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Penelope is a Slytherin but she has her eye on a Gryffindor; who will she cheer for on match day? A three part story.

Disclaimer - All recognisable characters belong to their original owners. I do not make a profit from writing this; I am simply doing it for my own amusement. No copyright infringement intended.

Realisation

Penelope watched as Emily groaned and let her head fall on the table in the Great Hall, attracting attention from those around them.

“Why? Why? Why?” Her friend gave Penelope a pitiful smile. “Why didn’t you try and stop me?”

“I did if you remember,” Penelope told her smugly. “I said don’t take Ancient Runes - it’s meant to be difficult and you said ‘I can handle it’.”

Emily gave her a fake smile. “How the hell am I meant to get this essay done by Friday?”

Penelope shrugged. She had changed Ancient Runes for Arthimacy and couldn’t be happier with her choice. It suited her much better. “You could always ask Spencer.”

“Do you think he’d help?”

“I don’t see why not.” Penelope took a grape from the fruit bowl and popped the small fruit into her mouth. “He’s the smartest in the year and was really nice when I asked him for help during third year.”

Emily looked behind her to the Ravenclaw table where Spencer was buried in a pile of books. “There’s no harm in asking.” Her friend got up and went over to talk to possibly the smartest wizard who had ever attended Hogwarts.

No sooner had Emily gotten up and left, JJ sat down in her place.

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I loved this mission, not only did we have fun but we also helped Bill with the dragon egg.

Look at this, we camp, we eat marshmallows, and even played truth or dare!!

Oh, I also dueled against a dragon - again -, but I got this beautiful outfit, so everything is ok!

Just love it!

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Draco’s Boundaries Headcanons (before the Dark Mark):

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Originally posted by eezzox

  • When you first start talking to him you notice he flinches around your faster movements
  • And when you draw your wand, pointing it at him to heal his broken nose/hand/arm from a quidditch accident and he about sobs, you realize that you really need to talk to him
  • You tell him your observations and he’s quiet, ashamed
  • You ask what does he need to feel safe around you
  • He’s quiet a moment, thoughtful
  • He doesn’t like his shoulders touched, nor his collarbones.
  • The backs of his arms along with his upper arms are off limits for now
  • Touching his hair is out of the question presently
  • If it’s above his elbows at all he doesn’t want to be touched
  • He’s just so scared of the wrong sort of touch
  • You also, unbeknownst to him start working hard at getting good with magic without your wand so that you can fix him up or do whatever he needs without him flinching away
  • So you start slow.
  • He can hold your hand, that’s easy for him
  • He slips his into yours most often—sitting beside him in the library, walking in the halls, in class when he’s stressed about a new topic, when you two are at hogsmeade when he has to face Voldemort and his parents in the Battle of Hogwarts
  • It becomes his favorite thing, your hands. They’re scarred with failed spells and calloused where you grip your wand, your nails could be painted or not, short or long, he didn’t care, he loved that your hands had never once acted in hatred or anger against him
  • When he was too stressed to talk about what was happening at home or with the war, he’d simply take your hand
  • You eventually let him doodle on your with a “stupid muggle pen” when he needs the distraction
  • And Draco’s not so afraid of your touch anymore
  • It’s a quiet night of studying when you reach out, the question in your eyes: can I touch?
  • He gives a small nod, anxiety gripping his chest and your gentle voice in his mind reminding him it’s okay
  • You raise your hands, showing him that they’re empty (save the drawing of flowers he had done earlier)
  • Slowly you reach out and place your fingertips to the lapel of his blazer, his collarbone underneath
  • He flinched, ready to be yanked or thrown, but it doesn’t come
  • Your hand slips under his jacket and he takes a shakey breath in. Your hand was now splayed out across his chest and shoulder
  • He closed his eyes, trying not to panic
  • Your hands slips away
  • “Thank you,”
  • It’s slow progress. Very slow. It takes weeks for you to ask him again—this time it’s after quidditch practice
  • Now both of your hands were rubbing the knots out of his shoulders and they felt heavenly wearing away the years of fears bit by bit
  • He leaned into your touch after practice from that night on. It took a few times, but he finally let you touch his bare skin it was just too hot to keep a shirt on and he craved your touch
  • Then there was a new feeling on the back of his neck— a soft kiss
  • It made him shudder, chills running through his skin at the pure adoration the gesture held
  • Laying under the stars one night at the Manor, you lean over him. He’s expecting you to kiss him—he never kissed you before, but now he wasn’t so scared to
  • But instead you press your lips to his collarbone, and another one to the hollow of his shoulder, then where his neck met his shoulder, anywhere you could get to, your lips pressed to his skin
  • He melted into the blanket, closing his eyes and forcing his breathing to be steady for another reason
  • These kisses become sacred to him.
  • He starts to adore your lips as he adores your hands. Never once had they shouted at him, or spoken an unkind degrading word. No, they brought a beautiful smile and intoxicating kisses now that he actually felt safe enough to kiss you
  • Whenever you’re afraid or he needs you, he pulls you into his grasp, your height perfect to press a kiss against his collarbone—a gentle reminder that there was more than hatred in the world and that not every touch was evil
  • He hated anyone else touching him still, and could never truly be rid of his reflex to recoil but you held a soft place in his mind
  • He could finally dance with you the “muggle” way where you’d just lay your head in his shoulder and he was so happy to just sway you around the kitchen in the middle of the night
  • Piggyback rides, swimming, riding on a broom together, hugs—things you had given back to him
  • Things he didn’t have since he was a small child before everything went to hell

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