his voice getting increasingly shaky as he keeps on explaining the situation, and Draco catches only pieces of what he's saying.

The rain.

A crash.

Dead on impact.

He really can't breathe.

For a second there's nothing but silence in his mind, stillness, and then there's everything all at once. Draco goes from being unable to hear his own breathing to being hyperaware of his surroundings. He can hear the static of the radio behind him, the light buzzing of the electricity in the bulb above his heads, the sizzling of the sauce, the pain on his feet where the umbrella landed before rolling to the floor, the ticking of the old clock (Y/N) bought. He suddenly can't control his body, can't control how he backs away slowly, tugging at the phone's cord— is he moving slowly? He thinks he is, he can't tell, everything around him is distorted— can't help it when his knees weaken beneath him and his hands tremble.

He grips the counter to steady himself.

He wheezes, tries to bring some oxygen into his lungs.

This can't be happening. This cannot be happening.

He saw her less than forty minutes ago. She was going to the store to get cheese. What do you mean dead on impact? What do you mean she's gone. She can't be. She'll be walking through the door any minute now, soaked because she forgot her umbrella. She'll pout about the pop music and Draco will begrudgingly agree to playing more jazz and they'll dance around the kitchen as they wait for dinner to be ready. She's not dead. She cannot be dead. They had survived a war, she cannot be dead.

"I'm sorry, sir." The words are garbled, but somehow, despite his distress, Draco manages to make sense of them.

"I, uh—"

"There's an officer here who wishes to speak with you, sir."

There's shuffling. Draco closes his eyes, presses his forehead against the cool counter. Merlin, this cannot be happening. This has to be a nightmare; this can't be real. It doesn't feel real.

"Am I speaking with Mr. Malfoy."

Draco hates to be called that; it reminds his too much of his father. His voice is soft, and it breaks when he responds, "Yes."

The policeman must hear it because his tone becomes slightly gentler, but no less formal. "I'm sorry to ask this of you, sir, but we need you to identify the body."

The body. Not (Y/N). The body. Draco clenches his jaw hard enough for it to hurt.

He doesn't mean to do it, but he's struggling to tether himself to reality and the officer is awaiting a response, talking to him so softly it's making him dizzy, so Draco does what he knows how to do best; he slips the Malfoy mask on, places it tight enough that it won't fall down and then tightens it further to prevent any cracks.

The mask stays on longer than he intends it to. He wears it to sleep that night, wakes up with it in the morning. It accompanies him to the morgue, loosens a little around the edges when he's forced to make the identification, but stays on otherwise. It keeps him from feeling anything, from facing reality, from breaking down in front of complete strangers who are already looking at him with so much pity. It doesn't really slip off until the funeral, when Draco watches her be lowered into the ground.

She's gone.

Something within him snaps, breaks beyond repair. The mask shatters against the ground.

He cries for the first time that day and it feels as if he never stops crying afterwards.

ix. eight months and eighteen days after the accident

He's doing groceries when it happens. From the corner of his eye, he can see the shape of (Y/N), always lingering, present ever since the day Draco saw her outside of the dreams for the first time. It's eerie. Draco hasn't grown accustomed to it— to her? He doesn't think he ever will. It's one thing to see her in his memories, within his dreams, because he knows she isn't real. It becomes more difficult to discern reality from dreaming when he constantly sees her in real life. (He tries reaching out to touch her once, recently woken up and still a little sluggish with sleepiness. His hand meets nothing but air. Draco jerks his hand back, runs to the bathroom to be sick.)

A part of him, at the beginning, thought that having her around with him every moment of the day would lessen the heavy weight around his chest, evaporate the remains of grief, but this isn't her, just a ghost of his wife.

Draco's so focused on ignoring the hallucination— its blank, emotionless face, the eyes that follow him around —and trying to manage the raging headache he's had since he woke up, that it takes him a while to notice the tapping on his shoulder. It's only when it becomes insistent that he turns around.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but you're bleeding."

For a moment the words don't make sense. Then, Draco feels the sticky substance running down his cupid's bow. His fingers come back red when he reaches to touch it.

The woman, small and old, offers him a blue handkerchief with a kind smile, "Take care, kid. It's been oddly warm these days."

Draco knows the nosebleed isn't in any way related to the heat, but he nods and thanks her anyways.

She lets him keep the handkerchief, "It was my late husband's. I have a feeling you'll be needing it more than I will", and over the next couple of days Draco uses it more often than he would like to admit.

It only gets worse from there. Nausea, vomiting, body tremors.

Draco knows it's the potion, but he can't bring himself to stop. He must see her. He keeps on tipping his head back and chugging the misty liquid.

Most days he wakes up exhausted, the bags under his eyes no longer disguisable. He's irritable, he snaps at the smallest of things. Mrs. Bailey tells him to take some days off, the concern evident in her eyes. It just angers him. He's alright. More than alright. He gets to see his dead wife every night, he keeps her alive. He's fine.

But then he isn't because his body begins to slowly shut down. He starts feeling feverish, fog condenses his head. He lays in bed and time becomes a foreign concept. He's sweating, hot and cold at the same time, it's like he's boiling from the inside and can't escape it. He sees (Y/N), standing at the corner. Is this a dream? Everything sways around him, the world tilts. He can't talk, can't move. He falls unconscious. But not before reaching for the little glass vial and its addicting blue contents.

He blinks awake to the dream.

It's always the same. Garlic. Oregano. Jazz music in the radio. A glass of almost finished wine in his hand.

"Merlin, that smells so good."

He hugs her from behind, sways her to the beat of the song. She twists around in his arms.

She twists around in his arms?

"We need to talk."

It's her voice, Draco would recognize it anywhere, soft and velvety. But she never said those words. She couldn't have said those words. Draco has relieved this memory seventy-three times, he knows.

She steps away, takes his hand, and the scenery around them swiftly changes. The background becomes distorted, it melts down and reconstructs itself. It makes Draco dizzy, the sudden change from dimmed lights and rainy weather to a bright sunny day. They're at the beach near Sussex.

This has never happened before. This shouldn't be happening. Draco opens his mouth, tries to swallow down the bright panic flaring in his chest, and finds out he can speak. This isn't a memory anymore.

"How are you—? You shouldn't be—" He stops himself, looks around. The beach is just as he remembers it, the air is hot, but the breeze is cool. It smells like seaweed and fish. In his memory (Y/N) is smiling. She isn't smiling now, just studying him carefully. "You're dead."

Draco has never said those words out loud before. The pain in his chest, the one that hasn't settled since the accident, burns and then becomes lighter.

"I am," she confirms. She doesn't sound sad, it's almost as if she's just stating facts. The sky is blue and (Y/N) is dead.

When he remains frozen, mind still going haywire, so she takes him by the hand and tugs him along. They walk closer to the ocean. Her hand is warm against his.

"How is this happening?"

She looks back at him, offers a gentle smile, and Draco knows his wife well enough that he recognizes the look in her eyes. You already know. It all clicks in his head. He focuses on the water, realizes that the waves aren't moving as they should, notices that the image is slightly deformed and misshaped. His mind is creating all of his, everything around him is becoming blurry because he never walked close to the shore. (Y/N) figure remains sharp and clear because her image is safely stored in Draco's mind.

"You're not you," he whispers to himself.

She stops dead in her track, turns around to meet his gaze. There's a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, as if she knows something he doesn't.

"Aren't I?"

"This is all happening inside my head. It's a dream."

"That does not mean it's not real."

She sits on the ground, not caring about the sand staining her clothes, and it's such a (Y/N) thing to do that Draco's heartstrings tighten and a part of his mind can't believe it isn't her. She pats the ground and he sits beside her.

They remain quiet for some time. (Y/N) plays with the sand, picking it between her fingers before allowing the breeze to take it away. She gives him time to gather his thoughts, and there's so much Draco want to say. So much. But it's like the words are stuck at the back of his throat and he can't manage to spit them out.

She speaks first, keeps on picking up sand and letting it go.

"You're killing yourself," her tone is soft, but there's a certain harshness in her words. It isn't at all what Draco was expecting to hear.

"What?"

(Y/N) turns to meet his gaze, eyes firm, "You're drinking the potion every night, are you not? You're getting headaches, nausea, nosebleeds. You're seeing me outside the memories."

Draco could lie, but she would see right through him.

"I am."

She nods absentmindedly, like he's just confirming what she already knows. Her gaze leaves his face and sets on the horizon.

"You'll die." There's a slight tremor to her voice, the kind she used to get when she was a few words away from crying.

"Is that so bad?"

She snaps her head back to him, tears on the corner of his eyes. "Don't say that," and her words are tainted with a rigidness he isn't accustomed to.

Her tone should unsettle him, but Draco pushes, "I would get to be with you, wouldn't I?"

She shakes her head. "There's so much left for you to live, Draco. So much."

Draco is the one to look away now, he tries to reign in the anger. She doesn't understand because she's the one that left, she's not the one that has to deal with the ever-growing emptiness and sadness and grief. Draco is the one that stayed. He's the one that was left all alone to cope, to try to find ways to live without her. He's the one that feels her absence, every day with every breath.

"What's the point if you're not around to live it with me."

He looks back just in time to see her eyes soften around the edges. She looks sad now, apologetic.

(Y/N) reaches for his hand and Draco lets her take it.

"Then live it for the both of us. Live it for me."

Just like that Draco deflates, he focuses on the circles her thumb rubs against the back of his palm.

"I just miss you," he confesses, "so so much. You wouldn't understand."

Her grip tightens.

"I know."

"I just want to be with you."

"I know, I know." There's a heaviness in her features, a twinge of pain in the corner of her lips and between her brows. Draco, for a moment, wonders if he's wearing a matching expression, if they both carry the hollowness in their hearts. "I'm sorry I left you." She comes closer, cradles his face the same way Draco did when he suggested they run away all those years ago. He wants to tell her she doesn't need to apologize, that it isn't her fault, but her words soothe some sort of internal ache. "I'm sorry about all the things that could've been but won't ever be." His throat constricts. He thinks about all the things they promised each other (to grow old together, to start a family), doesn't notice the tears falling down his cheeks until she wipes them away. (Y/N) presses her forehead against him, whispers the words against his lips, "I'm so sorry, my love."

Draco shatters, grips her wrists to anchor himself. The sobs that leave his mouth are muffled, quiet, but he knows (Y/N) hears them by the way her hold on his face becomes firmer. She hums, a soft jazz song, the one that was playing the night she died, and lets him cry to his heart's content.

It isn't until he quiets down, sobs becoming hiccups, that she pulls away. She lets her eyes trail over his face, brushes her thumbs against his cheeks and pulls a strand of hair out of his face. Her eyes are sad as she mumbles, "Trapping yourself in our memories and living off the past isn't going to bring me back."

Draco knows. He knows. But he can't bear the idea of never seeing her again, of never holding her, of never hearing her voice.

"I need more time with you."

She smiles softly, "We got eight years of nothing but happiness, my love. That's much more than what many lovers get."

"A lifetime by your side wouldn't have been enough."

It's true. Draco could've lived a thousand lives with her, and it would've never been enough. His soul craved her with an intensity that was almost overwhelming. No amount of time would've been enough.

"I love you." He needs to say it, needs her to hear the words coming from his own lips. "I didn't get to say it that day, when you left, but I do. I love you so much."

"I know."

Draco blinks up at (Y/N), finds her already staring back. In that moment, there's nothing but her.

"Draco, baby, you could've never uttered those words to me again, and I would've known. I felt it in every touch and every look. It was all around us. I know you love me, and you know just how much I love you too."

And Draco does know. Love is raw and primal; it leaves an indelible mark one must carry forever. Love builds and it shatters, it heals and burns. Draco presses his forehead against her collarbone and sighs, people leave, and they die, but their love stays. He loves her, will always love her, and she loves him too, even in death.

The dream begins to melt, to fold into itself. The colors blend together. (Y/N) begins to pull away and Draco panics, grips her a little tight.

"Please stay with me."

There's desperation in his tone, anguish.

(Y/N) comes back close, softly presses her lips against his. "I'm always with you," she whispers as she back away. "Here," she taps right above his heart, the place where her name is branded on his skin, "and here," she presses her finger to his temple.

Everything disintegrates.

When he comes back to himself it's due to a sound. He tries to open his eyes, but they feel too heavy, so it takes him a while to gather enough strength to do so. His tongue is heavy on his mouth, dry. The sweat is making his clothes stick to his skin. Draco feels like he could throw up at any moment.

He thinks of (Y/N).

I'm always with you.

The sound persists in the background. At first it appears to come from far away, it's muted and dull, as if he's hearing it from under water, but it becomes clearer as the haze slowly disappears from his mind. It takes Draco some time to recognize it; someone is pounding on the door.

He would move to open it if he could regain control of his limbs.

It appears like his presence isn't even needed because after a thunderous bang— which Draco somehow recognizes as his door being broken down —the pounding stops. Draco should be worried, someone is inside his house, he can hear the footsteps approaching, but he can't bring himself to care.

I'm always with you.

Blaise walks into his room, eyes frantic and unfocused.

They settle on him and there's a flash of anger before it twists into something more worried, something closer to panic. He looks like he just stumbled across a corpse.

Blaise's eyes dart around the room and Draco can tell the moment he notices the small glass vials that he never bothered to clean up because Blaise's face tightens, "You idiot."

And he's upset, Draco knows he is, can hear it in his voice, but Blaise is still walking forward and kneeling by the side of his bed. He's upset, but his eyes hold on so much concern.

"What have you done?"

The words are whispered, Blaise presses the back of his hand to Draco's forehead, ever so gentle, and Draco can't help it, he catches a peek of (Y/N)'s ghost looming over Blaise's shoulder, smiling softly at him before softly shattering and disappearing, and the tears begin to fall. He's still a little out of it, a little feverish, still thinking of his dream.

I'm always with you.

Draco clenches his fists. He doesn't feel the nails digging into his skin, deeper and deeper, until Blaise places his hands over his own and softly coaxes them open, "It's okay. You're okay."

Blood flows freely down his palm. It doesn't even sting. Nothing can ache more than his heart.

Draco shakes his head. Nothing is okay, it hasn't been okay since the day she died.

Blaise sighs softly, "I know."

Draco doesn't know if he muttered the words or if his best friend can read his mind.

"I just miss her," it comes out watery and weak, but Draco doesn't even care. He's breaking, falling, shattering.

He sees the way Blaise swallows hard, closes his eyes and looks up to the ceiling, breathing hard. "I know you do, but this..." He gestures at the tiny glass vials that lay empty by the foot of his bed, before setting his eyes back on him. "Draco..."

"Don't." He begs, because he can feel the anger beginning to simmer, buried underneath the steam of illness and confusion, but Blaise has always been one to speak his mind, ruthlessly so, and so he presses on.

"You're hurting yourself."

You're killing yourself, her voice echoes in his brain. You'll die.

"Leave it alone."

"I can't," Blaise stresses, tightening his grip on Draco's wrist. The words don't surprise Draco, Blaise has always been a fixer, unable to let go once he figures out a problem and has effectively resolved it, but they do anger him. "For Salazar's sake. Liquid Dreams, Draco? Really? Have you've got any idea how harmful the potion can be if ingested on the daily."

He does know, he does, he's seen the effects, has felt them on his body. His limbs shiver, his heart is racing, his skin shuffles between being unbearably hot to freezing cold. He might've ignored the warning tag on every vial, but Draco knows. He just didn't care.

"I just want to see her."

I just want to be with you.

A lifetime by your side wouldn't have been enough.

I'm always with you.

He presses the back of his hand against his eyes, tries to mute the resonating voices in his head.  

"No," Blaise responds, "You're trying to keep her alive." Draco's breath comes to a sudden halt, eyes opening and focusing on Blaise, fire burning beneath them. Blaise doesn't shy away, doesn't even flinch. He's always been bluntly honest. Draco has never hated that quality more than he does know. His final words come out soft, "You can't. She's gone."

You're dead.

I am.

He doesn't know if it's the fever or the potion, but his next words come out manic, rushed, erratic.

"She isn't! Not when I drink the vials. Not when I see her every night."

Blaise's gaze softens. There's pain in his eyes.

"You've got to let her go."

Trapping yourself in our memories and living off the past isn't going to bring me back.

"You don't understand, Blaise." Now he's shouting, feelings jumbling within his chest and words tumbling out his mouth. He's confused and scared and hurt and sad and angry, and it comes out in the way of a sharp tone that cuts like a knife, "You couldn't even begin to comprehend what I'm feeling, what my life has been like for the last months."

Blaise remains impassive, but his features harden. Draco catches the brief flare of annoyance in his eyes.

"My sister died in the war, Malfoy." His words come back with the same razor-sharp edge Draco used. "So did my father, in case you forgot."

Draco breathes heavily, guilt pools at the bottom of his stomach.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, and Blaise doesn't say anything back, but Draco knows he's forgiven by the way his friend's shoulders relax. For all his tough exterior, Blaise has never been able to hold onto anger. Draco wishes he could be like that.

They stay quiet for a while, time that feels like an eternity.

It's Blaise who breaks the silence. "I know it hurts, and I know you miss her, but you're keeping her hostage in your dreams and you're holding onto the pain."

Draco exhales shakily.

"That's not going to bring her back."

"I know," he whispers, tears slowly filling his eyes once more. Trapping yourself in our memories and living off the past isn't going to bring me back, he hears being mumbled by his ear. "Fuck, I know."

He looks up at Blaise and by the way his friend briefly looks away Draco knows he must look absolutely shattered.

"How do I let her go, Blaise, when it feels like my soul was ripped in half?"

Blaise swallows hard. There are tears by the corner of his eyes, too, "You let yourself hurt, you let yourself feel."

Live it for me.

I'm always with you.

"I'm sorry I left you alone, Draco. I thought you wanted to... I don't know, process privately. I'm sorry I wasn't here."

Draco shakes his head. "Don't be," he closes his eyes with a sigh, "When I felt myself slipping, I should've said something." But it's difficult to do so, to reach out, when you feel so alone and alienated, and Blaise must know, must understand, because when Draco opens his eyes, Blaise is also shaking his head.

"And I should've noticed before," he responds, and Draco knows he isn't just talking about the grief, but also about Draco's borderline addiction to the potion. "You are my best friend, after all."

They stare at each other for a split second before Blaise sighs and looks away, "We'll talk about it later. Let's just focus on getting your fever down."

Draco has known Blaise long enough to understand what goes unsaid. Don't worry, I'm here now, I've got you, you're going to be okay.

And Draco isn't okay, not even close, but this feels like a step in the right direction. He feels lighter. His heart aches, but it's manageable. For the first time in months, Draco doesn't feel the overwhelming itch to go back to his memories.

x. two years after the accident

For the longest time Draco thought he would die without her, and maybe a part of him does. But as he stands in front of her grave, a bouquet of heliotropes on his hand, he thinks that maybe that's okay. The last year has taught him how to let go of the hurt, let go of the part of him that isn't really him anymore, and instead hold onto her, onto their love.

It never stops hurting, there's always a lingering, dull pain in his heart, but Draco learns how to live with it. He thinks that's okay, too. The pain is a reminder that he loved and was loved. Love hurts because it's everlasting, because it never truly goes away. Grief is the price we pay for loving. That's okay, he reckons, it's a small price.

Draco presses his hand to the headstone, squats down to place the flowers on the floor, closes his eyes and allows himself to feel. Healing isn't linear, he's learned, and it's okay to sometimes feel a sorrow so deep it pierces and reopens the wound in his soul, as long as he can release the sadness and the pain, as long as he swims with it but doesn't allow himself to drown.

Having Blaise and Pansy around helps and Draco is more than unbelievably grateful for his support system. (For Blaise, who helps him through the days of withdrawal, who opens up his house to him, who helps him look for a grief counselor. For Pansy, who teaches him how to paint with oil, and how to pour his feelings into blank pieces of parchment instead of bottling them up.) He learns that he's not alone, never was. He learns how to lean on someone else when he needs help.

It takes time, but he slowly regains parts of him he thought had shatter beyond repair. He cooks pizza for his friends, he drives to work, he listens to slow jazz songs and thunderstorms without the urgent desire to break down. He wears his wedding band around his neck.

He heals. Slowly, but surely.

Draco learns that the memories he shared with her will always be there, for him to think back upon, but they are not meant for him to live within.

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco x female reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy x female reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #golden trio era fic #golden trio era #harry potter #harry potter fanfic #fanfic #draco malfoy imagine #fanfiction #happyyyandcrazyyy writing #blaise zabini #harry potter fanfiction #writing #angst #grief

[acciotwinz]

George Weasley Blurb

The waiting room is St. Mungo’s is bleary and cold. It makes George feel as if his heart is about to jump out of his chest. The bare, white walls assault his senses, making time stop still. George watches catatonically as staff and visitors walk down the hall. When is it going to be his turn? When will he be able to see his wife?

Your wife has been in an accident.

George had stopped listening the minute the words had left the Auror’s lips yet those seven words keep replaying in his mind. Over and over again. He was lucky that Fred was there. Lucky that his twin is always by his side, to hold him up when his legs won’t cooperate. He hopes that Fred had enough sense to get the whole story about what happened before he Apparated the two of them to St. Mungo’s but that’s for future George to deal with. Right now, all he wants is to see Y/N. 

He feels like he’s been seated in the uncomfortable plastic chair for days; he’s vaguely aware that Fred has left to get food and explain what is happening to their parents and possibly even Y/N’s. George feels like he’s falling apart at the seams. 

Fred returns with water, tea and snacks that George knows he won’t be able to eat without them coming back up instantly. 

“It’s going to be okay, Georgie.”

“You don’t know that,” his voice is broken, just like his heart. “What if the damage is too much?” Fred squeezes his shoulder and tucks him into his side. “Y/N is stronger and a fighter. She’s going to be okay.”

The brothers spend the next hour sitting quietly pressed against one another, sipping on the now lukewarm tea. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, a healer stops in front of them. 

“Mr. Weasley?”

“Yes?!” they respond simultaneously.

The healer looks between them and sighs, “Sorry, I’m looking for Y/N’s husband.”

George stands on shaky legs, “That would be me.”

The man smiles at him and something releases inside George’s chest. “Your wife is fine, just resting. It looked a lot worse than it actually was. She’s already been discharged but we’d like to see her again in a few days and please make sure she gets plenty of rest. If anything seems off, bring her back in, alright?”

George doesn’t know what he answers or how he managed to find Y/N’s room but the next thing he’s aware of, is having his wife in his arms. “Don’t ever scare me like that again!” His voice is muffled by her hair and the familiar scent opens the floods.

Y/N holds on to him just as tightly, taking comfort in the familiar feeling of her husband’s arms around her body. “I will do my absolute best.”

George pulls back, cupping her face in his large hands and strokes her cheeks with his thumbs. His eyes rove across her face, never stopping on one feature too long to ensure that she’s really okay. “What do you say we go home and get some rest?”

Y/N nods, turning her head to the side to kiss his palm. “Sounds great, love.”

George hugs her one more time, holding on for a few moments and then takes her hand as they head home.

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #JJ writes #JJ gets back into writing #harry potter fic #harry potter reader insert #george wealsey x reader #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fluff #george weasley blurb #george weasely x you #george weasley x y/n #george weasley imagine #harry potter reader insert fanfiction #george weasley reader insert #golden trio era fic

[hufflepuffwithaslytherinkink]

Tacenda - Chapter 27 Snippet

Theo disappears leaving Eleanor alone. She turns to face the mirror grimacing at her appearance. Her mascara is smudged under her eyes, her hair is sticking up at different angles and she’s a slightly green colour.

She lets out a sigh before throwing Theo’s t-shirt and her knickers to the side before stepping into the bath. She glances at the shower wondering how on Earth it works. There’re only two dials so she decides to turn one, thankfully water starts to cascade down her body. It’s the perfect temperature helping to ease her pounding headache.

She quickly turns letting it rinse away the lingering smell of alcohol before washing her hair and body with Theo’s products. She gets a little thrill from the idea of them sharing stuff and that she’s going to smell like him.

It’s stupid but it gives her butterflies. After she’s done she spends another 5 minutes in the shower enjoying the feeling of the water running over her sensitive skin.

Reluctantly she finally climbs out, wrapping the towel Theo gave her around herself, taking a second one to dry her hair roughly before glancing in the mirror again, wiping away the steam that had built up.

She doesn’t look great, but she looks better, the mascara has gone and there’s a bit more colour to her complexion, but she still looks off. She goes to brush her teeth before remembering Theo was going to get her a toothbrush.

She quickly looks around for her clothes realising they aren’t there. She’d left them in the bedroom.

She grimaces at the idea of having to go and get them in front of Theo. She turns around looking for her knickers, at least she could put them back on, though the thought of dirty underwear makes her stomach churn.

She’s shocked to find they’re gone and the t-shirt of Theo’s that she was wearing.

“What the fuck?” She mutters to herself.

She takes a deep breath holding the towel tightly around herself before entering the bedroom. Theo’s lounging on the bed with his eyes closed when she walks in. He turns towards her immediately.

“Hey the house elves-.” He cuts off suddenly, swallowing deeply as he takes her in, stood in nothing but a small towel in the doorway to his room. Eleanor shifts nervously from foot to foot as he continues to gape at her.

“I um, I forgot my clothes.” She says nervously.

Theo closes his mouth before running a hand through his hair as he clears his throat. “Yeah, yes um, yeah. The um, the er the house elves took them to clean last night, I think they must have taken your knickers too- I mean, your stuff is on the dresser. Pokey put them there like a minute ago.”

He fidgets obviously nervous about looking at her naked. Eleanor tightens the towel around herself walking towards the dresser to grab her stuff.

“There’s um, the toothbrush is there too.” He tells her.

“Thanks.” She mutters sending him a smile.

She thinks it’s adorable how flustered he gets. It so different from the cocky Theo she’s used to. Eleanor lingers at the doorway to the bathroom turning to face Theo, a small smirk on her mouth.

“I hope you enjoyed being alone with my knickers.” She tells him.

His mouth drops open as he stares at her in utter shock.

“What?” He gasps.

Eleanor’s smirk widens as she toys with the knickers on top of her clothes.

“Well I noticed the problem between your legs is gone and you had uncensored access to my knickers.” She shrugs, enjoying the way he seems to choke on air at her words. “It’s a shame really, they’re not my nicest pair.”

She turns shutting the bathroom door as she hears Theo try to stammer out a sentence. She lets out a small laugh before starting to get dressed and brush her teeth.

Her clothes feel amazing, whatever the elves did they’re softer than they’ve ever felt. She quickly checks herself over before going back into Theo’s bedroom.

#He’s sat on his bed nervously chewing his thumb.

“Eleanor.” He states anxiously, climbing off the bed and striding over to her. “You don’t think I actually- I wouldn’t do that to you, you know. I wouldn’t use your knickers like that.”

Eleanor raises her eyebrows at him with an amused smile.

“Theo it’s okay I was just teasing.” She tells him lightly.

Theo’s face relaxes as he releases a breath. “Right, okay. I respect you too much, I couldn’t just… it would feel like a violation.”

Eleanor giggles at his words causing him to frown.

“Hey don’t laugh, it wouldn’t be right.” He tells her seriously.

“I know.” Eleanor agrees trying to hold back her laughter. “But I wouldn’t mind, in fact I kind of like the idea.”

Theo’s mouth drops at her words at he stares at her.

“You what?”

Eleanor places her hands on his chest enjoying his stunned expression.

“I like it.” She tells him. “I like the idea of you pleasuring yourself when thinking about me.”

“Oh fuck.” Theo mutters under his breath.

Eleanor shrugs moving away to grab his brush and try to tame her waves.

“I guess you’re not into that sort of thing though.” She shrugs playfully.

Theo licks his lips as he watches her. “Trust me I do.” He says thickly.

“Hm?” Eleanor queries continuing to brush her hair but glancing over her shoulder at him.

“I always think of you, I always have.”

Eleanor pauses turning to stare at him properly.

“Always?”

Theo nods. “Every single time. I essentially admitted it to you once during an astronomy lesson.”

Eleanor puts the brush down turning to watch him. “I thought you were talking about Bulstrode.”

He recoils at her words.

“As if I’d ever think of her. No, it’s always been you.” He tells her before turning and walking into the bathroom, shutting the door over behind him but not closing it fully.

Eleanor stares at the small gap, her thoughts racing. He was determined to give her a heart attack or a stomach perforation with the amount of palpitations and butterflies he was causing. She clears her throat trying to get rid of the image of Theo pleasuring himself, whispering her name as he reaches his high.

“Fuck me.” She mutters grabbing the hairbrush again and trying to detangle the mess on top of her head.

Once she’s done she’s not sure what to do, she wonders around Theo’s room looking at his shelves. She takes notes of his books, his quills, the type of parchment he uses. There’s a picture of his mother on his desk and one of him and Blaise together in their Slytherin scarves.

She smiles at the small personal touches. She knows Theo is caring and one of the sweetest people – when he wants to be. But this seems to make him more human, more real. To see his magazines piled in the corner or his stuffed niffler on his bookshelf.

Soon enough Theo emerges from the bathroom, wearing just a towel draped around his waist. His hair falling into his eyes from the water, Eleanor watches as it drips down his body, clinging to the contours of his chest and ending just above his pubis.

He smirks at her cocking an eyebrow.

“I forgot my clothes.” He tells her walking towards his dresser.

Yeah right, Eleanor thinks, that’s why he’s left his body dripping wet and sinfully tempting.

But she responds with a non-comital hum instead. Theo gives her a knowing look as he routes through his clothes.

Eleanor’s eyes trailing over every inch of exposed skin, admiring the way the light reflects off the water droplets highlighting every little bump and dip.

“See something you like?” He asks giving her a lazy look over his shoulder.

“A few things.” Eleanor replies, not even attempting to be subtle as she ogles him.

Theo grins at her before turning around and leaning on the dresser, his stomach muscles tightening in the most delicious way.

“Can I ask what?” He says temptingly, giving her an eager look.

Eleanor hums sending him a playful smile. “I’m really loving the stuffed niffler. Does he have a name?”

Theo’s face blanches as he quickly glances at the niffler on his bookshelf. Eleanor smiles as she sees him close his eyes in embarrassment.

“Don’t worry.” Eleanor quickly reassures him with a happy smile. “I think it’s adorable.”

“Adorable.” Theo mutters putting a hand over his face.

Eleanor chuckles. “What? it is.”

“Eleanor that’s not what boys want to be called. I’m stood here naked, I want you to say I’m hot, handsome, distracting just not adorable and don’t even consider cute.” He warns her.

“I didn’t call you adorable I called him adorable. Look at his little face.” She states walking over to the bookshelf and picking the niffler up, pulling a cute face at it before turning to Theo. “He owns my heart now.”

Theo raises an eyebrow at her. “I love how easily I’m discarded. I take it all back please call me adorable and look at me like that.”

Eleanor chuckles as she hugs the niffler to her chest.

“I don’t think I can. He’s set the standard.”

Theo let’s out an amused laugh before pulling out his clothes.

“Fine you stay here and harass Norman, I’m going to get dressed.” He tells her.

“Oh Norman.” Eleanor exclaims in a cutesy voice staring at the niffler with wide eyes.

Theo shakes his head with a small laugh before disappearing into the bathroom. Eleanor smiles taking a seat on his bed as she stares at Norman. He really is adorable and so is Theo for keeping him.

After a couple of minutes Theo steps back into the room looking more put together than he has any right too, why doesn’t he look as shitty as she does?

“Ready?” He asks.

“What for?” Eleanor questions glancing over at him.

“For breakfast.” Theo says as if it’s obvious.

“Oh, yeah okay.” Eleanor says putting the niffler down on the bed and walking towards Theo. He smiles holding his hand out to her and she takes it with a small blush.

She could get used to holding his hand like this.

“I really like Norman.” Eleanor tells him sincerely as they walk down the stairs towards the kitchen.

Theo smiles at her. “Me too, my mum gave him to me. He’s one of the only things I have left off her.”

Eleanor’s heart breaks and swells at the same time. She didn’t even consider the niffler might be sentimental to him, she has so many teddies around her room it’s nothing to her.

“That’s lovely.” She tells him.

Theo nods. “I can’t bear to part from him. I almost took him to Hogwarts with me but dad said it was childish. I’m glad though, I think the others would have teased me and probably hid him.”

“That’s awful.” Eleanor responds wondering why anyone would tease another person over something so sentimental and why his dad told him not to act childish. It isn’t childish to want to keep something like that close.

Theo shrugs as them enter the kitchen to the smell of cooking. Marie greeting them warmly.

“It is what it is I guess.” He says casually making Eleanor frown.

“Crepes?” Theo asks eagerly.

Marie nods with a hum. “Of course, I had to cook your favourite and I refuse to make the American pancakes unless it’s a special occasion.” She says with narrowed eyes.

“What?” Theo says in shock. “You don’t think Eleanor is a special occasion?”

Eleanor blushes sending him an annoyed look.

“She most certainly is special but she deserves delicate crepes, not those heavy monstrosities.” Marie snaps at him before turning to Eleanor with a smile, it quickly drops as she takes in her appearance. Eleanor feels exposed and self-conscious as the perfectly stunning Marie glances at her.

“Eleanor why is your hair wet? You’ll catch your death.”

“Oh I’m not very good at drying spells.” Eleanor explains full of embarrassment.

“That’s no problem. Theodore, watch the crepes.” Marie commands before pulling her wand out and pointing it at Eleanor.

Eleanor closes her eyes as she feels warm air hit her. Her hair instantly curling around her head, falling into delicate waves. It never does that when she dries it, her natural waves always turn out frizzy.

“Perfect.” Marie states curling one of Eleanor’s waves around her finger before returning to the stove.

Eleanor stays for breakfast, enjoying talking with Theo and Marie before stating she’ll have to go home or her parents will start to wonder where she is. Theo nods reluctantly a sad expression filling his face as he says he’ll take her home.

#theodore nott fanfiction #theo nott fan fic #theo nott fanfiction #theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott x original character #theo nott x original character #golden trio era fic #friends to enemies #friends to enemies to lovers #enemies to lovers #gryffindor x slytherin #slytherin x gryffindor #tacenda fic #tacenda chapter 27 #gryffindor #slytherin #pureblood x muggle born #ao3fic #hogwarts

[moonsbypadfoot]

interest | theodore nott x female reader.

warnings : angst, fluff, based on real live events that I am still going through! (Some parts are still made up, I've only experienced the first half, the second half are made up) 😘🙃, slytherin reader (doesn't really affect the story), usage of y/n, short, short, short fan fiction, wrote this in like 30 mins, english isn't my first language and I am convinced that I'm dyslexic, second person pov,

have fun reading!

🦖

it was your fifth year at hogwarts, fifth year being friends with pansy, and your fifth year being hopelessly inlove with theodore.

yes, you've had 'relationships' before him, but he was still at the back of your mind. theodore was still lingering.

Theo seemed funny, moody, and so much more, but, you didn't expect him to like books.

Pansy looked down while eating her food, and simply said "you're reading little women too? Theodore loves that book" To which you hushed her immediately.

But that didn't stop you from asking her about Theo,later that day. "He likes it? " You asked, showing the book to pansy, "who likes what? " Pansy scrunched her eyebrows, and you groaned loudly.

"Theodore, pansy, Theodore! "

Pansy nodded her head, saying "oh yeah, he likes it". You gasped at how chill she is, and you said " This might be it pansy! ".

And oh you were right, it is it. You and daphne were sitting on a bench, gossiping about other people. When all of the sudden, Theodore passed you two, and said "Laurie, mhm? ".

"So you do like little women? " You and daphne's attention were shifted to him "since forever", and just like that, he left.

That became a more and more of a schedule for you to sit on that same bench everyday, on the exact same time. Daphne doesn't know that you still like him, it was well common knowledge that you used to like Theodore, but, everyone thought that you had moved on.

Daphne was so tired of Theodore, that whenever she sees him coming to you two, she'd roll her eyes sand say stuff like 'here he goes again' and make the biggest sigh ever.

Your first 'real' conversation was him coming up to you, saying "I like jo more than amy". At that point you didn't know what to say, neither Daphne or Pansy was there to make you less tense.

You scoffed "Amy is way better". You tried to keep yourself cool, and you did just that.

For days to days you two became closer. You'd have little chit chats after dinner, and your liking for him became bigger, but it shouldn't have.

"I have some little women.. Merch, I can send it to your room, later" Theodore suggested. "First of all, pansy would kill me if I had a boy in my room. Second of all, that will not happen cause if you do the stairs will turn into a literal slide and make you look stupid" You said, to which he just started at you.

You stupidly dreamt of him in your room, which is obviously forbidden.

Unsurprisingly, Daphne eventually found out about you still liking him, and she's convinced that Theo likes you back.

"Do you not remember what he said? 'I used to like little women, now I like it again because of her' and the boy pointed at you! And do you not remember quidditch? "

Oh boy, you do remember Quidditch.

His Quidditch match was last Wednesday, and two days before that, you two made a bet. If he won, you have to give him 15 galleons, and if he lose, he has to give you 15 galleons.

See, that same week, your professors had bombarded everyone with exams. So, if it wasn't for him you wouldn't have watched any of the Quidditch stuff.

That Wednesday, you kept exactly 15 galleons in your pocket. And, unsurprisingly he won. The slytherins celebrated like crazy, and, after that, you came up to him, saying "I could've bought myself candy but, I have your 15 galleons".

"No need for that," Theodore softly smiles, and went back to his friends who were cheering and waiting for him.

That day you couldve swore you spent a thousand hour telling pansy what you felt.

All of the sudden, Theodore didn't seem interested. You hadn't told Daphne about this, but pansy is so mas at him for the sudden stop of interest.

"See, boys are immature" Pansy groaned and rolled her eyes. "I wanted to know about his friend and, theodore-"

"Not so loud! " You sushed her, reminding that you two were still in the great hall. You doubt anyone heard you but, still, for safety reasons. "How about.. My 'him', we can call him uh.. "

"Toaster, cause if he doesn't act right Im gonna-"

"Hold your horses, pansy, let's call him trex"

"Fine, you're way too nice for that guy, and uhm, what should I call my 'him'? " Pansy asked, and, there was one minute of silence.

"Maybe trial number #2? "

That was the day your nicknames were born, and, things excelated from there. 'Trial #2', which is blaise, talked to pansy in the Slightest way possible, and 'trex' which is theo is talking to you, but he makes the conversation as dry as possible.

Theo is almost always the conversation starter, but when it comes to keeping the conversation going, it's you, and it is hardwork to keep Theo talking to you

That also reminded you of a conversation you had a long, long time ago with millicent. About how he's broken home and doesn't have a mother, and turns out it was true.

"So, that explains the on and off thing with you and him" Pansy shrugged "if you're really in love with him, you're in some really deep shit. Trial #2 barely talks to me"

and in deep shit you are, as the days became longer because he didn't want to talk to you. Pansy convinced you enough to just stop talking to him.

You felt better but, there is still something in you still craving him dearly.

"He's just there, pansy, like.. Like a word about to be spoken, but then vanishes out of our brains! One second he's there and the next he's gone! " You complained.

What made you more confused is that, you and him became more confusing. You felt like you're more than a friend, but you don't know what it is because of one thing he said.

It was common for you friends, lorenzo, and Mattheo, to tease you about Theo. It's as if they know.

Obviously, Theo was there too, along with Daphne next to you. "Y/n, I think you and Theodore are a good fit" Lorenzo laughed, and the others chimed with agreement. But, it was a subtle whisper from Theo that made you down for the rest of the day. "Don't say that, I like astoria"

You kept laughing, though it was obvious for those who actually knows you that your laugh was so fake.

You kept ignoring him, and you truly do feel better for once. As pansy says 'give him taste of his own medicine ' and you did what she said, and you felt better, for awhile.

Till he came up to you and forced you to confess.

"The fuck is wrong with you y/n? " Theodore said. "What do you mean? " You said, but, the pit in your stomach tells you exactly what he means.

"You're avoiding me. I thought we were friends"

"That's the problem" You said, in a confusing tone, which made him think.. Was it a question or a statement?

"I thought we couldve been more, Theo" You rolled your eyes at his oblivion, and you paused "you like astoria, don't you, mhm? You said it yourself".

Theo frowned "don't act so innocent, you and Macmillan were so close I thought you two were dating".

"I wasn't" You paused, "I moved on a long time ago, unlike you, no one moves on in the span of two weeks".

"Her friends told me she doesn't like me! "

"So what? That makes it right? I don't care if she likes you or not, I care if you like her or not. If I'm just your second choice, this won't work. Pansy told me that I'm better than any boys in Hogwarts, and I agree with her! Because boys like you suck"

"I like you, okay? Will you get that into your thick skull?" Theodore groaned and rolled his eyes.

"You're weird" You said, "what about me Is weird? " Theo asks.

"Your on and off stuff. You act interested, then when I actually wanna talk to you you get so dry, do you not think of that? Or you're actually really dumb? "

"You ignored me too"

"That's because I wanted you to feel what I felt! "

You honestly felt sad but, anger was more visible. But Theo looked emotionless. He wasn't happy, angry, sad, he was just there.

You both wanted to say something, but you didn't. Neither you nor Theo said a thing. You opened your bag and found your book, well, technically his.

"Here's a book that i borrowed" You said, giving it to him. "You can keep it" Theo pushed the book back to you, but your hand didn't budge. "No thanks, theo.. Ive written somethings in pencil. Don't worry too much because it's so thin you could barely tell what I wrote, a single swipe with your finger or eraser, it'll be gone".

A week has passed. And you knew for a fact he didn't re read the book.

On your favorite page, you wrote 'three broomsticks, next month, 9:00 AM? ' a month ago.

You knew way more than to come there, or did you?

#theodore nott x female reader #theo nott x you #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x fem!reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x slytherin!reader #theodore nott x slytherin reader #theo nott #golden trio era #slytherin boys #theo nott fanfiction #theo nott fic #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott fic #theodore nott angst #theo nott angst #theodore nott fluff #theo nott fluff #Theodore not #nott #harry potter fandom #harry potter universe #harry potter fancast #fancast #lorenzo zurzolo #enzo zurzolo #zurzolo

[notti-stellate]

Sick

Draco Malfoy x reader

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, puking, ect.

a/n: I'm gonna be completely honest I have no idea where this came from but I'm not complaining. Genuinely don't know what this is I just kinda blinked and this happened. Enjoy (I hope)

from pinterest

“Would you stop being a baby,” I groaned, “you have a stomach bug, Draco, you’re not dying.” 

“You don’t know that,” he replied with a sniffle.

I turned away from his door towards the bed only to be met with the most pathetic look from my usually stoic boyfriend. The floor beside his bed was riddled with tissues and various blankets and sweatshirts. You could even see the redness around his eyes and his unusually flushed cheeks.

“Oh love, why don’t you go see Madam Pomfrey.” I sighed, walking over to his bed.

“She’s out for the week,” He replied, closing his eyes as a wave of nausea hit. 

Within a second he bolted for the bathroom. I followed behind when I heard gagging, immediately crouching down beside him to attempt to comfort him. After a few minutes the retching stopped only to be followed by small whimpers. 

“It’s alright love, are you done” I whispered, rubbing small circles into his back over his worn sweatshirt. He nodded mournfully as he slowly sat up. I pulled him up and steadily guided him back to his bed.

“Lay with me?” He pleaded, opening his arms.

“Here, drink some water first.”  I said, handing him his water bottle and crawling into bed beside him. He sighed, tiredly, as he pulled me closer to rest his head on my chest. We both sat in silence as I carded my fingers through his hair, slowly drifting off shortly after him.

#draco fanfiction #draco fic #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fic #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy x slytherin!reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #harry potter imagine #hp fanfic #golden trio #golden trio era #draco malfoy fluff

[hanasnx]

fell in love without you

MINORS DNI 18+ NOTES: everyone’s nineteen. WARNINGS: f!reader | you have a favorite twin | sexual content with said fave twin | dubcon kiss

FRED WEASLEY stands before you alongside his brother George. A seemingly world famous smug air about them, having charmed themselves by their own wit. Arms crossed, towering tall above the random passersby as they absentmindedly drone to their next class. Your hesitation spurs the twins on, exchanging a knowing and triumphant glance that says all as you tilt your head at them.

“Are you serious?”

One twin feigns offense. “Deadly serious.”

The other mimics him. “Gravely.”

“S’only fair, innit?”

“Game of guess the twin, guess wrong and you’ve got to give a kiss.” he repeats the game rules.

“For hurtin’ our feelin’s.” the other agrees.

You narrow your eyes with a huff through your nose. “You haven’t got any feelings. Now let me pass.” you demand, and attempt to cut through them but they’re connected at the shoulders to block your way from your corridor.

“Now that’s what you win if you guess right!” they say together. Did they rehearse this? You frown at them as you recoil, throwing your arm out to your side until your book pats the outside of your thigh.

“What? You scared? We both know you’ve got a little thing for me.” One shrugs.

“And me.” the other adds.

“We’re only helping you along.” they speak at the same time, in annoying twin-synchrony.

You give in. “Do you really think I can’t tell you apart?” Lazily, you point to the boy on the left. “Fred.” It transfers over to the boy on the right. “George.” They exchange another look amongst themselves, and adopt a crestfallen expression as their heads bow, stepping apart so you can enter. “See?” you taunt, passing them by. “Was that so hard? I’ll see you boys later—“

“Not so fast there, birdie.” You halt in your tracks at the sound of him speak. “I’m George.” You sigh hard and hang your head.

“I’m Fred. C’mon then, give us a kiss.” They’d faked you out, or they’re lying. Either way, you concede in order to satiate their egos, drawing back to the place where they wait for you. It’s only a kiss on the cheek anyway, and besides it wouldn’t reveal your true feelings towards your favored twin. You’re just friends, and that’s how it should stay. “Tha’s a good girl. Look at her comin’ back, George. She wants this just as much as we do.”

“A foolproof plan there, Fred, well done.”

“It’s practically your only pick-up line, boys. You could do far better.” you tease, and drop your satchel to the ground where it flops flat hopelessly, and toss your book to land onto the leather. “C’mon then, lean down.” They’re both much taller than you, sort of imposing if they weren’t so approachable when they wanted to be. George goes first, stooping to offer his cheek to you. Sweetly, you hook your arm around his neck for stability when you raise yourself to your toes, planting a chaste peck onto his cheek. His skin warms your nose, and he recedes as you do. When you meet Fred’s gaze, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you, and you feel yourself heat up in anticipation. He does as George did, stooping but it’s a little gentler, dragging it out. There’s a mischievous curl to his lips and you sense he plots something. So you idle while you figure him out, until he interrupts you.

“Oi, wha’s wrong with you? Go on, pay up.” and you snap out of it, doing as you did with George. Your arm hooks loose around his neck, hand splayed on the cuff of his shoulder. While you raise yourself to meet his cheek, the tips of your toes bearing your weight, and things seem to move in slow motion. An arm straps around your waist, arching you into him as he turns at the last second, drawing you into a kiss. A real one. You emit a noise of surprise as he deepens it, seizing the opportunity to slip his tongue between your lips during your squeak. Out of shock, you take a fair bit of time to register, eyes flying open as you pat hard against his chest. You can’t push him off, but he pulls back after he’s made his point.

Hastily, you adjust your uniform with a gaping mouth. “Fred!” you scold while they snicker, you took notice of how George averted his eyes beforehand, so he’d known of Fred’s trick. Perhaps Fred put him up to it. Some innocent game that allows Fred an in to make a proper move on you. Or some sort of malicious advantage over your feelings. Out of embarrassment or fury, your hands pat hard on each of them, banging your fists against whatever is within reach as their laughs feather out when they flinch and try to catch your hands. When they escape, and you realize you’re desperately tardy, you have to let them go, calling out your vow of revenge after them.

“Where’s that vow of revenge now, ey?” breathless words spoken into your ear as Fred ruts into you. Hidden under the hot covers of your bed, he keeps you close with strong arms encasing you, pressing you to him as you lay on your sides. You claw the sheets for purchase, clutching onto the fabric to keep yourself grounded as he moves inside you. Careful, gentle, deliberate. Everyone’s sleeping. If anyone found out a boy snuck into your girls’ dormitory you’d be toast. His breath sends tingles up your spine, squeezing your eyes shut in the dark as you focus on where your bodies conjoin. Sticky and wet, Fred sheathes fully with a buck of his hips, and involuntarily you whimper. A large hand cups your mouth to silence you. “Keep quiet,” he whispers and you nod against him. “Didn’t take you for a bad girl, birdie, you’re a proper troublemaker.” he tells you, barely audible, his lips moving against your ear as his hips circle, welcomed by your sex, he can’t help but soak a second. “You wanna get caught, don’t you?”

You can’t answer, shaking your head against his hand and you feel his teeth nip at your earlobe. “Is that right?” he goads, unconvinced. He shifts, gradually picking up a steady pace. “Should we give ‘em a real show then?”

#1k #indy: drabbles #ch: fred #fred weasley drabble #weasley twins x reader #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley smut #fred weasley x y/n #weasley twins imagines #george weasley x reader #george weasley x you #george weasley imagine #george weasley x y/n #fred weasley x fem!reader #george weasley x fem!reader #golden trio era #fred weasley headcanons #george weasley headcanon #golden trio x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fluff #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fic

[rainydayathogwarts]

neville longbottom smut

reader makes Neville cum in his pants at a party. warnings: dry humping, whimpering, public sex(?), swearing wc: around 0.9k

Your body sways to the music, the plastic cup in your hand spilling some of your drink onto your hand, but it only blends in with the shimmering glint of sweat on your skin. You're dancing with some girl you don't recognise, singing the words to a song at the top of your lungs. You look around, trying to spot your boyfriend in the crowd, to make sure he's not doing anything he shouldn't be, only to notice him sitting on an armchair next to the fireplace, his eyes already on you.

He meets your gaze and your body suddenly goes hot, despite the warmth from the alcohol that had already settled in. He was keeping an eye on you, butterbeer in hand, not focused on anything else. You grin, pushing your way through the dance floor until you finally stumble away from the crowd of sweaty bodies and into the more dispersed area of the busy common room. You giggle when you approach Neville, watching as his eyes run along you figure. You down the rest of your drink, putting the now empty cut next to what you assumed was the empty bottle butter beer Neville had already had. "You okay sweetheart?" He asks and you nod, shifting to stand between his legs.

He sits up straight to put his hands on the back of your thighs, pulling you slightly closer to him; the most affection he'd giving you tonight. He offers you a sip of butterbeer but you decline, watching as he brings his lips to the bottle, his adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows, before putting the bottle aside. You bring a hand up to play with his hair as your hips start moving again, the other arm on his shoulder. You look down at the boy below you and sigh in pleasure as his hands start moving up and down your thighs.

His head leans on your lower stomach, his attention caught by the dancing bodies. You furrow your eyebrows, glancing over at the dance floor to look at all the girls in their tight dresses. You huff. The hand you have in his hair closes moderately into a fist and you tug it backwards slightly, making Neville look up at you, only to be met by your lips slamming down onto his. He moans loudly, his hands on your thighs moving so his arms can wrap around you.

His mouth immediately opens to welcome your tongue in and you put your weight onto him, pushing him back into the armchair as you climb onto him, your legs coming on either side of his thighs as you straddle him. Neville whimpers, the sound drowned by the music, his arms tightly wrapping themselves around your waist to pull you impossibly closer. And he does, dragging you across his lap so your panty-clad cunt grinds against his fully clothed dick.

You both moan into each other, and you feel your boyfriend's usually gentle hands travel down to your ass, roughly gripping it. You grind against Neville once more to see how comfortable he is with this, and he separates from the kiss to gasp for air, his mouth open in a silent moan. Your eyes scan the room, checking to see if you had attracted anyone's unwanted eyes, but your attention is brought back to Neville, who tugs your dress further down your thighs, having ridden up when you straddled him.

When you make eye contact with him again, his eyes are begging you to continue your movements and so is the tent in his pants. You push your hips down onto his and moan quietly, biting your lip. Neville's eyes widen and he looks around for a second before turning his attention back to you, a hand coming behind your neck to pull you into a kiss, the other one pushing your hips into his.

He gently humps his hips up into yours to encourage your movements, grunting as though he has never had your legs spread for him, and you dig your face into the crook of his neck, letting out a breathy moan. Your hot breath on his neck sends shivers down Neville's spine and he pants, leaning his head on your shoulder and looking down through the top of your dress. He whines, eyes widening at the sight of your tits, his hands immediately coming up to grope them. You let out a high pitched moan when he squeezes one of your perky nipple, hips bucking into his desperately, so that your pussy grinds right against the tent in his jeans, feeling the imprint of his cock against you.

Neville bites your shoulder to cover the loud whimpers that come out of him, hands gripping your thighs as he roughly bucks his hips into yours. That's when you feel the wetness on his jeans, this time not coming from you, and you grin proudly, pulling Neville into a kiss. He returns the kiss, still panting, his hands now softly caressing your sides. When you both separate from the kiss and Neville finally catches his breath, he says "How about we go upstairs and I can finish you off?"

#harry potter #hogwarts #neville fluff #neville longbottom #neville smut #neville x reader #neville x y/n #neville imagine #golden trio era #golden trio fanfiction #golden trio #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts oc #harry potter oneshot #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter smut #smut #neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom fic #neville longbottom fluff #neville longbottom imagine #neville longbottom x you #rainydayathogwarts

[ginevrapng]

How much do I need to beg for a dark!harry one shot? I know he’s not one of your favs but I know he’d be so possessive and clingy (this man’s never really grew up with love?? So no shit he’d be so possessive over reader)

haven't been able to figure out a full fledged idea on how to use dark!harry but i've got some headcanons for you<3

you're absolutely right about him being possessive and clingy, this man does not understand that you need personal space and alone time.

you want to hang out with your friends? harry's coming too, he would never want to keep you from your friends and isolate you, he wouldn't do that to you, he is your loving boyfriend but he won't want you spending time alone with them. they might hurt your feelings, what if you needed comfort or him to defend you and he wasn't there? someone might flirt with you, you'd obviously never respond to their advances but you can be so naive at times, not everyone is like him, not everyone has good intentions.

every single hobby you have he's going to be behind you 100 percent, just as long as it's a hobby you don't do with other people or if he doesn't get to be there supporting you. if you like knitting he'll watch you from the corner of his eye and want you to knit him things, if you like reading he'll ask you to read to him, if you like watching documentaries he'll want to watch them with you, if you like playing video games he'll be your player two BUT if you like yoga or something in groups he insists you do it at home instead of in front of people, especially for things like yoga there are just so many pervs in the world.

he never had a loving family since his parents died when he was just a baby so he'll do everything to make sure you know you are loved and to keep you loving him, you'll be together forever. if he feels you're drifting away from him he'll remind you why you love him, more gifts than normal and more loving gestures, compliments every day and night. he knows just how to make you come back to him.

if he ever feels the need to he'll invite ron, hermione and their kids round, showing you how good a family is and how happy it makes ron and hermione. he'll bring molly round and she'll spend the whole day praising harry and telling you how amazing he is and how proud she is of him while saying about how you're such a great couple and you're just as amazing as harry. she'll remind you you're part of the family, she's so happy harry's found someone so brilliant, better than fleur.

#harry potter x reader #harry james potter x reader #harry potter #harry james potter #hp x reader #hp headcanon #harry potter imagine #dark!harry #dark!harry potter #harry potter headcanon #harry james potter headcanon #harry potter fic #♡ mine / writing #♡ harry #♡ lana's letters #golden era x reader #golden trio x reader #cw : dark

[ziglikesrain]

at the end of the day i feel bad for harry potter fans. they’re so limited to one ERA and characters that have already had seven books written about them.

where’s the fun in that?! too much canon, too many straight people, where’s the fun?!

they’ll never know true happiness until they go to the dark side. we have all the fun over here

#marauders era #wolfstar #sirius black #harry potter #remus lupin #remus x sirius #jegulus #marauders #fanfiction #james potter #regulus black #regulus x james #golden trio era #harry potter fans????? #how?! #it’s BEEN DONE BEFORE #yada yada dramione enemies to lovers fic #WHO CARES. #not me #give me that soulmates muggle au olympic skating rivals wolfstar au with background jegulus #thats what i want #THATS what i need

[themoon-andits-stars]

Beautiful

Draco Malfoy is beautiful. That is something everyone can agree on. His beauty is never altered by anyone's perception of him.

Draco Malfoy is quiet. He mostly keeps to himself these days. Tucked away in the corners of classrooms, eyes down, avoiding the whispers and the stares.

Now, Draco Malfoy is sat in the farthest corner of the library, his head down, eyes flicking back and forth between a book and his parchment. His eyebrows furrow in concentration and he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. His hair, now reaching just past his sharp cheekbones, falls in loose waves around his eyes, and he continues to battle it back behind his ears. He is beautiful.

And Harry is staring. Elbow resting on the table and his head resting in his hand, his full attention is on Draco and that stubborn strand of hair that keeps falling into his eyes.

He continues staring even when Draco's eyes flick up and immediately meet his. Harry only smiles, not the least bit concerned with how the staring may be perceived. Draco quickly looks back down at his parchment, a pink flush spreading across his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and Harry feels excited, a small smile still playing on his lips.

Harry is no longer looking at him when someone steals the seat in front of Draco. Now, all Harry can see is the back of someone's head, and disappointment washes over him. He huffs and begins to shuffle his work in front of him, his attention back to the original task.

Hermione looks up at the sound of Harry's exasperation. She watches as Harry's eyes look up to some point across the room before quickly looking back down at his papers. She turns, looking to see what Harry was so annoyed by. From where she sat, she saw the obstructed view of Draco. She turned back around, shaking her head.

"You're pathetic," she muttered. Harry looks up at her. "What are you talking about?" he asked, eyebrow raised in question. She raises a brow, a bored look resting on her face. "What?" Harry asked again. Hermione looked back down at her work in response.

#something from the drafts #draco malfoy is beautiful #that’s the Black family in him me thinks #drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #draco lucius malfoy #fanfiction #harry james potter #drarry fanfic #hpdm #fanfic #drarry fics #drarry microfic #draco x harry #harry x draco #golden trio era #hermione granger

[savxgelxve]

Moonlit Confessions 🌙

A Cedric Diggory x Fem!reader fic.

Hey guys! This is my first time ever writing a fic. I've been reading fanfics for almost 5 years now, but was either too lazy or didn't get the courage to post my work. Constructive criticism is appreciated but please don't be mean...it's my first time so it'll likely suck 😅 Do give suggestions on how I can improve<3 A huge thanks to @queer-n-here for helping me out with some of the dialogues and plot suggestions. Go check them out!!!

(The reader is a "Prewitt" which is one of the sacred 28 pureblood families. Much like Weasleys as they too don't care about their pureblood status.)

Warnings: none. This is just pure fluff ^w^

The moon was brighter then ever, as the soft wind blew playing with the locks of your hair. You stood by a large window of the library, waiting for him. But the serenity of the night sky had tranced you in it's beauty, so much so that you didn't even notice Cedric when he entered.

“The moon is beautiful, isn't it?”

You snapped out of your daze as you stepped back, startled.

“How long have you been here?” you asked with a surprised smile.

"Not long."

He replied with a smile, there was a faraway look in his eyes with a hint of excitement?....or was it mischief? but there was something about his expression you couldn't place your finger on.

"By the way, did you figure out the clue yet?" He asked.

"Not yet, that thing screams every time I open it. I'm surprised, it hasn't made me deaf yet." Your said, earning a chuckle from him.

Cedric had asked you for help with the golden egg he had got hold of in the first round of Triwizard tournament. He only trusted you with it. You and Cedric had known each other since you were practically babies. It was because both your parents were childhood friends as well.

"Then do we atleast have a lead?" He asked with an hopeful expression.

"Please don't tell me you owled that note saying, "Come to the library ASAP" just to show me a rock you found by the lake side again that was shaped like a pygmy puff." He teased.

"Oh shush, I did that when I was eleven! And the rock was cute."

"You haven't changed one bit, have you?" He shook his head chuckling.

You simply rolled your eyes with a small smile, "I do have a theory though."

Cedric crossed his arms as leaned against the wall with a curious expression, "Enlighten me, then."

"What if the scream was of the next creature you have to fight against? Just like the dragons?" You said walking towards a table which had two books you had picked out as you handed one to him. "We can try to figure out the possible creature you might have to fight against."

"Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them." Cedric read the title out loud, "I feel like vicious would've been a better way to describe them." He added with an airy chuckle.

"Don't say that in front of someone who wants to be a magizoologist." You said with a playful glare.

"To you even an Erumpent is just as cute as a puppy." He replied with a teasing smile.

Cedric pulled out a chair for you and helped you get seated as he sat in front of you.

"Since when did you become such a gentleman?" You teased.

"Well, I can't help but channel my inner gentleman around you. Just trying to set the bar high, you know?" He replied with his classic smirk.

You raised an eyebrow, "Just around me? Are you sure you're allowed to say that with all your fangirls eavesdropping on our conversation?"

He loved this banter that they had. You were the only one on whom his charms wouldn't work and he took it as a challenge to change that.

"Well, it'll be easier to let them know I'm taken that way." He replied with a flirty smirk.

You rolled your eyes acting like it didn't bother you but your cheeks were dusted with the lightest shade of pink. It was barely visible but didn't go unnoticed by Cedric that was what he needed, a signal that he does affect her.

He rested his head in his arms as he smiled sweetly at you. "You look cute when you blush like that~"

"You're not the first one who said that to me." You replied with a sassy smirk, though internally you had melted in a puddle of blushing mess.

Cedric though smiling, visibly tensed at that reply.

"Haha, I guess I'll have to try harder to come up with compliments that leave you speechless then. Challenge accepted, and I think it'll be an easy win for me as it's hard not to compliment someone as adorable as you, even if it's been said before." He replied with a wink.

"We'll see about that." You replied with a small smile. "But for now, let's focus on the task, shall we?"

Cedric nodded, "So, that scream is well terrifying to say the least...could it be a Banshee?" He said pointing at the text under the image.

"A Banshee is a female spirit in Irish folklore who heralds the death of a family member, usually by screaming, wailing, shrieking, or keening." You read out loud.

"Well I don't think so, I mean, whose death are we talking about here? There aren't any dementors here anymore. But we can't completely rule out the possibility as the Triwizard Tournament which was held in 1792, had one of the tasks involving catching a cockatrice. However, the beast went on a rampage and injured three of the judges, the Head of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. I read that in Hogwarts, A History." You added.

"Really? But don't you think that after this tragic incident the authorities would be more careful?" Cedric asked curiously.

"Hmm. You do have a point...so perhaps it's a siren?" You thought out loud.

"Maybe? I read somewhere that a sirens scream can deafen a man and transform a woman into one of them." Cedric replied.

The two of you searched the entire Magical Creatures section of the library for an hour, but there wasn't much of a lead. Finally, Cedric suggested to take a break to go get some fresh air.

You both walked towards your usual spot near the lake. The moonlight illuminated the crystal clear waters of the lake, casting shimmering reflections that danced upon the surface with an ethereal grace, as if the night itself had decided to paint upon the canvas of the water.

As you both sat on the shore, you saw a really cute rock. "Ced, look! this looks like a Fwooper"

He simply chuckled, "Are you sure you wanna become a magizoologist? You could become naturalist considering your never-ending pile of rock collection."

"Well I love cute rocks, but I love animals more. All the rocks I have collected look like some sort of animal." You replied.

Cedric nodded, "So we have the next Newt Scamander in making. I see." He replied with a smile.

"Do you have the golden egg with you right now?" He asked randomly.

"Yeah why?"

"I wanna see if there are any marks or symbols carved on it that can give us a clue? Or perhaps help us understand that scream in a way?" He replied.

"That's a good idea." You replied as you opened your side bag, as you rummaged through its contents. But it was a bit hard because of the extending charm you'd used on it. Finally giving up with a frustrated sigh you took out your wand.

"Accio, golden egg." You casted the spell making the egg fly out of your bag and landing on the ground with a thud which opened it.

A ear piercing scream filled up the quite night, as the egg vibrated from the sound and fell into the lake.

You stood their horrified your hands trying to shut your ears.

"Holy Merlin!" Cedric exclaimed as he took his shirt off and jumped into the lake.

Expecting to hear the screams he was surprised to hear a melodious voice instead.

"Come seek us where our voices sound,

We cannot sing above the ground,

And while you're searching ponder this;

We've taken what you'll sorely miss,

An hour long you'll have to look,

And to recover what we took,

But past an hour, the prospect's black,

Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."

As he closed the egg and got out of the lake, he had an excited smile on his face which confused you.

"This things scream changes into a song underwater!" He replied with a grin.

Your eyes sparkled as you smiled, "It's Mermish! That means the next task has Merpeople involved. It's likely gonna be an underwater task!" You replied.

"We finally figured it out!" you said as you hugged him excitedly, but pulled away sheepishly when you realised that he was still drenched and half naked. You looked away embarassed and blushing heavily.

"Like what you see?" He teased.

"Just get dressed for Merlin's sake!" You replied, earning a chuckle from him.

The next few days were spent trying to figure out this what was the most valuable thing that the Merpeople would steal from him.

"What is it that you cherish the most, that you can't live without?" You asked.

"Uh...I don't know." The look that he gave you said otherwise though.

"Oh c'mon Ced! What is it?"

"You're asking the wrong question. Instead of what it should be who." He replied with a soft smile.

"What do you mean?... Who is it?" You asked confused.

"I would let you figure that out." He replied, chuckling at her obliviousness.

"Ced! please!"

"I've got Potions now, better get going before Snape gets all cranky." He replied with a smile. "Good luck with your little quest!" He added winking before he left.

You sighed as you hugged the books closer to your chest.

"Hey Y/N! I was just wondering if you're still up for the study session today?" Cho Chang asked startling you, making you drop your books clumsily.

"Oh shoot, I'm sorry I'm such a klutz." You apologized embarrassed as Cho helped you pick up your books.

"Don't be! I'm sorry I startled you." She replied with a smile.

That's when you noticed a book in her hand that you hadn't seen before. "What's it about?" you asked pointing at it.

"Oh this! It's a Japanese muggle comic, it's called a Manga."

"That explains why I haven't heard of it...so what's the plot for this one?"

"Girl! Have you been residing in a broom cupboard at the top of the Astronomy Tower? It's a period comic and it's literally so famous even the wizarding world knows about it! I've been obsessed with this, there's this really handsome guy who just confessed to his love interest! I'm so happy!!" Cho replied with an excited smile.

“The moon is beautiful, isn't it?” you read out loud. "How is this a love confession?" You asked confused.

"This phrase is a more poetic way of saying I love you. It's meant to express love indirectly, since in Japanese culture earlier it was considered rude to directly state your feelings or needs." Cho explained.

"Anyways I got to go now, don't forget about the study sessions! Also I have quite a collection of mangas if you want, you can borrow them. Muggle writers have really good imagination." She said as she waved you goodbye.

Suddenly everything clicked, as you were reminded of what Cedric said a few days ago. A soft blush formed on your cheeks.

"I guess...I figured it out, Ced." You mumbled to yourself with a smile.

#harry potter #x reader #cedric diggory #harry potter x reader #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory x you #cedric diggory x female reader #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #jk rowling #golden trio era #triwizard tournament #triwizard champions #hp #hp fandom #hp fanfic #hp fic #harry potter and the goblet of fire #goblet of fire #goblet of fiyah #harry potter books #harry potter movies #severus snape #cho chang #magic #wizard #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts mystery #hogwarts houses

[hazelsmirrorball]

The Anonymous Red Velvet Cupcakes Baker

summary: Y/n loves red velvet cupcakes, so to win her heart someone anonymously tries to make her family’s secret recipe pairing: Theodore Nott x Fem! Reader warning: fluff, fluff and fluff. Also reminding you guys that english isn’t my main language so sorry for any mistake. a/n: Still going strong with this little valentine series. I hope all of you are up to date with the imagines and that you’re enjoying it as much as I enjoy writing it. I decided to mix two things that make a good match that I love, Theodore Nott and Red Velvet cupcakes. So I hope you guys enjoy this imagine. Lots of love.

Cupids Fourteen Love Stories Masterlist.

previous imagine. 

regular masterlist.

It was Valentines day week at Hogwarts, everyone was being extra touchy and lovey dovey with their partners, which Y/n despised. All her friends had someone to hang with and be all in love for valentines day leaving her alone to mourn her loneliness. It’s not that she willingly wanted to be alone, it was that her eyes were settled on someone specifically that wouldn’t even blink her way. But hope wasn’t lost completely she still had faith in getting someone for Valentines. But in the meantime she would just have to wait.

Y/n slowly looked up from her book, noticing in the table in front of her a small group of Slytherins, laughing their ass off at Merlins knows what. She quietly scanned the group quickly looking between the familiar faces but her eyes rested on the one person that could make her heart skip a beat,Theodore Nott. His face was covered with his usual soft glare look, very different from the other Slytherins beside him that had the faces adorned with a smile. There were a lot of ways Y/n could describe Theodore. He was different that’s for sure, he was dry when it came to talking he would speak the minimum or nothing at all, like he had million secrets to hide. He was quite handsome Y/n would even say he was the most handsomest guy in Slytherin. He was a brilliant student making himself the top of his class.  A bonus point was that Theodore was a  good quidditch player. But something drew Y/n toward Theodore and that was his coldness.  Theodre Nott was the opposite of Y/n and that’s what made him so interesting to her. She wanted to talk to him, break his walls, hell she could even try to make him smile for once.   Oh, what she would do to make him smile, Y/n being the cause of his smile would be the death of her. She could bet that his was the best smile in Hogwarts. But that was quite far from the reality she currently lived in.

She wasn’t friends with Theo, hell he didn’t even know of her existence. She wasn’t one to talk to other people besides her friend and adding to the fact that her big crush on him would make her run away just from a hi slipping out of his lips, she was doomed.And even if she had the courage to talk to him, theo rarely talk to his friends he wasn’t going to start talking out of the blue with her.  So Y/n only option was admiring from afar, something she had been doing since her eyes landed on the tall beauty,

She quickly stopped looking at the group focusing on the book she was previously reading while trying to catch up where she had left behind. But it was quite hard given the fact that she could only concentrate on two things Theodore Nott and her rumbling belly.

“Pst, Earth to Y/n” Her thoughts were quickly snapped by Hermione snapping her fingers in front of her face. She held a small box in her hand settling it in front of Y/n with a smile quickly sitting in front of her blocking her view of Theodore.

“What’s this?” Y/n asked while closing her book and looking at the box in front of her with a raised eyebrow.

“Someone left this next to my bag with a small note that said give to Y/n so I followed instructions.” Hermione said while shrugging her shoulders and taking the small paper and placing it beside the box.

“And you, Hermione Granger, didn’t ask any questions about it?” Y/n asked to inspect the box carefully.

“I tried. But this handwriting doesn’t seem familiar at all. Maybe it’s your mystery to solve” ]

“What’s there to solve? It’s probably Fred or George playing a stupid prank  on me.” While slowly pulling the nicely done ribbon adorning the box.

“I actually don’t think it’s a prank. We are near valentines day. Maybe you have someone that you like..” Hermione quickly gets cut off by Y/n.

“You think I have a secret admirer? Please Hermione, I think you’ve been spending so much time with Harry and Ron.” She muttered annoyed , stopping herself from opening the box.

“Y/n live a little. Someone took the time to give you something and you’re being a downer”

“Fine I’ll open it” Y/n mumbled while opening the small box. Her lips curved into a small smile noticing the cute and beautifully made cupcake inside. Y/n loved cupcakes, specifically Red velvet cupcakes. It was her  go to everything. If she was sad she ate a Red Velvet cupcake, angry red Velvet cupcake, happy  Red Velvet cupcake. Everything could be resolved with a Red Velvet cupcake. But in February it tasted so different, with more love. This was the perfect excuse to sneak as many  Red Velvet cupcakes as possible without anyone judging.Red Velvet Cupcakes were her thing. Y/n did miss the cupcakes from back home, the one’s at Hogwarts never tasted as good.  But seeing a nicely made cupcake made her remember her grandma's baking and the cupcakes she used to make for her. Whoever made this was succeeding to get on her good side.

…

The next day, Y/n decided to do some light reading to catch up on some work. She headed to the library and when she finally stumbled with her usual chair she stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes trailed towards the small box similar to the day before, placed on the table where she used to sit this time with a small note.

to Y/n,

Here's a good homemade cupcake. I hope it sweetens your day. Heard you didn’t have the best time at charms today, hope this makes you feel better.

Several thoughts went through Y/n head, one of her friends had to be pranking her. But like Herminone had mentioned the handwriting wasn’t similar to anything she had seen before, it was unknown to her. Maybe they paid someone to write it down for them. She slowly opened the box to see a cupcake similar to the one before which she sadly couldn’t enjoy because Ron had devoured it.  She slowly pulled the cupcake to her lips while looking around to see if the person was close by since the cupcake was still warm.

She took a small bite and her eyes opened widely. THe cupcake tasted exactly like the one her grandma made when she was a kid. The Red Velvet was chewy with several chocolate chips and chunks filled in the middle with a cheesecake filling and topped with a wonderful cream cheese frosting.It was God sent on eart which made her quickly trow her head back out a pleasure while taking another big bite of the cupcake. But her happiness came to a stop when it came to her head the fact that no one besides her family knew about the cheesecake filling so she instantly knew that the cupcake wasn’t made by anyone close to her. But who would just leave a random cupcake for her? twice? That was something she was going to find out.

The girl slowly turned the paper that was previously written on and wrote down:

to the anonymous red velvet cupcake baker,

I'm suspicious about the fact that you know my grandma's recipe. But I wanted to say thank you for those cupcakes!! It was so lovely.

…

Two days left before Valentine's day and all she had was one letter and two eaten cupcakes but none to thank personally. Hermione and her tried deducing who could be a good baker but no one could guess that simple detail. It was driving her insane, she couldn’t think straight all day, all night, everything revolved around those cupcakes and that damn anonymous baker. Hell, she even asked her grandma if she had given anyone the family recipe, which she quickly responded offended with a no. So she decided to relax and followed her normal routine, ending her day as she always did, at the library. A smile grew on her face when she noticed another box where she usually sat at, again. She quickly walked up to it trying not to fall in the process. She quickly took the note in her hands and read it.

dear red velvet cupcakes enjoyer,

I see we’re on a code name basis. Here’s another cupcake to ease your nerves, just enjoy it. Maybe if you relax I’ll personally deliver a dozen to you. Made it with lots of love.

love,  anonymous red velvet cupcake baker.

Y/n looked around again trying to see if someone was near her but again she found herself with no one around her. She took another bite enjoying the sweet gooeyness. She quickly shook her head and took her pen out to leave them a little note.

dear anonymous red velvet cupcake baker,

I see you added peppermint, makes me assume you like mint chocolate ice cream which scares me a lot. Better luck next time.

love, red velvet cupcake enjoyer.

…

Valentine's Day finally came and by the look of it more people had coupled up, even more than before making Y/n more annoyed than ever. All she wanted to do was eat her cupcakes. She counted the hours wanting to see what the mystery person left. So far Y/n had a horrible day but her smile didn’t fall not even once waiting and wishing to try the red velvet sweetness. So in her free period she quickly ran towards the library pushing through the people in front of her. Her smile slowly dropped, noticing the empty table in front of her. She sighed while sitting down on her usual chair this time with a different energy. She pulled out her book and attempted to study. Lost in her books she lost track of time noticing she was late to her charms class. She quickly ran the halls trying to get to her lecture as quickly as possible. When she finally passed the door and excused herself with her professor she almost walked back out when her eyes stumbled upon the empty chair next to Theodore Nott. She quickly walked towards the chair sitting quietly trying to catch on the notes that were previously given. It was no surprise that she was failing the class and she least needed to be late. But what surprised her even more was Theodrore Nott’s notes slipping across the table so she could copy them off from.

“Thanks” quickly mumbled while messily writing her notes which Theodore simply nodded while looking towards the professor.

When the class finally ended and the class started to leave the classroom. Y/n picked up her bag ready to leave but she quickly stopped dead in her tracks when she heard those four letters slipped out of those lips.

“Here”

She quickly looked up towards him, her mouth opening like a fish under water. She quickly noticed the small smile plaster on his face. She tried to understand what was happening. She opened her mouth but words didn’t seem to come out of her lips. She could feel her face turn hot and she couldn’t look him straight in the eyes. All she did was look down at the box in his left hand and the bouquet of flowers in his right. She had no idea how he even hid that so well

“Excuse me?” she tried to get out. It was barely understandable, he had to lean over to hear her right.

“I thought you read the letters I wrote? I said I was going to give them personally to you” he said while directing the box and roses towards you.

“Wait, you were the one making the cupcakes?” She asked, starting to think it was all a prank. What was happening. c

“Yes! Why are you so surprised? Didn’t expect me to be good at baking?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. It was the first time  she had heard him speak that much.

“I just didn’t expect Theodore Nott to anonymously leave me Red Velvet cupcakes in an attempt to show me he knows my “secret” recipe.” She said while taking the box and flowers in her hands.

“Go ahead, try it!” He said patiently, waiting for her reaction to the cupcakes. She quickly took a cupcake out of the box and slowly brought up a cupcake towards her lips taking a bite while closing her eyes softly.

“Well, you excelled your duties as a baker. It tastes amazing” She responded with a smile. Theodore slowly leaned towards her making her nervously stop dead in her tracks. He passed her thumb against her lips, cleaning the excessive amount of frosting. He quickly pulled his towards his own lips tasting it.

“Took my chances. So, Y/n’s secret recipe is cheesecake filling.”

“Shh, don’t say it too loudly, you’ll ruin the family recipe.” She responded playfully with a smile.

“Sorry, Sorry but you should tell that to Hermione” He said acting confused

“I don’t understand,” Y/n asked, scrunching up her nose.

“She was the one that gave me your grandmas address to owl her for the recipe”

“Wait, you asked my grandma for her recipe? That traitor she told me she had no idea about anyone else knowing about that recipe ”

“Well now we have to keep it in our family” Theodore said winking at her

“Slow down Theo. Take me out to dinner first then I’ll decide if I’ll marry you” She said sarcastically.

“Bold” he laughed

“But seriously,  why were you doing all of this in the first place?” She asked, confused.

“You make this cute little face when you bite the cupcakes. I wanted to be the one that made you do that adorable face.”

#theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore #theodore nott imagine #imagines #masterlist #valentines #golden era #golden trio era #slytherin boys #hp fic #Slytherinboys x reader

[teaforthotxxx]

No offence but Drarry and Jegulus are so different. Literally. Draco and Harry are such different entities from James and Regulus (or at least the regulus in my head). Also, the roles are v much reversed. James is a jock who is famous for bullying and playing pranks on Slytherin while Reggie is a reserved boy who lives in the shadow of his much louder and explosive older brother.

Harry (even if he was raised by jegulus/marylily) is a sassy nepo baby (pls he was still a nepo baby when he was an orphan) that despite his trauma still tries to do good and be good. He resists the evil in him and continuously tries to live up to his title as the boy who lived (assuming second wizarding war still happens). Harry shares more similarities with Regulus than James at this point!! Meanwhile, Draco is a overly pampered but also misguided son of a bigot. He is continuously taught by his father to take up space and he takes his anger out on others. He makes fun of the Weasleys because they are low hanging fruit but he is not repressed in the way Regulus or Harry is. Yes he is living in his father’s shadow but he believes one day he can be a worthy successor to Lucius. This probably has more to do with how much Narcissa loves her son but still he is so different from the black brothers (despite being related to them).

If I had to compare drarry to any marauders ship, it might have to be NobleFlower (Narcissa and Alice) but definitely not jegulus. AND, unpopular opinion: HINNY has more in common with Jegulus than Drarry.

#jegulus #marauders #harry potter #hp fic #james potter #marauders era #peter pettigrew #remus lupin #meta #sirius black #drarry #draco malfoy #silver trio #golden trio #marylily #lily evans #mary mcdonald #nobleflower #hinny #ginny weasley

[hufflepuffwithaslytherinkink]

Tacenda - Chapter 17 Snippet

Eleanor grabs a book and settles down as Liv has her nap. Joe left just before their parents and intends on spending the entire night at Ben’s so Eleanor has the entire house to herself.

Blissful peace.

She’s lost in the plot when she hears muttering outside. She lowers her book furrowing her brow, the noise stops and she starts to read again assuming it was just someone in their garden.

She gets through a page and a half when she hears scuffling.

Eleanor bookmarks her page before walking to her bedroom window and looking outside. She freezes seeing a tall dark-haired figure in a cloak climbing up the tree by her bedroom window.

She quickly pulls her window open to throw something at the person when they turn their face towards her.

“Theo?” She asks her mouth falling open in surprise.

Thank God she sleeps at the back of the house.

“Um, yeah.” He states, clinging to the tree tightly. “Maybe you should keep your voice down. It’s probably best your brother doesn’t know I’m here.”

Eleanor blinks at him. Had she gone into a food coma? That happens at Christmas right?

“Why are you here?”

“Maybe we could talk about that once I’m inside.” He says adjusting his grip slightly, he seems to be struggling. “Any chance you could give me a hand?”

Eleanor lets her eyes travel over him before realising how high up he is from the ground.

“Oh fuck, hurry up and get in.” She gasps reaching out of the window and holding her hand towards him.

He reaches out using her to stabilise himself before placing his foot on her windowsill. Thank God the tree is so close to her room.

“On 3.” He says.

“What?”

“1, 2, 3.” On 3 he kicks himself away from the tree and towards her, Eleanor lets out a startled scream as he flies through her window and knocks her backwards.

They land on the floor Eleanor letting out a gasp as her head hits the carpet, Theo landing full force on top of her.

He manages to put his arms out preventing most of his weight from landing on her but they’re still tangled together on the floor.

“What was that?” Eleanor cries out, rubbing the back of her head.

Why did he do that? Why was he even there? Why did he climb a tree?

“Shh.” He hushes her, his eyes darting to her door. “Someone might here.”

Eleanor lets out an annoyed grunt as she tries to move.

“No one’s here.” She tells him.

“What?” He looks down at her, his eyes full of surprise. They’re truly mesmerising. “So I didn’t have to climb up a tree?”

“No you didn’t have to climb up a tree. We have a front door you know.”

“I didn’t want anyone to see me.”

“Yes because climbing a tree is so inconspicuous, we have neighbours you know. One’s who aren’t accustomed to seeing people in cloaks or teenage boys climbing into my bedroom window.”

Theo smirks down at her. “I’d hope not. Glad I’ve got to be another of your firsts.”

Eleanor shoots him an annoyed look giving him a shove to get him off her.

Theo goes back willingly, seeming surprised at how he’s lying on top of her.

“Why are you here?” She asks sitting up and wincing at a pain that shoots across her backside.

Theo looks at the floor his face falling into a melancholy expression.

“I just needed a breather.” He says bringing his knees up to his chest.

Eleanor watches him for a second. “Theo, are you okay?”

Theo turns to look at her his lips pressed into a tight line.

He takes a shaky breath before answering. “I’m sure I will be.”

“Oh Theo.” Eleanor says shuffling towards him and placing her hand on his knee.

Theo stares at it with a strange expression, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.

Eleanor goes to ask him what’s wrong when she hears Liv start to cry.

Damn it, she forgot she was babysitting.

“What is that?” Theo asks looking towards her door with a horrified expression.

Eleanor clambers to her feet rubbing her backside as the movement sends another wave of pain across her bum.

“My little sister… are you staring at my bum?” She asks shocked as she notices Theo watching the movement of her hand.

His eyes widen shooting to her face.

“No.” He says quickly before his face pulls into a cocky smirk. “I could help though if you like.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes as Liv lets out another cry. She quickly turns making her way towards Liv’s room.

She picks Liv up holding her close, comforting her as she kisses away her little tears.

“I’m sorry sweetie, was it scary waking up alone?” She coos walking back into her own room.

Theo is stood by her bookshelf examining the contents, he quickly looks up as she enters carrying Liv his eyes widening.

“What’s the matter?” Eleanor asks. “Never seen a baby before?”

Theo shakes his head. “Can’t say that I have.”

Eleanor watches Theo’s reaction as Liv buries her face in Eleanor’s jumper.

“Come here then.” She says walking over to her bed.

She settles herself down cuddling Liv, who’s no longer crying.

Theo watches them anxiously.

“She won’t bite.” Eleanor laughs. “She’s only got about 4 teeth anyway.”

Theo eyes Liv dubiously before walking over and sitting down beside Eleanor.

Eleanor holds Liv so Theo can see her.

“Oliva this is Theo, Theo this is my little sister Liv.” Eleanor says making Liv giggle before babbling utter nonsense.

Theo raises an eyebrow. “Um pleasure to meet you. Can she understand me?”

Eleanor shrugs. “I think so but she doesn’t really understand what things mean at the same time. Like she knows us and she cries for mum and dad. She knows her bottle and her favourite toys but she wouldn’t know about things like clothes, she doesn’t care you’re wearing a cloak, same as she wouldn’t care if you were naked.”

Theo gives Eleanor a startled look before smirking.

“Is that you trying to get me naked Eleanor?” He teases.

“Oh piss off.” She states making him snigger.

“I’m just teasing. Although you’d only have to ask.”

What does that mean?

Liv starts to grumble.

“I don’t think she likes your jokes.” Eleanor tells Theo as Liv grumbles again, pressing her fist into her mouth.

“Sorry.” Theo quickly apologises.

Eleanor chuckles resting Liv against her shoulder.

“She’s just hungry, come on I need to make her a bottle.” She says scooting off the bed and walking towards the landing.

Theo waits a moment before following after her, he stares at them both curiously.

Eleanor bounces a grumpy Liv as she puts the kettle on and start to pull out what she needs. Theo watching her with fascination.

Once the kettle has boiled she turns to Theo.

“Could you hold her for a minute? Just whilst I use the hot water.” She asks.

Theo looks petrified but nods silently all the same. Eleanor smiles at how cute it is he’s scared of her tiny little sister.

“Here.” She hand Liv over, adjusting Theo’s grasp. He gives her a scared glance before looking down at Liv who’s staring at him wide eyed.

They stare at each other silently before Liv bursts into loud giggles.

Theo lets out a startled laugh. “Hi.” He says in a shocked tone.

“She likes you.” Eleanor states mixing the baby formula.

Theo grins as he bounces Eleanor lightly.

“I like her.” He says.

Eleanor grins at him before focusing on the formula again.

As soon as the bottle’s made she walks back to her room, Theo following slowly with Liv. Obviously scared of dropping her.

She smiles as he sits beside her on the bed still cuddling Liv to his chest.

“Do you want to feed her?” Eleanor asks.

Theo looks at her with a horrified expression. “I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“It’s easy.” Eleanor states putting the bottle on her side table. “Turn her like this, that’s it. then put this muslin across her, hold the bottle like this. Perfect. Now just hold it and she’ll do the rest.”

Theo watches with wide eyes as Liv drinks the bottle, her little fingers wrapping around Theo’s that hold the bottle.

“This is nice.” He mumbles. Eleanor nods watching them.

“I enjoy it.”

Theo gives her a quick smile before turning back to Liv.

“She looks like you.” He states.

Eleanor startles at that she looks down at Liv, she supposes they do look alike. They have the same shaped face and strawberry blonde hair.

“Except for the eyes.” Theo continues. “Her eyes are brown, yours are sky blue.”

Eleanor freezes hearing that. She never thought Theo would know what colour her eyes are.

“I suppose.” Eleanor replies.

“No suppose about it.” Theo continues. Liv turns her head away from the bottle and Theo instantly panics.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asks.

Eleanor shakes her head taking the bottle from him. “No, she’s just full. She only has one bottle a day now, two if she gets hungry at night we’re trying to get her off them completely and onto just solid food but it’s good for nutrients or something.”

“Right.” Theo nods though Eleanor has a feeling he doesn’t have a clue what she’s on about.

“You know she might need winding.” Eleanor says. “She’s pretty old but sometimes she struggles with getting her own wind up still.”

“What’s that?” He asks.

“It’s just getting the air she swallowed with the milk up, she can do it herself usually but not always. If you put her on your shoulder like this, yep and then pat her back gently. Harder than that. Perfect. Don’t be surprised if she burps, that’s the goal.” Eleanor tells him.

Theo continues to wind Liv giving her a startled look. Eleanor giggles, not only at Theo’s reaction but also the surrealness of it all.

Theo Nott is in her bedroom winding her baby sister. What is happening in the world.

To make things even better Liv not only burps but is sick down Theo’s back.

Eleanor gasps, her eyes widening at the pure white baby vomit traveling down Theo’s black cloak and possible soaking into his suit underneath.

“What was that?” He asks.

Eleanor reaches forward taking Liv from him.

“I’m sorry but she was a little bit sick on you.” She cringes.

Theo strains his head back trying to see, pulling a disgusted face before gagging.

Eleanor can’t contain her laughter.

“Eleanor this isn’t funny.” Theo complains.

Eleanor snorts. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just be thankful it didn’t come out of the other end.” She states.

“What?” Theo asks in horror.

Eleanor giggles again. “It happens. Hang on I’ll get you some of Joe’s clothes and I’ll put yours in a wash.” She states placing Liv on her bed. “Watch Liv for me.”

She quickly runs out of the room hearing Theo talking to Liv as she goes.

“Don’t laugh, this is your fault.”

She smiles at the stupidity and cuteness of it.

#theo nott fan fic #theo nott fanfiction #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott #theo nott #hogwarts #harry potter fandom #golden trio era fic #golden trio era #gryffindor x slytherin #slytherin x gryffindor #gryffindor #muggleborn #pureblood x muggle born #muggle born x pureblood #muggle born #ao3 writer #ao3 #ao3fic #friends to enemies #friends to enemies to lovers #enemies to lovers #fluff #chapter snippet #tacenda chapter 17 #tacenda fic #original character #theo nott x original character #theodore nott x original character

[lupinmoonlight]

Could you do smth like they meet again after years??? She's a professor and he too so she saw him at the first day in the great hall and after that they run into each other in the teachers' room. They were friends when they went to school and they were always attractedby each other.

Thank you and btw I love your writing:)

Lost and Found

Masterlist AO3

Summary - You and Remus Lupin had a crush on each other ever since you were students at Hogwarts but never had the courage to even speak. You spend the next 20 years living your separate lives, you as an Auror, and he, just surviving. Unable to live under the stress of your profession anymore, you retire and start teaching at Hogwarts, still hoping to fill the void Remus had left behind. In September 1993, everything changes. (3,190 words)

Warnings - Fluff, cheesy, angst, a bit of hurt/comfort, a bit of self-hatred, kissing, mention of wizarding war and lost of loved ones, my grammar (english is not my first language), not proof read.

Notes - I am almost ashamed of posting this considering I received this request over a month ago. I am so sorry anon, I have been traveling all of August. Thank you so much for your request and kind comment. I hope you like this one! (sorry if it's too cheesy I got carried away lol)

June 1978

One last glance, that's all you wanted. You pulled your hair back, looking discreetly across the Great Hall. As always, Remus was there, just a few seats away. He looked sad, just as sad as you, but it couldn't be for the same reason. The warm, golden rays of the sun reached through the windows and danced across his face, as if the sky itself was trying to comfort him. It graced his scars, making them glow a beautiful shade of gold. You were doomed. Absolutely doomed. And sad. And in love. And doomed. 

You would always sit close, steal glances, exchange the occasional smile in the library. You had become experts at unsaid conversations, your hearts screaming out words that your lips never uttered. 7 years of unspoken love, of quick glances, of butterflies in your stomach, of hoping he would sit next to you in potions, of worrying when he would disappear for a few days. You knew why, it was easy enough to figure out for anyone who paid close attention. But you didn't care. You loved him for 7 years. 7 years that were about to be ripped away from you. 

Remus felt your gaze and looked up. Your eyes met, and for a split second, time seemed to stop. You wanted to say something. I love you. But the lump in your throat held your words hostage. The weight of the impending silent goodbye threatened to shatter the fragile world you had created. 

As breakfast came to an end, you all began your journey towards Hogwarts Express. The station was alive with chatter, laughter, and tearful goodbyes. But amidst the chaos, there were two souls whose worlds had never been more silent. 

You found yourself in a compartment and gazed out the window, lost in thoughts, watching what had become your second home for 7 years slowly disappear in the distance. Every time the train jolted, you wished it would be Remus entering your compartment, as if he would be braver than you. Why didn't you go to his compartment? You were a coward that's why. Because being rejected would hurt more than saying goodbye. 

Remus sat a few compartments away, his heart pounding in his chest. Despite the presence of his three best friends, he felt alone. The knowledge that this journey might be his last with you was gnawing at his soul. 

The train finally pulled into King's Cross, and students disembarked, eagerly searching for their families. You made your way through the crowd, hoping, stupidly praying for one last moment with Remus. As you approached the barrier between the platform and the muggle world, you took a deep breath and looked back. And there he was, Remus, looking just as lost as you felt. Your eyes met across the platform, and everything went quiet, blurry. 

You crossed the barrier and found yourself on the muggle side of the platform and looked back once more, catching a fleeting glimpse of Remus, who seemed to be vanishing amidst the crowd. You felt a visceral ache. A lump formed in your throat, stubborn and solid, just as you had been during those 7 years, refusing to admit your feelings. You hated yourself. Coward, you kept telling yourself. But you loved him. Was teenage love supposed to be this painful? Because if yes, you were done with it. Never again, you thought. You wiped away the unshed tears from your eyes, put on your most determined face on, and went to your parents waiting in the crowd. You had a career to build, and Aurors were not made of lovesick teenagers. 

1981 - 1991

After graduating, the world outside Hogwarts proved to be colder and crueler than you had imagined. The First Wizarding War was a brutal, heart-wrenching time. As planned, you took the path of an Auror, but not for the same reasons you had wanted. Rather, it was in a desperate attempt to right the world's wrongs, to lose yourself, to numb yourself. It was your refuge, but it was also a painful reminder of the war's cost, a daily confrontation with terror and death. Was Remus alive? The question gnawed at you the moment you opened your eyes every morning. It consumed you. You had not seen each other in over 10 years, but the mere thought of him losing his life felt like someone was ripping you open with their bare hands, no magic. Maybe that's what drove you, in the end, to be an Auror. Stupid teenage love. 

The horrors of your profession haunted you every night. You had been dishonest with yourself. Sure, you wanted to "right the world's wrongs". But really, every time you were out on a mission, you were looking for him, the boy, now man, with sandy hair, with golden scars, with the softest voice, kindest eyes, shyest smile. But he was never there. So you gave up and did everything you could to bury every memory of him as deep as possible, unreachable, and decided to try and go teach other lovesick teenagers. At least then, you would feel at home. 

And home, you were. The old headmaster was still there, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. Professor McGonagall, head of your house years ago, welcomed you back with the expression of a proud mother. In her eyes, you had made it. You had been successful. An Auror retiring to teach young witches and wizards. But you didn't feel successful, you felt broken, empty. And the only other colleague who seemed to reflect that void was Severus. You had been surprised to see him as a teacher. The man had always been isolated, grim-looking, sad. He reminded you of a dementor, and maybe that's why you enjoyed sharing a cup of tea with this old classmate in the staff room, to torture yourself and forget about your lost love. Had he really been a dementor, you don't even think you would have been affected because all that was left was nothing. Longing. Hurt. Despair. 

Yet, in your first term as a teacher, you had this stupid hope. Maybe. Maybe Remus would walk through the Great Hall. Of all four troublemakers, he was the prefect, after all. Of course he would be a teacher. You had been so obsessed with this idea that you started losing sleep months before the term started. You surveyed the staff table like a hawk, looking for him. You were going mad. Here you were, grown, accomplished, yet still obsessing over your teenage love, retracing your steps through the halls like you used to 20 years ago to catch only a glimpse of him. Except now you knew he wouldn't be there. 

September 1993

You sat at the long staff table, your eyes idly scanning the crowd of eager young faces gathered in the Great Hall. You were numb. Not even waiting for anything anymore. Just going through the motions. Professor McGonagall had just finished calling out the names of the first-year students when the staff entrance at the side of the Hall creaked open. 

You turned your head reflexively, expecting another late-arriving student or perhaps a staff member who'd lost track of time. What you did not expect was the sight that greeted you, freezing you in your seat. 

A man stepped into the Great Hall, pausing for a moment to soak in the ambiance as if he too were revisiting old memories. Older and more weathered than you remembered, his sandy hair was now tinged with grey, and his face bore scars that were definitely not there during your Hogwarts years. His robes, though neat, were faded and had seen better days. But it was his eyes- those gentle blue eyes, filled with a unique blend of sorrow and kindness- that told you everything you needed to know. 

Remus. 

Your heart was pounding so loud in your chest that you were sure the entire Hall could hear it. The moment his eyes met yours, he too froze in place, as if the mere sight of you had rooted him to the ground. A mixture of emotions swirled in his gaze- surprise, confusion, and something softer, more intimate, that you hadn't seen in anyone's eyes for a long time. 

Tears welled up in your eyes, unbidden but not unwelcome, as you shared a look so intense, it was as if no one else existed. A look that whispered of years lost, of what could have been, and- perhaps- of what still might be. Not a word was spoken, but in that moment, volumes were said, a dialogue only you could understand. 

The gravity of the moment was so strong that you barely registered Remus moving again, navigating his way through the Hall to join the staff at the table. As he sat down beside you, the familiar scent of him struck you like a freight train- parchment, coffee, and a hint of pine trees. It was intoxicating, transporting you back to a simpler time, back to late-night study sessions and furtive glances. Your cheeks flushed as you realized that the empty chair next to you would be his for the entire year. There you were, a lovesick teenager again. 

You found yourself struggling to maintain your composure as Dumbledore rose to his feet to introduce the new staff member. 

"Before we continue, I'm pleased to welcome Professor R.J Lupin, who's kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," he announced, his eyes twinkling as he gestured towards Remus. 

The students erupted into applause as Remus stood up awkwardly, a sheepish smile on his face. You found yourself unable to clap, your hands trembling in your lap as you watched him. It was surreal to see him here, after all these years. 

As soon as the ceremony ended, before the feast even began, Remus got up from his seat and made his way out of the Great Hall almost immediately, without saying a word. He looked almost...flustered? Impossible, you thought. YOU were flustered. How could he be? 

For days after your wordless reunion, you and Remus moved in parallel orbits, close yet never intersecting. The tension between you was palpable; an emotional undercurrent that resonated through every stolen glance and momentary brush of your eyes. You would catch him staring at you across the Great Hall during meals, only for him to look away, flustered, when you met his gaze. He would spot you in the corridors, seemingly engrossed in conversation with Professor McGonagall, but he knew you were acutely aware of his presence. 

You both longed to talk, to share the feelings that had overwhelmed you during that first eye contact, yet you were both paralyzed by a mix of fear, vulnerability, and the weight of years that had gone by. Remus, scarred by the war, lost everyone he loved most, was terribly afraid of loving again. And you, scarred by years of void, searching, numbing, were terribly afraid of being rejected. 

The tension reached its peak one fateful evening when you found yourselves alone in the staff room. You had come to fetch some papers you had left behind, while Remus had sought the space for its quiet ambiance to prepare for his next lesson. As you entered, you were met by the aroma of ancient books, polished wood, and a hint of brewing tea. Remus was standing there, looking startled but then quickly regaining his composure. 

"Ah, good evening," he stuttered, his voice tinged with the nervousness he felt. It was the first time you heard his voice in 20 years. It was deeper, but just as rich, just as soft, making you feel just as weak. 

You felt your cheeks flush as you stepped further into the room. "Good evening," you responded, your voice a half-octave higher than you intended. 

It was awkward, the air was thick with unspoken sentiments and unanswered questions. Remus cleared his throat and offered a formal, almost painfully awkward introduction. 

"You might not remember me, I'm R-" 

Might not remember him? Was he dumb? Clueless? Blind? No. He was just a man, you thought. 

"I know," you cut him off gently, trying to act as if he had not consumed 99% of your brain capacity for the last 20 years. "I do know, Remus." 

The air lightened a little at your words, as if acknowledging your shared history made it easier to breathe. Almost easier. 

"I was just about to make myself a cup of tea. Would you like one?" he offered, trying to navigate the awkwardness that hung in the room. 

"Yes, thank you", you agreed, grateful for a way to break the emotional deadlock. 

As Remus moved to pour the boiling water into the cups, his hands were less steady than he'd have liked. You watched him, your heart pounding in your chest as if it wanted to leap out and bridge the gap that had opened up between you over the years. He handed you the cup, your fingers brushed ever so slightly. The contact, though fleeting, sent a rush of warmth surging through you both. 

From that day on, you became inseparable- or as inseparable as two Hogwarts professors could be. You found excuses to bump into each other in the hallways, 'accidentally' coinciding your evening strolls by the lake or the Forbidden Forest's edge. You began to steal moments wherever you could- sitting together at meals when you could manage it, pausing in empty classrooms for brief, whispered conversations. 

Yet, for all your newfound closeness, you both tiptoed around the deeper emotions and unspoken confessions that hovered in the background. You would catch yourself about to say something too revealing and would quickly pivot the conversation to safer topics. Remus, too, would often find himself on the verge of saying something he feared could ruin everything but would pull back at the last moment, as though treading on dangerous ground. 

The late-night strolls became your sanctuary, where the rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you and your carefully guarded feelings. 

"You've changed the curriculum quite a bit," you would say, your eyes sparkling as you discussed his innovative teaching methods. 

"And you've managed to make Arithmancy popular. I've never seen so many students signing up for it," he would reply, his eyes lingering on your face as if trying to decipher the mysteries hidden behind your eyes. 

You would both laugh, the tension easing for a moment, yet neither of you would take that final, daunting step to acknowledge the flame that had been rekindled and now burned almost painfully. 

It was a dance you both had perfected, a dangerous game you played. And though you circled around your feelings, it was clear to you both that this delicate balance couldn't last forever. It was as if you were students again. Desperate, lovesick, terrified teenagers. 

And you couldn't take it anymore. You wouldn't. That night, the air was particularly cold, the air crisp, and the half-moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the grounds. 

"It's been weeks, Remus. Weeks since you came back into my life," you began, your voice shaky. "We keep circling around each other like we're afraid of something." 

"Afraid?" Remus responded, trying to maintain his composure. "There's nothing to be afraid of." 

"Isn't there?" You looked up, your eyes meeting his. "Then why haven't you touched me? Why haven't we talked about what's really going on between us? Why haven't you invited me out for a coffee?" 

Remus looked away, visibly wrestling with himself. "I can't. I can't give you what you want." 

The raw pain in his voice struck you, and you felt your own eyes brimming with tears. "And what do you think I want, Remus? Is it so wrong to want to be with you? Or am I not good enough for you?" 

He took a deep breath, his voice tinged with bitterness. "You deserve someone better, someone who can be there for you in all the ways I can't."

That was it. The dam of emotions you'd been holding back for years finally burst. "Better? Do you have any idea how many nights I've lain awake wondering if you were even alive? Do you know how terrifying it is to love someone and not know if they're dead or alive, Remus?" 

Your words struck him to his core. Of course, he knew what it felt like. He had lived it for 20 years. 

Your voice had risen to almost a scream, your body shaking as you confronted him, assaulted him with your words. "All those years, I never had the courage to approach you, to tell you how I felt. We lost all that time, and now here you are, yet you've never felt so out of reach." 

Remus couldn't look at you. His gaze was fixed on the ground, and he seemed to be shrinking into himself. "You don't understand. I'm not good for you." 

"Why? Because you're a werewolf?" you snapped, the words tumbling out of you before you could stop them. 

Remus's head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. 

"I've known since Hogwarts, Remus. And I never cared. Are you blind? All I've wanted for the past 20 years was to be with you, to even just see you, to-" 

Before you could say another word, Remus closed the distance between you in two quick strides, his hands gripping your waist as he pushed you against a tree. Your eyes met for a split second- a second filled with anger, surprise, confusion, but above all, an overwhelming love- and his lips crashed into yours in a desperate, hungry kiss. His hand snaked up to your neck, feeling your pulse, as if he was trying to convince himself that this was real. You pressed your body against him, the heat radiating from him was intoxicating, dizzying. 

But then the kiss slowed, its intensity giving way to a slow, loving gentleness, one that you associated with him so much. Remus's hands moved from your neck to cup your face, his thumbs wiping away the tears that had spilled onto your cheeks. Your hands found their way to his chest, gripping his robes like they were a lifeline, like he would vanish any second. 

Finally, you broke the kiss, a little out of breath, but remained close, your foreheads touching. "I'm sorry," Remus whispered, his voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry for all the years we lost, for all the pain I've caused you." 

You shook your head, your eyes searching his. "We can't get back the years we've lost, but we have now, Remus. That has to count for something." 

He looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time since the war, he allowed himself to believe in the possibility for a future- a future filled with love, warmth, and a happiness he had never thought he'd deserve. 

"Okay," he said softly, the word heavy with the weight of the promise it carried. 

"Okay," you repeated. 

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #professor remus lupin #professor remus lupin x reader #marauders #golden trio era #hp fic #sorry it's so cheesy idk what got into me

[slayingqueenchal]

No more patronus, no more memories | draco malfoy x f!reader

Summary : after draco left you, you can't cast your patronus because you're sad

Warning : angst, break up, memory lost like temporarily,

"It's alright y/n, you can do it" Hermione stood by your side. "Yes, I can do it last time, I can do it now.

You thought of your happiest time ; it was all associated with draco. Everytime you'd think about something happy with him, you'll just remind your self that you and him are gone.

A string of light came out. Only a string of like. You didn't see any animals. Only a thin blue string.

"That's right y/n, you're making progress! That's one step forward" The curly haired friend cheered you up. It was no secret to hermione that you two broke up ; it was for harry and Ron, they never knew you were dating in the first place.

But, ninety percent of your happiness is draco, and he's gone. You knew what was keeping you from him. It was the break up

"Why'd you join him, draco, tell me! " You cried. You felt that icky feeling of getting your shoes wet. The bath room was flooded with water.

"It was for you! Father and mother accidentally slipped about me having a girlfriend, and the dark Lord threatened to kill you if I don't join him! " He said, his blonde hair as messy as his situation, you replied "it's a trick draco, I'd be safe in Hogwarts! I-i why? "

"Is it hard to believe that I actually love and care for you, I thought you'd knew that" Draco said. "I believe you but you just ruined your future draco" You cried.

"You-you brat! I just like saved your life and you can't even say 'thankyou', you think this is easy for me? " Draco screamed. "No, Draco, but I didn't ask for this either"

"You don't have to cause I love you!..y/n, its-were-we don't, we don't, we're done, y/n, we're done" Draco said.

And you left him. The last time you've spoken to him was there. And you're more than ready to forget about him.

"Hermione, I think I have to do it" You said. Hermione expression changes, but she supports you no matter what.

Hermione quickly took a vial and puts it on the table, sitting on the floor. "Are you sure? " Hermione said.

"I'm sure, but just make sure I don't throw out the vial, and tell me about him occasionally" You weakly smiled.

You took your wand, and holds it next to your head. 'Draco' you thought.

And you felt a weird sense of feeling as the memory slowly comes out. You felt every moments with him, both happy and sad.

And you put it in the vial, and sealed it. The only thing you were able to remember was a blonde Slytherin boy. That's all.

"Shall we try the patronus spell? " Hermione said, not knowing what to do, but you agreed.

"Expecto patronum! " You said. And a blue string, just like before came out, just with an additional ferret.

In the end Hermione realises that you'll just forget him, but, your heart still belongs to him. Always.

#fanfic #fanfiction #y/n story #hogwarts #draco angst #draco fic #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfic #draco x you #draco imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy angst #draco m angst #golden trio era fangic #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco x slytherin!reader #draco lucius malfoy x you #harry potter fandom #draco