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aza-writes · 8 months

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All Night

Hogwarts Parties Series

Draco Malfoy x reader, Past Harry Potter x reader

Requested: no

Summary: Reader invites her boyfriend, Draco, to a Gryffindor party. What happens when she means to put on a little show for Draco, but Harry enjoys it a bit too much himself?

Warnings: alludes to smut, actual smut, dirty talk, Draco’s hands, vague description of a female body, drug use mention. Use of y/n

A/N: This was my therapy. Also, I watched the “10 Things I Hare about You” table dance scene sooo many times prepping for this. Also, this is my first smut so feedback is welcomed. The use of drugs relates to upcoming fics, all a part of a mini non-related series that focuses on parties at Hogwarts, so Hufflepuffs smoke, grow, and sell while Slytherin is their top seller. It’s like that TikTok trend from March.

Gif: @love-above

Draco’s POV

Never in a million years did I think I would be at a Gryffindor party, nor would I fall in love with a Gryffindor who would invite me to a Gryffindor party. Nonetheless, here I am, sipping on fire whisky as a mix of red and yellow figures swirl around me, but none of them matter. What matters is the giggling girl in front of me holding a ⅔ full bottle of fire whisky with her house tie wrapped around her head. And I only had a glass and a half, and she’s managed to drink the rest by herself. And no, she can not hold her liquor well.

Even now, when we are standing close to the wall, she swayed her hips while singing along to the muggle song blasting throughout the common room, only stopping momentarily to take a swig out of the bottle. She manages to capture the attention of every guy in the room, yet she doesn’t notice. All she cares about is knowing all the words to the song, and when she doesn’t, she drinks. But I can’t even concentrate on that. All I can see is her tight, low-rise jeans that barely sit above her hips and a shirt that exposes her whole midsection. She loves the attention, and she thrives in it. No wonder she’s in Gryffindor.

“Drayyy,” she turns around and gives me puppy dog eyes, “let's go dance! Come dance with me!” She takes a swig out of the fire whisky bottle, allowing the alcohol to give her even more confidence than she already had, causing an “I can do or say anything” mentality.

“I’m not sure, darling; I think they’ll boo me off the dance floor.”

Y/n frowns at this. “But yoou dance at the Sslytherinn oness.” She then wraps her arms around my neck, never stopping the movement of her hips. “Please dance with me, Dray.”

“In a minute, my love, I need a bit more of anything in my system before I have a fraction of your courage.”

She sticks out her tongue like a child and returns to a dopey, drunk smile before sloppily kissing me. “Okay, baby-” As soon as she was about to say something else, she pauses. She focuses hard, then gasps. “Draco! This is my song! I’m dancing with or without you.” Before I could answer, she heads off to the dancefloor.

Y/n meets up with her friend, whose braids have appropriately incorporated red and yellow, and dances with her. More accurately, dances on her. I’m mesmerized as her hips sway to the beat, and she uses the bottle as a microphone. I don’t even recognize the song, but y/n doesn’t miss a word, even in her drunken state.

I’m amused at her little dance and have gathered enough courage to go out and dance with her when I notice her eyes light up as the lyrics sing, “What’s wrong with right here on the counter?” Right next to her is a table that previously hosted a beer pong tournament that now sits vacant. It was like Merlin was speaking to her, telling her exactly what she had to do next. Before I could even register what was happening, with fire whisky in hand, y/n climbed onto the table and began dancing again.

With her new stage, she gained a lot more attention. She never missed a beat, her hands, head, and hips moving in sync. As the cheers grew, so did her confidence, allowing her to do even more provocative moves. But her eyes never landed on the many boys and girls around her. No, they landed on me every second they could. And her attention enough to pull me in.

I stride over to the table, starting to feel the effects of the fire whisky slowly sink into my system. I worm my way through the crowd, pushing people out of my way to get to the edge of the table. If this is a show for me, I want a front-row seat.

She runs her hands over her body, keeping eye contact with me as she performs for her whole house. She throws her hair back and swirls her hips around, all aimed at me. As the first chorus comes to an end she raises the bottle to her lips and sings along.

She keeps me up

“I keep you up!”

She keeps me up

“I keep you up!” This time, it wasn’t just y/n but the whole common room.

All night

“All night!”

All night

“All night!”

As I watch her begin to dance to the second verse, I can’t help but notice one figure across the table. Staring right up at my girlfriend, my y/n, was fucking Potter. His mouth was gaped open, mesmerized at her movements. Usually, I wouldn’t be that upset; most people realize y/n is mine and back off immediately, understanding they are just making trouble for themselves. But this is different because it’s Potter, my enemy Potter, or even worse, y/n’s ex-boyfriend Potter.

He’s so enamored with her that he doesn’t even realize I’m glaring daggers at him, but y/n notices. She looks down at me, realizing my attention isn’t on her. She follows my gaze, landing on Potter. When she makes eye contact with him he blushes, knowing he's been caught. I expected him to stop staring at her and go anywhere else, but no. All he does is smile and wave at her.

Potter fucking smiles and waves.

At MY y/n.

Y/n continues to dance, making her moves flow to the beat, but instead of her eyes on me, she keeps them on Potter. My jealousy forces me to keep my eyes on Potter too, watching his reaction to my girlfriend dancing. Fucking Potter couldn’t be bothered by me. He doesn’t care about how he’s staring at another man’s girlfriend.

I’m so consumed by jealousy that y/n’s face across from mine startles me a bit. She’s all I can see. She places her hand on my chin and forces me to look at her.

“Hi.” She smiles, her eyes glimmering with mischievous and lustful intent.

“Hello, darling.” I can feel my face and eyes soften while looking at hers. There’s something about her, I can’t tell if it calms me down or riles me up.

She winks at me then gets back up and dances again. She then returns her attention to me, no longer looking at Potter. Her eyes trained on mine. Her dance moves were intentional. It wasn’t until the song ended that she got off the table. The crowd that formed around her started cheering and going wild at her performance. They whistled and begged for “just one more song!” Despite everyone around her cheering, my eyes fall on Potter’s.

He doesn’t even notice I’m there until y/n stands next to me and kisses my cheek. The whole Gryffindor common room becomes a bit quieter upon seeing me in there. I’ve been able to go unnoticed until now. Everyone just stares at me, giving me confused and disgusted looks. I’m unsure how to feel. I don’t even care. I didn’t come to insult them or to cause trouble, I came for y/n.

She kisses my cheek again and turns my head to look at her, wrapping her arms around my neck. Instinctively my hands landed on her waist. I can feel the heat radiating off her arms. The heat of our bodies was circling between us two.

Between kisses on my cheek, neck, and nose she giggles and says “How did you like it?”

“I liked it when you were looking at me.”

“Really? Cause you paid more attention to me when I looked at Potter.” She moves her arms from around my neck to hold my hand and leads me away from the middle of the room and up to her dorm and away from the scowls in my direction.

I pause, unsure of what to say. Was this her plan? I knew she was trying to make me jealous with Potter but did she know I would become this upset? Did she know I would react this way?

“You tricky little minx.” It’s all I can manage to say, especially when she starts to run her hands over my arms, wiggling my jacket off my shoulders.

Y/n still faces me as she opens the door behind her back. “You weren’t watching me, so I made you.” She brings her leg up and kicks the door in with one foot, walking backward into the room as she pulls me by the collar of my jacket. As soon as the door is closed she fully takes my jacket off my body, then slowly unbuttons my shirt.

“Like I said, tricky little thing aren’t you?” I let out a small chuckle at her boldness. Typical Gryffindor, in all the right ways.

“I know what I want, what I want is your attention.” She turns us around and pushes me onto the bed, my shirt fully unbuttoned. She smiles at me as she strips off her shirt, discarding it somewhere in the room. I couldn’t be bothered to look where it went though, my eyes were trained on y/n’s.

“You have it love, I couldn’t imagine taking it off of you.”

A little smile pops up on her face, a light blush creeps across her cheeks. She unbuttons her jeans, pulls them down, and steps out. “Good boy.” She climbs onto my lap and sits herself down. Instinctively my hands land on her hips, gripping tightly to ensure she doesn’t leave my sight. “You’ll keep being a good boy for me, right baby?”

“I need to be a good boy?” She nods. “You’re the one that needs to be taught to behave. Showing off like that in front of Potter.”

“Oh yeah?” She giggles lightly.

“Yes darling, now be my good girl and lay down on the bed.”

Her smirk stays as she gets up from my lap and onto the bed, resting against the perfectly propped-up pillows. “Only for you.”

I step out of my pants as I climb onto the bed. It only takes a light tap on y/n’s calf for y/n to prop her legs up and spread them. She’s still wearing the smirk on her face, naughty little thing thinks she’s won.

“Since I danced for you, you should dance for me.” She giggles a bit. Poor girl thinks she’s going to get away with her little stunt that easily is she?

I let out a small chuckle, not wanting her to know my true intentions for tonight. I waste no time with my plan and kiss the inside of her thighs. Even though I want the plan to start quickly, the plan is nothing but fast. This will be a very, very long night. I slowly kiss the inside of her thighs, slowly inching toward her pussy. Her breath hitches. One heel drags down the length of the bed before going back up to its prompt-up position.

I kiss closer and closer to her clit, teasing around it. Y/n’s moans turn lighter, airier. Her hands drift down and grip my hair. I sit up and pull away, causing y/n to whine.

“I didn’t give you permission to touch me, darling. Only good girls get to and you were so, so naughty tonight. Do you understand?” I look up at her lightly, her smirk and any pride drops. All she does is nod, I need more. “Use your words, princess.”

Her eyes turn soft, making puppy dog eyes at me. “Yes, I’m sorry.” The way she gave in too quickly isn’t enough. She’s planning on doing something again. She hasn’t learned, she’s only saying that to get her way—such a naughty girl.

“No, that isn’t going to cut it.” I get up, causing her to whine even more, such a pathetic slut. “Stop it, or don’t. Depends on if you want to get punished. I can not make you cum tonight if that’s what you want.” That got her attention. She shakes her head, worry fills her eyes. “That’s what I thought.”

I walk to the top of the bed and rip the Gryffindor tie off her head. “Hands.” She immediately puts her wrists together above her head. I love how submissive she becomes. She projects such a confident, independent persona that all crashes down as soon as I call her a good girl. Merlin, I fucking love it.

I wrap her wrist tight on the headboard, making sure she can’t get out but wanting to avoid unnecessary pain.

“Use your words, darling.” I stand at the end of her bed, facing her. “What do you want me to do to you?”

“Touch me Draco.” She keeps her eyes on me and raises her voice a bit more, trying to keep some control.

I smirk at her, causing her to let down her guard again. “Such a confident girl, yet you can’t ask me properly how you want me to fuck you. If you just want me to touch you I can put my clothes back on and we can cuddle all night, but I think you want more.” I get on the bed, placing my hands on either side of y/n, hovering over her. “What do you want?”

“Fuck me.” there’s a pause. I’m waiting for a complete response. She knows better. “P-please.”

I kiss her softly. As I pull away I gently bite and pull her bottom lip a bit before letting go. “Good girl.”

I sit up and grab my wand from the pocket of my jacket and point it at the door. “Muffilato. Colloportus.” I set my wand back where it was then hover back over y/n. “I don’t think any of your friends downstairs will notice with all the noise, but just in case.” I slowly crawl down to the edge of the bed, returning to my previous position. I kiss around her pussy again, inching closer and closer to her clit but carefully avoiding it. “ I want you as loud as possible for me.”

She nods, but it’s cut off by her throwing her head back as I lick a long stripe up the length of her folds. Although I’m getting some sort of reaction, the lack of noise from her is very upsetting. I am the first one to admit it, I’m greedy when it comes to this. I need her screaming and shaking by the end of this.

I move one of y/n’s legs so her thigh sits on top of my shoulder, giving me a better angle of her soaked pussy. She’s glistening at this point. Her buzzed state amplifies the teasing, making every touch linger longer.

Every time my nose brushes against her clit, a loud, resounding moan leaves her mouth. Her eyes closed tight and she yanks on her tie, trying to escape the makeshift binding.

After teasing her clit for a while, leaving small kisses on it then going back to tongue fucking her pussy, she squirms a bit.

“Dray, please.” She swallows. “I need more. Quit teasing.”

I sit up, causing her to whine even more at the loss of contact. “I’m sorry darling, I thought you said you would be good for me?” I lightly bite the inside of her thigh, instigating more little yelps and whines from y/n.

“You’ll get what I think you deserve.” I bite the inside again, this time a little higher up. “Besides, you’re clearly enjoying this. Even though your thighs are covering my ears, I can hear every little sound you make.” I slap the outside of her thigh and make her open up her legs again. She complies almost instantly, and I go back to devouring every inch of her I can get my mouth on; this time though, I pay a bit more attention to her clit.

She continues to pull on the restraint and buck her hips up. I had to result in holding her hips down tight against the bed so I could continue.

She’s lucky I love her or I wouldn’t put up with this defiance.

But she knows I like the cat and mouse just as much as she does.

Her eyes stay shut tight as I suck on her clit and slide one finger into her dripping pussy. I curl my fingers before she gets to adjust to the new sensation. After only a few seconds, I slowly pump my fingers while feverishly sucking on her clit. Her moans went from soft and quiet to loud and breathless. Her brain is turning to mush as her walls tighten around my fingers. She’s close, but I want her on the edge. I want her on the cusp before I finally…

There it is.

I pull my fingers out and detach my lips from her clit. She whines again, trying her hardest to buck her hips up to get some form of contact. I kiss along the inside of her thighs and up her torso, giving extra attention to her hip bones and in between her breasts.

I can feel her breath becoming increasingly rapid, her chest rising and falling faster. Little whines escape her lips as I leave hickeys all over her breast, collarbone, and neck. There wasn’t a surface unmarked when I made it to her lips.

I pull away, making her whine even more. I go back to marking up her neck. “You won’t cover these up tomorrow. I want everyone to see them.” She nods as I suck on the spot behind her ear that makes her weak every time. “A painting just for Potter to see.”

I can feel myself growing harder inside my boxers. Y/n can feel it too dragging against her thigh, or I assume so from the groans she lets out whenever I accidentally brush my hips against her. Even I can’t help myself from letting out a groan.

I can’t wait any longer, I need to be in her.

I pull away from her, shoving my underwear off before she even has the chance to complain. I get back on top of her and smash my lips onto hers. She smirks during the kiss, I do too a bit. I slip my tongue in gently as I ease myself into her dripping pussy. I hand my head down and moan, relieved to finally be inside her. Her high-pitched moans bring me so much confidence, it’s a nice ego boost knowing I get this reaction out of her.

After giving y/n some time to adjust, I start to thrust slowly.

As much as I love the control and dominance I have over y/n I want her hands clinging to me. I can’t just untie her hands and let her think she can be bratty whenever she wants. Right now, I would kill for her nails scratching my hair and down my back. I need the sting that mixes with the pleasure. As much as she needed my hands on her, I need hers on me right now.

“Fuck it.” I reach up and untie her hands. Thankfully, she immediately brings her hands to the nape of my neck, letting her nails scratch my scalp and a little down my back. That little action intensifies the moment. Her hands know exactly what to do. I can feel them scratch down my back, causing me to let out a loud grunt and go faster. Her moans continue, each one ringing and lingering in my ears, my head.

I can feel my hips faltering, stuttering with every thrust. I’m getting close, so is y/n. I lift one leg up to rest on my hip, letting me reach a better angle.

“Dray,” her voice is so airy, “I-I’m so close.”

“Me too darling,” I pick up my pace even more, “let go for me.”

Almost instantly, she does. She squeezes around me and arches her back as she cums all over my cock. With two more thrusts, I cum as well. I stay in that position for a few seconds before carefully pulling out. As I do, y/n takes a long deep breath in. She only releases it when I lay down next to her.

“I love you Draco.” I turn to look at her, her chest rising and falling, working hard to catch her breath.

“I love you too darling.” I lean over and kiss her head. “I love you so, so much.”

I get up to try and to get something to clean her up with, but she pulls me back into the bed.

“Just,” she takes another deep breath, “Just stay here, with me.”

I just nod. I don’t know what else to do, this moment is so perfect. I have everything I’ll ever need whenever I’m with her. Right here, right now must be the definition of heaven. She is my heaven.

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@alinefrank

#draco malfoy x y/n #draco x reader #draco malfoy x gryffindor!reader #draco smut #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy smut #draco x you #draco malfoy #draco fanfiction

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justforbooks · 7 months

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The word “great” is somewhat promiscuously applied to actors. But it was undoubtedly deserved by Sir Michael Gambon, who has died aged 82 after suffering from pneumonia.

He had weight, presence, authority, vocal power and a chameleon-like ability to reinvent himself from one role to another. He was a natural for heavyweight classic roles such as Lear and Othello. But what was truly remarkable was Gambon’s interpretative skill in the work of the best contemporary dramatists, including Harold Pinter, Alan Ayckbourn, David Hare, Caryl Churchill and Simon Gray.

Although he was a fine TV and film actor – and forever identified in the popular imagination with Professor Albus Dumbledore in the Harry Potter franchise – the stage was his natural territory. It is also no accident that, in his private life, Gambon was an expert on, and assiduous collector of, machine tools and firearms for, as Peter Hall once said: “Fate gave him genius but he uses it as a craftsman.”

Off-stage, he was also a larger-than-life figure and a superb raconteur: a kind of green-room Falstaff. I have fond memories of an evening in a Turin restaurant in March 2006 on the eve of Pinter’s acceptance of the European Theatre prize. Gambon kept the table in a constant roar, not least with his oft-told tale of auditioning for Laurence Olivier as a young actor in 1963 and cheekily choosing to do a speech from Richard III; but the next night Gambon gave an explosive rendering of Pinter’s poem American Football that threatened to blow the roof off the Turin theatre.

However, Gambon’s bravura was also mixed with a certain modesty. In the summer of 2008 I met him for tea in London and found him eagerly studying the script of Pinter’s No Man’s Land, in which he was scheduled, several months later, to play Hirst. He told me that he had started work on it so soon because he found it difficult to learn lines at his age.

“Sometimes,” he said, “I sleep with a script under my pillow, or just carry it around in my raincoat pocket, in the hope the lines will rub off on me.” I think he was genuine; but with Gambon, one of life’s great leg-pullers, you were never entirely sure.

Gambon achieved greatness without either the formal training or genetic inheritance that are often considered indispensable.

He was born into a working-class Dublin family that had no artistic background; his mother, Mary (nee Hoare), was a seamstress, and his father, Edward, an engineer. When the family settled in Britain after the second world war, the young Gambon went to St Aloysius school for boys, in Somers Town, central London. On leaving at the age of 15 he signed a five-year apprenticeship with Vickers-Armstrongs, leading to a job as a tool-and-die maker. With his mechanical aptitude, he loved the work. But he also discovered a passion for amateur theatre and, having started by building sets, eventually moved into performing. “I want varoom!” he once said. “I thought, Jesus, this is for me.”

With typical chutzpah, he wrote to the Gate theatre in Dublin, creating a fantasy list of roles that he had played in London, including Marchbanks in Shaw’s Candida; in the end, he made his professional debut there in 1962 as the Second Gentleman in Othello. His best decision, however, on returning to London, was to sign up for an improvisational acting class run by William Gaskill at the Royal Court.

Gaskill was about to join the newly formed National Theatre company at the Old Vic and recommended Gambon for an audition: hence the celebrated story of Gambon’s first encounter with Olivier, which ended with the young actor, in his excess of zeal, banging his hand on a nail in an upstage column and bleeding profusely. Far from being the nail in Gambon’s coffin, this led to a productive four years with the National in which he progressed from walk-ons to substantial roles such as that of Swiss Cheese in Gaskill’s revival of Mother Courage.

On Olivier’s advice, however, Gambon left the National in 1967 to hone and pursue his craft at Birmingham rep – a shrewd move that saw him, at the astonishingly early age of 27, playing his first Othello. He moved on later to the Royal Shakespeare Company, and in 1968 made his first foray into television with the leading role in a BBC adventure series called The Borderers.

However, it was through working on another TV series, The Challengers, that he made a contact that was to transform his career. His fellow actor Eric Thompson was moving into directing, and in 1975 was set to do an Ayckbourn trilogy, The Norman Conquests, at the Greenwich theatre. He cast Gambon, against type, as a dithering vet.

He revealed, for the first time, his shape-shifting gifts; and the sight of him, seated at a dinner table on a preposterously low stool with his head barely visible above the table’s edge, remains one of the great comic images of modern theatre.

This led to a highly productive working relationship with Ayckbourn including key roles in Just Between Ourselves (Queen’s theatre, London, 1977) and Sisterly Feelings (National, 1980).

At the same time, Gambon began an association with Gray by taking over, from Alan Bates, the role of the emotionally detached hero in Otherwise Engaged (Queen’s theatre, 1976).

That was directed by Pinter, for whom in 1978 Gambon created the part of Jerry in Betrayal at the National. It was a production beset by problems, including a strike that threatened to kibosh the first night, but Gambon’s mixture of physical power and emotional delicacy marked him out as a natural Pinter actor. That power, however, manifested itself in the 1980s in a series of performances that staked out Gambon’s claim to greatness.

First, in 1980, came Brecht’s Galileo at the National: a superbly triumphant performance that brought out the toughness, obduracy and ravening intellectual curiosity of Brecht’s hero. It was a measure of his breakthrough that, as Gambon returned to his dressing room after the first night, he found the other actors in the National’s internal courtyard were shouting and roaring their approval. Two years later, Gambon returned to the RSC to play both a monumental King Lear and a ravaged Antony opposite Helen Mirren’s Cleopatra.

But arguably the finest of all of Gambon’s 80s performances was his Eddie Carbone in Arthur Miller’s A View from the Bridge, directed by Ayckbourn at the National (1987). It helped that Gambon actually looked like Miller’s longshoreman-hero: big and barrel-chested with muscular forearms, he was plausibly a man who could work the Brooklyn docks.

Gambon also charted Eddie’s complex inner life through precise physical actions. He stabbed a table angrily with a fork on learning that his niece had got a job, let his eyes roam restlessly over a paper as the niece and the immigrant Rodolpho quietly spooned, and buckled visibly at the knees on realising that a fatal phone-call to the authorities had ensnared two other immigrants. In its power and melancholy, this towering performance justified the sobriquet once applied by Ralph Richardson of “the great Gambon”.

When you consider that the decade also saw Gambon playing the psoriasis-ravaged hero of Dennis Potter’s TV series The Singing Detective (1986), you realise his virtuosity and range.

And that became even clearer in 1990 when he played the mild-mannered hero of Ayckbourn’s Man of the Moment (Globe theatre, now Gielgud, London), had another crack at Othello for Ayckbourn in Scarborough and appeared, in 1989, as a romantically fixated espionage agent in Pinter’s TV adaptation of Elizabeth Bowen’s The Heat of the Day: that last performance, alternately sinister and shy, was one of Gambon’s finest for television and deserved a far wider showing.

In later years Gambon successfully balanced his stage career with an amazingly prolific one in film and television. In Hare’s Skylight at the National in 1995 he combined the bulk and weight of a prosperous restaurateur with a feathery lightness – a skipping post-coital dance across the stage with the balletic grace often possessed by heavily built men.

Gambon was equally brilliant as a disgusting, Dickensian, accent-shifting Davies in a revival of Pinter’s The Caretaker (Comedy theatre, 2000), as a perplexed bull of a father in Churchill’s A Number (Royal Court, 2002), as a Lear-like Hamm in Beckett’s Endgame (Albery, 2004) and as a brooding, alcoholic Hirst in Pinter’s No Man’s Land (Duke of York’s, 2008). Even if Gambon’s Falstaff in a 2005 National Theatre production of Henry IV Parts One and Two did not quite match expectations, his work for the theatre revealed an ability to combine volcanic power with psychological depth and physical delicacy.

Ill health and increasing memory problems forced him to retire from stage acting in 2015, but not before he had given memorable performances in two Beckett plays: Krapp’s Last Tape (Duchess, 2010) and All That Fall (Jermyn Street theatre, 2012), where he played, opposite Eileen Atkins, the sightless but stentorian Mr Rooney.

He also continued to work in television and film for as long as possible. He belied the whole notion of the small screen by giving large-scale performances as the black sheep of a big family in Stephen Poliakoff’s Perfect Strangers (2001) and as a reclusive plutocrat in the same writer’s Joe’s Palace (2007).

He was nominated for awards for his performances as Lyndon Johnson in an American TV movie, Path to War (2002), and as Mr Woodhouse in a BBC version of Jane Austen’s Emma (2009). Later TV series included The Casual Vacancy (2015), Fearless (2017) and Little Women (2017).

In film, he had a rich and varied career that ranged from the violent hero of Peter Greenaway’s The Cook, the Thief, His Wife and Her Lover (1989), to a heavyweight mafia boss in Mobsters (1991), the aged Lord Marchmain in Brideshead Revisited (2008), a cantankerous old director in Dustin Hoffman’s Quartet (2012) and the bearded Hogwarts headteacher (whom he privately referred to as “Dumblebore”) in six of the eight Harry Potter films, taking over the role for Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004) following the death of Richard Harris.

He also provided the narration for the Coen brothers’ Hail, Caesar! (2016) and voiceovers for the two Paddington films (2014 and 2017).

But Gambon brought to everything he did, in life as well as art, enormous gusto, a sense of mischief and a concern with precision: he was almost as happy restoring old firearms as he was working on a new role.

In 1992 he was appointed CBE, and six years later was knighted.

He married Anne Miller in 1962, and they had a son, Fergus. From a subsequent relationship with Philippa Hart, whom he met on the set of Gosford Park, he had two sons, Michael and William.

He is survived by Anne and his three sons.

🔔 Michael Gambon, actor, born 19 October 1940; died 27 September 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Michael Gambon #in memoriam

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