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Hey! You're amazing I love your blog!!!!! It's what I live for! You're fabulous! What do you think Draco does when Harry doesn't sleep/has nightmares?

So, after my post earlier about the headcanons, I figured that I should catch up on the requests I *DO* have in my inbox… Please send me more, this is actually very therapeutic for me right now. 

@americanteenagepoet thank you for your patience and I hope this is okay! You made my day when I just read this. YOU are fabulous <3

I have had this one sitting in there for a while because I have so many feelings about this particular topic (my partner has bad nightmares and this happens regularly for us, so I hope I did my boys justice)

_________________________________________________

I think that this happens a lot more than Draco would like.

Harry doesn’t mind. He says that the nightmares are just a part of his life. 

Draco hates that this is true. 

- Draco always wakes up to Harry yelling something. This time it was something along the lines of “NO! DON’T!” 

-Draco’s heart jolts and his eyes crack open. He hears Harry’s s erratic breathing and sees him fitfully wrestling with the blankets and sheets wrapped around him.

- He wearily sits up and instinctively places a hand on his husband’s chest. 

-He then reaches down to Harry’s ankle to wake him. (Harry doesn’t do well with being startled while sleeping. Not since the war. Once, he elbowed Draco in the face and gave him a black eye and couldn’t forgive himself until it went away.–(To be honest, he probably never did.) 

- He doesn’t succeed in waking Harry the first time, so he carefully unwraps the sheets and tucks him back into the bed. 

- Harry makes a soft noise and then rolls over onto his side, clutching the sheets closer to him. 

- Draco then walks to the kitchen to put the kettle on, there’s no use going back to sleep now, it is almost daybreak. 

- He grabs his favorite mug, finishes making his cuppa, and returns to the bedroom to find both Harry and the sheets crumpled on the floor.

- Realizing that he should probably try to arouse him again, Draco gently squeezes Harry’s foot, which did the job. 

- Harry’s eyes split open and then he realizes where he is. He grumbles while sitting up and asks, “How…long,” -yawn- “have I been here?” 

-“Not long. I put a kettle on and came back to you like this. You woke me up about an hour ago- it sounded as if you were having a nightmare again…”

-Harry furrows his brow, stands, and sits on the end of the bed, rubbing his head, where his scar was, even though it hasn’t hurt him for years.

-Draco opens his mouth to say something, or to ask what the nightmare was about, he doesn’t even know. He opts to not say anything at all. He doesn’t want to make Harry live through it again. 

- Draco looks down at his cup of tea and hands it to his husband. “You need this more than me. I’ll go start breakfast.”

- Harry smiles weakly, stands up, and embraces his husband. ”Thank you for always taking care of me.”

- Draco walks out of the room to make breakfast and Harry smiles to himself while wondering how in the world he got so lucky. 

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Snape: So, did you go see that horror movie?

Lily: Yeah, but that movie did not impress me. 

Snape: Oh

Lily:  What impressed me was the boy sitting next to me.

Snape: …Oh…

Lily: And is that the boy was so ugly …

Snape:

Lily: And I love the ugly ones

Snape:

image
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Oliver Cedric Potter, you were name after two quite nice blokes who used to play quidditch with me at school. And your mum and I like quidditch.


Cedric Colin Potter, you were name after two lovely boy who were killed because of Voldemort and who no one pays tribute to because it makes so much more sense to remember two men who put me through 6 years of shit, plus your mother can choose the names too, you’re also HER baby, and why would she want to name you Albus Severus ?

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Pairing: Wolfstar

Word Count: 519

Prompt: “You’re not the same. You’ve changed.”

After the events of Prisoner of Azkaban, Sirius went back to Grimmauld Place. Remus, a known werewolf freshly out of a job with no other place to stay, moved in with him. Remus has been avoiding any interaction with Sirius, but Sirius is desperate to clear things up.

———-

“You’re running away.”

Remus froze on the spot. He turned around to look at Sirius; perfect Sirius, whom Azkaban had destroyed.

“I’m not,” stated the werewolf, “but it would be much appreciated if you got out of the way and let me leave." 

Remus waited for Sirius to step to the side and let him through the kitchen door, but the shorter man didn’t budge. 

"Again, you’re running away.” Said Sirius with a grim smile. “I think that you’re avoiding me.”

Remus simply didn’t respond, because he knew that Sirius was right. Instead, he pushed past him and quickly walked up the stairs and into the living room. Sirius remained close behind.

“Remus, stop it. Come on, I know everything went to shit as well as anyone, if not better, but we’re still here, aren’t we?” Sirius pushed, desperate for any sort of reaction from his- actually, Sirius didn’t know what Remus was to him anymore. The werewolf almost chuckled.

“Yeah, right. Except you’ve been out in the middle of the sea for twelve years, and a good chunk of you stayed back there.” Said Remus, facing Sirius. “Look, I don’t know what you think we’re doing here, but you can rest assured that I’ll leave as soon as I find a job. Until then, we can just pretend we hate each other, yeah?”

“I don’t think you’re pretending.” Muttered Sirius, and Remus almost wanted to assure him that they were okay, and it was them, so they would always be fine. “Remus, what changed? We’re still us. Come on, Moony,-”

“Don’t call me that!” Shouted Remus suddenly. He had gone over twelve years without hearing that nickname spoken out loud. Twelve years, and he thought that hearing it again would bring nothing but joy.

But he was wrong, because it brought nothing more than crappy memories.

“Sirius, everything changed!” Remus watched Sirius flinch. “I don’t care how much you deny it, but you’re not the same! You’ve changed!”

“Oh, I’m sorry I haven’t remained happy-go-lucky through my twelve years of Azkaban.” Sirius bit back, before his features softened. “Moony, of course everything changed. But we can fix it, we always have.”

Giving up, Remus sank onto the couch. He took a good look at Sirius, trying to look past the Azkaban.

And, for the first time in several weeks, he did.

Yes, Sirius’ cheeks were shallow, and he looked much older than he actually was. But when he gave Remus even the smallest of smiles, there was a hint of the younger, charismatic Sirius with an ego too big for his own good. And those eyes- Merlin, those eyes. The same eyes Remus saw whenever he tried to sleep for so many months after Sirius had been thrown into the prison.

“I didn’t come for you. I let you rot in there, didn’t I?” Asked Remus.

“Ouch, Moons, that hurt. I hardly rotted. I’m a little worn down, sure, but rotted? That’s just mean.”

And for the first time, Remus let himself laugh. Really laugh, because maybe Sirius was right.

Maybe they could make it work after all.

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placing bets

request from anon: A fluffy, soft, and pining George please? Like, he was really young when he fell in love with her upon first meeting—he made a joke that caused her to laugh, and he just found it to be the most beautiful sound and was smitten ever since. 😭❤️

word count: 3.9k

A/N: i love a pining, head over heels, irrevocably in love george with a girl who knows it and is totally going to make him work… bye i’m crying

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @bobduncanlover @dreamer821 | message me if you’d like to be added!

Your laugh seems to echo across the entire Quidditch pitch. Okay, not really, but it’s both loud and soft at the same time in George’s ears, and it floats in the air between you both, and he’s desperately clinging to the sound of it—just like he does whenever you laugh. Just like he did when you were both eight years old and met for the first time in the village outside of Ottery St. Catchpole all those years ago, after having shown you a magic trick when you giggled yourself into oblivion.

In love with you right then, he was.

“You’re not allowed to laugh at me,” he teases you now. His voice is calm and steady in his ears and he’s thankful that he doesn’t sound as nervous as he feels. He rebalances himself on his broomstick after nearly falling off and peers at you with a smirk.

“I’m sorry—but you can’t expect me to not laugh when you do something as silly as try and surf on your broomstick, George.”

His feet finally touch the ground, and much to his dismay he sees the rest of the team emerging from the changing rooms, undoubtedly gearing up for tryouts. He swallows over a lump in his throat when both Harry and Fred nod at him from the other end of the pitch. He knows he’s a fantastic bloody beater, but the fact that you’re going to be watching tryouts with Ron, Ginny, and Hermione are making him feel less confident than before. He stands up straighter to try and push these feelings away. It doesn’t work. You seem to notice.

“Hey,” you say after a moment and place a hand on his shoulder, “you’ll be great. Just try not to fall off of your broom this time, okay?”

A laugh escapes his lips and he says to you as you make your way toward the stands, “Well I bloody hope I don’t fall, since I’ll be spending the majority of this tryout doing my very best to impress you, anyway.”

You roll your eyes at his comment, but he sees a rosy pink color flood your cheeks. “Best focus on the bludgers, Georgie, don’t want any of them to whack you, yeah?”

He laughs again, takes a deep breath, and turns toward his teammates. Fred is looking at him with raised eyebrows and a laugh so sweet it could cure an illness. Once he realizes that you’re now out of earshot, Fred teasingly slings an arm around his twin’s shoulders, turns to Harry and asks, “He’s been in love for the longest bloody time—how much longer d’you reckon before he finally does something about it?”

“I dunno, mate,” Harry says and kicks George playfully in the shin, “he’s been pining for what—eight, nine years now? Give it another five or so, I reckon he’ll be able to maybe ask her out then.”

“I’ll be sure to send bludgers toward the both of you today, then,” George replies with a mischievous grin as the other two fall into raucous laughter. He peers up at the stands, easily finding you sitting with his siblings and Hermione, and when you finally look up and meet his gaze, you wiggle your eyebrows at him, and wink.

Like George seriously needs to be sent into overdrive before what is arguably the most important Quidditch tryout of his entire life. He does his hardest to nudge Fred very hard in the ribs when all he can hear are snickers and kissing noises in his ear.

— -

George peers up at the very dark, cloudy gray ceiling in the Great Hall. He absolutely hates it when it rains. He’s looking particularly grumpy as he listens to the thunder clap outside the tall windows. He’s sipping rather moodily on his pumpkin juice when you plop down next to him and say, “Brighten up, would you, Weasley? Why the long face?”

“It’s raining,” Fred replies before George can catch his breath and answer you himself, “Georgie hates it when it rains.”

“Why?” you ask suddenly, scooping a bit of vegetables onto your dinner plate, “We’ve known each other for so long, how have I never known this about you? I love it when it‘s raining! The sound of the pitter-patter on the roof, the way the grounds smell right before a rainstorm—it’s absolutely beautiful.”

“Don’t ramble on too much, Y/N,” Fred says, again. George can’t seem to get a word in edgewise. “George might just try and make it rain all the bloody time if you love it so much.”

You turn to George, who’s rib cage is being flooded with butterflies. He tries to ignore it. He grins cheekily at you when you raise your eyebrows and inquire, “Is that so? Trying to impress me more, are you?”

“Can’t help myself,” he replies with a wink.

“I’ll get you to enjoy the rain one day—for real. You can count on it. You’ve got to find the beauty in everyday life.”

He wants to tell you, when he peers into your sparkling eyes and feels the nerves grow stronger, that he already does find the beauty in everyday life. Instead, he asks, “Mmm, is that a promise?”

“Most definitely.”

“If you don’t mind,” Fred stands up from his place across from you and looks in the direction of Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny and winks at his twin, “I’m going to go and have a chat with that lot while George continues to embarrass himself with his rubbish flirting.”

George is upset when he realizes that Fred is far enough away from him that he’s unable to kick him quite hard underneath the table. But then, much to his surprise—and delight—you respond to Fred with, “His flirting isn’t rubbish.” Then, you turn to George with a slight little smirk and continue, “it’s quite cute, actually.”

George finds himself biting down on his lip to keep from smiling too much as he watches you twirl your spoon carefully in your fingers. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I swear to Merlin,” Fred says under his breath, but both you and George are still able to hear him.

“Oi! Get over here, you three!” Ron calls from a few seats down. Hermione rolls her eyes when he continues, “We’re placing bets on how the Hufflepuff versus Slytherin match is going to go next week—first of the year!”

Fred jumps in between Ginny and Ron and begins animatedly discussing the first match. To you, George shrugs his shoulders and says, “We’ve been summoned.”

“Too bad,” you say, picking up your bag to take your spot next to Hermione before continuing with a bit of flirty sarcasm in your voice, “that little smirk of yours was getting me all flustered.”

The banter between you both hardly gets George all worked up anymore. In fact, it’s pretty normal for the two of you, and has been for years. But sometimes, he finds himself thinking now, you’ll say something, or do something, or bat those beautiful long eyelashes at him and he feels nothing but nervousness take him over. This is one of those times. You notice the tension rising between you both, alongside the cherry red color now flooding his face. You squeeze his arm and say playfully, “C’mon now, Georgie—we’ve got bets to place.”

Another bout of nervousness creeps up on him when you pull him by his arm and you place yourself down next to Hermione. Harry, Ginny and Fred are all discussing the upcoming matches very animatedly, Ron is pulling at his hair due to confusion and stress, Hermione is immersed in her spell book, but when George looks down, all he can focus on is the very small amount of space on the bench between his hand and yours.

— -

The sun is flooding the Hogwarts grounds, and it’s quite warm for an autumn afternoon. George, Fred, Lee, Harry, Ron, and Neville are all sitting beneath a tree near the water’s edge, certainly not working on the assignments they’d planned on doing, but instead, engaging in what could only be described as tomfoolery and a complete and utter waste of time.

Fred is laying in the grass, one hand behind his head, the other twirling his wand in between his fingers. He’s saying something to the others, there’s a bit of mock laughter floating through the air, but all George can do is watch you up near the castle, immersed in a conversation with Ginny and Luna and a few other students, and he can’t help but smile as he watches you place your bag gently on the ground and proceed to engage in some type of hopscotch-like jumps.

When Lee throws his hands up at the fact that George is completely ignoring him, Ron shoves his older brother playfully and says to the others, “You’ll have to excuse him.”

“You see,” Fred continues, “little Georgie here is quite in love—”

“—and he can’t seem to focus on anything,” Harry finishes.

“Shove off,” George retorts before sticking out his foot to trip Ron, which sends his younger brother into the grass while another roar of raucous laughter echoes across the grounds.

“So Georgie,” Ron says, getting to his feet and brushing the dirt off of his robes, “today the day then, mate? Finally going to tell her how you feel?”

Fred chimes in with his eyes closed, “He doesn’t need to tell her how he feels, he makes it rather obvious, doesn’t he? I reckon she’s known for years.” In his heart of hearts, George knows this, too. He doesn’t exactly hide the fact that he’s mad for you. But he wonders, now, as he watches you laugh at something Ginny says, if you know deep down how he truly feels. Do you just see it as him being playful, overly friendly—flirting just for the sake of it? Or can you really tell that he actually does have feelings for you?

It’s as if his thoughts alone call out like a signal to you, because he’s taken by surprise when you peer up at him when he’s not fully prepared, and you wink. And there they are. Those butterflies again. He smirks mischievously at you.

“Settle down, you lot,” Fred says rather politically to the crowd of rambunctious boys. George finds himself finally coming back to the conversation after being a bit distracted yet again. Always letting his mind wander, he is. “All in favor of placing bets on when Georgie, here, finally makes a move? Yes, Lee—I am planning on winning this one, actually, nobody knows my twin better than me.”

“I’d like in on these bets,” George says suddenly, taking the entire group by surprise.

“You can’t place a bet on yourself,” Ron says through laughter.

Harry and Neville say together, “I think he should be allowed.” Harry continues, “Would make for quite the adventure, don’t you reckon?”

Fred peers at George, who’s standing now, with his hands in his pockets, glimpsing back and forth between you and his friends, waiting patiently for his twin to make a decision. A very slow decision, George comes to realize.

“Alright then, George,” Fred finally agrees, sticking out his hand for a very professional, firm handshake, “you’re in. What’ve you got for us?”

“Give me a week,” George says. A week? There’s no denying that George Weasley’s a confident bloke, but when it comes to confessing his feelings to the girl he’s been pining over for years, well—even hearing himself say it now sends a bit of a chill down his spine. “Seven days. If I don’t do anything by Sunday evening’s feast, you lot win. Alright?”

George looks around the group, each and every one of the boys has raised eyebrows. But they all nod in agreement, and the feeling of dread suddenly looms over George—he can handle it though, can’t he? Fred notices his skittishness and says with a bit of a smirk, “See you on the other side, mate.”

— -

It’s been four and a half days since George stupidly decided to get involved in Fred’s antics, and the boys have absolutely no problem reminding him that less than seventy-two hours remain for him to finally “make a bloody move already.” This isn’t helping George’s nerves—nor are the winks you’re sending him from across classrooms, as your entire friend group is creating mischief right under your nose.

“Hey, wait up!” Your voice bounces off of the walls in the corridors as you frantically hurry through the sea of students to catch up with George, who’s heading to Potions with Fred, rather reluctantly, of course. Fred begins trying to poke George in the ribs, winks, and vanishes before you can even notice he’s there, leaving you and George alone near the entrance to the dungeons.

“Hey you,” he says and immediately regrets how cheesy it sounds in his own ears. Quick to hide the fact that he’s very embarrassed, he continues, “what’s going on?”

“What’s going on with all of you?” you ask curiously. “Fred keeps telling me that we’re all in for a rather exciting weekend, but as far as I’m concerned, I have absolutely nothing planned except to sit outside and read. Yes, a very wild few days, I know—” you say when George stifles a bit of laughter, “—so, you want to tell me what you have planned? Some sort of major prank, or something?”

You’re essentially giving him an opening and George isn’t sure why he’s not just asking you out right now. It’s the perfect opportunity! Not yet, he thinks. There’s still around seventy-something hours, or so. Instead, he opts to go for something different. “Oh, erm, there’s some—Gryffindor bloke who’s been mad for this girl for years and hasn’t told her yet, so we’ve all placed bets on when he’ll finally do something about it—next few days, apparently..”

“Really?” you ask, intrigued. You wiggle your eyebrows at him and clutch your books tighter in your arms. “Who is it?”

“Can’t tell you that, Y/N,” George replies with a smirk, “That’d be breaking the rules, wouldn’t it?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, fine, I’m not even going to try and argue. How much time has he got left?”

George swallows thickly, thinking of the ticking clock, and says, “Til Sunday evening.” The words sound foreign in his mouth. He can feel his face flush and much to his dismay, you certainly seem to notice.

“Two and a half days, huh?” you ask, clicking your tongue. You inch forward to him and continue in a lower voice, “that’s not a lot of time, is it?”

George swallows again. He has a love, hate relationship with the effect you have on him. “No, certainly isn’t.”

“Think he’ll do it in time?”

“Well, he’s got too, hasn’t he?”

You send a mischievous grin his way, and he’s surprised he isn’t falling to the ground right now. He’s being supported by none other than caffeine and his own nerves. His heart is nearly pounding out of his chest when you look up at him with those sparkling eyes. He can tell now, by the look you’re giving him, that you’ve easily unraveled this. You know. You’ve got too. You’ve completely read him like a book and at this point you’re just teasing him mercilessly. He bites back a smile. “Certainly hope he does—can’t keep the poor girl waiting, can he?” you say now, taking one step closer to him, now just inches from one another. You place your hand on his arm, squeeze tightly, and shoot a teasing, cheeky grin in his direction. Then, you pull back, shrug your shoulders, take a deep breath, and leave George breathless before continuing down the corridor, “Anyway—see you later? Stay out of trouble, Weasley.”

You wink before vanishing completely. When you’re completely out of sight, George actually tightens the grip on his bag and falls back into the wall and to the ground in some sort of emotional, flustered chaos. He’s grinning from ear to ear and is feeling incredibly elated but also beyond frustrated at himself. He should be kissing you by now, but instead, he’s biting his lip in pain due to a sharp blow to his shin.

“You’re an idiot,” Fred says now, and George realizes he’s been hiding around a corner this entire time. “Like putty in her hands, you are. Pathetic. She just gave you an in, mate! And you didn’t even take it!” Ron and Harry are on the other end of the corridor, laughing at this exchange they’ve just witnessed, when they make their way over to the doubled-over George.

“Relax,” George tells them once he regains his balance. “I’ve got to lay the foundation, haven’t I? ‘M taking my time. Still have two and a half days, like she said.” Foundation. You two have known each other for years already.

Fred slings both arms around Ron and Harry and glances cheekily at his twin brother, shaking his head in utter disappointment. “Maybe so, Georgie. But I reckon you’re still an idiot.”

— -

George slumps into the Great Hall rather begrudgingly, not at all looking forward to this feast. At the Gryffindor table are Fred, Ron, Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Lee, Neville and many others who look up and begin to clap sarcastically at the sight of him. George narrows his eyes at them and sits down on one of the benches and places his head directly onto the table.

“Why so glum, Georgie?” Ginny and Hermione ask teasingly.

As predicted by the others, George unfortunately had let time run out. Many opportunities had been handed to him, of course, but had he seized any? No. He absolutely hadn’t. Fred sticks out a hand and nods to the others to follow suit. “Cough it up, mate. One sickle each.”

“Oi, let the poor bloke wallow a bit first,” Ron jokes. George is already feeling poorly. He’d been so stressed about this stupid bet that he forgot to hand in his Herbology assignment, he had an absolutely rubbish Quidditch practice yesterday, and, on top of it all, the gloomy, rainy weather outside is not helping to lift his spirits at all. He groans. In a voice muffled by his face leaning directly on the table, he says to nobody in particular, “I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot who’s in love and I reckon I will be forever.” The others do their best to try and stifle some mock laughter, but George can’t help to let a small, pathetic laugh escape his lips, too.

“It’s alright, then,” Neville says in a low voice, “you don’t have to pay me. I know first hand just how scary it can be..” he glances in the direction of a shy looking Hufflepuff.

But then, when George looks up and rubs his eyes due to exhaustion, he notices a couple entering the entrance of the Great Hall. A Ravenclaw boy is draping his own robes over a tiny Slytherin girl who, by the looks of it, unfortunately has just been caught in that rainstorm outside. Together they huddle closer to one another, laughing at the sight of her drenched clothes and hair. George stands up, quickly throws a bunch of sickles onto the table in front of his friends and says to nobody in particular, “Reckon I can still win in the end!” He’s just got to get over himself.

“No,” Fred laughs through a mouthful of potatoes, looking down at the sickles on the table, “it’s quite obvious that you’ve definitely lost this one, mate.”

But George ignores this, and instead runs through the crowd of students and out of the Great Hall and straight out into the rain. The wind is rather blustery, he comes to realize. Two seconds outside and his clothes are already soaked through, but he’s not regretting his decision—not when he sees you splashing in a puddle a few feet away. He smiles genuinely at the sight of you.

“Hey!” you yell over the howling wind. Your voice continues to soften as he gets closer to you, “You told me you don’t like the rain! If you’ve been lying to me this entire time, then, I suppose you owe me a Butterbeer in Hogsmeade.”

You’re quite a sight to behold. Your white button down shirt is soaked through, tie askew, cardigan wet and dripping and shoes covered in mud. Your soaked hair is plastered to the sides of your face, and your cheeks are the natural rosy color they always are, but it seems to make your eyes sparkle even more so than usual. You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You bite down on your lip as George walks over to you, his uniform completely drenched from the rain, and he brushes your hair out of your face and presses his lips to yours.

And first kisses are meant to be chaste, soft, innocent—but nothing George Weasley does is ever innocent. He smiles against you, biting on your bottom lip just a bit before melting into you again, his hands wrapped tightly around the back of your neck, his fingers getting entangled in your wet hair. It’s eager and hungry and desperate. He can feel your hands slip underneath his shirt, spread out over his ribs and abdomen and hip bones, and soft, small moans escape his lips in the surprise of the moment.

When the two of you finally pull apart, he peers closely at the droplets of water on your eyelashes, falling down your cheekbones every single time you blink, “It’s a date.”

You peer down at your watch, noting the time and peering inside the entrance to the castle in the direction of the Great Hall. With a sensual smirk, you ask him, “So—that bloke lose the bet then?”

“Yeah, he did,” George tells you now. The wind is picking up, the rain coming down sideways now. He swallows over a lump in his throat but lets out a small laugh, “but a few lost sickles isn’t a big deal—not compared to what he won, at least.”

You sling your arms around his neck and run your hands through his wet hair, teasing him slightly, “Well at least he finally did something about it.”

“Sorry it took me so long, darling.”

“No apologies needed,” you reply, leaving light kisses against his lips, “but you owe me, now.”

“Yeah, the Butterbeer in Hogsmeade.” he agrees, tightening his grip around your waist, eager to get his lips back on yours, “haven’t we established this?”

You throw your head back and let hearty laughter escape your lips. “You’re adorable. No, my love, you owe me for lost time. Best find a way to sneak up to the girls dormitory tonight—and don’t get caught.”

He laughs fully now, poking you in the ribs as nervousness and adrenaline course through his veins. He’s counting down the seconds until he can, undoubtedly, fly in through your open window tonight. You pull on his shirt to get him back into the castle; there’s no part of your bodies or clothing that are dry now. But he grabs your hands and pulls you back toward him, still standing directly in line of the rain and the wind, and he continues to move fat strands of wet hair out of your face. “What’re you doing, Georgie? Thought you didn’t like the rain?”

He wraps his hands around the back of your neck again and pulls you closer. Against your lips, he says through a cheeky grin, “I reckon I can get used to it now.”

reblogs & feedback are always greatly appreciated!

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Noooo I was making a list of my favorite My Immortal quotes and it all got erased

I guess I’ll rewrite it here and make you all suffer too

(not in any particular order)

  • “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING YOU MOTHERFUKERS!” (he had a headache so it’s ok)
  • It was………………………………………………………Dumblydore!
  • Voldemort gave me a gun. 
  • “Crookshanks!” I shouted at him
  • Voldemort got a dude-ur-so-retarded look on his face. 
  • “I hath telekinesis.”
  • “I MAY BE A HOGWARTS STUDENT….” Hargirid paused angrily. “BUT I AM ALSO A SATANIST!”
  • Snap and Loopin and HAHRID were there too. They were going to St. Mango’s after they recovered cause they were pedofiles and you can’t have those fucking pervs teaching in a school with lots of hot gurlz. Dumbledore had constipated the cideo camera they took of me naked. I put up my middle finger at them. 
  • “Kool” said Serious as Voldemort and Hedwig started 2 make out sexily. 
  • Then……….. I jumped sexily in2 da Pensive.
  • “You fucking bustard!” he yelled at Vampire. “I want to shit next to her!”
  • And den……………………………I jumped secxily in front of da bullet!11
  • It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of preps stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.

AND THE BEST

  • Hi my name is Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way and I have long ebony black hair (that’s how I got my name) with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my mid-back and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Amy Lee (AN: if u don’t know who she is get da hell out of here!)
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