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redgoldsparks · 6 months

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I wrote a 12 page epilogue to my 2019 comic "Harry Potter and The Problematic Author" because I found, in 2023, that I had more to say. You can also find this comic on my website, and I have PDF copies available on etsy. I may sell print copies at some point in the future.

instagram / patreon / portfolio / etsy / my book / redbubble

Full transcript below the cut.

PAGE 1

Part one: Ruddy Owls!

I was in fourth grade when the first Harry Potter Book was released in the US.

Panel 1: Sometimes our teacher would read it aloud in class. “Mr and Mrs Dursley of number 4 Privat Drive were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much…”

Panel 2: I was 11 years old when Harry Potter finally broke through my dyslexia and turned me into a reader.

Panel 3: Every night in the summer before sixth grade I waited for the owl carrying my Hogwarts Letter. I cried when it didn’t come. “I have to go to Muggle school!”

PAGE 2

Part Two: Hats

I dedicated myself to being a fan.

Panel 1: I began collecting Harry Potter News article.

Panel 2: I asked my relatives to mail me ones from their local papers. I filled a thick binder with clippings.

Panel 3: I wrote my own trivia quiz

Panel 4: and participated in the one held annually at the county fair. “Next contestant!”

Panel 5: I usually got into one of. the top five spots. I won boxes of candy, posters, stationary, and once a baseball cap. (Hat reads: I survived the battle of Hogwarts).

Panel 6: In high school I sewed a black velvet cape and knitted many stripped scarves.

PAGE 3

Part Three: Double Trouble

Watching the last film in 2011 felt like the final note of my childhood.

Panel 1: I remember driving home from the midnight showing thinking about the end of 13 years of waiting; wondering what would define the next chapter of my life.

Panel 2: That same month I heard of something called Pottermore. “Okay, so there’s a sorting quiz… I already know my house! Patronus assignment? Mine’s a barn owl. Duh!"

Panel 3: You can read the books again but with GIFs? Why?

Panel 4: I lived in a place with very slow and limited internet at the time. Pottermore sounded inaccessible, but also boring. I never joined.

Panel 5: "I’ll just read the actual books again, thanks."

PAGE 4

Part Four: Sweets

In 2016, a series of short stories titled "History of Magic in North America” were released on Pottermore to pave the way for the first Fantastic Beasts Film. These stories display an extreme ignorance of American history, culture, and geography, but the worst parts are the casual misuse of indigenous beliefs and stories. Fans and critics immediately spoke up against this appropriation. Some of the most quoted voices included Nambe Pueblo scholar Dr. Debbie Reese who runs the site “American Indians In Children’s Literature”; Navajo writer Brian Young; Johnnie Jae (Otoe-Missouria and Choctaw), founder of A Tribe Called Geek; Dr Adrienne Keene (Cherokee Nation), a Professor at Brown University who runs the blog “Native Appropriations”, and writers N.K. Jemison and Paula Young Lee.

PAGE 5

Rowling is famous for responding to fans directly on twitter, yet she did not respond to anyone calling out the damaging aspects of “Magic in North America.” Her representatives refused to comment for March 9 2016 article in the Guardian. She has never apologized. All of this, plus the casting of Johnny Depp and the specific declarations of support by JKR, Warner Brothers, and director David Yates left a sour taste in my mouth.

For further thoughts on the new films read The Crimes of Grindelwald is a Mess by Alanna Bennett for Buzzfeed News, November 16, 2018.

PAGE 6

Excerpt from Colonialism in Wizarding American: JK Rowling’s History of Magic in North America Through an Indigenous Lens by Allison Mills, MFA, MAS/MLIS (Cree and Settler French Canadian)

Although Rowling is certainly not the first white author to misstep in her treatment of Indigenous cultures, she has an unprecedented level of visibility and fame, […] One of the most glaring problems with Rowling’s story is her treatment of the many Indigenous nations in North America as one monolithic group. […It] flattens out the diversity of languages, belief systems, and cultures that exist in Indigenous communities, allowing stereotyping to persist. […] It continues a long history of colonial texts which ignore that Indigenous peoples still exist. […] In the Wizarding world, as in the real world, Indigenous histories have been over-written and our cultures erased.

from The Looking Glass: New Perspectives in Children’s Literature Volumn 19, Issue 1

PAGE 7

Part 5: Music

Panel 1: Also in 2016 I discovered two podcasts which radically altered my experience of being an HP fan. The first was Witch Please created by two Canadian feminist literary scholars Hannah McGregor and Marcelle Kosman.

Panel 2: “If it’s not in the text it doesn’t count!” “Close reading ONLY!”

Panel 3: They talk about Harry Potter at the level you’d expect in a college class with particular focus on gender, race, class, and the troubling fatphobia, fear of othered and queer coded bodies, violence against women, white feminism, gaslighting and failed pedagogy in the books. They bring up these issues not because they hate the series, but because they LOVE it.

PAGE 8

These passionate, joyful conversations went off like fireworks in my mind. I had never taken a feminist class before. I gained a whole new vocabulary to talk about the books- and the world.

PAGE 9

Panel 1: The second podcast I started that year was Harry Potter and the Sacred Text, created by two graduates of the Harvard Divinity School, Vanessa Zoltan and Casper Ter Kuile.

Panel 2: They read one chapter per episode through a theme such as love, control, curiosity, shame, responsibility, hospitality, destruction, or mystery. Like Witch Please, they are interested only in the information on the page, not thoughts from the author. The delights and failures of the text are examined in the context of the present day, and new meanings constantly arise.

PAGE 10

What does it mean to treat a text as sacred?

Trusting that the more time we give to it, the more blessings it has to give us.

Reading the text repeatedly with concentrated attention. Our effort is part of what makes it sacred. The text is not in and of itself sacred, but is made so by rigorously engaging in the ritual of reading.

Experiencing it in community.

“To me, the goal of treating the text as sacred is that we learn to treat each other as sacred.” -Vanessa Zoltan

PAGE 11

Part 6: Tooth and Claw

In October 2017, Rowling liked a tweet linking to an article arguing that trans women should be kept out of women’s bathrooms because of cisgender women’s fears. In March 2018, she liked a tweet about the problem of misogyny in the UK Labour Party which included the line “Men in dresses get brosocialist solidarity I never had.” The author of the tweet had previously posted many blatantly anti-trans statements.

Rowlings publicist claimed she had liked the posted by accident in a “clumsy and middle-aged moment.” Yet, in September 2018 she liked a link posted by Janice Turner to her column in the Times UK titled “Trans Rapists Are A Danger In Women’s Jails.”

Screencaps of these tweets can be found in the article “The Mysterious Case of JK Rowling and her Transphobic Twitter History”, January 10 2019 by Gwendolyn Smith (a trans journalist), LGBTQNation.com

PAGE 12

Excerpt from: Is JK Rowling Transphobic? A Trans Woman Investigates by Katelyn Burns

Ultimately, the answer is yes, she is transphobic […] I think it’s fair that she receives criticism from trans people, especially given her advocacy on behalf of queer people in general, but also because she has a huge platform. Many people look up to her for creating a singular piece of popular culture that holds deep meaning for fans from different walks of life, and she has a responsibility to handle that platform wisely. (Published on them.us March 28, 2018)

PAGE 13

Part 7: Home

At age 30, I’m still not over Harry Potter.

Panel 1: I’ve recently found a local bar that does HP trivia nights. “Poppy or Pomona?” “Poppy!”

Panel 2: I currently own an annual pass to Universal Studios so I can visit Hogsmeade.

Panel 3: I love talking to kids who are reading the books for the first time. “Who’s your favorite character?” “Ginny!”

Panel 4: And I’m planning a relisten to the audio books to next year to help me get through the election cycle. “Jim Dale, I’m going to need you more than ever…”

Spoiler from 2023: I did not do this. By mid-2020 JKR had posted her transphobic essay; we were in covid; I never visited Universal Studios again.

PAGE 14

But I do want to learn from her mistakes. I never want to repeat “Magic in North America.” As I write, I will do my research. I will consult experts and compensate them. If a reader from a different culture/background than me speaks up about my work, I will listen and apologize. I KNOW I WILL MAKE MISTAKES. But I will own up to them and I will do better.

PAGE 15

Excerpt from Diversity Is Not Enough: Race, Power and Publishing by Daniel José Older

We can love a thing and still critique it. In fact, that’s the only way to really love a thing. Let’s be critical lovers and loving critics and open ourselves to the truth about where we are and where we’ve been. Instead of holding tight to the same old, failed patriarchies, let’s walk a new road, speak new languages. Today, let’s imagine a literature, a literary world, that carries this struggle for equity in its very essence, so that tomorrow it can cease to be necessary, and disappear. (Buzzfeed, April 14, 2017)

PAGE 16

Harry Potter is flawed, & JK Rowling is problematic. But the books helped me learn a lot:

*One of the greatest dangers facing the modern world is the rise of fascism

*The government cannot be trusted

*Read and think critically

*Question the news: who paid the journalist? Who owns the paper?

*Trust and support your friends through good times and bad

*Organize for resistance

*Educate and share resources with peers

*The revolution must be diverse and intersectional

* We are only as strong as we are united

*The weapon we have is love

MK 2019

PAGE 17

PART 8: EPILOGUE

In 2021 I removed a Harry Potter patch I sewed to my book bag over a decade ago. I took 15 pieces of Harry Potter fanart off my walls. I got rid of my paperback book set, 2 board games, and 8 t-shirt. [images: a Hogwarts a patch with loose threads, a pair of scissors and a seam ripper]

Panel 1: Maia holding up a shirt with the Deathly Hallows logo on it. Maia thinks: “Damn, this really used to be my entire personality.”

Panel 2: The t-shirt gets thrown into the Goodwill box.

PAGE 18

I wrote my zine wrestling with JKR’s legacy in 2019, after her dismissive and racist reaction to indigenous fans and critics of “Magic in North America” and after she had liked a couple transphobic tweets. Since then, she has gotten so much worse.

A Brief Timeline (mostly from this Vox article)

June 2020- JKR posts a 3600 word essay making her anti-trans position clear

August 2020- The Robert F Kennedy Human Rights Org issues a statement about her transphobia, JKR doubles down on her position and returns an award they gave her

December 2020- JKR claims 90% of HP fans secretly agree with her anti-trans views

December 2021- JKR mocks Scottish Police for recognizing transgender identities

March 2022- JKR criticizes gender-inclusive language and legislation

December 2022- JKR retweets trans youtuber Jessie Earl’s critical review of Hogwarts Legacy, starting an onslaught of transphobic harassment towards Earl

December 2022- JKR removes her support from an Edinburgh center for survivors of sexual violence with a trans-inclusive policy and funds her own center which explicitly excludes trans sexual assault survivors

January 2023- JKR tweets “Deeply amused by those telling me I’ve lost their admiration due to disrespect I show violent, duplicitous rapists.” It got nearly 300K likes

March 2023- One the podcast “The Witch Trials of JK Rowling”, hosted by a former Westboro Baptist Church Member, JKR compares the trans rights movement to Death Eaters.

PAGE 19

What are The Witch Trials of JK Rowling?

Panel 1: Maia speaking. “It’s a 7 episode documentary style podcast hosted by Megan Phelps-Roper. Nearly every episode contains interviews with JKR as well as critics, journalists, historians, protestors and fans.

Panel 2: Maia speaking. “In episode 1, JKR speaks more candidly than she has previously about being in an abusive marriage. Her ex-husband hit her, stalked her, broke into her house overlapping with the time she was writing the first three HP books.”

Panel 3: Maia speaking. “What she went through genuinely sounds horrific. I have a lot of sympathy for the kind of life-long traumas those experiences leave.”

PAGE 20

HOWEVER.

It is clear from reading the June 2020 essay on her blog and listening to the podcast, that JKR still to this day feels unsafe. Despite her wealth and privilege she moves through the world with the mindset of a victim. And the group of people she finds most threatening are trans women.

Or rather, she is afraid that allowing trans women in women’s spaces invites the possibility of male predators entering those spaces.

Here’s a direct quote: The problem is male violence. All a predator wants is access and to open the doors of changing rooms, rape centers, domestic violence centers [...] to any male who says “I’m a woman and I have a right to be here” will constitute a risk to women and girls. - from The Witch Trials episode 4 as transcribed by therowlinglibrary.com, March 2023

Image: A stem of Belladonna with flowers and berries.

PAGE 21

Let me introduce here the term: TRANSMISOGYNY. The intersection of transphobia and misogyny, this term was coined by Julia Serano in 2007. Scout Tran, on tiktok as Queersneverdie said: “Transmisogyny occurs in people who have been previously hurt by traditional misogyny. Who have been driven to hate men or at the very least to be scared of men. They will sometimes take out that rage on trans women. (March 2023)

JKR claims to care for trans women and understand they are extremely vulnerable to assault and violence. In her 2020 Essay she wrote: “I want trans women to be safe. At the same time, I do not want to make natal girls and women less safe.”

So she cares about trans women… just less than cis women, and she’s willing to throw all trans women under the bus because of her unfounded, prejudice fears.

PAGE 22

Panel 1: Maia speaking. “JKR claims to have seen data that proves trans women have presented physical threats to other women in intimate spaces, but never cites sources. She also uses “producer of the large gametes” as a definition of “woman”.

What about transmen and nonbinary folks?

Panel 2: Maia leaning on a stack of all seven HP books, the first four Cormorant Strike books and The Casual Vacancy, gesturing to a series of quotes with a tired and disgusted expression.

I’m concerned about the huge explosion of young women wishing to transition and also about the increasing numbers who seem to be detransitioning. * [...] If I’d been born 30 years later, I too might have tried to transition. The allure of escaping womanhood would have been huge. -June 10 2020 essay

I don’t believe a 14 year old can truly understand what the loss of their fertility is.

-Witch Trials episode 4

I haven’t yet found a study that hasn’t found that the majority of young people experiencing gender dysphoria grow out of it*. -Witch Trials episode 7

*No sources cited

PAGE 23

It’s hard to over emphasize how fixated JKR has become on these topics. As of the date I’m writing this, 14 out of her 20 most recent tweets (70%) are in some way anti-trans. She tweets against Mermaids (a UK based trans youth charity), against trans athletes, against gender neutral bathrooms, and in support of LBG Alliance- a UK org that denies trans rights while upholding gay rights. Here are some gems from her archive:

“People who menstruate.” I’m sure there used to be a word for those people. Someone help me out. Wumben? Wimpund? Woomud? -June 2020

War is Peace. Freedom is Slavery. Ignorance is Strength. The Penised Individual Who Raped You Is a Woman. - December 2021

And in response to someone asking “How do you sleep at night knowing you lost a whole audience?”

I read my most recent royalty cheques and find the pain goes away pretty quickly. -October 2022

PAGE 24

Hashtag Ruthless Productions a queer nerd podcast company created a great guide on ethical engagement with HP. Image: the two hosts of Hashtag Ruthless productions, Jessie (They/she) and Lark (he/him).

Stop buying all official HP Products: books, movies, games, toys, etc, Universal Studios tickets, food, merch.* Boycott any new TV series or movies. Instead: buy the books and DVDs used. If you still want to wear HP merch, buy fan-made. Engage only with fan content: fic, podcasts, fanart, wizard rock, etc. Show transphobia is bad for business. None of this will change JKR’s mind. But the Fantastic Beast series was canceled and after record Pottermore sales in 2020, they fell in 2022 by 40%.

*She gets a portion of ALL tickets. In 2019, this was her largest income source. Read the full guide: hashtagruthless.com/resourceguide

PAGE 25

As late as 2019, I was still reading JKR’s murder mystery series. But by the fourth book my experience began to sour.

Panel 1: Maia holding a copy of Lethal White. “The only gay character in this book is a government official who gropes his staff?”

Panel 2: “The only genderqueer character is misgendered and portrayed as a whiny faker?”

Panel 3: “The only Muslim character is disowned by his family over gay rumors?”

Panel 4: “Even the women aren’t portrayed very well…”

Panel 5: “Why is the main female character defined by the rape in her past?”

Panel 6: “Wait, what happens in the rest of this series…?” Maia scrolls on eir phone.

Panel 7: “Is the series heading towards an employee/boss relationship?”

Panel 8: “And has a man wearing women’s clothes to commit assault?”

Panel 9: “Yeah, I’m done. I’m never reading a new JKR book ever again.”

PAGE 26

And as for JKR herself?

As tempting as it might be to tweet your frustrations at her, I don’t recommend it. In 2021, she tweeted, “Hundreds of trans activists have threatened to beat, rape, assassinate and bomb me.” Getting hate online feeds her sense of victimhood and she waves it as proof of her moral high ground. Instead I suggest you block her on twitter, then delete twitter, go to the library and try to find a new book that feels magical.

Stack of books: In Other Lands by Sarah Rees Brennan, The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater, Gifts by Ursula K Le Guin, Deep Wizardry by Diane Duane, A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik and Gideon the Ninth by Tamsin Muir.

PAGE 27

In “Emergent Strategy” adrienne maree brown writes: You do not have the right to traumatize abusive people, to attack them, personally or publicly, or to sabotage anyone else’s health. The behaviors of abuse are also survival-based, learned behaviors rooted in pain. If you can look through the lens of compassion, you will find hurt and trauma there. If you are the abused party, healing that hurt is not your responsibility and exacerbating that pain is not your justified right.

PAGE 28

Seeing anyone over age 12 wearing HP merch now makes me uncomfortable. Are they ignorant or actively a TERF? I hate wondering how much money JKR has probably poured into anti-trans legislation… This zine is a culmination of my slow breakup with a story that once brought me joy. Now it just makes me angry, tired and sad.

Image: Candle in a fancy holder burned down to less than an inch.

Maia Kobabe, 2023

#harry potter #harry potter and the problematic author #jk rowling #transphobia #jk rowling transphobic

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medieval-collectibles · 2 years

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Calling all Gryffindors!

Freshly back in stock is our Godric Fantasy Sword inspired by the Sword of Gryffindor from the world of Harry Potter.

This decorative replica features bold red gemstones, ornate imagery, and a stainless steel blade. It also comes with a matching wooden display plaque.

Unleash your inner lion and represent your house well with this beautiful decorative piece.

Check it out here!

#harry potter #harry potter replica #gryffindor #gryffindor house #hogwarts houses #harry potter merch #sword #replica swords #replica #movie replica #movie prop #movie props #medieval collectibles

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reysdriver · 7 months

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Back To School | R.L.

Remus is about to leave to teach at Hogwarts — husband!remus x wife!reader angst/fluff

warnings: it's angst but it's fluffy really

words: 0.5k

a/n: I was gonna finish this and post it way back at the beginning of the month, but then I ended up writing a whole bunch of other stuff so I forgot about this lol

You and your husband had awoken to the early-morning alarm ringing around your bedroom, but Remus shut it off quickly so you could get an extra few minutes in bed together.

After you decided you had to get up or else Remus would be late, you got up, got ready, and started making a simple breakfast together. You sliced fruit while Remus made toast for you both, then you sat down opposite each other at your table and ate, making small bits of conversation throughout.

When you finished, you told Remus to leave your plates at the table—you would do a whole load of dishes to distract yourself later—and you both went to collect all of Remus’ things.

Since he got the job at the beginning of summer, you had been giving him all sorts of little gifts, things he would need for work, and some little mementos to remember each other and stay sane while you were apart for so long.

“And you’re sure you’ve got everything?” You were sure Remus packed everything he’d need for the next three months away in his bags, but you were just stalling so you didn’t have to part ways with him yet.

“What would I have forgotten, dove?”

You answered him quietly. “Me.”

Your husband fought back a smile, not wanting to seem too happy when you were sad. “I could never forget you, my sweet girl; I just can’t pack you in my suitcase and bring you with me, now can I?”

“We haven’t tried yet…” You said, a half-faux pout on your face.

The both of you imagined the sight of Remus trying to sneak you into Hogwarts via his luggage. It brought a smile to your face that you didn’t want to be there in this solemn moment.

“I’d have to choose between you and my clothes, dove. And as tough of a decision as that is, I can’t go to work naked; I’d be fired before classes could even start.”

“That means you would have to come home, right?” You asked it in a way that told him exactly what you were thinking, and he had to shut it down.

“I would come home, but then we would have no money and would have to live in a shack made of hay somewhere because we wouldn’t be able to afford a whole house with just you working.”

Remus pulled you into a hug, cocooning you in his long arms and his comforting chest. You both stayed in that embrace, breathing slow and deep together to level your emotions. It was nice, just not nice enough knowing that this was the last time you’d be in your flat together until the winter holidays.

Remus started loosening his grip on your body, which earned him an upset look from you.

“We’re gonna be late if we don’t go soon. We won’t be able to say goodbye again at the train station if we’re rushing.” He explained nicely.

You sighed, knowing he was right. “Okay, but you have to promise me at least one good hug at the station.”

“As long as I have time to spare, I’ll give it all to you.”

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x you #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin angst #remus lupin fluff #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders angst #marauders fluff

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cherryslyce · 1 year

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Amalfi Coast | Theodore Nott

Synopsis: The end of your years at Hogwarts brings about stirring changes: the unveiling of your betrothal to Theodore Nott and an all-expense getaway to Italy for alone time with your husband-to-be.

PAIRING: Theodore Nott x GN!Reader

WORD COUNT + NOTES: 4.5k. I am so weak for Theodore.

The shards of glimmering light that dance across the soft peaks of water distances away seem to speak to you as you drift into your thoughts. Crowded between cliff-hanging abodes and the frothing shore, you’ve never felt so insignificant until that moment.

Your hand absentmindedly brushes against the fine grains of sand below you, the microscopic beads emanating a pleasant warmth against your palm. You hear a soft thud from beside you just as a comforting presence graces you, the uncomfortable stir of disorientation washing away with the drag of the waves.

“The unit should be prepped soon. We can grab some food after Mitzy brings over our luggage.” Theodore’s smooth voice hums out, eyes clambering to drink in the sight of the sea as well.

You smile softly at the mention of the boy’s house-elf, remembering how she had been keen to help you pack for the trip. Nodding, you unconsciously shift closer to the boy as you glance at him, “Sounds like a plan.”

Theodore looks completely serene much to your confusion. A large part of you was grateful that Theodore was chosen to be your betrothed, but another chunk of your heart twinged painfully at the thought. It was no secret that Nott Sr. was a strict man, and you couldn’t help but spiral into a web of thoughts about how Theodore was likely forced into being with you.

It had only been a few months since you both graduated from Hogwarts, but you distinctly recall how close Theodore was to Millicent Bulstrode. Your brain sifted through your memories of the girl, remembering her calculative eyes and pin-straight posture.

You just hoped the girl wouldn’t hex you for swooping in and stealing her boyfriend.

You and Theodore weren’t exactly close friends, but you both sought out each other’s company during exam season, enjoying the comfortable routine of silence that you both fell into during those days. Outside of the library, interactions with the boy dwindled into nods and occasional smiles. Despite the distance between you both during school, you held onto hope that your familiarity with one another would serve as a stepping stone towards a smooth relationship.

Conversation with Theodore is sparse for the hours that follow, the both of you mulling over thoughts of pleasantries and faltering topics of chatter. The fervid wind settles the farther you trek from the shoreline, now teetering past assortments of clustered buildings, all mottled with bright colors.

Your wand presses stiffly against your side as you tuck it into the waistband of your bottoms, concealing it from view as you both approach a swarm of people. Theodore keeps beside you, donning black sunglasses that keeps his searching gaze hidden as you both bask in the foreign environment.

It was lively and bright, the antithesis to the perpetual gloom and blisters of humming that was encroached in every stone of Britain. White verandas and endless shrubbery adorned the collection of shops around you, catching your eyes every so often.

“Here we are.” Theodore mutters, throwing you a small smile as your mouth drops into a vague o-shape.

The restaurant is stretched open with white beams of wood streaming upward to a flat wooden ceiling, the entirety of the seating area is squared away by the side banisters instead of proper walls, letting in the cool wind and seaside view. Theodore steps forward to speak with the hostess, hand lifting up to tug off his sunglasses as a blanket of shade envelopes you both.

You’re entranced by Theodore’s rapid-fire speaking, wondering if he had chosen Italian for his language lessons in order to strengthen his friendship with Blaise. With Theodore’s fluency and the restaurant’s expansive array of tables, you’re both seated in a matter of minutes.

The speckless table cloth drapes past your legs like a waterfall, effectively providing a shield against the breeze as you take your spot across from Theodore. The boy plucks his menu up and shoots you an indecipherable look from above the booklet as you remain motionless, seeing as your elementary understanding of Italian begins and ends at Ciao and Grazie.

Theodore’s lips flicker up momentarily before he lays his menu down and shuffles it over to you, “Do you want pasta? Or salad? They also have pizza, if you prefer that.”

Your lips split into a small smile of relief, a warmth blossoming in your chest as the stiff atmosphere around you both seems to wash away. Theodore reads off of the entire menu for you, eyes occasionally shifting to your concentrated face as you pedal between a few options.

When you finally decide on a dish, Theodore offers you a light hum and shining eyes, paralyzing you for a few moments. Perhaps, and to your relief, your relationship could work out after all. You just needed to clear the air between you both first.

The meal continues on without a hitch, but you have to make a conscious effort to not stare at the boy in front of you when the sun begins to sink behind the basin of sea water.

The swirls of orange and pink of the sky illuminate his sharp features, complementing his already striking complexion. A tamed buzzing of conversation wafts through the air, spurring you to word-vomit the thoughts that were plaguing you since your first joint dinner with Theodore and his father weeks before.

“I’m sorry,” You begin, looking away from Theodore when he meets your gaze with furrowed eyebrows, “about our marriage.”

Silence ensues after your vague words, and when you finally work up the courage to glance back at Theodore, confusion settles into the etches of your mind as you see his frown and penitent gaze. You had expected false platitudes of reassurance, or bitter resignation—hell, maybe anger—but certainly not the look he was giving you right now.

Clearing your throat, you sit up and lean forward, “I mean, I know that you would rather not be betrothed to me, so I’m sorry. My parents are quite lenient people, so I should have fought against it since I know your heart belongs to someone else already.”

“What?” Theodore wheezes out, reeling back to process your words.

Feeling heat creep up your neck, you falter back with quiet words, “Maybe, if I had refused vehemently, my parents could have convinced your father to not force you. I just wanted to apologize because I don’t want any lingering awkwardness or expectations for each other.”

Before Theodore can respond, your waiter paces over, giving you a polite smile before turning to address Theodore. The boy in front of you distractedly answers the waiter, eyes flickering back to your rigid figure amidst his words.

Once the waiter parts from your tableside, leaving behind a quaint black tray for your sum, Theodore seems to fall into a silent daze as he robotically composes himself and leaves the money on the tray. When he pushes his chair back, you follow suit, ready to play catch up if he swept away and down into the streets without you.

To your muted surprise, Theodore stops by your side and holds out his hand for you to take. Hesitantly clasping his calloused hand in yours, you are only able to await his words with bated breath, distracting yourself by focusing on the feeling of his rings against your fingers.

Theodore leads you yards away from the restaurant, only falling to a halt once you both reach a secluded area beside a blocked-off cliffside. The sound of crashing waves tangles into the air as Theodore’s eyes run around your face for a few moments.

“Do you want to call this off?” Theodore whispers, eyes steely with resolution as his other hand moves to lightly grip your arm.

You gape at his blunt words, swallowing thickly as your gaze falls to the ground, “If that’s what you want.”

“But what do you want?” He mumbles, stepping closer to you as another chilly gust of wind flies around your unguarded figures.

Peering back up to him, you frown before divulging, “I don’t want to call it off.”

“Good. Me neither.” Theodore nods, eyes softening at your honesty.

“But what about Millicent?” You mutter, head tilting with visible perplexion. The poignant reminder of her existence evokes a storm of doubts in your veins, and your head starts spinning with the culmination of the day’s events.

Theodore cranes his head back to assess you as he plainly responds, “What about her?”

This time, it’s your turn to survey his confused face with a mirrored look, “What? She’s your girlfriend? I can’t in good conscience do that to someone, arranged or not.”

Theodore’s mouth parts as he stares at you, and for a moment you’re disconcerted by the thought that he perhaps only just remembered her, but then, the most remarkable thing happens—Theodore starts to chuckle. His shoulders quake faintly with every muffled sound, and after a few moments, he throws his head back to let it out toward the darkening sky.

Before you have a moment to question the boy’s sanity, he turns back to you with a wide grin, “Is that what you were talking about earlier? You caught me from left field. I was worried that you were displeased because your heart belonged to someone already.”

Seeing your inquiring eyes, he shuffles closer and shakes his head, “I’m not dating Millicent, silly one. Where’d you get that grand idea from?”

“You guys were always together, and all the rumors–” Your words come out borderline defensive, neck blazing from embarrassment.

Theodore huffs and squeezes your arm, softly cutting you off from your spiel, “Just rumors. I wouldn’t have agreed to any sort of arrangement if I was with someone else, my father knows that much.”

“Right, yeah. Sorry.” You nod, scratching at your neck to dispel the humiliation that would live on in your head until your last moments on Earth.

“Silly.” Theodore hums, letting go of your arm to tap at your forehead, “Let’s head to our place before we freeze, yeah?”

Your rental unit was quite spacious to your surprise, and you were almost too enraptured with touching every inch of furniture to notice that there was only one bed in the entire space. Almost.

Theodore is cognizant of the same dilemma, clicking his tongue dryly as he murmurs quietly under his breath.

“I can take the floor.” You speak up almost zealously, easily masking how the prospect of waking with a sore back was killing you on the inside. Theodore and you had barely started building a thin understanding for your relationship, and you’d be damned if a single bed would stir up tension again.

Theodore swivels to look at you, “No need, we can share the bed. If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll take the floor.” His voice leaves little room for argument, and he runs a hand through his locks as he nods reassuringly at you. You’re touched by his consideration and understanding, glad that you weren’t in such a position with someone like Crabbe or Goyle, both of whom would likely grunt inaudibly and leave you to your ministrations.

“Let’s share, then.” You concede, heart thrumming fervently in your chest.

Theodore smiles softly at you and beckons you closer as he sits down on the bed, hand reaching out for you as you slowly tread forward. When you gently place your hand in his, he gives a faint tug, eyes darting down to the empty spot beside him.

Once you’re snug on the plush mattress, you turn to him with a wry grin, “We’ve skipped pretty much every single conventional step to get here. From study partners to life partners.”

“I suppose you’re right,” the corner of his mouth slants up, “from barely knowing my name to taking my surname, hm? Quite unorthodox.”

Shaking your head, you flop back onto the bed, keenly aware of how Theodore tightens his hold on your hand as it begins to slip away. Peering up at him, you raise an eyebrow, “Who said I’m taking your last name, Nott? You’re taking mine.”

“Hyphenating, it is.” He murmurs as his eyes trail toward the balcony ways off across the room.

You chuckle and stare into the abyss of the dim ceiling, “Any excuse to have a ridiculously extensive name.”

“Never as ridiculous as Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.” He muses, slowly lowering himself to lay beside you.

A few tantalizing beats pass before your jumbled mind seems to take away any semblance of restraint from your mouth, “I never thought it would be you, to be frank.”

“Yeah?” Theodore hums, head now turned towards you.

Nodding, you run your free hand along the edge of the bed as you continue, “My parents had been considering Crabbe for a while. I mean, they know nothing about him, but I can just imagine how that dinner would have gone once they realized just who they were shipping me off to.”

Theodore continues to study you, hand squeezing yours again before he mumbles, “I knew it’d be you.”

Snapping your head to the side, your eyes widen at his hooded gaze, “Really?”

“My father knew it too. That I wouldn’t have anyone but you.” His admission knocks the wind from your lungs, and you almost want to throttle yourself off the bed to ensure that you weren’t dreaming.

“Yeah?” You ask dumbly, heart stuttering against your ribs.

Theodore shifts to lean on his elbow, bringing his face closer to yours as he whispers, “Want to know a secret?”

All you can do is nod, trying to blink away the dizziness coiling around your head from the close proximity.

He hums and slowly retracts his hand, bringing a finger to trail the bedding beside your shoulder, “I was the one to ask your parents for permission to court you. Now, I’m going to wash up first, I promise I won’t be long.”

Without a hitch, Theodore swiftly clambers off of the bed, leaving the mattress to gently recoil against your back as it expands to its original form. You’re only able to grapple for a coherent thought once the bathroom door shuts with a click, barring you from staring at Theodore in wonder.

Once you hear the stream of the shower head emit from the bathroom, you slowly prop yourself up and trudge towards the balcony, swinging the glass doors open and allowing the whistling wind to zip through the newly exposed aperture. The biting breeze nips at your cheeks as you stare into the sky, surveying all the twinkling stars as you recount the day’s events.

You aren’t exactly sure what you’re going to say to Theodore, or if you’re even going to be able to look him in the eyes once he emerges from the bathroom, but you supposed that the turn of events unfolded more pleasantly than you could have hoped.

The distant clamoring of partygoers ways away from the balcony lulls you into a loop of idle daydreams, and you aren’t sure how many minutes have passed since Theodore’s departure from your side, but the whirlwind of your elusive thoughts dissipates when a warm hand grazes your arm.

“You alright? I’ve been calling your name for a bit now.” Theodore mumbles, eyes glazed with worry as he searches your blank expression.

Blinking slowly, you nod and offer a faint smile, “Fine, just lost in my thoughts.”

“It’s a bit chilly out here,” He glances to his right, evidently hearing the faint pulsing of music as well, “why don’t we head in?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, smiling at him, “I’ll try not to wake you when I get out of the shower.”

As you make your way to weave around the boy, body feeling weightless despite the fatigue drenching your muscles, you can feel his eyes following you until you’re swallowed by the shadows of the room.

The numbing balm of the night’s wind melts away from your face as you peer up into the shower head. The swath of steam that swirls around your body, cloaking the mirrors and walls, seems to inhibit the taunts of your overactive brain.

Your getaway would continue for another week before you’d begin wedding arrangements, already feeling the splintering headache emerging at the thought of sitting down and picking between a plethora of cloth samples. Unions between pureblood families were a big deal for the elite circle of families as the event would serve as the perfect opportunity for pretense and business transactions between different houses.

When you crack the bathroom door open with a muffled pop, dismissing the rush of steam that flees hurriedly into the cool room, you vaguely make out the figure of Theodore propped up against the headboard. The hues of moonlight peek through the bare panes of your window, curtains swept aside, faintly illuminating the silhouette of the furniture.

“Still up?” You whisper, padding over to delicately arrange yourself beside the boy.

As you shuffle under the plush covers, dragging the edges under your arms, you turn to peer at Theodore’s profile, watching as his throat bobs down as he slowly turns to you.

“Didn’t want to sleep without you.” He mutters, slowly sinking to lay down beside you.

You suppress the tender smile threatening to peel across your face and nod, “I see. You’re not a restless sleeper, are you?”

“Are you?” He quietly intones, voice growing fainter as sleep begins to grip at his consciousness.

“No, I’m not.” You hum, resisting the urge to sweep your fingers forward in search of his, “Goodnight, Theodore.”

“Goodnight.”

You both fall asleep facing one another, inches apart as the glow of the moonlight chases away the gulfs of darkness that slink in the corners of your room. It is in this position that your slumber is torn away from you mere hours later, moonlight now dispersing into small shards that nearly blend away against the white covers.

The foggy film that clouds your senses and sight reel away as you hear a small grunt from beside you followed by incessant shifting. Blinking away your drowsiness, you slowly shift up to survey Theodore, slowly comprehending his distress.

Theodore huffs out, a muffled groan blooming into the quiet atmosphere around you. Carefully reaching over, you shake the boy’s arm, eyebrows furrowing when he simply shifts again.

“Theodore, hey,” You feebly call out, shaking his arm more frantically as he remains trapped in the desolate rapids of unconsciousness.

Leaning down you bring your other hand to softly pat his cheek, you wait with bated breath as his ministrations quell before ceasing entirely. Eyes now accustomed to the veil of midnight darkness, you see his eyes slowly blink open, a light sigh escaping his lips as he begins to claw back into reality.

“Hey, it’s alright, you’re alright,” You softly murmur, bringing your fingers up to gently card back his waves, any semblance of fatigue evaporating from your bones as you focus on comforting the boy.

Theodore brings his hand up to yours, eyes beginning to sluggishly droop again, “Y/N?”

“Hm?” You hum out, readjusting your position as sickly soreness jolts up your arm.

“I guess I am a restless sleeper.” He mumbles, nudging against his pillow before he emits another sigh. His voice rumbles lethargically, and you sense that he is about to slip away into slumber again when he tightens his hold on your hand.

“Hm. What’s up?” You whisper, moving to lay down as well.

Theodore is silent for a few seconds before he tersely whispers back, voice nearly drowned out by the thumping of your heart in your ears, “Can I hold you?”

You shift closer to the cocoon of warmth batting off of him, steadily bringing your arm to wrap around him, “Of course.”

Theodore wraps his arms around you and drags you towards him, a content hum buzzing from his throat as he tucks you under his chin. For the few grand moments that pass afterward, you are left to contemplate the consequences your position would entail for when the sun rose, and you fervently hoped that no awkwardness would ensue.

Your close proximity to Theodore allows you to hear the faint thumping of his heartbeat, now undeviating in its rhythm. Bringing your free hand forward, you tuck it in the nestle of warmth between your bodies, trying to conjure inklings of sleep as a dense pressure burrowed itself in your eyes.

The lull of concentration fades into blind navigation in the crevices of your mind, and when your pulsing thoughts dwindle to incomprehensible echoes, slumber greets you once again.

When your mind blisters into stark clarity, it is with recognition of the orange hues flashing in your vision and the traces of aimless lines on your back. Your body instinctively pines for the cushion of bliss that mutely calls for you: a mixture of aftershave and pear.

For a few moments, it is completely tranquil. Until you realize that your pillow had a heartbeat.

The revelation is enough to jumpstart the discombobulated wires of your brain. Your eyes crack open to greet the rays of light that crowd your vision, an unpleasant stinging causing you to squint as you huff out.

“Good morning.” Theodore’s voice is gravelly, barely above a whisper.

“Hi Theodore.” You mumble out, remaining motionless against him.

His chest vaguely rumbles and you feel him splay one his hands against your back, “Theo. Only my father and Blaise call me Theodore.”

“Blaise?” You tiredly repeat, cheek squishing against his shirt.

“At his insistence, honestly. He thinks it’s fun.” Theodore hums, and that reminder has your hazy brain blinking with a sudden memory.

“Wait. Theodora, right?” You raise your head up, a wide grin plastered on your face as you remember the one night when Blaise dragged him away from your study routine using that nickname.

Theodore blinks before he groans into the air, bringing one of his arms up to throw over his eyes as he grumbles, “Merlin, I was hoping you’d forget or even mishear that.”

“Oh, I almost did, but Blaise’s ruckus was far more interesting than a Potions essay.” Theodore hums tiredly at the mention, and his reaction only spurs you on, “So, does he make it a habit to say Theodora, or is Dora better?” You say cheekily, shrugging innocently when Theodore peers down at you with a playful glare.

“Enough about Blaise,” Theodore mumbles, poking your ribs with his fingers as he maneuvers to sit up, dragging you to lean into his side as he did so, “I have something planned for today.”

“You’re being frighteningly vague, should I be worried?” You hum, muffling a low yawn.

Theodore shakes his head and dryly huffs , “Actually, I was planning on testing a few levitating charms on you.” His fingers dance lightly against your back as his voice drops into a feathery tone, “Have some faith in me.”

“I trust you.” You murmur, exhaling through your nose in amusement before you grow serious, “Anyway, did you sleep okay?”

Theodore doesn’t answer you, and you slowly raise your eyes to meet his face in confusion, “Theo?”

“Hm?” He hums distractedly, face craning closer to yours as he seems to almost stare through you.

Your heart collapses into the void of your ribcage for a split second before it begins to thrust violently against your chest, spurring a sea of warmth up your neck and ears. Theodore’s eyes flicker across your face as his hands begin to absentmindedly draw patterns against your sides.

You aren’t sure you’re breathing properly. Or at all.

One of his hands trails up to your arm, sliding to rest on the junction between your neck and shoulder as he muses, “Before we get up and go on about our day, I have something for you.”

Your eyebrows wrinkle at his words, eyes not straying away from his unwavering gaze. This time, it’s you who gives a small hum, patiently waiting for his next words.

“Just a small gift,” He whispers, slowly slotting his other hand on the small of your back, “It’s been a long time coming, really.”

His eyes drop down to your lips and that’s all you really need before you’re leaning towards him with anticipation, hands steadying themselves on his chest. Theodore’s lips part and he gazes at you for confirmation, jaw clenching imperceptibly as words become lost between you both.

When you remain resolute, he swiftly connects his lips to yours, mouth moving feverishly against yours. His hands press against your body, keeping you grounded as he begins to lean over you, lips never ceasing in their frenzied dance against yours.

Grasping the sides of his neck, you tug him impossibly closer to you as he hovers over you, one of his hands moving to run soothingly along your waist.

A few more heated moments pass before the tug for air becomes too great to ignore, causing you to break away from him, head tilting to the side as your lungs tinge with a faint tightness. Theodore grunts at your escape, chasing after you as he tries to satiate his desire, only opting to leave heavy kisses against your cheek and jaw when you tap his neck.

Closing your eyes, you bring your fingers to card through his hair as you attempt to halt the dizzying stars spinning across your eyelids. Amidst your fruitless efforts, a sudden tug has your eyes flying open, a bemused hum echoing through the air once you realize Theodore is guiding you to sit up.

He remains silent as he glides down from the side of the bed, hand drifting to lace with yours as he pulls you to sit at the edge of the mattress. Reaching towards the bottom drawer of the white dresser, Theodore only briefly glances away as he fishes out a small velvet box.

“Theo?” You mumble, eyes widening as he drops down on both of his knees.

“Ring.” He answers quietly, deftly opening the box and pulling out a thin silver band.

He drops kisses to your knees as he gazes up towards you, bringing one of his hands forward in muted questioning. Smiling softly, you place your left hand in his outstretched one, holding your breath when he slips the ring onto your ring finger with ease.

His hand continues to hold yours, thumb rubbing against your skin as he stares at the band.

“Thank you.” He finally says, lifting his face up to survey yours, his position leaving him at your complete mercy.

Your hands instinctively reach out to cup his face, bringing him in for another kiss as a newfound contentment curls into your chest. Theodore remains on his knees as he leans forwards, hands chancing a light slide against your hips as he reciprocates your affection.

“Fuck, how mad do you think everyone will be if we just eloped?” He grunts out before diving forward again to meet your lips.

Pulling back with a small laugh, you shake your head, “My parents would have your head.”

“I’m willing to pay that price, love.” He grins against your lips, nose nudging against yours.

Patting his cheek, you narrow your eyes playfully, “Well I’m not, so behave.”

“Yes, dear.”

masterlist

#theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter imagine #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott imagines

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wedonthaveawhile · 6 months

Text

When she says my name.

Garreth Weasley x F!MC (18+)

Garreth finds himself entangled with the heroine of Hogwarts. As their encounters become habit, they devolve into a game of power dynamics and possession.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, possesive!Garreth, dominant!Garrreth, public sex, dirty talk, aged-up characters, unrequited love, pining.

AO3 // Word count: 3k

Garreth picked at the splintered wood on his broom from a recent tussle with a bludger, scanning the courtyard intermittently for any trace of his Quidditch team. Their head of house had recently delivered a stern criticism about their hero complex. Apparently, each member was too focused on personal glory, neglecting the importance of working as a cohesive team.

He eventually detected a figure on a broom, although quickly realised they displayed a level of nimble grace far beyond what he'd expect from one of his lumbering teammates. Hogwarts' resident hero was evidently making a return from one of her mysterious outings.

His eyes swept the courtyard again, a scattering of students strolled across the well-kempt grass, a handful basked in the sun near the fountain, but none he recognised. Thinking about it, Garreth wondered whether he should hang around for this team-building training. It was probably wise, considering he was not only the captain but also the one who had organised the whole thing. However, they were running late, and he had spotted far more appealing company.

Before he could put much more thought into it, he swung his leg over his broomstick and began to silently trail the unsuspecting witch.

He couldn't quite pinpoint when he started noticing her disappearances. He assumed he just hadn't been paying much attention to her whereabouts prior to her inquiry regarding his more 'unobtainable' potions. His tactics hadn't evolved significantly since fifth-year when he’d charmed the newcomer into pilfering Sharp's office for supplies, but he had become far more adept at sneaking around for rare ingredients.

He agreed to assist in whatever scheme she was cooking up, on the condition she helped him obtain the key component. Partly for the benefits of having someone on the lookout for wandering faculty, but mostly because the beloved heroine of Hogwarts could do no wrong. If their covert operation were to be exposed, her involvement would mean the detention time his aunt dished out would be significantly reduced.

They needed snakeweed, which he was fairly certain was cultivated and harvested in the greenhouse. However, Professor Garlick was extremely protective of her plants, requiring their thieving to be done after curfew.

Moonlight wiggled through the twisted tendrils of the countless plants scattered throughout the greenhouse as they dispelled their disillusionment charm and got to work.

"What do you reckon all of this is?" The witch gestured towards a dense blanket covering the harvesting bench, a few neatly folded sheets at one end made it appear like some kind of makeshift bed.

"Perhaps the rumours about Garlick and Kogawa are true. Maybe we've stumbled upon their secret little sex den.” Garreth turned around and playfully wiggled his eyebrows, narrowly avoiding stumbling into a venomous tentacula lurking in the shadows.

She pulled back the cover, unveiling a project in progress—mallowsweet leaves neatly laid out, drying between the two blankets.

"You need to get your mind out of the gutter,” she scoffed, laying the covering back over the golden foliage. “Or you need to get laid.”

"It was a logical assumption," he argued, crouching beneath a table, casting a dim lumos across a collection of small plant pots. "The height of these tables are just right for it."

"Should I ask how you know that?"

She lifted herself onto the table as if testing the height for herself. Garreth smirked as he shifted the pots around with flicks of his wand.

"I’m a warm-blooded male, I'd say I'm an expert in these things."

Spotting a small propagation of snakeweed, he cast a glance over his shoulder to make sure she was keeping a watchful eye on the door. She wasn't. She was perched primly on the edge of the table, legs pressed together from knees to toes.

His eyes roamed across her body, and he realised he had never really had the opportunity to thoroughly check her out. She was like forbidden fruit, always flanked by her two Slytherin gatekeepers. It's not that he hadn't noticed she was attractive, she certainly was. Her feminine figure hinted at subtle signs of muscle earned from days spent sprinting around the castle.

His lusty gaze travelled up to her face, only to discover she had been watching him the entire time. Suppressing the flicker of embarrassment, he instead leaned into his Gryffindor bravery. He grabbed the small pot and approached her, his hips meeting her knees with an intentional bump.

"As promised," he presented her with the delicate plant, his fingers brushing against hers as he handed it over.

"That was easy," she raised the pot to catch the moonlight. Her eyes shifted from the plant to him, and her pupils bloomed. "You've earned yourself a returning customer."

"Splendid," he grinned, wondering whether this meant more after-hour hangouts, a thought that kindled his overactive imagination. "The first one's on the house, the rest might come with a price tag."

“I suppose I’ll have to start saving then. What's your price?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to make demands beyond your means,” he backtracked, worried she might think he was being serious. “Wouldn’t want to scare off my favourite customer.”

"Snagged the title of the favourite customer without parting with a single penny?” She chuckled lightly, scraping her teeth across her lower lip, “Business must be crawling."

"I prioritise quality over quantity," his eyebrow quirked as he studied her face, purposefully lingering a beat too long on her lips before flitting back to her eyes. "Now, what assets do you bring to the trading table?"

"Let me think," she reclined on her palms. "What do I bring to this specific table..." she emphasised each word with a tap of her nails against the wood, "that a warm-blooded male might find tempting?"

Heat surged through his body, and he began to regret pressing himself up against her legs, there was no way she couldn’t feel his enthusiasm swell against her knees.

“Did I mention it’s one for the price of two?”

She laughed, the sugar-sweet sound tickling his brain and the movement of her body causing her legs to part slightly.

“See, what did I tell you?" he pushed his palms against the table on either side of her thighs as he slotted himself between them. "Perfect height."

"I took your word for it. After all, you're the expert." She gave his tie a tug before running the fabric through her fingers. “Well, so you say...”

"Correct," he answered simply, because the only other words rattling around in his head was an offer to sit on his face, and he was trying really hard to play it cool.

She cocked her head to the side, “Are you going to verify that claim?”

You would have thought they were time-fated lovers, not classroom acquaintances. She had been right. He needed to get laid, and she needed some stress relief. It didn't take long before her skirt was hiked up around her waist and he was showcasing just how perfect the height of the table was. He assured her the greenhouse was soundproof due to the mandrakes, though he wasn't entirely sure if that was true. Frankly, he didn't care. Her unrestrained moaning, nails scraping across the wooden table, heels digging into his back to pull him in deeper—it made a lifetime of detention feel like a minor nuisance.

The saying goes, once is a mistake and twice is a habit, but Garreth wondered when it tipped into addiction. Whenever she was stressed—and fortunately for him, that was often—he found himself happily yanked by his tie into the nearest broom cupboard, beneath the Quidditch stands before one of his matches, by the edge of the lake under a disillusionment charm...

Maybe this time, on the balcony of the highest tower?

That's where she gracefully dismounted her broom. He followed suit, touching down behind her without a sound. Her jumper was splattered with mud down one arm, but for the most part, she was reasonably unscathed which was a rarity. She tugged it over her head to clean it with a quick charm, and he realised the stain bore a suspicious resemblance to a troll's handprint.

He knew she could handle herself, she’d been doing so for almost two years without his observations. Nevertheless, he realised he’d begun to worry about her when she was away.

He cleared his throat.

She whirled around with startled eyes and he muffled her gasp with a kiss. She squirmed for a few seconds, but her resistance crumbled as his thumbs glided up her neck, tracing delicate patterns under her ears.

He wasn't certain if she was doing the pulling or if he was doing the pushing, but somehow her back ended up crashing against the wall. Her fingers wove through his hair as his lips tore from hers and latched onto the sensitive skin of her throat.

“You scared the shit out of me,” she landed a weak thump on his bicep.

"You look like you lost a fight with a swamp," he mumbled against her skin, his hands wandering down to her hips.

"I'll have you know, I beat that swamp fair and square."

A ghost of a laugh dispersed across her neck, "I like the thought of watching you mud-wrestle. Let me come with you next time."

“Or you could come in me now?”

It was an obvious deflection tactic, but he gladly took the bait. His kisses grew forceful as he began to nip at her exposed skin.

“You better not be leaving marks, Weasley.”

He grumbled in protest against the light pink blotch he had begun to work into her throat. Something in the primal recesses of his mind itched to brand her. He wanted his lips stained on her skin, regardless of wherever or whoever she was with when she was gone.

"What if they're out of sight?" His fingers danced against her neck as he worked on undoing her tie, it fluttered to the ground before he finished asking for permission.

She withdrew her wand and uttered the incantation for a protective charm to shield their misdeeds from any potential spectators. He took that as consent, leaving a trail of wet kisses down her chest as he unbuttoned her shirt.

"Where have you been?" he probed before his teeth dug into the plump flesh above her breasts. It had been nearly nine days since their last encounter, easily their longest dry spell in the two months since their greenhouse tryst.

"None of your business," She hooked her fingers into his trousers to pull him closer, trying to find some friction.

"I want it to be.”

"Tough shit, Weasley,” her voice faltered as he hiked her skirt up around her waist.

“Garreth,” he reprimanded.

She only called him by his first name when they were fucking. He was certain she’d been deliberately conditioning him with it. If he teased her too vigorously in class all she had to do was say, "Shut it, Garreth," and he'd have to discreetly conceal his excitement for the next ten minutes. She made him dumb, plain and simple.

"You'll have to earn that," she purred, licking a trail along his neck that made his gut twist taut.

He scooped her up, spinning her around until she perched on the balcony's banister. A yelp escaped her as she teetered on the concrete edge, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“I want to feel this tomorrow,” she popped open his buttons to speed up the process, “Please?"

“I've got you," he assured, feeling her pulse thunder against his chest as he positioned himself between her thighs. One hand supported her back, while the other fumbled to unclasp his belt.

It was difficult to recall how he'd ever got aroused before she came along. The way she demanded and begged all at once sent his brain spinning. "Say please again," he whispered, nipping her lower lip as he moved her soaked underwear to the side and positioned himself at her entrance. "I like it when you ask nicely."

"Pretty please?" she simpered before kissing him, her tongue eagerly seeking his.

He swallowed her moan as he pushed himself into her, she felt better than he remembered. Tight, hot, and quivering as he gave her everything he had. He loosely wrapped his fingers around her throat, and she whined against his mouth, her head tilting back as her eyes fluttered shut. He tightened his grip, her own hands scrambling at his waist to encourage him deeper.

He pulled her close by the small of her back with one arm, maintaining his grip on her neck with the other, aligning her to accommodate all of him. With each thrust, she bit down on the flesh of his shoulder as he bottomed out.

So, it was fine when she left a mark. He'd certainly remember that.

“You feel so fucking good, Garreth-”

A fractured cry fell from her lips as he pounded into her because his name had floated off her tongue like a prayer, causing something inside him to shatter, like it always did. Defining the constantly shifting dynamic between them was impossible, but it was addicting - He always found himself craving a little more than what he was getting.

“Who do you belong to?”

Garreth threaded his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck, tugging her head up to look him in the eyes. She regarded him with a dizzy stare but remained silent. He began to slow down, and she instinctively bucked her hips to maintain some friction as her building orgasm began to ebb away.

“I said, who do you belong to?”

She wasn't his, they were both aware of that. This was never more than a matter of convenient timing and a means of stress relief. Nonetheless, he took pleasure in the hold he had over the most formidable witch of their generation. The witch with unwavering principles and determination. The witch who never faltered in her beliefs. The witch who was currently lying through her teeth for the pleasure of coming undone on his cock.

“You,” she whimpered, “Please, Garreth. Don’t stop, please.”

He didn't know if it was the way she was begging or the frantic desperation of her hips grinding against his, but he was teetering on the edge of his breaking point. He bit down hard on his lip, struggling to hold himself together long enough for her to reach the finish line.

"Chin up," he demanded, his breath coming in ragged pants as he reached one hand between them, rubbing a lopsided circle around her clit. “You look at me when you come."

He groaned through clenched teeth as his words caused her to instantly tighten around him, and that beautiful, hazy look fell over her face. She pulled him in by his collar, kissing him so hard it carved itself onto his brain and he released nine days of pent-up desire. He rolled his hips against hers as they both rode it out, briefly forgetting he should be gentle considering she was perched on the edge of a several hundred-foot drop.

He had believed there was nothing better than watching her unravel in his arms before seeking his own release, but he was wrong. Feeling her orgasm spasming over his shaft as he filled her up damn near killed him.

He fastened his trousers and helped her down from the stone balustrade. She smoothed down her skirt, trying to hide the fact that she was wobbling. He hoped his performance had met her expectations and he’d still be making her legs tremble tomorrow.

He peppered kisses across the blemishes he'd left on her breasts as he fastened the buttons of her shirt, trailing up to nip at the delicate spot on her neck just beneath her ear, the spot only he knew about, the spot that made her head tilt back and her vision fill with stars. He whispered an "Accio" against her skin, summoning a tie from the ground. He secured it around her throat with a playful tug before pulling her jumper over her head.

“You have to go?” he murmured between kisses, finding it bothered him less when he asked rather than when she told him.

Her chest heaved as she sighed, planting a lingering kiss on his lips before bending down to gather her things. “I have a study group. You’re welcome to join?”

He gave her a foggy smile and shook his head lightly. “I have some Quidditch thing I’m late for.”

“Alright, well…” She cast a fleeting glance at her abandoned broom on the floor. They hadn’t quite mastered the art of goodbyes yet. “Later, Weasley.”

“See you later,” he offered her a half-hearted wave, hoping she wouldn't make him wait another nine days before flying into his line of sight again.

As he watched her leave, he found himself wondering what impulse had led him to fasten his Gryffindor tie around her neck. There was the undeniable hope her irritation at his bold act would result in some passionate hate sex, but it ran deeper than that. It felt territorial. He’d been growing increasingly irritated with Sallow's lecherous stare and Gaunt's persistent attempts to cater to her every whim. They seemed to believe they held a Slytherin monopoly on her affections, all due to some unspoken event that happened over two years ago. Garreth understood her on a deeper level. She wanted someone who wouldn't procrastinate for two years, someone capable of making her scream on a greenhouse bench at two in the morning. He had a claim too, a far more substantial one.

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festivalsofmargot · 1 year

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Pining in Potions Class {Sebastian Sallow x GN!Reader}

Introduction: Sebastian Sallow is forming a huge crush on you, and it’s hitting him all at once in a very annoying way. Something as simple as not being partnered with you in potions class eats away at him. Gotta love some jealous Sebastian. Takes place after MC has met Anne and before completing his final mission. Some levity to enjoy being students with crushes.

Word Count: ~ 2,600

Warnings: None really, just some Hogwarts students crushing on each other from afar.

Author’s Note: You ever get in trouble with a teacher in class and look at your friend who’s trying not to laugh then you struggle not to laugh? That’s exactly the experience I was thinking of writing this haha. Come on, Sebastian Sallow and MC are the next Ron and Hermione, you can’t convince me otherwise. (Though I really head cannon over Sebastian and a hufflepuff) I wrote this so it was gender neutral and non house specific.

Songs (if interested):

Hold Me Tight - Berlinist

She - dodie

WACKY - Matt Watson

Lady May - Tyler Childers

That day in potions class, Professor Sharp had told the students to partner up for the day’s brew, the focus potion. You and Garreth Weasley, being near each other already, looked at one another and gave an innocent shrug of your shoulders, agreeing to partner up.

Sebastian had partnered up with Natty and couldn’t help but glance your direction. He felt a pang of jealousy when he saw how close you and Garreth were standing when reading over the recipe in the text book. Quickly convincing himself he wasn’t bothered, he looked down at his and Natty’s station, trying to focus.

But he was bothered. You had still been around to help whenever he asked, but he couldn’t help feeling this distance starting to grow between the two of you. He had found himself coming up with any and every excuse to get you to help him with something, otherwise he didn’t think he’d be able to see you outside of class. He noticed you had a lot of assignments to do that required you to leave Hogwarts so he’s offered to go along to help. But every time he did you turned him down, saying you understood how busy he was with his research and would ask Poppy or Natty if you needed anything.

Today’s missed opportunity caused him to tap his fingers on the desk in annoyance as he looked over the ingredients. He wished he had some sort of a heads up if they were going to need partners in any of the classes they shared together. That way he could be proactive with where he sat next time.

“The reason I’ve partnered you up today,” Professor Sharp began, “is not because of the difficulty of the potion, the potion’s ingredients are few and very easy to keep balanced. The real challenge lies in the preparation of the ingredients. It will be strenuous work squeezing the juice from your dugbog tongues." The class made a collective sound of disgust which brought an amused smirk to the Professor’s face.

Among the class’s sounds of repulsion, Sebastian heard you trying to stifle your giggles. His envy only grew when he realized your laughter was a response to something Weasley had whispered to you.

“Now, a slimy dugbog tongue will work fine, but a dried up tongue will make the potion not only more effective, it can last longer as well. Use the tools I’ve given to you to dry out the tongues, your arms will get tired so let your partner know when you need them to take over. Begin.”

Sebastian and Natty gave each other an inquisitive look, unsure of how to get started.

“I guess we’ll start with the rolling pin?” Natty suggested, grabbing it and then making work of squeezing the juice out of the tongue. It was much harder than she expected. The more she rolled, the tougher it felt. “Whew! This is going to tire me out fast, be ready to switch, Sebastian.”

“Right.” Sebastian said. While he waited for Natty to finish her round, he couldn’t stop his gaze from wandering your way. He found it cute how you were trying to stand on your tiptoes when rolling out the dugbog tongue, hoping gravity would help you out if you were able to get more of your weight on it.

“Woah, Garreth.” You said, letting out an exhausted breath, feeling the burn in your arms. “Would you mind going to hang up my robes while I do my turn?” You asked as you shed the garment. You weren’t a stranger to physical labor, you knew when you were going to work up a sweat.

“No problem.” Garreth said, taking your robes and shedding off his own as well. “Was going to do the same myself. Not my first dugbog tongue, unfortunately.”

As Garreth walked off to the back of the class to hang up your robes, you rolled up your sleeves and got back to work.

Sebastian had a slight longing it was him who you had asked to hang up your robes as his eyes roamed up and down your backside. He didn’t think the school uniform fit anyone quite as well as it fit you. Realizing what he was doing, he mentally chastised himself and snapped his attention back to his table. At that point, Natty was holding out the rolling pin to him. He took it from her and she began shaking out her arms, seemingly too worn out to tease him if she had noticed his staring.

“Go as long as you can Sebastian, I might not have paced myself very well and overdone it.”

“Don’t worry, Natty. I got this.” Sebastian assured her, but as soon as he began rolling out the dugbog tongue he understood why everyone said it was so difficult. There was barely any squish to the thing! It was like trying to get orange juice from an orange made of marble. He poised himself, took a deep breath, and leaned forward, beginning his rolls again.

It had been a good few minutes of rolling when your laugh broke Sebastian’s focus, stealing his attention again.

“Garreth, stop it!” He heard you jokingly chide among the class’s chattering voices. While forcing himself to keep rolling, he looked over to see Garreth laughing with you, trying to get his hands on the roller while you were still giving a go at the dugbog tongue.

“Alright, we’ll do it together then if that’s what you want.” Garreth quipped. Sebastian’s stomach dropped when he saw the red head put both of his hands over yours on the roller to help put more force on the dugbog tongue.

“You’re a piece of work, Garreth.” You snickered, pulling away and playfully smacking his arm. Garreth shot you a sly smirk as he got into a better position to start his rolling.

“Don’t even try to hide it, you love having me as a potions partner already.” Though you shook your head at him, Sebastian noticed the amused smile gracing your lips.

Getting more fed up than tired, Sebastian stepped back from rolling and looked at Natty. “Alright, your turn.” He said with a huff. He took off his robes as well and offered to take Natty’s.

Sebastian tried to catch your eye as he walked to and from the back of the classroom but to no avail, you were too focused on the dugbog tongue and Garreth’s jokes. He returned to his station and took the rolling pin back from Natty, his annoyance fueling him.

“You take over.” Garreth said, handing you the rolling pin. “I’m going to snag some dittany leaves.”

You let out a sigh at both beginning your rolls and what Garreth had just told you. Dittany leaves were not on the ingredient list and you both knew it. “Please stay here.” You pleaded.

This time, it was Sebastian who started to crack a smile as he eaves dropped on the two of you. Maybe Garreth can turn your oh so hilarious potions class into a nightmare.

“Trust me, it’ll be a simple hybrid of a focus and wiggenweld potion.” Before you could protest further, Weasley had already darted towards the ingredient shelves.

You, not having the energy to call after him again, groaned and continued rolling. When he returned with a goofy smile on his face, you couldn’t fight back your guffaw at his ridiculous antics, letting out an adorable snort. “Garreth, I’m going to kill you.”

“Relax, I’ll take the blame if things go wrong. Just act like you didn’t know I added the leaves.”

Just as quickly as his smile formed, it vanished from Sebastian’s face. That was his move. He had taken the blame for you when you two got caught in the restricted section in hopes to impress you a bit. Surely taking the fall in the library was a lot more impressive than taking the fall for a potion mishap.

“Alright class, time is up on drying out the tongues. Go on and place all the ingredients in for your focus potion.” Professor Sharp instructed.

Sebastian and Natty put in their ingredients and began stirring, and sure enough, the pot turned the right shade of blue they needed.

Suddenly, a whizzing noise came from yours and Garreth’s pot, grabbing everyone’s attention in the class including Professor Sharp’s. The whizzing noise grew louder and louder. The two of you looked at each other in panic, then out of the pot burst a small, smelly black cloud, giving a pathetic poot noise.

The whole class burst into laughter, including Sebastian. He couldn’t see your face because you were hiding it behind your hands, but he could tell you were laughing as well due to your shaking shoulders. Professor Sharp limped his way over to you and Garreth, the exhausted look on his face implied he knew it was more Garreth’s doing than yours.

It was then you finally looked Sebastian’s way, your face turning to a mix of hilarity and pain as you grabbed the side of your stomach from laughing too hard. You gave him a helpless face, hoping to convey to Sebastian how absurd working with Garreth was.

Sebastian gave you a smug look and began clapping his hands, “Well done.”

You gave him a small smile and an oh well shrug and brought your attention back to Professor Sharp.

The class had quieted down at the seriousness in Professor Sharp’s tone. As you and Garreth were getting a good scolding in front of everyone, Sebastian noticed you were biting the inside of your cheeks to prevent yourself from laughing further. He had to quickly look down to his feet, sealing his lips together as tightly as he could to stop any chuckles of his own from coming through.

As much as he didn’t like the idea of getting in trouble with Professor Sharp, he couldn’t help but want to be in Garreth’s position. He wanted to be the one that made you laugh like that. He wanted to be the one who’s arm you playfully smacked. He wanted to be your partner in crime.

You made him feel a levity he hadn’t felt since Anne got cursed. Something about you drew him in and he found himself at ease whenever you were around. At first he didn’t like it, convinced himself you made him lose focus on finding a cure for his sister. But after everything you’d done so far to help him, realizing his sister had just as much fun around you as he did, and witnessing how willing you were to go into the unknown, he realized you were progressing things more than anything.

“Let’s be grateful it was only dittany leaves you added, Mr. Weasley.” Professor Sharp reprimanded, then turned to make his way back to his desk. “Well, with that rather exciting end to class, you’re all dismissed.”

As everyone made their way out of class, you and Garreth stayed behind to clean up the mess he caused.

Sebastian kept an eye on you in his peripheral vision as he and Natty gathered their robes and slipped them back on. He took this chance to grab yours and bring them over.

“Aw thanks, Sebastian. You shouldn’t have, I really appreciate it.” Garreth wisecracked as you and him were scrubbing the table.

“Shut up, Weasley.” Sebastian said with a chuckle, handing him his robes, then held up your robes so he could help you into them.

Your scrubbing slowed to a stop and a blush creeped up your neck. Sebastian had never done anything like this before. You tried to calm yourself as you turned and let him help you get your robes on.

Shrugging them on, you turned and thanked him. You met his expectant gaze and, after a moment, realized he was waiting for you to finish up so you could walk to your next class together. “Oh, um... you may have to go on without me. It might take us a while to finish up here.”

You also needed a second to yourself to breathe because Sebastian’s gesture had thrown you for a loop. He needed to be careful doing things like that, because you’d look too much into it and convince yourself he liked you back. The thought of burdening him with your feelings seemed so selfish. He had a cursed sister to help, he didn’t need some new Hogwarts student pining for him and making his life more complicated. He was already taking time out of his day to help you catch up on spells, no way you could ask any more of him.

Sebastian couldn’t help but feel disappointed, and it showed on his face. “Alright.” He rocked back and forth on his feet awkwardly. “I suppose I’ll... catch up with Ominis and see you in charms then?”

You gave him a smile and simple nod of your head. “See you there.”

He forced a smile back then slowly made his way out of the potions classroom, kicking the dirt at his feet as he went.

You got back to cleaning with Garreth, who was staring after Sebastian. Then he looked to you, “Well, that was downright awkward.”

You could only cringe. “Sorry, Garreth.”

“No need to apologize to me. It was Sebastian’s heart you broke back there, not - ow!” He was cut off when your elbow jammed into his ribs.

“Shut up and help me clean.” Deep down you were hoping it was true that Sebastian was disappointed he couldn’t walk with you to class. You wanted to live in that fantasy even just a little. But, realistically, he probably wanted to update you on what he found in Salazar Slytherin’s spell book since he couldn’t speak about it with Ominis.

The blush made its way back when you began to think about his forearm muscles flexing as he was rolling out his and Natty’s dugbog tongue. You were extra thankful you partnered up with Garreth, there was no pressure and he had made it fun. If you had partnered with Sebastian, you would have been a bumbling mess, unable to focus on the assignment. Probably would have had to reread the ingredients a few times over even though there were only three items. Merlin’s beard, you were hopeless.

Lately, it had been difficult for you to be around Sebastian. He had been making you so nervous, it was beginning to get frustrating. You wish you could go back to how it was when you first met. You were so overwhelmed trying to catch up with the other fifth years, you couldn’t overthink things when you were together even if you wanted to. But you’ve been getting the hang of things and excelling in your coursework, wielding magic became second nature. You didn’t need to put all your focus on classes anymore, so that freed up a lot of room in your mind for Sebastian.

With a defeated sigh, you and Garreth finished cleaning up your potions station. You grabbed your books and waved goodbye. As soon as you left the classroom, you looked up to see Sebastian leaning against the wall. He had decided to wait for you after all.

He pushed up off the wall and walked up to you, a smile spreading across your face. He took the quickest glance at your lips, catching himself before he could linger. Without warning, he grabbed your books and began walking away.

“Shall we?” He asked over his shoulder.

You pursed your lips as you watched him. Surely nothing to get your hopes up over, right? Right, surely nothing. Then you moved to join his side.

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow angst

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himegureisu · 2 months

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Homesick

Summary: You are a continent away at work and miss your husband.

A/N: Yes, two in one day. I refused to study. The third in the Mail Mini Series. Though, you can read this without the other two.

It was breakfast once again.

The Great Hall was lively in chatter and energy from students who were most interested in the latest scores of the Quidditch World Cup. It would also mean that they’d be distracted from their lessons. A prime time to deduct house points.

It was then the conversation was interrupted as the owls flew through heads delivering mail once more.

Your tawny barn owl has become a regular visitor of the great old castle since the move. They didn’t see you as often as they did your owl but it meant that their Potion’s professor would be a little less grumpy and hostile throughout the day.

They could at times coax a smile out of their professors’ faces before being deducted five house points for the attempt. For others though, it was worth seeing the man’s usual frown turn upside down.

This day was one of those days.

Your tawny barn owl alongside the other professors’ owls landed above the plates of their owners, delivering their journals, newspapers, and or packages. In Severus’ case, beneath the Potions’ Journal was a letter from you.

It has been a week since you left for a conference in New York.

As one of the Representatives for the British Ministry of Magic (MM) to the Magical Congress of the United States (MACUSA), you were occasionally sent to such events whenever your partner could not. This time, however, you owed him, and he’d collected. Though, you were sorely starting to get why he didn’t want to go because it was long and could go on and on.

He’d missed you and was bearing it as much as he could. You were never gone for this long and it was starting to grate on him.

Though, it seems that it did get to you.

Sev,

I am livid at the fact that this conference seems to go on forever when all I want is to go home and bury myself in your embrace. I miss you. I miss waking up beside you. The bed feels so empty and cold without you in it. I miss your gentle kisses trying to wake me up from slumber. I miss your warm cuddles and our gentle morning sex.

Ugh. I hate this job sometimes and I hate that I agreed to go to this but I owed my colleague one. When I get back can we get a lazy morning in, where we’ll do just all that? And maybe more? I need to wrap this up someone is calling me, god it makes me want to cry. I just want to go home at this point.

Next time don’t ever allow me to go on a trip so long, okay?

I miss you, I love you. I’ll hopefully see you soon.

His lips slowly curled into a smile, pocketed the letter, and sideswept the journal, to eat quickly. This did not go unnoticed by his colleagues, especially Hagrid, whose foot became the landing piece for his journal.

“Aye, professor, what has ye in a rush?” Hagrid asked,

“I need to send a package before the first period,” he briefly answered, finishing his meal, “If you’ll excuse me,”

If he runs, he will get enough time to send his cloak and change, before his first class. Yes, that would do.

And so, through the empty halls of Hogwarts, he ran.

#severus snape #severus snape x reader #hp #harry potter #severus snape fanfiction #snape #professor snape #hogwarts #fanfiction #snape x you #severus snape x you

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gandalfsbignaturals · 1 year

Text

to anybody who likes magic and also categorizing magic users, instead of hogwarts houses, i recommend magic the gathering colors. rather than simply being essentially a really shitty personality test with 4 boxes you have to try and fit yourself into, u have 5 types (or colors) of magical powers that can be mixed and matched

these two diagrams more or less layout the concepts associated with each color, as well as various color combinations, but there are literal decades of writing both official and fanmade on the philosophies associated with each color and their relationships to each other. there are also mechanical differences between the colors, but those dont matter as much when using them as a tool for character analysis or personality typing.

i consider myself primarily white- and black-aligned because i believe in the value of community and collective action, but also feel that strict moral codes and laws are detrimental to true justice and compassion. also, theyre the colors most often associated with angels, vampires, and organized crime, and i think thats hot.

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sitp-recs · 2 months

Note

Hey Liv, do you have any recommendations for fics where Harry is trying really really hard to resist Draco.

It goes without saying that he obviously fails at the end. Thank you.

Hi anon! Ohh this was a good challenge, love me a slutty Harry falling head over heels for Draco hehe but I think these might work. They include Harry trying to resist either physically/sexually or emotionally (avoiding commitment):

The Venice Job by nishizono (E, 25k)

Harry Potter was one of the youngest Aurors in history. He was the Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Who Lived Again. He loved Guinness and Quidditch, and hated pineapple. He wrote letters to Hagrid every Thursday, and on Sundays, he visited Hermione and Ron. Harry Potter was also not gay.

Your Place or Mine? by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (E, 27k)

"This person is so much harder to hate. And I’m supposed to hate Malfoy. How the fuck else am I supposed to limit this to just sex?"

On Your Shore by @xanthippe74 (M, 35k)

Clearing out a remote house full of cursed collectibles in the Outer Hebrides? Not a problem for an experienced curse breaker like Harry Potter. Spending a week with the straight, happily-married man that he’s starting to have feelings for? And sharing a bed with him at night? Surely Harry can handle that, too. But both the house and Draco Malfoy have secrets to uncover, and Harry might be in deeper water than he thought.

The Boy Who Only Lived Twice by lettered (E, 54k)

Harry Potter is an Unspeakable. Draco Malfoy is the wizard who shagged him. Adventure! Intrigue! Secret identities, celebrities, spies! It's all right here, folks.

Harry Potter Gives a Shit by talithan (E, 58k)

“Where are you headed?” “No place special,” Draco fumbled, and flushed further. But then: “I can change that,” said Harry Potter.

Things Worth Knowing by Femme and noeon (E, 164k)

After the Battle, Harry thinks he's left Hogwarts for good, but Minerva insists that all students return for an Eighth Year if they wish to sit for NEWTs in the spring, and Harry needs those NEWTs to go into the Aurors. Draco's just grateful not to be in Azkaban. Or the Manor. He's hoping he can steer clear of Potter this year and grapple with his own problems. Unfortunately for him, Potter appears to be one of those problems.

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #Harry in denial

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evergone · 1 year

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Read between the lines

Theodore Nott x reader

Warnings: limited swearing, kissing

Description: The reader comes to terms with their feelings for Theo through the narrator and the narrator's subconscious.

The Slytherin dormitories were by far the best out of all the houses and that wasn’t something you thought just out of bias or pride for your own house, it was the objective truth. While the other houses shared their dormitories with anywhere from one to four roommates (to foster teamwork or cooperation, you presumed), the Slytherin dormitories were one to a room (likely to foster individuality and self-dependence). Gryffindor had some system to stop the boys from entering the girls’ dormitories apparently, a shame for them, really, because Slytherin trusted its students enough that no such system was implemented for you. Sure, there was the occasional pregnancy scare but no more than the amount that came out of the girls sneaking into the boys rooms in Gryffindor. And, as if that wasn’t enough, each room had its own private en suite bathroom to add that extra level of superiority over the other houses.

Everyone in Slytherin liked to boast that their room was the best. Between the designer decorations their parents bought them and the hours they spent rearranging furniture, it could occasionally get a little competitive. Your own room was nice but nothing too fancy. Of course, your parents were well off (that was basically a prerequisite of Slytherin), but they weren’t the kind to show that off. Only your father had gone to Hogwarts and, unlike you, he was a Hufflepuff, so he was always a firm believer in having a more modest amount of belongings. Your room definitely had his influence, with sketches of his favourite dragons, cuts of plants from his garden, and an old mirror of his.

Of all your friends’ rooms, it was Theo’s that you found to be “the best.” That’s why you were headed there to study with him in the comfort of his sheep’s wool blanket (and occasionally his arms if you were too tired to bother). It was a study nook rather than a bedroom, with enough books to fill a library and a collection of antique pens. Truly, the best place to study, the best place to be and the best of the Slytherin bedrooms.

“Excuse me, Y/n L/n?” You turned at the sound of your name to see a tall, olive-skinned girl with blue lining in her robes standing awkwardly amongst a small group of girls.

Not all of them were from your year but the one who called your name certainly was. Last year you had… What was it? Oh yes, you had Care of Magical Creatures with her. She had her bow stolen straight from her black hair by a pixie and Draco, ever the kind boy, had teased her relentlessly about it for the rest of the week. Quite hypocritical of him, considering his own track record with magical creatures, but it wasn’t any of your concern. Her name was something like, Ann or Sam or… Sue! Sue Li (you were never good with names).

“How can I help you, Li?” You said politely, unsure whether she’d prefer you call her by her first or last name, “There isn’t anything wrong, is there?”

“No, no, everything’s fine, um,” she barely made eye-contact with you, her head tilted to the left to hide her gaze, “You’re friends with Theodore Nott, right?”

A half-laugh escaped your lips at the coincidence that she was asking after the very person you were on your way to see. It took her aback, her face lighting up with offence before you quickly apologised, explaining that you hadn’t meant to laugh at her, rather, at the coincidence you found yourself in. She nodded and her shoulders relaxed, like a weight had been taken off them by your openness to chat.

“I was just wondering, you know, Valentine’s is next week, and, well…” Li danced around the point of the conversation for a while, stalling with enough ‘uh’s and ‘erm’s to last you a lifetime, “I was wondering if he — Nott, that is — had a date?”

Valentine’s day. You’d forgotten about that. Never in all your years had you celebrated Valentine’s day (not that you hadn’t wanted to). Neither had Theo as far as you knew (not that he hadn’t wanted to). He wasn’t really the romantic type, to be honest, he’d never so much as mentioned a crush or told you he found someone attractive, let alone talked to you about a Valentine’s date. Theo was the private type, he didn’t like parties or team sports or group projects, Merlin’s beard, he didn’t even like it when people went in his room (other than you, of course). To think he would agree to a date with someone without talking to you and having an entire identity crisis first was out of the question. So, you supposed the short answer was no.

“I don’t believe so,” you told Li.

“Oh! Good! Well, then, would you give him this?” She asked and handed you an envelope sealed with a little blue and silver spot of wax.

Before you even had the time to answer she had waved a ‘thank you’ and skipped off in the other direction, giggling with her friends. You blinked twice and pocketed the envelope, turning on your heel to continue your journey to Theo’s room. On your walk through the halls you found your fingers blindly playing with the wax seal in your pocket. As if of their own accord they were picking it off. Letters are a confidential thing, and you knew for sure (well, you were pretty sure) Theo would be (maybe slightly) upset if you opened his letter without permission. You already knew what was inside, it was obviously a declaration of love.

Would Theo like a love letter? Truthfully, he presented as the kind of guy that would hate the complexity of a love letter. If, say, you were to confess your love to Theo (not that you were in love with him or whatever, but just for argument’s sake), what would you do? He’d like for you to tell him casually, you thought, as if it was just another everyday conversation. Grand gestures weren’t his thing, he was a quiet guy, a reserved guy, again: a private guy. The intimacy of the moment would be enough for him; your arms slightly grazing each other as you sat side-by-side in his bed, your faces so close that you’d be breathing the same air, your legs interlocked under the sheets (because if no one else saw it, it wasn’t happening, right?). You didn’t love Theo, but you knew how you would love him (liar, you wanted him). What? (You had ripped the envelope in your hand by the time you got to the entrance to the Slytherin common room).

“Password?” The portrait of Elizabeth Burke, an ancestor of yours, asked as if you didn’t see her every day.

“Slytherins are supreme,” you replied and she swung forward to let you in.

“Pass, poppet,” she said fondly, “Remember to make our family proud.”

The response you gave her every day escaped your mouth robotically — something like ‘always do’ or whatever it was — and you stepped into the common room. Almost home. ‘Home’ wasn’t your room, no, despite the multitudes of furniture and decorations that were from your actual house in rural England, you didn’t feel as at home in your own room as you did in Theo’s (I wonder why). Shut up. (Theo’s room was nice and all, but it was just another room. The same bricks that built yours had built his. They were identical down to the centimetre, apart from the odd extra piece of furniture and a few of your own personal touches—) Merlin’s beard, who’s story is this? (— The only real difference between your room and his was that yours didn’t have him.) Pansy interrupted you on your way, her hair in two braids. Over the years it had grown rather long, from just under her chin when you were all first years to her shoulders. (Some of your other friends had grown too, a particular Theodore Nott comes to mind. Where once was a short, meagre little boy, was now a man who towered over you with just the right amount of muscle to attract you). Stop it, please.

“Are you going up there to snog him?” Pansy teased (she gets it), “You guys never get your homework finished and, quite frankly, it’s a little suspicious.”

“We’re just friends who have too much to talk about,” you laughed (but it was laced with a sense of pride. Did other people think you were snogging him? Did the two of you appear like a couple?).

Pansy scoffed, not believing a word you said (as she shouldn’t) but too exhausted from double Defence Against the Dark Arts to argue with you. At the door to Theo’s room, you paused and let your fist hover above the deep brown wood. Nerves? You were just going to study, like you always did. Why on earth would you be nervous? (Maybe because you liked him and it was finally dawning on you that, by Salazar, you’d torn up a love letter that was surely going to get chased up. How did you plan to lie your way out of, or even justify that decision?) The door opened before you got the chance to knock and your eyes were blessed with the sight of Theodore Nott, who looked down at you with furrowed brows.

“Why are you just standing here?” He asked.

“Sue Li gave me a letter for you,” you said, refusing to acknowledge his question.

“That Ravenclaw girl who got her bow stolen last year in CoMC?”

The nod you gave him shook a loose eyelash from your eyelid and you watched it fall down onto your cheek then pushed straight past him and made yourself comfortable in his bed (and he was alright with this despite all these claims of being a “private person” because anything for you, Y/n, dear). It was only Autumn but already the Winter chill was starting to settle into the centuries-old uninsulated castle that was Hogwarts. Professor Flitwick cast a heating spell every year at the beginning of December but sometimes Autumn got nippy enough that students would go beg for it to be cast a bit earlier. Hopefully, that would be the case this year. The sheep’s wool blanket was a blessing on your legs that were previously covered only by your crappiest thin stockings.

“Can I see the letter?” Theo pushed.

You looked up at him through mascara clad eyelashes, one lash less thick than minutes prior, and silently prayed that your tongue would fall out so you’d never have to embarrass yourself by telling the truth. (You couldn’t lie to him, not to Theo). Would you like to take over? (I really, truly would.) Fine. Go for it. (Much appreciated. Theo could see through you, that was something you really admired about him. Transparency came easy when the other party already seemed to know everything.

“I threw it away,” you said.

Were you ashamed? Of course you were. There was always the chance that Theo may have liked Li or wanted to get to know her and you had taken it upon yourself to, quite literally, throw that chance away. Theo didn’t mind, though. He elbowed you until you slid over to the other side of his bed to make room for him under the covers and he sat down next to you. It was perfect. Exactly how you’d imagined it. Your arms were like atoms, so close but never daring to touch. Your faces had closed in and the air you breathed was hot and moist. It was his air. Under the blanket his legs sought yours out like an explorer wandering through uncharted land. When they found yours they locked, knowing they were where they wanted to be.

He took a breath in, inhaling you, “Why did you throw it away, Y/n/n, dear?”

“She wanted to be your Valentine’s.” He breathed out and you inhaled him in return.

He inched closer to let the tips of your noses touch, obscuring your vision and blurring his face, “I don’t even know her.”

He knew you. Theo had known you since the first time he saw you on the Hogwarts Express in your colourless robes with an excited but airy aura about you. Theo had known you since third year when he watched you verbally assault Draco so severely that you were handing his ass to him, stick and all. Theo had known you since fifth year when you slapped that Hermione Granger girl right across the face for insulting your family’s line of work. Although, perhaps, ‘knew’ wasn’t the right word.

“I don’t love her,” he said.

“Good,” you said with a smile, “Who do you love?”

“Let’s save it for Valentine’s day, eh?”

Right there in his face, you scoffed at him. Neither of you had ever celebrated Valentine’s day, there wasn’t a chance in all that is holy that you were going to start then. So, you leaned your chin in and captured his mouth in yours.

You pulled away, “Who do you love?”

“You, Y/n/n, you, you,” he rushed, stumbling over his words, “I love you.”

“I love you.”)

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the-most-faithful · 3 months

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“Harry was also abused but he didn't turn into Snape”

This argument is likely, once again, to blame Snape. With a speech that sounds a lot like: "Harry also had a bad childhood, but he didn't become like Snape, he could have chosen to be good too" Do we really want to compare them? Let's go in order, I partly understand where this phrase comes from. Harry and Snape are in similar situations as children, as is Tom Riddle. Recluses in the Muggle world, poor, halfblood, misunderstood, treated badly by parents and peers etc... The similarity is fitting up to a certain point and fascinating BUT from the age of 11 onwards it no longer holds.

When Harry arrives at school he is no longer poor, he discovers that he has a mountain of gold left by his parents, to put it in a refined way: he is filthy rich. Snape never will be. Once Harry arrives at school he makes friends with Ron and other Gryffindors, makes positive friendships, is welcomed by the Weasleys, and finds people ready to protect him. Snape, on the other hand, had only one true friend (we will return to this point in the next chapters), Lily. Everyone else in his house wasn't really friends with him and had a bad influence on him over the years. He never had the support of teachers or other responsible adults. No one ever defended him, in fact he was heavily bullied for years in the place where he should have welcomed him and no teacher, no one defended him. Indeed he was blamed.

The similarities between the two disappear once they arrive at Hogwarts, Harry is famous and popular, Snape is not. Harry is respected, Snape is not. Harry has real friends, Snape doesn't. Harry has people protecting him, Snape doesn't.

So out of the love I have for Morgana, let's avoid making comparisons that don't hold up. If and I mean IF Snape had found himself in the exact same situation as Harry perhaps he wouldn't have become who he became and vice versa. Harry found support, if he had been alone, bullied and marginalized he would have made decisions and a different path.

I'm putting all the Snaters' false accusations into a Wattpad collection, if you have any other points not yet covered let me know in the comments or privately COLPE e MERITI - G. Monti E. - Wattpad

#snape stan army #pro snape #anti sirius black #anti james potter #harry potter #snape severus #professor snape #snape and harry #half blood prince #severus prince #snape was the victime #snape defender #snape defense #snape stan #stan snape #anti snaters #snivellus #anyone who still calls Snape snivellus is a bully just like the Marauders

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jeannineee · 9 months

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Headcanons for the ACOTAR Men

a/n: just trying to organize my masterlist a bit, so here’s a collection of all my headcanons for our favorite Illyrians.

Side note—my requests are open!! Fluff, smut, headcanons, etc. the only thing I’m not really feeling rn is angst.

Batboys calming you during a panic attack

Batboys as Fathers

Batboys as Fathers, part two

Batboys’ Kinks

Batboys comforting you after a nightmare

Batboys proposing to you

Batboys reaction to you bringing a stray animal home

Batboys reacting to being called ‘baby’

Batboys apologizing after hurting your feelings

Batboys’ love languages

Going down on the batboys

Batboys swearing in front of your child

Bathing with the batboys

Batboys’ favorite way to cuddle

Batboys’ turn-ons

Clingy Batboys

Batboys catching the reader w/ a smutty book

Safewording w/ the batboys

No Nut November (+ Lucien and Eris)

Batboys losing the yearly snowball fight

Their favorite part of you (+ Lucien and Eris)

Things the batboys say during sex

Preference for giving or receiving (+ Lucien and Eris)

Cassian and Azriel watching Barbie with their partners

How the batboys react to you getting injured on a mission

Riding the batboys

Batboys comforting reader with body image issues

How the ACOTAR men act when they’re drunk

Being mated to both Cassian and Azriel

Batboys taking care of reader who gets migraines

Being mated to all three batboys

Batboys with a plussize!reader

Sex ban with the ACOTAR men

Threesomes w/ popular ACOTAR ships

What Hogwarts Houses I think the ACOTAR characters belong to.

Batboys telling oblivious reader about the mating bond

ACOTAR characters as tweets I have saved

#acotar #acotar headcanon #a court of thorns and roses #acotar smut #azriel headcanons #rhysand headcanons #cassian headcanons #Cassian x reader #rhysand x reader #Azriel x reader

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medieval-collectibles · 2 years

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Potter!

This Draco Malfoy Quidditch Figure is the perfect addition to any Slytherin household.

Add him to your home decor today!

#harry potter #hp #draco malfoy #dracotok #draco #harry potter draco malfoy #medieval collectibles #slytherin #hogwarts houses

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jamilelucato · 5 months

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a little visit (fred weasley)

pairing: y/n x fred weasley summary: in the wizarding war's aftermath, (y/n) unexpectedly reunites with Fred Weasley at the Weasley Jokeshop. notes: so this is something that has been sitting in my drafts for a while, and I thought to upload it even though I do not plan any sequence whatsoever (I'm sorry) warnings: war mention; maybe a bit sad; no kisses here, sorry.

It hadn't been years since she saw the Weasley twins. Well, maybe a couple of years. Five? After the war, dates were a mess. People were trying to reorganise their lives and move on from the losses. It wasn't the time yet for reunions, but this one happened.

"Come on, take me in," the child begged.

(y/n) looked down at her little nephew. She had an older brother (alive still, thank Merlin), but the man was working his ass off to reconstruct his house, and so, more often than not, (y/n) would babysit for his little boy. The kid was six and full of opinions; most of it (y/n) endured with a smile. But there was a spirit of troublemaking in the little boy's ways, and (y/n) should've known better than to take him through Diagon Alley, especially where the Weasley Jokeshop was.

"Urgh," she sighed. "You have ten minutes, but it's just it."

And before the little boy was too out of range to hear, she added, "And I'll only buy you one thing! Pick well!" But even warning him, (y/n) presumed the boy would find a way to try and get more items than necessary.

Knowing she should not leave her nephew alone in the enormous store, (y/n) entered it right after, sighing. The whole place was so Gryffindor. Of course, the owners had once been Gryffindor students, but it was weird to see they hadn't broken out of the patterns, the reds, the gold. (y/n) had been a Slytherin, but nothing about her nowadays gave it away. Or so she thought.

She was so distracted by the items and the colours that she barely noticed the man approaching her until they bumped midway. "I'm so sorry, miss," he answered automatically.

"No, I… I…" her voice dried off when her eyes met his. "I apologise."

He smiled instantly at recognising her. "That's a first."

"Hello there, Fred Weasley," or so she thought he was Fred. George and his twin were alike and identical, but there was something about the smiles Fred offered her back at Hogwarts… they were always so mischievous.

George had a collective way of smiling. It was more put together, she thought, as if in effort. Fred's smiles were more involuntary, often making his face crooked.

"What's a first?" (y/n) asked, noticing the man kept grinning but failed to offer her a proper response. "Me apologising or me at your shop?"

"Both," he replied, and even though (y/n) had no way of knowing, she guessed he had only thought of one of the alternatives, but they both fell so well he accepted them. "Hello, (y/n)."

"Ah, he does remember my name," she replied, smiling just as mischievously as he had.

"I must. Few people can tell me apart from Georgie. The least I can do is acknowledge the ones that do," Fred shrugged, dismissing the fact that he remembered her as nothing. But it wasn't nothing to her. "By the way, how can you still tell us apart? We haven't talked…."

"Since Hogwarts? Since the war?" she gasped after saying the last part. People weren't yet supposed to be referring to "the war". It had been a brutal, dark time for the wizarding community, and it was too soon to mention it so casually as if it had been just another Tuesday.

But Fred seemed not to give proper care to her calmness.

"I have my tricks, Weasley," she answered in the end, shrugging. "You don't tell me all of yours; why should I tell you all of mine?"

He smiled again, but more lightly this time.

"Well…" he cleaned his throat, changing his tone to a more businesslike one. "What can I do for you today, Miss?"

She supressed a smile of embarressement. "A discount?"

He couldn't help the small chuckle he let out.

"I'm here with my little nephew, Rick. I'm sure he'll want something out of my budget," (y/n) finally explained as her eyes wandered the place, looking for said kid. But she did not find him.

"Well, good thing the kid is relative to one of my dearest school friends," Fred said, tilting his head.

"Dearest?" she echoed.

Fred shrugged, dismissing it. In a second of conversation, he had done it twice. It was starting to bother (y/n).

"Let's see what the little guy wants," Fred proposed. "Where's he?"

(y/n) grimaced. "If only I knew."

"You're his aunt." Fred pointed out categorically.

"Yeah," she nodded.

"You brought him here."

"Yep," she agreed again, monotonely.

Fred raised a dark red brow at her.

"I'm sure he'll find me once he gets what he wants," (y/n) said as she crossed her arms. Noticing that was the end of their rapid quest to find her nephew, (y/n) changed the subject. "How's momma Weasley?"

She had met the woman twice. Once, back at Hogwarts, when she was a simple student girl. Mrs Weasley had shown up to see Harry Potter compete at the Triwizard Tournament, and when she went to hug her sons, (y/n) was casually by. The second time was again at Hogwarts, but this time (y/n) was already a graduate, and Mrs Weasley was much more of a warrior than a mother. The scenario didn't allow them to interact, but (y/n) saw enough of the boys' momma.

"She's doing okay," Fred replied, his eyes wandering around as if he was conjuring the image of his mother before him. "Haven't seen her in a while, frankly. After the war, she kinda became too worried about us, which gets annoying."

"Well, she almost lost you." And there it was, (y/n)'s slip. She knew it was bound to happen — it was the actual last time she saw Fred Weasley. She just hoped it wouldn't be mentioned so soon in their conversation. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have."

Fred raised a hand as if stopping her apology. "It's true; you haven't got to be sorry about that," he said. "I did scare everyone, didn't I?"

"Worst prank ever."

That comment made him grin. "It wasn't a prank; I was on the brink of death," he tried defending himself, but he was smiling too much to be convincing.

"Ewh," (y/n) shrugged. "Worst prankster ever, still."

He finally let his laugh break free, and she followed, both looking so young by interacting.

Of course, the reason for the laughs was rather stupid — Fred had seen death and came back. Or at least, she heard. (y/n) was casting spells and curses as if her life depended on it that day (and it did), so she had little to no time to worry about other people, except maybe her brother, who was battling by her side. She had glimpsed some Professors and Mr and Mrs Weasley, but even when they talked, they weren't talking. It was all survival.

Besides, (y/n) and her brother had the not-so-ordinary task of fighting their father, who battled for the Dark Lord's side. She was glad she had Rick's father by her side, but it was still hard for a daughter to cast unforgivable curses at her daddy.

When she heard the first whispers — "A Weasley has been hit" — she wanted desperately to know which one, but she had no time. (y/n) had to care for her own brother, the father of a baby boy she did not want to see orphaned.

After the end of the battle, when Harry Potter had emerged victorious, (y/n) finally mustered the courage to look for the Weasley family. She saw Fred in a chaotic state but doubted he'd remember as he was passed out. Madame Pomfrey was giving her whole life and power to bring him back. (y/n) stood on the sidelines, quietly watching, and when the Hogwarts lady got up and said he would wake up soon, (y/n) was so relieved she ran away, scared of having to deal with the Weasley's hugs.

Fred's laughter echoed through the colourful shelves of the Jokeshop, creating a symphony of joy that transcended the painful memories of the past. As their laughter subsided, (y/n) couldn't help but feel a strange mixture of comfort and nostalgia settling in.

Before (y/n) could settle again, in a more calm posture, she glimpsed a short shadow running around. She looked at Fred, only to realise he had seen the shadow too.

"Do you think that was…"

"My nephew?" (y/n) finished his sentence. "Possibly. Did you see where he went? You know the place best."

Fred scratched his head, a playful glint in his eye. "I might have seen a little troublemaker sneaking into the Skiving Snackboxes aisle. You know, where the Nosebleed Nougat is."

"Oh, Merlin," (y/n) muttered, shaking her head with a smile. "I'll have to rescue him from his own choices."

As they navigated through the aisles, (y/n) couldn't help but notice Fred's subtle changes. The mischievous spark in his eyes was still there, but it was accompanied by a depth that only life's challenges could bring. The war had left its mark on everyone, evident in the lines on his face and how he carried himself.

When they finally found Rick, he was gleefully examining a box of Nosebleed Nougat, unaware of the worried expressions on the adults around him.

"Rick!" (y/n) scolded gently, "You can't just pick anything you want."

"But Auntie, this is so cool! Imagine making someone's nose bleed!" Rick exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Fred chuckled, exchanging a knowing glance with (y/n). "Well, it seems like he's got the true Weasley spirit."

After persuading Rick to choose a more harmless prank, they made their way to the counter. As Rick excitedly chatted about his selected item, (y/n) couldn't help but steal glances at Fred. The connection they had shared during the war, the unspoken understanding of loss and survival, seemed to linger in the air.

When it was time to pay, Fred leaned in and whispered, "On the house for the little troublemaker."

"Fred, I can't—"

"Consider it a gift from a friend," he interrupted, a warmth in his eyes that (y/n) couldn't ignore.

(y/n)'s cheeks were as red as Fred's hair.

"Well, thank you", she finally said, avoiding Fred's eyes. "Wait, where's George? Have you two finally learned to live apart?"

Fred liked her tone, and he answered truthfully. "He's been after some supplies, so the shop's my responsibility today."

"Brave of George to let that happen."

"Ha ha," Fred pretended to laugh at (y/n)'s benter. "Anyway, let me accompany you on the way out."

"Oh, you don't…"

"It's not like the shop is too busy." Fred pointed out, not letting (y/n) win that argument.

As they went for the exit, (y/n) felt a mixture of emotions swirling within her. The encounter had brought back memories, both painful and beautiful. The war had taken its toll, but here they were, finding moments of laughter amidst the remnants of their past.

They stood there momentarily, the bustling sounds of Diagon Alley surrounding them. It was a moment suspended in time, a chance encounter that felt both fleeting and eternal.

"Listen," Fred began, his expression serious yet hopeful. "I know we haven't kept in touch, but I'd like to change that. Maybe we could grab a coffee sometime, catch up properly."

(y/n) hesitated for a moment, the weight of the years between them palpable. But then she nodded, a small smile playing on her lips.

"I'd like that, Fred. I really would."

As they exchanged contact information, (y/n) couldn't shake off the bittersweet feeling in her chest. The scars of the past were still there, but in the laughter shared and the promise of a new connection, there was a chance for something beautiful to bloom.

As they parted ways, (y/n) couldn't help but glance back at Fred, who had faced death and returned to find moments of joy in the simplest things. It was a melancholic happiness, a reminder that even in the aftermath of darkness, there could be sparks of light and the possibility of forging new connections.

And so, (y/n) walked away from Diagon Alley, her nephew's hand in hers, carrying the weight of the past and the tentative hope of a future yet to unfold.

#harry potter #fred and george #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x slytherin reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x you #fred weasley fanfic #george weasley #fred weasley fanfiction #y/n x fred weasley #fred weasley x y/n

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starlingflight · 2 months

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Mortifying

A/N: I respected the WIP poll and finished this first, over my own preferences, because this is a democracy.

Read on AO3

The sound of loud, thumping footsteps on the staircase alerted Harry that he was no longer alone in the house.

His quill paused over the parchment taking up too much of his desk. Paperwork had never been his preferred activity; it had only become an increasing headache since taking leadership of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. A burden he would usually welcome any excuse to get away from, but when that excuse was the unmistakable sound of his teenaged daughter stomping upstairs, it was hard to decide which was the least daunting prospect.

The now-familiar sound of one of his children's bedroom doors slamming reverberated through the house. Sighing, Harry placed his quill in its ink pot, steeling himself, as he pushed his chair back from his desk and cautiously made his way out into the hallway.

“Lily?” He called softly, adopting a voice one might typically use when approaching an angry dragon.

The only response he received was the faint thrum of music emanating from her room above, presumably intended as a plausible excuse for why she did not answer her father's call.

Harry hesitated, foot on the bottom stair. It was ridiculous, he knew, to approach his daughter with the same caution he usually applied when chasing dark wizards, but she had been impossible to predict of late, having returned from her second year at Hogwarts with a newfound supply of eye rolls and huffy sighs that were completely at odds with the sweet girl he'd always known.

The music echoed louder through the house as Harry reached the top of the stairs, muffled only slightly by Lily's bedroom door. It was an earsplitting volume that he would more commonly expect from Al.

Harry knocked firmly on Lily's door, loud enough to be heard over the blasting music. It silenced at once. “Go away!”

Despite the definitive instruction, his hand poised around the door handle. He couldn't help but smile at the sign affixed to the door in front of him, Lily's name surrounded by carefully drawn flowers and butterflies, the gentle illustrations clashed starkly with her current tone.

“It's only me,” he said through the door. “I didn't expect you home yet.”

She'd only left an hour ago, popping her head into his office long enough to inform him she would be spending the afternoon at Violet's house, before disappearing. He'd heard the flash of floo powder being thrown into the fire in the living room, and then the house had been silent.

“Well, I'm going to be home for the rest of my life!” Came Lily's dramatic pronouncement from the opposite side of the door.

Harry hesitated only a moment longer. “I'm coming in.” He was already opening the door.

Lily's room was as he'd envisioned; soft lilac walls, shelves covered in plants rather than books, and a stuffed animal collection that had been unceremoniously shoved under the bed recently whenever her friends were expected, and only brought back out when she could be sure there would be no witnesses.

What he hadn’t anticipated was to find Lily sprawled across her bed, face buried in her pillow, bright red hair spilling vibrantly over her white bedding.

Harry crossed the room quickly, perching on the end of her bed. ��What's wrong?”

Lily lifted her head just enough for her voice not to be muffled by her pillow. “I want to be homeschooled.”

Harry's eyebrows shot up at this pronouncement, another thing he would've more readily expected from Al. “You love Hogwarts.”

“I did,” Lily corrected. “Before I made a complete fool of myself… Now I can never show my face in public again!”

Harry's hand fell on her back, rubbing soothing circles like he'd done when she was small and her nightmares had called him into this room in the middle of the night. “What's happened?”

Lily shook her head, letting it fall back into the pillow.

“It can't be that bad,” Harry assured her. “Did I ever tell you about the time I fainted on the train?”

Lily's head whipped around, dislodging Harry's hand from her back as she sat up. “Because there was a Dementor, not because you're the most embarrassing person to ever be born!”

“You're not the most embarrassing –”

“Yes, I am!” Lily declared, drawing her knees up to her chest. “Don't tell me I'm not. You have to say that.”

“Alright,” Harry said placatingly. “Will you tell me what happened?”

Lily looked at him, her brown eyes appraising. “Promise not to laugh at me?”

The innocent question caused a pang in Harry's heart. “I would never laugh at you.”

“Lewis Fletcher did,” her tone made it clear this was quite possibly the worst thing that had ever happened to her. Worse than an unexpected Dementor on a train could ever be.

Harry frowned, mentally reeling through his list of Lily's friends in his mind and coming up empty. “Who's Lewis Fletcher?”

Before his eyes, Lily turned a magnificent shade of red. Her eyes fell to the bed, where she was picking nervously at a thread on the cover. “He's a fourth year… he's friends with Violet's brother and he's really good at Quidditch.”

“I see.” He rather wished he didn't.

“I didn't know he was there until he said hello – I jumped and spilled my pumpkin juice all over him.”

“Well, that sounds like an accident,” Harry said fairly, suppressing the urge to smile.

Lily looked up sharply. “You do want to laugh at me!”

“I don't,” Harry said quickly. “Sorry, I was just thinking of your mum.”

“You can't tell Mum!”

The smile Harry had been fighting to repress was quickly battled into submission, not by any of his efforts, but by the look of horror on Lily's face at the suggestion of telling Ginny.

“You tell Mum everything.” More than she ever told Harry.

It had been the same since the moment Lily could walk, her first steps had been towards Ginny, and she hadn't stopped following her since.

It was an actuality Ginny had predicted was about to change only the other day.

"Did you see the look she gave me?” Ginny asked incredulously, pointing her wand at the pile of dirty dishes on the side and directing them to wash themselves. “All I asked her to do was put her laundry in the basket.”

Harry looked up from the fruit he’d been chopping in an attempt to entice Al into something slightly more nutritional than the endless supply of chocolate frogs he’d taken to eating in place of actual meals.

“I’m not asking her to actually do the washing,” Ginny continued before he could say anything. “Although, maybe I should, given the glare I got for washing her purple skirt last week.” Her ensuing impression of Lily was eerily accurate. “‘I need that for Samara’s birthday party! What am I supposed to wear now?’ Oh I don’t know, Lily, what about one of the millions of other outfits I’ve lovingly bought for you?”

Smiling, Harry sent the sliced strawberries, kiwi and banana to mix themselves in the awaiting bowl on the counter. “I have it on good authority that anyone who’s anyone wore purple to Samara’s birthday party.”

Ginny’s laughter was accompanied by a raised eyebrow. “Is that what your Auror intelligence is telling you these days?”

“No, I got this information straight from the source… against my will, while trying very hard not to listen, when I took Lily and Violet to Diagon Alley last week.”

“Ah, back in the field, are you, Auror Potter?” Ginny winked at him across the kitchen.

Harry’s sigh shook with barely contained laughter. “My most dangerous mission yet.”

Ginny’s smile faltered, in the space of a blink, it slid from her face. “I’m losing her.”

“You’re not–”

“I am,” Ginny insisted. “She didn’t even ask me what I thought she should wear to that stupid party – she always asks me… that’s it, I’m officially her annoying mother!”

Harry shook his head. “Don’t you think you might be catastrophising a bit?”

“No,” Ginny replied at once. “You have no idea how teenaged girls think. I’m not going to get anything but glares and withering looks for the next seven years.”

“Where are you going?” She was already halfway to the door before Harry managed to ask the question.

Ginny paused, her hand on the doorframe as though she was in need of support. “To order my mum a very large flower arrangement.”

“Yeah, but I'm not telling her this” Lily exclaimed now, throwing Harry one of Ginny’s predicted withering looks. “She's not going to get it… Look at her!”

Lily waved an aggravated arm at the wall opposite, where one of Ginny's old Harpies posters had been hung beside a signed picture of Aurora Fontaine – ‘She's a lyrical genius, Dad!’ – and a collection of hand painted botanical drawings that Neville had given her a few years ago, when it was becoming clear Lily had a green thumb.

Right on cue, the poster version of Ginny tossed her hair dramatically over her shoulder, revealing the Harpies badge on her robes, and looking very much like a woman who would never dream of spilling pumpkin juice on anyone.

Harry decided to ignore the implication that he, apparently, was embarrassing enough to be entrusted with this information. Saving the world just didn't impress teenagers as much as being a professional Quidditch player, a factor he'd foolishly failed to consider when choosing a career path.

“First of all, I think you’re overblowing this a bit, it’s just some pumpkin juice, Lils–”

“His t-shirt turned bright orange!” Lily cried despairingly. “Everyone was laughing at me!”

“No one is going to remember it by the time summer ends,” Harry said, in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

Lily did not appear to agree. “I think my best plan is to obliviate them all.”

“Do you know how to do a memory charm?”

“No, but I can learn.”

“So, instead of enjoying your summer, and pretending this minor incident never happened, you’re going to spend it learning how to do a complicated spell, well above your age range, that has a high likelihood of going horribly wrong, and then use it on your friends?”

“Yes.” If Lily grasped the sarcasm in Harry’s tone, she did an excellent job of not showing it.

There was a moment of silence in which Lily slumped back over her pillows, and Harry contemplated whether he might need to confiscate her wand; a loud knock sounded on the door before he could reach a decision.

“Come in – unless it’s James, then go away!”

“Lily,” Harry said warningly.

Fortunately, it wasn’t James. Ginny’s head peered around the door; her brow furrowed, taking in the sight of Harry perched on the edge of Lily’s bed, and Lily still draped forlornly across her pillows.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Lily said quickly, before Harry could answer. “Dad was just leaving.”

“Was I?”

“Yeah, don’t you have one of those reports you’re always going on about to finish?”

Ginny’s eye met Harry's as she sidled into the room, her grin took a great deal of the sting out of Lily’s disdainful tone.

“Well, I don’t know about Dad’s horrifically boring reports, but I’ve just come from the office, and they’ve given me the lineup for this year’s All Star charity Quidditch match… It’ll be in my column tomorrow but I thought you might want the inside scoop.”

Lily looked doubtful, but she did sit up another inch on her pillows. “Is there someone good for once? It was embarrassing watching Ludo Bagman try to play last year.”

Ginny's eyes flicked to Harry's even as she tucked her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from smiling. Harry looked away quickly, knowing they were both in agreement with Lily's fair assessment of Bagman's performance the year previous.

Ginny cleared her throat. “Well, I don’t know what her flying skills are like, but they’ve got Aurora Fontaine playing seeker for the celebrity team.”

Upon hearing this, Lily sat up with such ferocity Harry was almost pushed from the bed by the force of her movement.

“You're joking!”

“Would I joke about Aurora Fontaine?” Ginny's eyes met Harry's again, and, as usual, the joke was just between them.

She looked away as she continued to speak, “...and I might have agreed to come out of retirement for one match and play chaser in exchange for some VIP passes.”

Lily's eyes widened; Harry felt his smile grow along with hers. “For me?”

“Obviously,” Ginny said through a laugh. “There's a spare one as well, if you know someone who'd be interested?”

Lily leapt from the bed, pausing only long enough to throw her arms around Ginny in a quick, but delighted, hug, before pulling the door open.

“Where are you going?” Ginny asked.

“To tell Violet!”

“Hang on,” Harry called after her. “I thought you weren’t ever leaving your room again?”

Lily was already halfway out of the door; she threw him an exasperated look over her shoulder. “Dad, this is important.”

With that, she turned and fled the bedroom, the incident apparently forgotten in the face of bigger issues.

Harry pushed himself up from Lily's bed, joining Ginny who was waiting for him in the doorway.

“Do I get a VIP pass?” Harry asked, following her down the landing towards the stairs.

Ginny smirked at him over her shoulder as she began to descend. “No, I stopped trying to impress you around the time I grew three human beings for you.”

Harry laughed, secure in the knowledge he would be expected to supervise Lily if Ginny was playing in the match.

“You don't need to impress her either, she still has a very idealised view of you.”

“I suppose she told you that at the same time she told you she was never leaving her room again?”

They reached the bottom of the stairs; Ginny continued down the downstairs hallway in the direction of the kitchen.

“She spilled pumpkin juice on Lewis Fletcher and he laughed at her apparently,” Harry said, answering Ginny's unasked question as she pointed her wand at the kettle.

“Who’s Lewis Fletcher?”

“No idea,” Harry shrugged, leaning nonchalantly against the counter, as though he didn't have every intention of finding out. “But he's good at Quidditch apparently.”

Ginny paused halfway through retrieving their mugs from the cupboard. “Oh.”

“I was just about to tell her about a certain incident between your elbow and a butter dish to put her mind at ease, but you interrupted me.”

Ginny frowned at him before returning her attention to the kettle. “The butter dish?”

Harry returned her frown. “You don’t remember?”

“You do apparently,” she said evasively.

“Well, maybe she'll forget, and in thirty years, when they're married, he can remind her.”

Ginny shook her head vehemently. “She won't marry him.” She placed the kettle down with a decided thud. “He laughed at her. You never laughed at me.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “I thought you said you didn't remember?”

“I don’t.” Ginny smiled widely, her eyes sparking with amusement. “I forgot about it instantly.”

“Seems like it,” Harry agreed through a smile of his own.

“I definitely didn’t spend hours in bed replaying it in my mind.” Ginny crossed the kitchen, placing Harry's tea on the counter beside him.

“Of course you didn't.” His hand found her waist, pulling her to him.

Ginny rose up on her toes, still smiling as she closed the distance between them. “It wasn’t mortifying at all.”

#dad!harry #lily luna potter #harry potter #harry x ginny #hinny #ginny potter #potter family fluff

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