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pinkteapotwriting · 3 years

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Not so Innocent desires

Wolfstar x fem!reader

Warning : This is so filthy dear lord, explicit sexual content, Sub!fem reader, spanking, oral, innocence kink and I think that’s it

Just good ol fashioned smut

Summary : Turns out you Remus and Sirius want to treat you a certain way, it takes some special kind of convincing from your end though.

Word count : 3164

The lovely @fionanovasleftnut had a wonderful idea that I couldn’t resist writing about. I’m not sure with how this one turned out but I hope I did the idea justice. xXx

---

Being a family friend of the Weasleys had its perks. You always had someone to stick up for you, always had someone who could make you laugh, and you always had a home with them, wherever that may be. You had moved out on your own as soon as you graduated from Hogwarts, but it seemed that wasn’t the way to start your life as a young adult. The wizarding world was at war and Molly Weasley was insistent that one of her adopted daughters should not be defenseless living alone.

You had tried to reassure her that you would be fine, you even approached your most likely allies.

“Fred, George please tell her I’ll be fine. You understand right?” They only chuckled at your cute pout and brushed your concerns aside.

So no. No one was willing to risk the parting of their lovely Y/N.

You were too kindhearted, too sweet, too pure. A ray of sunshine in these dark times, too precious to leave unprotected.

You had been so angry at first, but your anger was soon turned into bashfulness as you were met by two very attractive men. Of course you knew Professor Lupin, he was your teacher and even now words from his mouth directed your way made heat rise to your face.

Then there was Sirius Black. His long black hair framed his face perfectly. His stormy grey eyes made you completely weak at the knees.

Everything about these two men left you flustered, Remus’s quick wit, Sirius’s hearty laugh, the knowing glances they’d share, Remus’s scars you just wanted to spend hours tracing, and Sirius’s ring clad fingers that tapped impatiently against the table. For being in Azkaban for 12 years his hands sure looked strong and capable.

It was a blessing and a curse really. You got to admire two very attractive men, yet you couldn’t manage much more than bashful nods at times. That didn’t stop them from approaching you however. They were so kind and welcoming, so much so that you took up Sirius’s offer to stay there rather than at the Weasleys. He knew you valued your alone time and got anxious in large groups so he thought you’d appreciate your own room rather than crowding in with the Weasleys. It was all good and well.

Except for how often you found yourself rubbing your thighs together at night to ease some sort of tension. Nothing could stop the wetness that pooled in your underwear at the memory of Sirius clenching his jaw in anger as Snape talked, or the way Remus calmed him down by rubbing his hand up and down his thigh. So once again that night you found yourself with that familiar ache you just didn’t know how to satisfy on your own. Your fingers just weren’t good enough. You got up in a huff to get some water at an attempt to calm down. You slipped down the hallway silently, but the sound of a low moan coming from Sirius’s room stopped you in your tracks. The door was slightly ajar and although you knew you shouldn’t peek in, the dull throbbing of your clit convinced you to stay. You had to stifle your own moan at the sight in front of you.

Sirius was sitting on the edge of his four poster king sized bed while Remus was on his knees between his legs jacking him off.

“Fuck Pads, how was it already this hard I’ve hardly touched you.”

“It’s not my fault! Blame Y/N with those stupid lips she bites. And her big doe eyes and and- fuck Moony that feels so good.”

Remus grinned at the chance to tease Sirius.

“Not as good as Y/N would feel though right? Bet you’d love to have her little hands wrapped around your cock huh. Imagine if you got to stretch out her perfect little pussy. She’s so fucking innocent, so pure”

“I wanna ruin her god she’s pretty, but at the same time she’s so precious I don’t wanna taint her. She deserves something more gentle and sweet.”

“You’re certainly smitten aren’t you?”

“Don’t act like you don’t wanna fuck her to the brink of tears. Have you heard that cute little giggle? Imagine what her whines sound like. I just wanna watch as you wrap your big hands round her thro-”

“S’that what you want? You wanna make innocent little Y/N our cockslut. Wanna make her our needy puppy. Wonder how many times we could make her come with just our fingers.”

“Fuck Remus I’m gonna cum.”

“Yeah that’s right love, cum to the picture of fucking her mercilessly, her nails scratching down your back cause you’re fucking her so hard.”

You watched Sirius shudder while Remus’s face lit up in victory. You decided it was best to leave before they were no longer distracted.

Well, that certainly didn’t make you any less riled up. Looks like they wanted you as much as you wanted them. You knew you’d have to put your shyness aside, but how on earth do you talk to someone about that. Yes, hello I find you two super hot and I’d just love it if you’d degrade me and throw me around thank you so much. Frankly you never knew you wanted that yourself until you heard the words fall from their lips with ease. You put your plan in motion as you traveled back to your room, praying it would work.

---

You were giddy when you woke up, anxious for the day that awaited you. You decided to wear a shirt that Remus had once complimented, suddenly much more aware of how it complimented your chest. You paired it with your shortest skirt and thigh high socks. You turned around and shoulder checked to appreciate yourself, knowing if you bent over too much anyone could see the white lace thong you had underneath.

You knew the order meeting was starting earlier than usual so you pranced down the stairs and were met with a dumbstruck Ron and Ginny.

“Blimey Y/N, who are you trying to shag?” He was instantly met with a slap by Ginny.

“Shut it Ron, don’t talk about Y/N like that you git. You look adorable.” She reassured.

You smiled sweetly at her and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks Gin, I’m gonna go get breakfast now.”

You swear you saw Remus and Sirius give a double take when you entered the kitchen. Pleased your plan was going well you continued into the next phase and sat between Fred and George casually as if your heart wasn’t racing a million miles an hour. Any laugh that the twins could pull from your lips were met with a hard stare from Sirius and Remus. Normally Remus could keep a calm disposition but you could notice the look of contempt in his eyes as his hand clenched the edge of the table.

You pushed your chair back and made your way to the sink.

“Here Molly, let me help you clean up.”

“Thank you dear, you can just grab the dishes from the table love.”

You made your way round the table and once you reached where your two admirers were you squeezed between them and bent over to grab the last plate, feeling your skirt ride up high enough to gain a sharp intake of breath from Sirius.

“Sorry, it was just easier to get it this way.”

You smiled to yourself as you helped Molly finish cleaning. Everything cycled out and everyone rearranged where they sat as they tidied up before the meeting began. You were thrilled at the chance to sit between Remus and Sirius now that everyone had moved. You leaned forward so you could rest your chin on your hand as Kingsley Shacklebolt spoke of the newest updates happening within the ministry. Fred and George would sometimes try to throw you off by making funny faces, but they were met by a hard glare by Remus which instantly simmered them down, while Sirius placed his arm around the back of your chair in a possessive manner. Welp, now was as good a time as ever to test the waters. You leaned back into your chair and crossed one leg over the other so your foot would brush against Sirius’s calf. He passed a glance, and you took a deep breath and moved it up and down his leg. You smirked at how you saw his hands clench and that spurred you on to lightly place your hand on Remus’s thigh.

“Y/N love, what are you doing exactly” Remus’s voice was shaky, like he was holding back.

Time to ice the cake.

“Nothing Remmy, I’m just being innocent little Y/N.”

Sirius’s head swerved at that one and you couldn’t help but notice the growing tent in his trousers.

---

It took forever for everyone to leave after the meeting. It took even longer to convince Molly that you were fine to stay here rather than go back to the burrow.

“Alright Y/N if you’re sure, but you know how to reach me if you need anything at all right?”

“Of course Molly.”

If she knew what you wanted these two men to do to you she would be dragging you by the ear out the door. But finally, finally she left.

Leaving you alone with two straight faced men whose expressions were unreadable. Remus was the first to break the silence.

“Y/N, did you over hear our conversation last night”

You nodded, but Sirius wasn’t having it.

“Nuh uh, you’re gonna answer out loud for us pretty girl. You don’t get to tease us the way you do then act all shy now.”

“Yes, I heard.”

Remus returned to questioning you. “Yeah, and did you like what you heard?”

“I- I did.”

“Didn’t know you were such a naughty girl” Sirius chortled, “wish I would have known sooner.”

“I’m not naughty!”

“Oh yeah what makes you say that?”

“Cause I wanna be your good girl, please make me your good girl.”

Remus was hypnotised by the puppy dog eyes and pouty lips looking up at him.

“Shhh we’ve got you puppy, we just thought you’d want something more gentle.”

“No Remmy, I want you.”

“You can have me darling, let's go upstairs.”

He offered his hand to you and you took it eagerly, and began your journey upstairs, earning a chuckle from Sirius as you snatched his hand too on the way. As soon as you entered they had their hands on you, Sirius had you pressed against Remus as he was kissing your neck.

“You sure you want this love?”

“Please Siri.”

“Alright pup, safe word is red okay? Any point you feel uncomfortable you tell us and we’ll stop immediately. Can you say it for me?”

“Red.”

“Good girl,” Remus praised “Here, let's take all this off since it’s not covering much anyway.”

You nodded and lifted your arms for Remus while Sirius got on his knees to take off your skirt. He debated leaving the socks on, but he wanted you to feel every single thing so he took them off. Now last, but certainly not least.

“As cute as these panties are, they're only in my way, can I take these off precious?”

“M Hmm.”

Remus was quite content to take off your bra and massage your breasts and nibble across your shoulders while Sirius continued his attempts to draw dirty words from your clean mouth.

“Baby, your pussy is so wet right now. Can I touch it, love?”

You spread your legs further for him as an invitation.

“Not here, our precious girl deserves to be comfy on the bed.”

Remus sat against the headboard and motioned for you to follow suit between his thighs.

You practically skipped there, so excited for what was about to happen. You sat down with a quick plop and wiggled your hips to get more comfy, eyes wide as Sirius crawled up from the end of the bed to push your legs apart and gently trace your inner thighs with his forefinger.

“Tell me pup, have you ever touched yourself?”

You nodded bashfully, which Remus did not enjoy apparently as he lightly slapped your thigh with one hand while the other grabbed hold of your jaw to force your eyes onto Sirius fully.

“What did we say about speaking out loud pup, be a good girl.”

“Sorry Remmy, I got embarrassed, I do touch myself Siri”

Sirius grinned, “What makes you touch yourself sweet girl.”

“You, you and Moony do.” He relished in the whine that escaped your lips as he finally made contact with your aching clit, clearly he liked that answer.

“What do you imagine us doing to you pup.”

You moaned as his pace quickened. “Anything, anything you want.”

That’s when his tongue made contact on your clit instead. You jolted at the sudden change, but Remus was quick to hold you down.

“That feel good, sweetheart? I love Siri’s tongue too.”

You could only throw your head back and mewl as Sirius’s tongue flicked faster and he added a finger to the mix, completely enthralled with how your entrance clenched around it desperately.

“Pads I think our pretty girl is gonna cum keep going. Has anyone ever made you feel this good puppy? Fred or George couldn’t make you feel like this could they?”

“No- no Remmy.”

“Wait till I get my turn love, go on and cum so I can make my pretty girl feel good too.”

Even Sirius’s tight grip on your thigh couldn’t keep you tethered as you released on his face. Bliss like you had never known overtook and it’s like you were hyper aware of every touch, every breath of theirs that fanned across your body, and every kiss that Remus awarded you with for being your lovely self.

And you couldn’t get enough of it.

Neither could Sirius as he leaned back to take in the view of the masterpiece he created. He loved how you had squirmed under his touch as he continued to thrust his fingers eagerly.

He was feeling benevolent though and pulled out. Instead he took a firm grasp on your hair and pulled you on your hands and knees so you were eyelevel with his throbbing cock.

Remus placed a couple of smacks on your ass now that it was exposed for him.

“What do you say to Pads for making you feel so good?”

Sirius wondered if you were aware how cute you looked with your owlish eyes oggling his long member.

“Thank you, Siri.”

“That’s right Puppy, now how about you return the favor.”

You just nodded obediently and stuck out your tongue, which only made Sirius growl even louder as he shoved his cock in your mouth. You tried your best to relax your throat but found yourself gagging at the surprise feeling of Remus’s head rubbing up and down your slick folds.

You arched your back and whimpered around Sirius’s cock and Remus got the message loud and clear. Slowly he inched his way inside groaning when your wet heat enveloped him completely. Once you were used to the feeling you wiggled your hips as a signal so he could move. The slow powerful thrusts of Remus made Sirius thrust through your perfect lips even faster at how the vibrations you emitted felt around his cock. His grip on your hair got even tighter.

“Fuck you feel so good puppy, such a good girl taking such good care of us. I’m gonna cum all over that pretty face, want me to cum all over your face, sweet girl?”

At the sound of your desperate whining he gave your face a few rough pats and yanked your head back. He couldn’t take his eyes off you as you stuck your tongue out waiting patiently while he stroked his dick furiously. Finally he released on your face, but before you got the chance to think he was licking it up with wide stripes across your face before moving to kiss Remus. You glanced over your shoulder at the two most beautiful men you’d ever been blessed to see, and moaned as their teeth clashed in a hungry and needy kiss. They stopped in a pant and had their foreheads pressed together, grinning at your demands.

“Moony I think our good little puppy wants more attention.”

“Aw, is that so my needy angel. I can fix that for you.”

Quicker than you could count he had you flipped on your back and started fucking into you ruthlessly. His movements were filled with so much determination that every thrust was pushing you to the end of the bed until your back was hanging off the edge. He grabbed hold of your legs and swung them both over your shoulders so he could reach even newer sensitive spots inside you, completely captivated by how freely your tits bounced in this position.

“Rem- Remus I’m gonna cum.”

“No you’re not, you be our good girl and hold on a little longer.”

“Please I can’t take it.”

“If you wanna cum you beg for it then, since you can’t wait.”

“Please please, let me be your good girl, please let me cum you make me feel so good please.”

“Hear that Pads? Imagine if someone heard pure little Y/N acting as our desperate puppy. Okay darling you go ahead and make a mess on my cock baby.”

A wave of euphoria rushed over you as you hung there and took every slam that came your way. The bliss however quickly became too much as your legs wriggled to find your escape from his strong grasp. He just grunted and let you slide into a heap on the floor. He swept to the side of the bed and around to where you were and hoisted you back on the bed so you were on your stomach and your legs hung off the edge. He pressed his hand to your back to firmly hold you in place.

“Angel you begged for this, now you’re gonna take it, yeah?”

He returned to his prior animalistic pace that summoned tears to roll down your cheeks.

Sirius started petting your head lovingly “It’s okay love, you’re being such a good girl for Moony and I. You look so gorgeous with those tears all fucked out.”

He continued to comfort you and press kisses to your hairline until finally Remus reached satisfaction with his brutal attack on your tight hole.

“Fuck, Y/N I’m gonna cum”

He pulled out swiftly and his hips found their way to Sirius’s hungry lips. It was such a beautiful sight, but your voice made and audible whine before you could control yourself.

“What’s wrong sweetheart, thought you wanted me to stop.”

“Wanted your cum, wanted you to cum in me Remmy.”

“We’ve got plenty of time to make that happen precious girl.”

---

Hmmm yeah I’m not sure how I feel about this one, but I hope y’all enjoy my lovelies <3

@thotbutpurple @quindolyn @sunny-bunnny

#harry potter smut #smut #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirus black smut #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin smut #marauders #wolfstar #poly wolfstar #wolfstar smut #poly smut #wolfstar x reader

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ilovefandoms102 · 4 years

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Part 6-Shape of My Heart

Pairing: Rudy Pankow x Plus Size Reader

Summary: Falling in love with someone you can never have is the worst feeling in the world...

Taglist:

@jeyramarie @drewswannabegirl @teamnick @jiaraendgame @agirlwholovescoffee @outerbongs @jaxxandcomet @velyssaraptor @baby-pogue @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @must-be-a-weasley-92 @kaitieskidmore1 @ma10427 @ifilwtmfc @lasnaro @justcallmesams @judayyyw @lonely-kermit @gviosca @iamaunicorn4704 @jellyfishbeansontoast @fernweh-fangirl @runway-to-my-aid @eb15 @hurricane-abigail @tangledinsparkles @fandom-phaser @sunwardsss @http-cherries @bibliophilewednesday @evaporatedrosepetals @thetomatosaucee @tomatosauceagent @redosmo @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @obx-direction-sos @mxltifandoms06

Part 5 Part 7

Note: Big shout out to my friend @jeyramarie for helping me edit this! She’s the best, make sure to go check her page out! I’ll be putting out more prompt requests tonight as well!

=========================================

The girls decided to take me out shopping, wanting to get out of the house for a little bit. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t avoiding Rudy after the events a few days ago, our almost kiss still engraved thoughts into my brain. There was more to the story than what I provided the Maddie’s and Mo with the other day...

Let me provide a bit of back story:

I was 11 years old the first time I was called ugly. I had developed a crush on one of my cousins best friends, asking him if he could possibly give me his number. When I asked why he wouldn’t he said ‘you’re ugly and fat’. I was struck with sadness, crying the rest of the day. I hated the way I looked from that moment on, no matter what I wore, how I fixed my hair, or how much makeup I put on...I still felt ‘ugly’.

Then came High School, the years of broken hearts. I stupidly fell for the senior bad boy, falling into his trap. I had finally mustered up the courage after about 6 months of us texting and hanging out to admit my feelings for him. He shot me down immediately, saying that he ‘wasn’t ready for commitment’. I was crushed, putting off boys for good.

My freshman year of college, I met a boy named Nick. He was my age, and we worked at the same retail establishment. Nick did some damage, scaring my mental mind. We became good friends, having the same personality and liking a lot of the same things. A few months in, he started to express romantic interest in me. He would hold my hand, call me cute nick names, play with my hair, and ya know stuff that would make anyone think a guy is interested.

I had told one of my co workers about our situation, her advising me to shoot my shot. I had planned on telling him that night how I felt, until he came and found me before I had got off work. He told me that he never felt any romantic way towards me, that it was all a game to make the fat girl fall for him so that he could crush my heart. I was floored by this, wondering what I could have possibly done to deserve that.

When I met Rudy, I couldn’t help but fall for him. His natural sense of humor matching mine made me feel things I didn’t think I could ever feel again. I pushed away those feelings however, it wasn’t worth the risk. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship because of a silly crush.

=======================================

I was startled from my thoughts when Rudy appeared to my side out of nowhere, taking my hand in his. I smiled as he intertwined our fingers, waving out locked hands back and forth dramatically.

We shopped ‘til we dropped, Chase now starting to complain about agreeing to come. Our stop at Sephora was the best though, the boys walked in with confused looks on their faces. Rudy trailed behind me as I walked each aisle, picking up random stuff to ask me what it is.

“Baby, what’s this? Why does it look like a marker?” he inquired, holding up eyeliner.

“That’s eyeliner, that’s what I used to do this.” I explained, pointing to my winged liner. An employee came up to us, both of us turning to smile at her.

“I just have to say, you two are the cutest couple.” she grinned.

“Oh we’re not-” I started, my eyes widening.

“Thank you very much.” Rudy said, grinning at her.

I eyed him as she walked away, rolling my eyes at his cute grin. He hugged me from behind, kissing my head soundly. I giggled, pushing him away playfully. I walked up to the counter, laying my stuff on the counter. I was digging through my purse for my credit card when I heard the telling sound of the receipt printing, looking to see Rudy putting his wallet back in his pocket. I glared at him, thanking the cashier as we walked away.

“You asshole, that was probably $100 worth of shit.” I huffed, digging out some cash to give him.

“I wanted to buy it for you.” he stated, shrugging his shoulders. I tried to hand him the money, but he ignored me.

“Rudy,” I snapped, shoving the money in his back pocket.

“Woah babe! If you wanted to touch my ass, all you had to do was ask.” he winked, smoothly putting the money back in my purse.

“Do not buy me anything else, I mean it.” I said firmly, stomping out of the store.

“We’ll see about that.” he smirked, holding the door for both of us.

==================================

I had bought a new outfit for the house party we were having tonight, actually feeling confident in myself for once. I had bought a lilac cropped halter top and paired it with some ripped jean shorts, topping it off with some white and black Adidas sneakers. I touched up what makeup I was wearing, Maddie B and Mo coming in. I smiled at the couple, twirling in my outfit for them.

“Dang girl look at you!” Mo cheered.

“Y/n, you look STUNNING!” Maddie B gasped, her hands crossing over her heart.

“I’m happy you pushed me out of my comfort zone, I feel pretty for once.” I said bashfully, my cheeks flushing from their compliments. Maddie C poked her head in, her eyes and mouth popping open.

“Oh my god y/n! Rudy for sure is hittin’ it tonight sister!” she praised, coming over to hug me.

“Oh please,” I scoffed.

“I saw how you guys acted today,” she raised her brow.

“He was just being friendly Mad,” I sighed.

“Who’s being friendly?” Rudy asked, the girls piling out of the room the second he came in.

He walked further in the room, his eyes widening when he took a full look at me. His gaze burned my skin, feeling it crawl over every inch. I looked down at my feet, shuffling them as I couldn’t take the heat. I felt my face burning, no doubt red as a tomato.

“You-....you look-” he stuttered.

“Bad?” I asked.

“God no! I...I’m speechless.” he laughed.

“Did little ole me make THE Rudy Pankow tongue tied?” I taunted, his cheeks beginning to match mine.

Rudy came closer, taking my hand in his. He held it up so I could twirl, a low whistle coming from his lips. I giggled, beaming at the man in front of me. He pulled my arms around him, his going to my hips. I felt the tension in the room rise as we gazed intently into each other’s eyes.

“You look amazing, beautiful.” he whispered, his blue eyes sparkling.

“Thank you,” I murmured, tilting my head down.

“Hey, these shots are going to drink themselves!” JD yelled, causing both Rudy and I to cackle.

I was a few shots in, feeling a bit tipsy already. Rudy had talked me into being on his team in beer pong, facing off against Chase and JD. I hesitated only because I hadn’t played since the last time I saw them.

“Babe come on please!” he begged.

“Yeah BABE!” JD said dramatically, earning a glare from Rudy.

“I guess it won’t hurt for me to give it a go.” I caved, picking up the ball.

We were in the middle of the game when Elaine walked in with Drew and Austin, my mood dropping slightly. She hugged everyone hello, saving Rudy for last. He side hugged her while she threw herself in his arms, both of them stumbling slightly. They laughed as they pulled away, and she laid a sloppy kiss on his cheek. I felt my heart crush a little, turning back to the game.

Rudy and I won surprisingly, double high fiving with the winning shot. The girls were tired of the boys, so they stole me to take me to the designated dance floor. Since it was just us girls, I let go, and danced without a care in the world. Elaine entered the room, sending a glare my way. I already had so much to drink from the shots and beer pong, I didn’t even pay attention to her.

Rudy entered the room, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. I saw him do a double take, staring right at me as I danced. I smiled, winking at him. His mouth dropped, taking his cig out. I turned my attention back to Maddie C who had until now been my dance partner, Chase having stole her from me. I pouted as she mouthed an apology, but I soon felt a presence behind me. Rudy pulled me flush against him, his eyes a shade darker than normal.

He turned me around so that my back was to his front, rocking me to the beat. Tension was thick in the air, our bodies sensually moving together. I got a wild hair and pushed my ass harder against him, a grunt being heard from him. I giggled, pretending like I didn’t know what I did. He gripped my waist tighter, his fingers digging into what skin was showing.

“I’ll be right back,” I spoke, smiling as I walked away towards the bathroom. I walked to the bathroom in my room, reapplying some lip gloss. I fluffed my hair a little, and adjusted the girls to make them pop a little more.

I was looking down as I walked out, adjusting the pockets of my shorts when I was suddenly pinned against the wall. Rudy stood in front of me, his eyes wild as he stared into my eyes.

I gasped when he smashed his lips to mine, my heart soaring through the roof. This was my first kiss, and I got to share it with Rudy. I followed his lead, moving my lips with his. I assumed I was doing alright since he hadn’t pulled away yet, hands starting to explore everywhere. He touched his tongue to mine, and I hesitantly copied his movements.

Our movements soon picked up, the kiss becoming more heated. Teeth and tongues fighting to discover every inch of each other’s mouth. I had to pull away, becoming dizzy from the lack of air. Rudy moved his mouth to my neck, kissing the skin there. I moaned quietly when he bit down on my skin, leaving his mark. He smirked against my skin, taking his tongue to sooth the bite.

“Oh my,” I panted, gripping his shirt.

“You’re so pretty baby, I love this little outfit.” he said, running his nose up my neck and pulled back to face me.

“Rudy, what-” I started.

I didn’t get to finish since his lips came back to mine, silencing my inner thoughts. He walked us back towards the bed, sitting down with me in front of him. His hands grabbed at my ass, grinning when I let out a shaky breath. He pulled me sideways so he could flip on top of me, crawling up the bed with me. I reached out to grab his face, feeling the slight stubble that had formed.

It was when his hand reached under my shirt my inner thoughts came back, my eyes popped open.

What was I doing?

Was I going to give myself to Rudy?

We’re both too drunk for this...

This can’t be real...

He doesn’t even like me, what the hell was going on?

“Wait,” I breathed out, his hands stopping immediately.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” he asked, his eyes worried as they met mine.

“What is this? Wh-why did you kiss me?” I questioned.

“I thought that was obvious...I-I really like you, like a lot.” he confessed, scratching the back of his head.

“No, y-you can’t possibly...I-,” I stuttered, shaking my head vehemently.

“What do you mean no? Baby, I’ve given you every sign known to man that I like you. Do you...do you not feel the same?” he muttered, his eyes full of distress.

“I-I can’t do this.” I croaked, pushing myself off the bed.

“Wait y/n, please don’t go.” he pleaded.

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thesevenwondersofawitch · 3 years

Text

SPOILERS FOR CAOS PART 4

Chapter Thirty-Four: The Returned, episode reaction.

Of course Wardwell is continuing Faustus's work.

Nothing like a good ole scary movie to make out to.

Nick copying Harvey with the chasing Sabrina makes me mad.

Sabrina is acting like a cock blocker for herself. 😂

Annnnnnd she's dead.

WHAT DID SPELLMAN HAVE TO DO?!

I am disturbed by Sabrina preparing to bury her body.

TF FAUSTUS?

I'm not one to say I told you so, so- AMBROSE TOLD YOU SO, SABRINA! IT WOULD TEAR THE UNIVERSE APART, BIT YOU DIDN'T LISTEN, DID YOU? AND NOW THE WORLD IS ENDING (in Mrs. Weasley voice) IT'S ALL YOU'RE FAULT!

Well hello again, Mr. Trinket Man.

I was going to say it would be a bad idea to give him back the Imp, but then again, at least the world didn't try to collapse on itself when he had it in his possession. At least I hope not.

Sabrina, nothing good can come of Pandora's box. Keep your hands in your pockets and do not touch anything.

Oh it's empty.

Well she has to die.

THAT MEANS SALEM WILL DIE TOO! NOOOOOOOOOO!

It really says THE VOID. huh.🤔

Salem's come to tell them.

THEY CAN'T GET HER!

How are they gonna get her soul, I wonder.

THE VOID is talking to her. Cool. 🙂

Isn't Sabrina really just sucking the planets into Pandora's box?

AMBROSE NO!

IT'S NOT OVER, YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT HER THERE, YOU FOOLISH SENTIMENTAL WITCHES!😳

Lilith was watching Sabrina and Nick, creeeeepy.

Mary is sewing Faustus's head back on. Lovely.

Mary gets to be a preacher. Yay.

Vinegar Tom doesn't even like blueberries, and Zelda's love for him makes me so happy.

Lilith has a plan, and I'm here for it.

Caliban is so manipulative, and I am not here for that.

Lilith is suspicious, and that is good.

NOT MR. KINKLE AND HIS BUDIES!

Cool, the candy is gone.

THE CAKE IS GONE TOO.

Zelda has a sweet tooth, which I love.

LUCIFER HAS CONE FOR SABRINA'S BODY.

AND THE VOID HAS COME!

OH NO HARVEY'S DAD!

LILITH KNEW WHAT WOULD HAPPEN, DIDN'T SHE!

YEAH STAB HIM WHERE IT HURTS!

Drinking his blood, cool cool cool.

OH SHIT SABRINA SENT PEOPLE AWAY!

Yasssss ALL HAIL QUEEN LILITH!

NOT TODAY SATAN!

Oh dear, Sabrina is a void.

But not void of emotions.

Annnnnnd she's gone.

Again with Ms. Wardwell.

Faustus, seriously?

Oh lord, he's manipulative. But that won't work in the end I shouldn't think.

You know what I would like, Blackwood, to punch you in the face.

Two weeks laterm

I KNEW IT WOULD BE PRUDENCE, AMBROSE! Thought it would also be Hilda and Zelda, but not disappointed to see Agatha and Roz.

SALEM!!😍

The bride of The Void?

I think Sabrina was just bidding her time, and is gonna take out Blackwood.

Is Sabrina gonna eat them.

Agatha has replaced Marie.

FUCK YOU FAUSTUS.

I think Sabrina knew what he was planning, but was bidding her time and when he went to do the sacrifice, she was gonna take him out.

Zelda and Hilda are moods when Ambrose talks to them about the timeframe.

Wtf Nick? What happened?🧐

Ohhhhhh right, I forgot he went to retrieve Sabrina and the box.

Wow, Faustus, so dramatic with that blade.

He's gonna stab Sabrina, fun.

Zelda is gonna get him distracted? Does she have the box?🤔

HE CALLED HER WIFE.

I forgot they were still married, in my mind it was annulled.🤷🏻‍♀️

Eat the dollhouse, Faustus. Eat it.

The box is a fake.😁

His greed got his face melted!

Yeah, Nick! Punch him hard!

THEY'RE INSIDE HER.

Zelda knows what Sabrina is planning, and is not happy about it, and Hilda just caught on.

But her Aunties are gonna help Sabrina.

Sabrina is gonna die, just know it.

Zelda looks ready to cry but is holding it all back.

Sabrina is bleeding milk.

INTO THE UNKOOOOOOOOWN, INTO THE UNKNOOOOOOOWN.

A banshee has come😭

Got rid of Mckenna Grace, did they?

NO SHE'S DYING.

Goodbye Aunt Zee😭

And Aunt Hilda.😭

Hilda knew that Sabrina knew she'd die to save everyone, and damn it all my heart hurts because of it.

Faustus knew all of this. Mary is making me annoyed.

LILITH! IS! WATCHING!

FOR THEY ARE BOTH OUR DAUGHTERS! WHY MUST YOU BREAK MY HEART IN THIS WAY!

And Sabrina has a statue at the academy.

And Hilda and Dr. Cee are moving back into the academy!

Aw Zelda.❤️

YAY PRUDENCE, CUT HIM UP AND SCATTER HIM!

Nick committed suicide? Intentionally? Unintentionally?

THAT'S IT?! That's really how they ended it?

What happened to Judas and Judith? What even was the point of their characters if this is how they were going to be treated. So many questions.

It was quite a lame ending with weak writing, honestly.

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official-weasley · 3 years

Text

The Irreplaceable Charlie Weasley: Pt. 2, Ch. 3

PART 2: THE YEAR OF MISCHIEF AND SNEAKING AROUND Chapter 3 - Tonks' Explosion

Charlie

Second Year wasn't as bad as I thought it would be when I first saw our packed schedule. It did mean that I had less time to spend with my friends something Bill was rather happy about as he could keep an eye on me as I did my homework in the Great Hall or the Common Room.

I thought the Second Year was going to be bad as I failed at Quidditch tryouts but I have to say that Nova and Hagrid cheered me up quite nicely. There's always next year and I promised myself I would practice so much over the Summer that there won't be anyone better than me. Of course, I was already the best. At least that's what one of the Gryffindor's Chasers told me. She said that I only wasn't picked because the Captain wanted his little brother on the Team. A bunch of rubbish if you ask me.

In November, some good news came at least when Nova and I were at Hagrid's, questioning him when will he allow us to go to the Forbidden Forest with him and he finally gave in and promised us he was going to take us after Christmas Holidays.

Of course, that was a mistake since from that moment on that was all Nova and I could talk about. The first couple of nights after that I was so excited that I couldn't sleep. Bill started to worry about me as I usually walked out of my dormitory looking as if I just rose from the dead. As they just made a Sleeping Draught potion in class he gave me some and that night I slept better than probably when I was a baby.

I mostly saw and spent time with Jae when we had classes together because on every other occasion he was spending his time with Tulip and Tonks. What those 3 were doing to the Castle I had no idea. I was just hoping that the enchantments on the walls were strong enough to resist their damage.

I never thought I was going to say that but Transfiguration was one of my favorite classes. Like last year, I was sitting next to Nova and even though I failed to transfigure half of the objects it was just so wonderful to watch her have so much fun and see just how talented she is in class.

Penny, of course, insisted that this year we should start studying for our exams earlier and that we should practice our spell work immediately when we learned the spells, that way we would have more time for our theoretical parts of exams. As we all laughed at her that morning at breakfast when she came up with the idea, she put it to rest, which didn't stop her from studying every chance she got.

As much as I thought she lost her marbles by doing so, I couldn't help but admire her but at the same time wonder what the O.W.L.s will do to her if she is panicking about the end of the year exams in November in our Second Year.

—

One Thursday, I was late to Potions class as I ran down to Hagrid's for some tea and I wanted to say hi to Nova and the girls who had Potions before Gryffindors and Slytherins.

I heard them talking in front of the classroom when I walked through the dark corridor of the Dungeons. Nova spotted me and I waved at her, smiling back at me.

“Hi ladies, how...” But before I could finish my question something exploded in my face. I started to cough as I couldn't breathe through the thick layer of green gas. I took a few steps backward hoping it would help but didn't.

As my eyes started to water, I heard a voice.

“Bloody hell. Not another one! I wish I wasn't so clumsy.” I heard Tonks say.

“Tonks if you...don't stop it with...the Dungbombs...you are going to kill...all of your friends.” I heard Penny cough.

“What is the meaning of this?!” I heard Snape yell as a door, which I assumed was that of the Potions classroom creaked open.

“Run!” I heard Tulip shout and as I opened my eyes halfway I saw 4 figures running towards me.

Nova noticed me at once, grabbed my elbow, and dragged me after Penny, Tonks, and Tulip. We finally came to the part of the corridor where the stench didn't spread yet. Penny and Tulip were still coughing. Nova was rubbing her eyes and I grabbed a handkerchief out of my robes to blow my nose that stang due to the toxicity of the Dungbomb.

“That was close!” Tonks was still panting.

“Tonks are you trying to murder us?!” Penny scolded her.

“Where are you getting all these bombs from, Tonks?” Nova asked, her eyes still in tears.

“I befriended a Third Year and gave him some money. He is getting them for me from Zonko's.” Tonks' lips curled.

Tulip was the first one that started to laugh. She accidentally inhaled too deeply while doing so and started coughing again. Nova and I laughed now. And even though Penny didn't want to admit that the accident was funny, she couldn't help her lips curl a little.

“At least we got away from Snape. Do you reckon he knows who the bomb was from?” Tonks questioned.

“I don't think he saw us.” Nova reassured her. “However, Tonks you have to practice your balance and work on your clumsiness, or sooner or later the whole school will be filled with Dungbomb smell.” She laughed again.

“An innocent prank here or there is fine, Tonks.” Said Penny much to our surprise. “However, why couldn't you slip outside and not in front of Potions classroom?”

“Indeed.” We heard a sluggish voice say. We turned around and Snape was standing behind us, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes filled with fury.

“Uh, Professor Snape, sir. Is there any way you didn't catch anything we were just saying?” Said Tonks rather optimistically.

“Fortunately for me,” Snape started with a smirk on his face, “I didn't only hear that you were the culprit for this 'accident' you've called it, Miss Tonks. I also heard Miss Karasu, Miss Haywood, Miss Blackwood, and Mr. Weasley laugh, amused at your little joke so I think it's only fair they get detention as well.” He was rather calm about the whole situation, which meant nothing good.

“Firstly...” he started, “50 points from Hufflepuff, 50 from Ravenclaw, and 25 from Gryffindor, meaning 25 points each, won't you agree?” He bestowed us with an evil-looking smile.

We just stood there as none of us dared to speak.

“I am glad you do.” He put his hands behind his back. “Now, Miss Tonks you will stay in this corridor and clean it from top to bottom and you will do the same for my classroom.”

“Easy!” The word escaped Tonks' mouth and she knew at that moment that she was going to regret it.

“Without...using...magic.” Hissed Snape as he came so close to her face that I thought his nose was going to touch Tonks'.

This time she just nodded, even though I knew very well she wanted to complain.

Then he looked at Penny and Tulip, who were standing on Tonks' left side.

“Miss Haywood, I expected better from you and as much as it does pain me,” he said sarcastically, “to give you detention, I have learned my lesson last year when you rather enjoyed yourself organizing my potions shelf.” He smirked.

“So, I was thinking you could accompany Miss Karasu here to Filch's Office this evening as I am sure he would be delighted to have some help polishing the trophies in the Trophy Room.” He waited if they were going to say anything. Penny just gulped. “Without using magic, of course.” He added quickly.

“Ah, Miss Blackwood and Mister Weasley.” He now looked at me and Nova on Tonks' right side. “Adventurous creature lovers.” I stared at him, forgetting to blink.

“Don't look at me like that Mister Weasley! Do you think I don't know you are reading books about Dragons during my class!” He said half through his teeth.

“Since you both love to look at pretty ol' pictures of cute little animals, how about you spend an entire night in the Forbidden Forest with nothing but Hagrid and that silly little dog he owns.” He grinned victoriously.

“I would like to see the look on your faces when you get out the next morning. I bet you will put away all your silly books and finally start thinking about a real career.” His grin grew larger.

As we didn't say anything and all stood as still as statues, he crossed his arms on his chest one more time.

“Well...” he almost whispered to us. “What are you still doing in my Dungeons?!” He shouted.

I grabbed Nova by her sleeve and we ran up the stairs and didn't stop running until we reached the Courtyard. We knew we probably shouldn't but we still burst out laughing as we had to keep a straight face in front of Snape for such a long time.

“What a bunch of rubbish!” Said Tulip as she wiped a tear from her face, laughing so hard.

“What do you mean?” Penny looked puzzled.

“I understand that Tonks has to clean the corridor as the Dungbomb was hers and I understand that we all get detention and I guess one night with Filch won't be that bad. We will come up with something.” Tulip reassured Penny. “But he gave Nova and Charlie an early Christmas present! Sending them into the Forest to 'scare' them! Doesn't he know them at all?” At first, I thought she was really mad but then she started laughing again.

“I would like to see the look on your faces when you get out the next morning...” Tulip imitated him. “What does he think you are looking at in those books of yours, Kneazles and Crup puppies?” She was holding her stomach now, trying to catch her breath, laughing so hard.

“Yeah, that's a bit unfair. Perhaps, we should go back down and tell Snape to give you a worse punishment.” Penny giggled. I knew she was kidding because of the way she looked at us, I knew she was happy we were finally going to the Forest.

Nova and I exchanged looks. I turned to her and we both shrieked at once. “We're going to the Forbidden Forest!” We clapped our hands together and started to jump around the Courtyard.

I didn't want to jinx anything but at that moment Snape was my favorite professor.

As Nova and I were preparing to go to the Forbidden Forest the next day, we had to remind ourselves that if Snape asked us how it was we have to act as if it was the worst punishment ever. For the first time, we were giving Tonks and Tulip's love for pranks a second thought. If Snape would send us to the Forest with Hagrid and Fang every time, we would want to be in detention all the time.

I didn't sleep that night again, as I couldn't believe we were going into the Forest before Hagrid promised us and as I finally did drift into dreamland, I couldn't help but hope we find a Dragon in there.

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nightingaletrash · 3 years

Text

I was working some more on Lieutenant Attaway and then fic happened oops

AO3

A gunshot cracked through the air as Saker limped his way back to his cabin, and it was enough to make him wince from something besides his injuries. The Lieutenant must be back already.

Sure enough, a familiar figure marched up the hillside, shoulders set, rifle strapped to her back, pistol at her hip, and her face decidedly stern but otherwise unreadable. She must be really pissed then, Saker deduced as he dropped to sit on the porch and prepared himself for whatever lecture his Second-in-Command was preparing to deliver.

She came to a halt in front of him.

Her posture had always been that of a soldier’s; a real, well-trained soldier and not some cutthroat who picked up a gun and slapped on a uniform or a half-wit private who’d quickly grown bored of taking orders and cut loose at the first opportunity with their weapon in hand. Straight back, set shoulders, and never a sliver of hesitation in her stride.

Lieutenant Attaway might be a deserter like the rest of them, but she still carried herself with the sort of discipline that made more than a few of the crew scratch their heads, wondering why she wasn’t still with the army.

“Captain. Might I ask why the camp is littered with the bodies of our men?”

As ever her voice was hard, cold, and unwaveringly even. Impossible to read and unyieldingly stern. Throw in the earlier warning shot that Saker had heard, and she was definitely pissed.

“We had a visitor,” he grunted. “Now, are you gonna to help me patch up or scold me to death?”

A beat passed and for a second Saker was certain that she was going to opt for the latter. But then she offered her arm without comment and bore his weight against her as he levered himself up with surprising difficulty.

The girl had hit harder and shot faster than he had expected her to. She’d been a slip of a thing, not even out of her teens by the look of her, and yet she’d gotten her hands on Jimmy’s uniform, waltzed into camp bold as brass and then promptly slaughtered everyone that got in her way. It had been, to be perfectly honest, a terrifying and oddly inspiring sight to behold, and he told Attaway as much as she helped him to hobble his way into the cabin and sit down on the bed.

She offered no comment, just assisted with his wounds, passing bandages and rubbing alcohol as and when they were needed.

“And now not only do we gotta leave the Dwellers be, we’ve gotta help them,” he snorted. “Those were her terms when she let me live. Sharing supplies, disrupting the King’s men on the roads. Gotta wonder where she got the idea that going against Logan was a smart idea-”

“Because she’s the Princess,” Attaway supplied smartly. When she caught sight of the gobsmacked look on Saker’s face, she added, “the King has put out an arrest warrant on Sir Walter Beck and the family butler for her abduction and is offering a significant reward for her safe return to Bowerstone Castle.”

“Then why the hell did she come here?” he said incredulously. “What the bloody hell does she think she’s-”

Oh.

The pieces clicked into place, and suddenly it all made sense.

The Princess was playing rebel against her big brother, and was getting the Dwellers on her side, which was a logical starting point. They despised Logan so weren’t liable to turn her in for the reward he was promising, and they put up a good fight when they weren’t starving to death. The promise of food and safety could see them become a formidable force once more. And having the Deserters couldn’t hurt either, especially now that Saker owed her his life. Their code meant that they were sworn to heed the Princess’ demands, and she was capable enough in battle to change her terms whether Saker liked it or not.

With both groups at her command, not only could she do some real damage to Logan’s operations up in the mountains, she also had the building blocks of an army that - if built the right way with the right pieces - could drag the Tyrant King off of his throne.

And then there was her strength. Her speed. Neither of them seemed proportionate to such a girl, and yet she’d had both in great quantity. The old Queen had been a Hero. The last of her kind, they’d said, when neither her Prince or Princess showed the signs. Maybe they’d been too quick to judge. Maybe Albion still had one Hero left in her.

The warped, burnt flesh of Saker’s hands itched and he resisted the urge to rub them while they were still red and raw. Playing with fire was a dangerous game but it usually kept his opponents off-kilter to see him throwing the stuff around. His hands might never be pretty and one day the flesh might slough from his bones, but what was life without a little risk? To him it was a reminder that he was alive. That he’d been burned by the world time and time again, but he’d risen above it and survived.

Today the fire had bitten back and he’d need a fresh wrap of bandages and a lathering of burn relief as his knuckles bled, but it hadn’t consumed him. He’d drink to that. And to his men.

He thanked Attaway when she handed him the bottle of whiskey and she stepped outside to let him rise tenderly to his feet in private.

It was one of his favourite things about his Lieutenant. Always prompt and to the point, and never needed to be told what to do.

Saker took a swig of whiskey and limped back out of the hut into the dying rays of the setting sun. The survivors of the crew were waiting in a huddle outside, some wrapped in bandages and others propping them up when needed.

A good number of familiar faces were missing now, but there were more than enough survivors to keep the clan together. They were all silent, waiting for him to speak, so he raised the bottle into the air.

“We took a beating today. We all lost friends. Brothers and sisters in arms,” he said gruffly. “But that’s how it is in this life of ours, and now we do our damndest to stand tall and make them proud! We’ve got ourselves a new contract, and one with a Princess no less! A Princess who walked in here and proved herself the strongest!

“Tomorrow we get to work, but tonight we drink and we remember! To ourselves, to those that fell, and to seeing Logan’s head on a spike!”

There was a roar of approval from the crew and it wasn’t long before they broke out the casks. Leave it to Bertie to open them up with axes, but hey, they were mercenaries, bandits and cutthroats. If they weren’t using axes, they’d be doing it wrong. The bonfires roared, warming the cold mountain air enough that they could sit without need for furs and heavy coats, and Saker sat on a log with Attaway at his shoulder as ever.

She didn’t drink. He’d never seen her so much as touch a mug much less take a swig. But she remained nonetheless, hands folded behind her back as she stood at ease. Always the soldier, his Lieutenant. Though any sense of military decorum and fire discipline didn’t stop her from firing a warning shot at the feet of the first person that tried to push a mug into her hands.

“At least make a toast if you’re going to shoot people, Lieutenant,” Saker chuckled.

“I shot at them sir. There’s a difference.”

He shook his head and took another swig of whiskey.

“Just one toast, Attaway. For ol’ Jimmy’s sake. You don’t have to drink it, just-”

“Jimmy isn’t dead, sir.”

Saker blinked.

“I found him at the pub in Brightwall, quite drunk and missing his clothes. He swears up and down that he’d been drinking with Sir Walter Beck himself. I didn’t believe him at first until the barman confirmed his story.” There was a glimmer in her eye and the corner of her mouth twitched ever so slightly upwards. “I still struggled to believe it as I was under the impression that most knights aren’t known for stripping their drinking companions down to their drawers.”

He blinked again. So Jimmy wasn’t dead? He’d just gotten himself pickled, and by a Knight of all people. Well, that was a relief. Of sorts. One less name to add to the list of the dead. But…

Saker slammed his fist down onto the log and it splintered under the impact. The other mercenaries were too busy imbibing in drink to notice or care.

“When I get my hands on that scrawny little shit, I’ll kill ‘im!” he roared indignantly. “What the hell’s he playing at, getting drunk on the job! And getting stripped at that! That no good, light weight, weasley little-”

“I did warn him that he would need a suitable story to explain his absence and lack of clothing, sir,” Attaway interjected coolly, her eyes still glittering in the firelight. “At least permit him to squirm through his lie first, I’m sure he’s worked quite hard on it.”

Saker grumbled and then threw back his head, downing a burning mouthful of whiskey that he barely tasted.

He knew he wouldn’t actually kill Jimmy. Maybe make him run laps of the camp, or assign him to repair work or gate duty, but he wouldn’t kill him. He had his code and his honour.

Not that Jimmy would need to know that when he got back. He'd let Attaway have her fun first.

#nightingale writes #fable 3 #captain saker #lieutenant attaway #i dunno why i've suddenly gravitated to saker but honestly i'm enjoying the dynamic

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itsblissfuloblivion · 4 years

Text

Torch - Chapter 6: February

writing block isn't fun when you're supposed to publish on a schedule, that much i can tell you.

please enjoy - we've listened to you all and sprinkled in some good ol' fluff :)

find it on AO3 and FFnet as well

He only wants to talk to her. He wants it so badly, can’t they see how much he needs it?

Can’t they move out of his way? There are so many of them flooding the corridors, all of Hogwarts at once, keeping him away from her.

And Ginny’s calling him from the other end of the corridor, and Harry tries so very hard to remember the ‘three Ds’ of Apparition and magically transport himself to her, so hard that his scar prickles and Hermione tuts and tells him he should have paid better attention to Twycross the day before.

But Hermione turns into Ginny in the time it takes him to blink and now they are in the Common Room, lounging on the couch, blissfully alone. She is maddeningly close to him and Harry wants to kiss her like he’s never wanted anything in his life.

His lips are nearly onto hers, their arms and legs tangled together, her robes disappearing on their own -

“Harry James Potter, what are you doing to my daughter?” Mrs Weasley screams from the fireplace, her face screwed with rage.

Harry wants to say he did nothing, they were doing nothing, but Ron Apparates over them, making himself cosy on the couch between Harry and Ginny.

“How’s your three Ds, mate? Mine are bloody brilliant! You’ll never Apparate until you accept the D,” Ron is telling him smugly.

“Yes, how is your D, Harry?” Ginny’s giggling, now irritatingly overdressed, a pair of Hagrid’s fluffy earmuffs on her head and what looks like Ron’s Yule Ball ensemble of frilly robes on her.

“You’ll never see my daughter naked!” Mrs Weasley wags her finger in Harry’s face, shouting at him with a hand on Ginny’s shoulder, as Ron keeps talking about Apparition and Ginny laughs so hard she starts crying.

“Your D, Harry, your D,” Ginny dissolves into another fit of laughter, pointing a finger at his lap.

Before Harry could look down and feel even more mortified, if that’s even possible, something hard hits his head.

Suddenly and confusingly, Harry wakes up, his eyes losing focus as he rubs at the side of his rumpled head.

“Mate, you keep waking me up,” Ron grumbles, leaning over him to retrieve his pillow and plopping right back into his bed.

Harry swallows hard and privately wonders whether he’d let anyone in on what his dream was about, then turns on his side and concentrates on drifting back to sleep - sans mad dreams this time if anyone cares even remotely for his sanity.

____

To Harry, it feels like the month drags on without ever ending. Quite frankly, he feels personally attacked by all the dating invitations flying about, people confessing their love to each other, holding hands and playing footsie under the breakfast table. Ugh, gross.

It’s hard enough that no one believes him yet whenever he’s bringing up Malfoy and his evilness, not even after Harry’d told them what that sleazeball was bragging about to Crabe, for crying out loud. Not even the Prince, who seemed to have an answer to anything and was definitely Harry’s mental and emotional comfort lately, held a solution to Harry’s small not-being-taken-seriously problem.

And then there’s Ginny: walking out of the locker room shower only wrapped in a towel, stretching in her Quidditch gear, playing with her hair while she studies. It’s like she knows what she’s doing to him but pretends she doesn’t.

But how can she not know? It’s a miracle Ron hasn’t noticed yet, the little flirty jokes swapped between Harry and Ginny during practice, his eyes glued to her as she laughs loudly and shows off her prowess on the broom, his intense, burning blush when they have to change back into their robes and he tries incredibly hard not to peek over at her.

Harry actually feels like a lascivious old man most of the times or whenever he catches himself staring intently at her bum when she flies or walks or simply exists.

Is this really a life worth living?

Harry’s really tired of self-pity, but then again what else can a bloke in his place do? He’s stuck in limbo with his feelings as long as Ginny’s still with Dean. And who knows if she’ll still like him when she’ll stop being with Dean anyway?

Perhaps it’s better to keep living in limbo with the small amounts he gets from her.

Harry rolls his eyes at himself, takes one last look over his shoulder at Ginny and Demelza giggling together, and speeds up towards the castle. It’s cold and windy and he hates everything.

____

The fluff and tooth-rotting sweetness that fills the air all day gives Harry enough of a headache and a new, unhealthy dose of self-loathing to determine him to hide in a deserted classroom in a desperate attempt to escape.

Hermione, clever as always, had disappeared from the very first hours of the morning, Harry noticed earlier with a twinge of envy. He should’ve done the same, absolutely.

Because, you see, everywhere Harry looked today he could only see cuddly couples, see them crowding the Common Room and quite frankly cavorting all over the castle. It drove him mad.

And, to top it all off, his best mate had joined in the whole frisky business. Harry had spent his entire day feeling nothing but disdain for Ron and his fickle ways so he has a mind to communicate the feeling to his friend as soon as the opportunity arises. Just he waits, it’ll be McGonagall level brutal, Harry reckons.

Now Harry hides, alone, counting down the final hours of Valentine’s Day. He figures he’d be safe once the clock strikes midnight and the nasty spells fades away (because no doubt it’s a spell, some kind of enchantment; normal people don’t kiss all day, do they?) and then he can walk back into the world without the fear of stumbling upon a certain someone, her face glued to the face of an absolute prick.

Harry growls a bit at the thought.

“Ron told me you went hiding.”

Harry’s head snaps so fast he definitely hears something crack.

“I’m doing a very good job at it, I see.” He molds his voice into a dry tone, but can’t hold back the grin that spreads across his face as his heartbeat picks up. He wasn’t expecting this certain someone to come looking for him, especially since his current pastime activity involved pain-inducing scenarios of varying degrees where Ginny and Dean were - erm, couple-y and Harry pretended he’s unaffected.

So unaffected he feels he might just jump and kiss her simply because she isn’t with Dean at the moment, because she’s thinking about him, Harry - at least enough to come looking.

Still, he keeps his head and holds still, back pressed to the stone wall, knees to his chest on the cold, hard floor.

“Nah, it’s just me who’s very clever,” Ginny grins widely as she crouches next to him, pressing her back to the wall and her shoulder into his. “So what’s up with you, sad face?”

Harry scoffs playfully, flicks her shoulder.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing couple-y stuff?”

“Would you rather I did?” Ginny immediately bites back, her eyes fixed on his, a deep frown on her freckled forehead.

Harry feels stupid, sheepish as he opens his mouth and lets out a timid no .

Much like a displeased cat, Ginny breathes out a puff of air and turns her head fast enough to lightly smack Harry over the face with her long, red ponytail.

He wants to apologise, but then decides against it. Somehow, he’s sure it’s not his apology she came after - he doesn’t know what this is about, but it’s not that.

If he’d learned anything over the years of playing Quidditch it’s that the Snitch will eventually turn up if the Seeker stands still and keeps an open eye and their mind alert.

A tense silence falls between them until slowly, gently, Ginny sighs and slides a bit further, lowers her head onto his shoulder. She doesn’t say a word, just sits still, the deep red crown of her hair close to Harry’s blushing cheek.

Harry finds he can’t do much but swallow. There’s a great many things he’d like to do right now, that much is already clear to him, but she’s Ginny, and she’s got someone, and she’s Ron’s sister, and she might slap him anyway if he tried.

He holds his breath and, with a trembling hand, musters enough courage to touch her hair. Then he waits, completely and terribly afraid she’s about to hex him.

But when Ginny doesn’t, when she simply keeps her head on his shoulder and slides her body so close to his that their thighs touch by their sides, Harry knows he’s living some kind of dream. So he goes on to stroke her hair because he might as well enjoy it before it’s over and he wakes up next to a snoring Ron.

“Harry?” Ginny calls him quietly.

Harry hopes very much she’s not about to shout at him. He keeps softly stroking her hair.

“Hmm?”

Her tone is as soft as her flowery scented hair and Harry feels a bit dizzy.

“Do you still think about Cho?”

“No. Why?”

At first, Harry surprises himself with the answer. He really never thinks about her anymore, does he?

But then again, why would he? The honest truth is they’ve drifted apart before they could ever fall together. Cho was never in his every thought, never possessed every one of his dreams the way Ginny did.

No, he didn’t think about her anymore.

“No reason,” Ginny responds and he can feel her smile. Something warm spreads throughout his chest, melting away his anxiety, calming his troubling thoughts.

From there on the conversation lulls pleasantly to a safer ground as they laugh and comment on Ginny’s childhood stories from the Burrow to Harry’s first year at Hogwarts adventures she’s heard a million times before, but still finds everything funny enough to laugh, giggle, and lightly smack Harry’s thigh.

Even though he understands nothing else can be shared between them now, Harry feels calm, happy even: her head still rested on his shoulder, their backs pressed against the stone wall, their knees tucked to their chests.

“Hey, Gin?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you,” Harry draws a breath and smirks, “Could you talk me through the process behind the ‘his eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad’ verse?”

Ginny splutters, pouts and playfully smacks his knees - although, Harry privately notices, her hand lingers there a bit longer.

“Don’t mock my sentiment!”

“Not mocking, promise,” Harry laughs, pressing his cheek atop her head, “I’m actually a great admirer of it.”

“Oh, are you?” She says, dry, and with a great, big harrumph jumps headfirst into a tickling match, mercilessly tickling at Harry’s sides, her flowery scent filling his lungs as they’d laugh and laugh and laugh.

Soon after, another voice tangles with their joyous shrieks: Luna, strolling down the corridors, politely engaged in conversation with the castle’s ghosts.

“Luna,” Ginny lifts herself from him and calls her friend, much to Harry’s dissatisfaction as he’d been having quite the time of his life with her lounging all over his body in her attempt to win the battle by tickling everywhere.

Harry slaps invisible dust away from his clothes rather to give himself something to do and his mind something else to think about than the feeling of Ginny’s chest over his, her warm thighs, her bum touching his lap.

All feelings hard to forget, indeed.

Harry senses the irony on his own use of the word ‘hard’ and really wants to kick himself.

“Hello,” Luna says brightly.

“Yeah, hi, Luna,” says Harry, trying as much as he can not to sound too bitter.

Luna’s round blue eyes fix each of them for awhile and Harry feels like his mind is being scanned. It makes him very uncomfortable; right now, his thoughts are strictly for him to know and judge.

“You alright, Harry?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ginny answers before he can even think of opening his mouth, a devious grin on her face. “He was a bit under the weather, weren’t you, Harry? But I cheered him up.”

Ginny looks entirely too pleased with herself, her expression daring him to deny what she’d just said.

So Harry simply shakes his head and chuckles, his fingertips brushing unconsciously over her small hand; she gasps, surprised.

Harry knows he’s blushing but takes pride in the fact that her cheeks are tinged pink too.

Pleasantly their conversation spikes up and drifts towards Luna, her plans, her strange adventures. They spend an hour listening to her eerily describe the quests her father and her have to undertake to find the next fantastic creature. She talks and they listen and it’s all very nice.

From time to time, Ginny’d catch his eye and they’d grin at each other, cosy on the floor of a chilly, empty classroom.

Maybe Valentine’s Day isn’t so bad after all, Harry thinks as they wave goodbye to Luna and saunter side by side to the Gryffindor Common Room.

Harry’s about to ask her if she’d like to go over their new Quidditch strategy before they call it a night and his hand’s shooting to the back of his head in a kind of nervous gesture he’s lately come to associate with anything that has to do with Ginny.

“Hey, Ginny! Ginny!”

Harry’s mood is irredeemably shattered by Dean’s annoying voice. He’s completely forgotten about him, the stupid git.

“Ginny,” Dean tries again, waving enthusiastically from the other side of the Common Room, face to face with Seamus at a small table. “Here, hey!”

Forlorn and sighing, Ginny makes a gesture that Harry decides to interpret as being sorry that she has to go. So he sighs and watches her start towards Dean and reluctantly sit next to him.

As for him, Harry plops onto the couch, startling a couple of second year girls. They throw him disgusted glances but Harry has none of it; he shrugs and covers his face with a pillow, one leg stretched out on the stringy old couch and the other dangling loose.

He concentrates on the cracking, sizzling sounds of the fire, allows its warmth to comfort him.

He’d been having such a nice couple of hours…

“I’m off to bed, long day,” he hears her speak close to his ear and forgets himself enough to find that the pillow’s been thrown directly into the middle of the hearth.

Immediately, Harry swears loudly and nearly burns his fingers as he retrieves the singed pillow.

“Accio doesn’t work for you anymore?” Ginny laughs.

“Oh, ha ha,” Harry sticks out his tongue and she laughs even harder.

As she calms down, Ginny lightly pats his shoulder and steps away to her dorm room, her giggles sounding beautifully in her wake.

Harry shakes his head, a little dumbfounded, a little bemused and drops into a nearby armchair, once again disturbing the pair of second year girls. He shoots them a small sorry as they walk away muttering.

“Well, that was something.”

Harry’s green eyes follow the dancing flames, their burning lick, and remembers an evening spent talking to Sirius. His heart twists; the memory seems to have been retrieved from such a faraway place, from a different time, like its contains happened to someone else in another life.

The hard truth is, Harry muses and feels his eyes prickling behind closed eyelids, the truth is that he wants to talk to Sirius so, so much. So painfully much. But that’s sadly not possible now, is it, Harry?

“Quick, mate, you need to cover me,” Ron interrupts him as he runs inside, looking exasperated and completely disheveled.

Harry can do only so much not to snort as he takes notice of his best mate’s rumpled hair, the undone buttons of his shirt, half of it hanging out of his trousers, half still smartly tucked in, the lipstick marks on his neck.

“Running from your girlfriend, eh?”

“Shut up and hide me,” Ron barks, plunging under the couch as a sweet, girly shriek rings throughout the Common Room.

Lavender runs in, looks around excitedly and dashes right back out when she can’t spot Ron. Bullet dodged.

“Aha, alright, I hide you but what’s in it for me?” Harry crouches down and asks when the coast is once again clear.

Ron looks at him like he’s suddenly turned insane.

“Fuckin’ hell, Harry, I’m about to get massacred!”

Harry can’t lie, he’s enjoying it more than he should.

“Well, I just don’t see how that’s my problem,” he says, adopting something close to Percy’s pompous tone as he pushes his glasses back up his nose.

“Hello, we’re best mates, remember?”

Harry tries not to break character as Ron’s face becomes a beautiful display of all the stages of horror and desperation.

“Yeah, but you have to understand I’m risking Hermione’s wrath to help you. She might whack me with Hogwarts, A History .”

“I’ll whack you with my own fist right here if you don’t - look, there’s no time for bloody negotiations!”

“Is that right? Then how about I get one free pass where I do something and you can’t get mad or question it?”

“What are you on about?”

“Just nod and be done with it,” Harry says as he crosses his arms, fully knowing he’s on dangerous ground.

“Alright, alright, now will you give me that damn Cloak?”

“No need, she’s already gone,” Harry shrugs, smug and finally bursts into laughter at Ron’s harassed expression.

He helps Ron get up and quickly checks that Lavender is indeed still out of sight.

As much as he wants to ask Ron why in the name of all things holy he doesn’t break things off with her, Harry decides to keep it to himself this time. When he draws the line, he can’t find any good reason why he doesn’t just tell Ginny how he feels either.

“Hey, mate?” Ron quietly asks as they’re climbing the stairs to the sixth year boys’ dorm and Harry doesn’t miss the blush creeping up his neck to the tips of his ears. “Have you - erm, have you seen Hermione today?”

In his heart, Harry’s content to acknowledge once again that, at the very least, he’s not the only dumb, besotted fool.

#itsblissfuloblivion writes #itsblissfuloblivion writes torch #hinny #hbp fic #canon compliant #hinny fic #missing moments #harry x ginny #harry potter #ginny weasley #ron weasley #gryffindormischief #fightfortherightsofhouseelves #WE GOT YOU THE FLUFF #OF COURSE WE WANT MORE FLUFF #BUT ITS JUST NOT POSSIBLE RIGHT NOW FOR HARRY OKAY #LET HIM LIVE

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rons-wheezely · 5 years

Text

Ron Weasley || A Little Push

[requested]

Genre: fluff

Summary: “And damn, consent never sounded so hot.”; Post Hogwarts!Ron x reader; Ron helps with the shop, and good ‘ol George helps you two out.

—x—

After a few years of revolutionizing the Auror industry with Harry, he decided to help out his older brother, George, with Weasley‘s Wizarding Wheezes. Business was picking up again, but with Fred gone, it was getting too hectic to run a one-man show. At least, that’s what George told Ron.

“Ron, do you mind restocking the chocolate frogs?” George calls out to him whilst ringing up a long line of customers. The dings and receipts fly out along with each happy customer. Rush hour dies down, and George spots a familiar face entering the store.

“Well what do we have here?” He leans over the counter,” I haven’t seen you in eons, y/n. How’ve you been?”

“You saw me just last Tuesday, George.” You chuckled at his exaggerated shrug response. “I’ve got to hurry; I have to catch the afternoon train.”

“What’s with the leave?”

”Isaac, my youngest cousin, is having a birthday party. He wanted a Pygmy Puff for his birthday. His mother refused and told him it was too girly to own.” You made a face of disgust for the gender stereotypes his mom had enforced on him. You were getting him a Pygmy Puff, whether she liked it or not.

“y’know, Ron actually has a tatt—“ George started to whisper before Ron walked in.

“Ron what?? What’d I do this time?” He sees you and stops in his tracks.

He hadn’t seen you since after the war, and honestly, he was missing out. The small crush that worked so hard to fade over time came back so alarmingly, ten times as strong as it was before. His heart pounded so loud he wondered if everyone in the room could hear it, given his brother had a certain shit-eating grin on his face.

“Oh.” He looked at you and immediately he was made well aware of how lazily dressed he had been that day. His hair was ruffled and unkempt, his attire had literally been thrown on in minutes, and my god, is it too late to do a breath check?

Why does he feel so flushed in the face?? It’s just y/n, there’s nothing to worry about. Keep it cool Ron, you’ve got this. You two are friends, not lovers. But even then..

You stared back,” Hello to you too?”

Ron’s head whipped away so quickly you wanted to ask him about his whiplash. His face was turning red, but then again, this was a joke shop. He could’ve easily eaten something meant as a prank for his brother. He scurried away as fast as he came thundering through the door.

“Ron’s having a hard time adjusting; him being away and all has messed with his noggin, I think.” George says matter-of-factly. “It’ll do him some good to hang out with friends, yeah?”

“Could I join?” Your eyes lit up too quickly to be a coincidence. You looked at the floor sheepishly,” I mean, only if it’s alright.”

George looked at you with a warm gaze that only a Weasley could do,” Of course.”

“Is she gone?” Ron crept back into the main room where his brother was. You just left the store a second ago, and he let out a breath of air.

“She’s gone.”

“Blimey, I thought my heart was going to burst.” He clenched his hand over his chest.

“Wow?? Ron’s in love with y/n?? And still hasn’t confessed...” George shakes his head in dismay. “I can’t take it anymore, Ron. I should’ve pushed you out the door after her.”

Ron’s face heats up imagining the scenario playing out. If he’d bump into you and he’d catch you in his arms and then-

“Get a room, Ron.” Hermione walks through the door with Harry and Ginny following behind.

“I am in a room.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed. “All these years, and you still haven’t spilled your feelings to her?”

“Her answer would be the same denial no matter what year it was.”

The group bickers with each other, snickering at Ron and catching up on missed memories. Y/n bursts into the shop again, bending over to catch her breath.

“George I forgot the.. the gift receipt.” You said in between breaths of air.

Dozens of eyes fell upon you, and all the chattering stopped. You paid no mind to the staring as you grabbed the receipt out of his hand and sigh in relief as you walked out the door. You didn’t make eye contact with anyone other than George because of a nervous tick, leaving everyone blatantly ignored in your hurry.

With the sudden realization of what happened, Ginny grabbed onto Ron’s shoulders and started pushing him out the door. “Ron, it’s your chance!”

Everyone erupts in a chorus of encouraging words to Ron, leaving him flustered as he’s shoved out of the shop. Like any cliche, he bumped into you, but you fell over and he couldn’t quite catch you in time.

He tenses up, looking at you on the ground. ”Bloody hell, are you alright?”

“More or less..” You laugh and he helps you up. “What brings you tumbling into me, Ron?”

“..I-“ he glances back and sees all of his friends pressing their faces to the shop glass and giving him the thumbs up. “I’m.. very much in love. With you.” He pauses in between some words but rambles into his confession. “I know we’re friends, but seeing you now and not being able to.. to kiss you is driving me mad, not going to lie.”

You can only stand there dumbfounded. He wanted to kiss you?? “This whole time? You wanted to kiss me, even when we were younger?”

“When you word it like that it makes me sound like a pervert, but yeah, I suppose so.” His hands are fidgeting but he manages to grab onto yours. “We don’t have to be anything more than friends, if this makes you uncomfortable.”

“I don’t know what the proper response is, but I like you too? I always have, Ron.”

His gaze that was once on the floor now bore itself into yours. He pulls you close to him in a hug, satisfying the crave of your touch. Foreheads touch and he whispers in your ear.

“Can I kiss you?”

And damn, consent never sounded so hot. You nod and butterflies burst in your stomach when your lips touch for the first time. You grasp onto each other tightly, savoring the moment as much as you could. You might as well just take him to Isaac’s birthday party..

---------

-A/N-

Thank you cutie so much for your patience on this one!! It took me some time to think of a post-hogwarts plot, but it was definitely interesting to write; a real challenge, that one. I don’t necessarily do first person POVs, so I tried to focus on his standpoint instead lol.

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therezastarman · 4 years

Text

I am not Vernon

Something I wrote a couple months back...

Warning: child abuse, and explicit whipping.

BTW: in this story, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin are still alive.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. :.(

The front door of the Burrow opened to reveal George Weasley. He was home early.

“What, you missed us so much?” Molly Weasley asked, “you only left two hours ago.”

All of the Weasleys had come back to the Burrow for a week-long family reunion, and naturally, Harry, Hermione, and all of the kids had joined them.

“No,” George sighed, “I just got laid off my job.”

Pieces of Harry’s childhood flashed before his eyes. His Uncle Vernon’s angry, purple face, the dreaded whip, the ache of hunger, being thrown back into his cupboard after those very words had been uttered. And suddenly, Harry wasn’t in the Burrow surrounded by his favorite people, he was back at Number 4 Privet Drive.

…

Harry had just sent Hedwig to deliver a letter to Ron when he heard the front door slam open and his Uncle yelling, “boy, get down here.”

That was a sentence that Harry was very used to hearing. It always meant that his Uncle was either drunk or very mad. Harry knew it was the latter when he walked down the stairs to see his Uncle’s face scrunched up and purple with anger.

“WE TOOK YOU IN,” his Uncle was yelling, before Harry had completely descended the stairs, “WE TOOK CARE OF YOU WHEN YOU WERE LEFT ON OUR DOORSTEP, WE EVEN LET YOU GO TO THAT FREAK SCHOOL, AND WHAT DO WE GET IN RETURN? NO THANKS, NO MONEY, NO, IN RETURN, WE LOSE OUR JOBS.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, “I don’t even know where you work, how can I make you lose your job?”

Harry felt proud to have finally stood up to his Uncle, but all of the pride left him as he heard the crack of a whip as it hit the floor.

“You listen here, boy,” Harry’s uncle said with so much rage in his voice that Harry started to shake with fright, knowing what would come next, “freaks like you don’t talk to people like us unless they are asked a question. Now I just got laid off my job and do you know who’s fault it is?”

“M-mine sir,” Harry stuttered.

“Too right it is. Now, take off your shirt and GO STAND BY THE WALL!”

Harry complied, knowing that the beating would just last longer if he so much as hesitated. The feeling of the whip on his back somehow brought Harry back to his childhood and he was disgusted.

The relentless whipping on his skin ripped wherever it hit to shreds, causing, not only a horrid burning sensation but also a warm sticky liquid, which he knew to be blood, to run down his back. Harry tried to hold in his scream, he really did, but he couldn’t keep it up for long. He knew from experience that screaming wouldn’t ease the pain, rather, it would make the beating longer, but he couldn’t help it, Harry let out a blood-curdling scream.

“YOU UNGRATEFUL PIECE OF SHIT,” Harry’s Aunt Petunia screamed, coming into the room, “FIRST YOU LOSE VERNON HIS JOB AND NOW YOU WANT THE NEIGHBORS TO HEAR YOU?” She turned to Vernon, “just throw him in his cupboard until his freak school starts again.”

…

Harry looked around, realizing that he was cowering in the corner, just as he had as a child.

“Harry, Harry,” Ron was saying, “y-you were just s-staring up at the ceiling an-and you wouldn’t respond and, H-harry, are you ok?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Harry responded, casting a wary glance at George.

“Daddy?” Lily asked.

“Why don’t we eat lunch?” Hermione said, also wanting answers, but knowing that Harry was more likely to give them if his children weren’t around to hear.

…

Lunch was pretty uneventful, just catching up on each other's lives and talking about the funny and cute things that their kids had done since they had last seen each other, that is until George said; “I’m just so mad, I mean I was so close to getting a promotion, I could feel it and then I just had to-”

“I-I’m sorry sir,” Harry interrupted.

“Ooo, you hear that I’m sir, I like that,” George turned to Harry, “but why are you sorry?”

“Aren’t you mad at me?” Harry asked as Ginny and Ron led the kids upstairs to play.

Umm…no why would I be mad at you?”

“I made you lose your job,” Harry responded like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“No you didn’t,” George said looking at Harry to make sure that he heard him, “I was the irresponsible one, I lost my job because I spiked my boss’s coffee with a potion that caused his face to look like a duck’s face, not you.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Harry stated as Ron and Ginny slid back into their chairs.

“What makes you think that it's your fault?” George asked.

“Well it was last time,” Harry mumbled under his breath.

“What did you say, dear?” Molly asked.

“Nothing.”

“He said,” came a familiar voice from the living room, “‘well it was last time’.”

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin came strolling into the dining room.

“Being a werewolf pays off some times,” Remus said.

“We heard there was a family reunion and we flooed in to check it out,” Sirius explained their presence.

“Last time?” Hermione asked.

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter,” Harry said.

“Yes, it does,” Ginny stood up, turning to Harry, her voice full of emotion, “what you are thinking matters, your feelings matter, they are valid, you are valid, when will you accept that? You are the most important thing in the world to me I love you, we all do, you need to understand that, you need to trust us.”

“NO, GINNY. STOP. YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND,” Harry suddenly roared, “NONE OF YOU DO. YOU GREW UP IN A FAMILY THAT LOVES YOU. YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE CALLED AN UNGRATEFUL WORTHLESS FREAK. YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE LOCKED UP IN A CUPBOARD WITH NO FOOD FOR A WEEK BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T FINISH YOUR RIDICULOUSLY LONG LIST OF CHORES IN A RIDICULOUSLY SHORT TIME LIMIT. YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE”— Harry started sobbing—“to be beaten up by your overly spoiled cousin while your aunt and uncle cheer him on. You don’t know what it’s like to be whipped by your uncle simply because he feels like it.”

Ginny sat back down, tears streaming down her face as Molly let out a sob.

“Why didn’t you tell anybody?” Ginny asked.

“Same reason I didn’t,” Sirius stated.

Harry looked up in surprise.

Fleur had her head buried in Bill’s long hair. Bill was looking down, some of his hair covering his face. Audrey had her head resting on Percy’s shoulder whose head was resting on hers, both looked close to tears. Charlie looked like he was going to be sick, Ron had his head buried in Hermione’s bushy hair, both had tears streaming down their faces. George was comforting a crying Angelina, looking appalled himself. Aurther sat there, fuming with an arm around Molly’s shoulders.

“I understand you,” Sirius said, letting a single tear fall down his face, “I understand how it feels to have the people who are supposed to care about you and love you most, hate you, hurt you. You heard my mother’s portrait when you visited the headquarters of The Order. My father was worse, enjoined seeing me in pain—”

“Why didn’t you tell us, either of you,” interrupted Molly.

Sirius sighed, rubbed his eyes, and looked up.

“You need to understand the mentality that living in conditions like this gives you. After a while, you start to believe what they are saying about you, you start to believe that you are an unworthy, worthless piece of shit who doesn’t deserve to live. You start to believe that you are a burden to everybody who loves you, talks to you, sees you and so you keep your mouth shut as not to be even more of a burden.”

“We could have been there for you, been the support you never had,” Molly insisted.

“Moony here tried,” Sirius inclined his head toward Remus, “he figured it out, being the brainiac he is.”

“You wouldn’t believe how stubborn Ol’ Padfoot here is,” Remus half-heartedly joked, “we went around in circles for a while until I finally convinced him to run away to James’ house.”

Harry turned to Sirius.

“I-I need you to help me,” he whispered, “you’ve figured out how to deal with it, I need you to help me come to terms with it.”

“Harry,” Sirius said, enveloping Harry in a huge hug, “I wish I could, I thought I had come to terms with it, accepted it, but I just ignored it, moved on to another chapter of my life.” Sirius leaned out of the hug and looked Harry in the eye. “I ignored it, but it has come back to bite me, you can ask Moony, I still have nightmares about my father whipping me, I still flinch sometimes when people touch me, there are still some days where I sit around wallowing in self-hate. I don’t know if I can help you, but a healer can. I need you to be brave and try to be more trusting, that is something that I remind myself every day, it helps.”

“Harry,” George said, “I am not going to hurt you, Harry, remember, I am not Vernon.”

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alovelylight · 5 years

Text

(P/O) love is a wild thing

AO3

When Oliver sees Percy again, he is standing in front of the Woods’ cottage, legs plastered together in the most awkward stance Oliver has ever seen. From the side view, his fiery curls have grown longer and darker, but his freckles are mapped in the exact same places Oliver remembers.

“Percy?” he asks, careful not to stutter. Percy gives a slight jump at his voice.

“Oliver!” he says, turning towards him with a nervous smile. “I thought I would drop by to say hello—so, hello.”

Olivia tries hard not to stare at him. It’s unfair, really, how feelings can come rushing back at the slightest peek of him. George has warned him that Percy would return home from Oxford for two weeks, and since then he has been bracing himself against the inevitable.

“Well, hello,” says Oliver. It’s a deliberate choice not to pull him into a hug right away (which is what he would’ve done if he knows how to treat Percy as any other friend). “Do you want to come in?” It seems rude not to ask, especially when Percy took it in himself to come over.

“I don’t want to intrude...”

“Perce, we’ve known each other since we were four.”

Once they’re situated in the kitchen, there is more ease between them. Percy rambles on about his classes while Oliver prepares the tea, plain Earl Grey and peppermint, just the way it’s always been.

University has brought Percy even more out of his shell; he is surrounded by people—worldly and clever people—who loves to debate laws and regulations and abstract schools of thought as much as he does. Oliver is saddened by the thought that he no longer needs him, but sitting close to him and listening to him talk (even if he doesn’t always pay attention; Percy’s lips are always a lovely distraction) brings back fond memories.

“What about you?”

Oliver blinks. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he blushes, obviously embarrassed now. “What have you been up to?”

“Working at my dad’s auto repair shop. Keeps me busy. Other than that, I’ve been reading and, uh, writing a little.” He doesn’t mention the obvious: he has suffered from a broken leg right before he was supposed to embark on a rugby scholarship to Loughborough. Though he was forced to stay at home while his mates went off to various corners of Britain, he’s been gaining most of his mobility back over the past five months. Enough to get him off the crutches.

“Good for you.” Oliver searches for any hints of sarcasm in Percy’s tone, but he is beaming at Oliver as if he’s truly proud. As if his reckless injury never happened. “What have you been writing?”

“Nothing much to show, really,” he shrugs. “Do you remember all those murder mystery novels we used to trade?”

“How could I forget?” Percy smiles, revealing a few deep dimples that distract Oliver. “Is that what you’re writing—murder mystery stories?”

“With more queer representation, of course,” he says with a wry smile. “But I don’t know if they’re any good, and at this early stage I’m too shy to show anyone anything.”

“Oliver Wood, shy?” Percy raises his eyebrows. “What has the world come to?”

“I’m a man of surprise.”

“Evidently.” He takes a sip of his tea. “You can show me what you’ve written. If you want, I mean. I know I’ve got the reputation of a razor-tonged critic—”

“I distinctly remember you telling six-year-old Ron that his drawings look as if Satan possessed his body, got drunk off vodka-spiked slushies, and vomited all over the paper.”

“I’m always nice to you.” Percy taps Oliver’s feet with his own. “Besides, I was only ten. I’m a changed man now; I even stopped signing my name off in text messages.”

“I noticed,” Oliver laughs. “I wish you wouldn’t stop doing that. It was endearing.”

“Endearing?”

“Yeah, you know, cute.” He thanks the dark complexion he inherited from his dear mum for hiding his blush.

Percy’s eyes widen from behind his glasses. They’re still brilliantly, beautifully blue and Oliver hates him for it. “Listen, I hate to end this conversation, but I promised Mum I would be home for dinner. Can I see you tomorrow?”

“I can come by after work,” Oliver offers, trying not to sound too eager. “I haven’t been to your house since the twins’ birthday bash. I think everyone from that party got implicitly banned from entering again.”

Percy’s laugh leaves him feeling warm and tingly.

Percy’s room looks more or less the same. This is the domain of a boy with worlds at his disposal, tucked into neatly aligned novels and books of poems. A model of the solar system takes center stage on his desk. There is a cardboard cutout of Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy in the corner—a gag gift that Charlie knowingly got him on his fifteenth birthday—but everything else is nothing less than scholarly. Except, maybe, an IKEA candle burning on his bedside table.

Percy pats the spot beside him on the bed, and Oliver plops down next to him.

“Are you still dating Flint?” he asks Oliver, tilting his head in inquiry.

The question is unexpected enough to make Oliver feel hopeful. “Haven’t seen him since he went to Sheffield. We weren’t even dating, really, more like fooling around. He got bored while I was recovering. Good riddance, really. What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

Please say no. “Not since Penelope. We’re mates now; we’ve been encouraging each other to participate in social events at Oxford and we live in different colleges so things don’t get too awkward.”

“That’s good to hear,” Oliver slowly nods, relieved by the news. These two weeks wouldn’t change a thing between him and Percy, but he feels better knowing that the object of his pining is unattached. “So. Anything planned to do while you’re crashing back home?”

“Spending time with family, mostly.” He winces. “God, I forgot what it’s like to live under the same roof as the twins. No peace or privacy. But I quite missed it, strangely enough. It’s also nice to catch up with Ron and Ginny, though Ron acts like I’m the dreaded third parent. But Ginny’s been sending me emails ever since I left; I think she thinks no-one at home has time to listen.”

“That’s lovely of her to write,” says Oliver. “I’ve been trying to keep in touch with you too, but after a while...”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“No, wait.” Without thinking of the implications, his hand closes over Percy’s, which was lying on the space-patterned duvet between them. “Seeing as how we left things off, I thought it would be...well, I thought we needed some space.”

“I think about you every day, Oliver.”

“Y-You do?”

“Of course I do,” Percy says, colder this time. He pulls his hand free from under Oliver’s. He misses the warmth immediately. “When you keep ignoring my texts, I suspected that you wanted to forget about me, that you didn’t care about how I was doing. I don’t expect you to drop everything else to pay attention to me, of course not, seeing as you’re in recovery—but it still bloody stings.”

“Oh, fuck, Percy,” Oliver groans, “I’m so, so sorry. I thought—I thought I was doing you a favor. I mean, you’re brilliant. You’re brilliant and wonderful and you are going to take the world by storm. You don’t need a boy from home holding you back, you know?”

“That,” Percy narrows his eyes, “is the stupidest pile of shite I’ve ever heard.”

The profane remark is a hurtful surprise; Percy only swears while watching EastEnders or when he’s really upset. “I’ve been selfish, but not because I don’t love you enough,” says Oliver, gently. “It’s because I love you too much for my own sanity.”

It’s an overly dramatic declaration that belongs in a soap opera about infidelities among the rich, but he wouldn’t take it back if he could.

Percy gapes at him as if he’s gone mad. “Did it ever occur to you that I may love you too, you absolute idiot?”

Oliver couldn’t believe his own ears. “I’ve asked you out three times while we were at school. You’ve had plenty of time to prove that.”

“The first time, you were so intoxicated you forgot the word ‘date’—”

“Drunken me is still honest and true!”

“The second time was over text. With typos!”

Oliver squeezes his eyes shut. “That text took me about ten minutes to compose, and my fingers shook from the nerves. But the message was very clear.”

“Well, I thought you were teasing. Or drunk-texting. Or meant to send it to Flint or some other bloke.”

“But the third time,” Oliver insists, “couldn’t have been clearer. Face-to-face and sober and flowers in my hand and on your bloody doorstep while it was raining. And my hair was gelled. God, Percy, my hair was gelled.”

“I was at the brink of moving across the country.” He averts his eyes. “It wasn’t the right time. I can’t treat our relationship like a summer dalliance.”

“It never seems to be the right time, does it?” Oliver sighs, touching Percy’s hand again.

“I’m sorry, Ol.” Unexpectedly, he takes Oliver’s hand up to his lips to press a kiss against his fingers. “I’m really sorry.”

The kettle begins to boil in earnest just as the knocks on the front door become more and more insistent. Cursing under his breath—he had expected a free night in to work on his novel, it was raining after all—Oliver walks up to the door.

He is met with the sight of Percy Weasley, drenched in rain and armed with yellow flowers.

“These are for you, you’re welcome.” Percy hands the flowers to Oliver. Despite wilting from the rain, they're still very beautiful, which causes an unfair riot in his heart. “Jonquils. I think they signify love and desire? The florist could be spouting bollocks for all I know; she listened to me talk about you and chose these, so I hope you like them. Or don’t hate them, at the very least.”

“You know I love them. They’re from you, after all.” He looks at Percy in the eye and gives him a smile—tentative, slow. “And I know nothing about floral meanings, so you’re safe. Is this why you came? To give me a bouquet?”

“I noticed there’s a new natural history museum on Godric’s Road, but they still couldn't get a bloody planetarium.”

“Yeah, I know about that. I live in this town.”

“It still looks enticing. I thought we could go on our first date there, then get lunch at The Three Broomsticks and buy each other gifts from the bookshop like we used to.”

“Perce...I don't understand." He puts a hand on Percy's shoulder. "What changed?"

“Two weeks may not be much, but we’ve known each other our whole lives." Percy raises his chin in defiance. "Something as inconsequential as physical distance couldn’t stand against the both of us.”

Percy pushes their foreheads together until there is not so much as a breath between them. Hell, Oliver couldn’t even breathe. His heart gallops in his chest and his world narrows until there is nothing else outside the boy in front of him. “Are you going to take me to a planetarium next?” he asks with a chuckle.

“If you’re ever so lucky.”

#fic #percy weasley x oliver wood #perciver #percy weasley #oliver wood

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sirius · 5 years

Text

Chaos Theory Part 10

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader, Harry Potter x Reader, Draco Malfoy x Reader, George Weasley x Reader

Warnings: Drug mention, swearing

Word Count: 7732 (fuck me)

A/N: Right, guys. 7,732 words is the longest fic I’ve ever written. I can’t even rn...I’m so tired and I’ve been working like so hard on this chapter and Young gods I’ve stocked up on tequila and vodka lol so after the next two chapters are released I can have a fucking Fiesta !! Just an FYI things are gonna start getting darker now. Also, I know Luke is supposed to look different for everyone but I think I’ve deserved using a gif of Noah Centineo bc he’s so cute and i love him sm, and given that I’ve written about Luke’s birthday, I think he should claim the header for now. Anyway, here we go. Happy B’day Lukey :)

This chapter is dedicated to my sister, Mariana ‘Maia/Maui’ Tori - I loved you then, I love you now, and I’ll love you always. RIP belle fiore 🥀 1996 - 2004

Chapter 10:

***

Friday, December 18th

***

The strange parcel arrives late at night with no return address.

You recognise the signature style all too quickly and your stomach curls in on itself, heart shuddering and throat constricting like a straw.

After weeks of silence, the mysterious sender is back again and it looks like they’ve upgraded from creepy photo to mysterious box.

It’s sitting on your bed like a plain, Pandora’s box, inviting you to open it and unleash a tempest of chaos. You approach it slowly, hesitantly, icy blood gushing through your crystallised veins like Antarctic waters travelling down the deltas of a cold-blooded monster. A part of you needs to see this; it could be clues, a lead, something that could aid you in this impossible investigation. But the other part of you is wary, perhaps even a little afraid, because you’re not sure if you’re prepared to face whatever is in this box.

Either way, you find yourself standing in front of it, peering down at the familiar scrawl written across the top, and you slice the string holding it together, gripping the lid and squeezing your eyes shut so you can muster up every single ounce of your Gryffindor courage, tearing the lid off and-

You gasp.

***

Thursday, December 10th

***

Unsurprisingly, news about the Yule Ball spread quicker than a wildfire, tangling the school in a sticky web of rumours and gossip.

It’s all Parvati, Padma and Lavender can talk about after your weekly Howler meeting, much to the dismay of Dean Thomas, who sits on the fringe of their conversation, looking equal parts exasperated and nervous while the girls whisper and giggle beside him.

You can’t exactly blame them. The Yule Ball at Hogwarts is combining two of the most whimsical events and squeezing them into one night. Celebrating Christmas while dressing up and dancing with your date? Of course, all the girls would be excited; it’s an excuse to dress up and spend the night with people you care about.

The boys, however, do not share the girl’s enthusiasm for the Ball. Flustered and nervous, a lot of the boys at Hogwarts have had difficulty approaching the subject of dates, since according to tradition, it’s their responsibility to find one.

Harry had been shocked when McGonagall told him that he would have to find a dancing partner after Transfiguration earlier today. As a Champion, he had no choice in the matter, which meant that if he didn’t find a partner soon, he’d risk embarrassing himself in front of the entire school.

Ron, too, was starting to grow anxious about who he would ask to the ball, and Hermione had become impatient with him. Honestly, you couldn’t blame her; she was the most obvious choice to ask, yet Ron continued to allow his obliviousness blind him from what’s right in front of him. Hermione had been tempted to slap both Ron and Harry around the head and point out that they didn’t have to look very far, but you had stopped her before she could. While it would be enjoyable to go with Harry, you were hoping to be asked by someone else...

A touch of worry pricks your chest. What if you don’t get asked by anyone? That was a possibility you hadn’t really considered, given that you had been clinging hopefully to the prospect of being asked by Cedric.

Though to be fair, both you and Cedric have been so caught up in school work and...extracurricular activities, you hadn’t even had an opportunity to talk to one another, let alone arrange a date. Still, you supposed that there was still just over a week until the Ball...plenty of time to arrange a date...

“-hoping for a new camera for Christmas, mine is looking a little shabby, though Noah says that’s okay as long as it functions properly,” Colin Creevey says, excitedly, rambling at a million miles per hour, “He doesn’t really talk that much, does he? But he takes really good photos. I wonder if he could take a photo of me and Dennis with Harry? That would be awesome! Though I do feel a bit sorry for him, I heard that his sister-”

Your mind drifts again, eyes travelling past Colin and spotting Dean in the distance. He waves you over desperately, a pleasing expression written across his face.

“-isn’t that sad? She was always really nice to me so when Professor Dumbledore announced that she had died last year, I was really quite shocked. Nice of Professor Dumbledore to pay his respects to her, eh? He’s such a great Headmaster, he’s made Dennis and I feel at ease-”

“-That reminds me!” You interrupt, hurriedly, “I have to quickly speak to Dean about...something that Professor Dumbledore wanted so I’ll just-”

“Oh, yeah?” Colin asks, cheeks dimpled and eyes wide, “That’s so cool! Dean is such a great artist, he’s going to go far. Hey, I wonder if Harry has seen any of his work. Maybe I should ask Dean to sketch a picture of me and Harry together? Do you think Harry would like that for Christmas? You’d know best, you and Harry are basically-”

“-Yeah, that’s great,” you interrupt, hastily, already walking away from Colin, “See you Colin!”

Colin waves cheerily at you and plods away, approaching Juniper and Daisy and launching into a rambling lecture. You bite your lip, guilt plucking your chest. He really is a sweet boy, little Colin Creevey, who has idolised Harry since Colin arrived at Hogwarts. Leaving him feels mean, but you have a feeling that he could chat to you about everything and nothing for hours on end and still not tire out.

Ignoring your guilt and Colin’s excited voice that carries across the room, you approach Dean, who looks grateful at your arrival.

“Excited for the ball?” You tease, arching a coy eyebrow and Dean sighs.

“I can’t concentrate with the girls gossiping beside me,” Dean groans, rubbing soothing circles into his temples.

You shrug, sliding onto his desk and toying subconsciously with a loose fabric on your skirt, “You got to admit though, it is pretty exciting. Rumour has it that Celestine Warbeck is going to perform.”

Dean rolls his eyes, “Pretty sure that’s still just a rumour.”

You give an exaggerated sigh, as though severely disappointed by this news, “Yeah. But it’d be nice though, right?”

Dean grins, “Oh boy, if that were true, I would be way more excited for this ball thingy.”

“I think everyone would be.”

“I don’t think it’s possible for the girls to be more excited than they already are.”

“Oh trust me, you’d be surprised.”

Dean snorts, studying you for a moment, his dark eyes glittering amicably, “I don’t suppose anyone’s asked you yet, have they?”

This time, it’s your turn to snort, “Oh, please Dean. I’ve been getting offers left, right and centre. I practically had to sneak my way here to avoid being swarmed by them all...” you pause for comedic effect, “...not.”

Dean chuckles, rolling his quill between his fingers, “Well, if you don’t get asked soon - which, I mean, you totally will get asked I’m not saying you’re not - I mean-you're pretty so I’m sure you’ll get offers - not that I think you’re pretty because - I mean - we’re just good friends - but I don’t think you’re ugly - you’re definitely not ugly I can tell you that right now - I mean -”

You raise your brows expectantly at him, smirking as you watch Dean sputter and stumble over his words. After another few seconds of spluttering, you finally decide to intervene, amused by his awkwardness.

“Dean Thomas, are you trying to ask me to the Ball?”

Dean averts his gaze, staring at his quill. The conversation beside you has gone quiet, the three girls pausing mid-sentence to eavesdrop on your conversation. Dean exhales a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yes,” he mumbles, “I’m asking you to the ball. But as friends!” He adds, briskly, shooting a look at the girls giggling beside him, “And as a...um...Plan B...”

You smile warmly at him, his offer and awkwardness endearing. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you give him a subtle wink and beam at him.

“I would be honoured to have you as my Plan B.”

A burst of girlish giggles bubble into the air around you, cutting off Dean’s relieved chortles. Parvati and Lavender are both red-faced, hands clamped across their lips in a failed attempt to muffle their giggles. Padma, however, is grinning teasingly, glancing between you and Dean.

“Aw,” she gushes, reaching out to ruffle both yours and Deans hair, “You guys would be so cute together.”

“As friends,” you add, hastily, “Dean is my good ol’ pal and the best back up plan I’ve ever had.”

Dean clutches his chest through his shirt, “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You frown at him, though you can’t stop the grin stretching across your lips, “I think you need to find yourself some new friends, then.”

Dean shrugs, “I suppose I do.”

As Padma and Dean begin to chat amongst themselves, you allow your gaze to drift away from their conversation, spotting Noah in the corner of the room. He’s bent over a desk, staring intensely at some photos, hands pressed flat against the desk in front of him. His aviator's jacket is too big for him; it swamps around his tall and lithe form almost drowning him in leather and wool.

You make your way towards him and lean against the desk, peering down at the photos in front of him.

They’re scenic landscapes snapped from various spots around Hogwarts, though they look incredibly different, enhanced even, as though you’re looking at places you take for granted through a different lens. There’s a photo of the Whomping Willow, the Courtyard, Hagrid’s hut and an excitable Fang. Noahs even made Blast-Ended Skrewts look more interesting than ugly killing machines.

“You’re a really good photographer, you know,” you murmur, smiling down at Noah’s photos.

“These are nothing,” Noah mutters, apathetically, “The camera that Maia gave me could make these photos look like they were taken by six-year-olds mucking around with a cheap Kodak.”

You bite your lip, ignoring the obvious Muggle reference (what in Merlin’s name is a Kodak anyway?) and consider Noah carefully, “I’m sorry about your camera.”

Noah shrugs, “It’s not the camera that I’m worried about...”

You think about resting a comforting hand on his, but decide against it.

“I’m sorry about Maia, too.”

Noah swallows thickly and turns away. He’s silent for a long time, and you’re afraid you may have overstepped your boundaries when Noah rasps a reply.

“What is it that they say? Time will heal the scars,” he whispers, as though trying to convince himself that it’s true.

You chew the inside of your cheek, hesitating for a moment, before carefully stringing your next words together.

“What was Maia like?” You ask, warily, “I only met her twice and she seemed really nice...”

A ghost of a smile plays across Noah’s lips, “She was...funny, she’d make me laugh even when I didn’t want to. And she could be feisty, Christ, she was feisty, and so bloody bossy. I guess that’s why she was the Hufflepuff and I was the Slytherin because she was happy and free-spirited and she...” Noah bites his lip, as though stifling a laugh, “...she used to cry whenever she listened to Cat Stevens. And she had this thing about collars - they always had to be folded back otherwise they’d annoy her. And photos, she loved photos but she couldn’t take one to save her life. They’d always come out blurry or dark or off centre and she’d always laugh...”

Noah pauses in thought, as though sinking into sepia-stained memories. He allows himself a tiny smile, “Maia always said that I’d be the photographer in the family. That was what she wanted for me. She was going to be a teacher and I was going to be a famous photographer.”

Noah blinks and averts his gaze, turning away from you.

“You were the first person who said that to me, you know,” he whispers, voice hoarse, “That night when Dumbledore...” he trails off, blinking hard. He turns back to you, black eyes shimmering with something you don’t quite recognise, and he’s close enough for you notice for the first time that he has a scar knitted into his left eyebrow, “Everyone else thinks I’m a weirdo or that I ki-“

Noah suddenly cuts himself off, as though in realisation. His expression flickers, anger suddenly shadowing his face, and he turns to glare angrily at you.

“Don’t- Don’t do that!” he snaps, pointing a shaky finger at you, and you frown at him, confused.

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“Make me tell you things about...” he blinks, black eyes glinting dangerously, “...about Maia and me and-and make it seem like you care when you don’t! You’re-you’re just like everyone else, like Delores and-and Malfoy and her stupid boyfriend and everyone who didn’t give a shit about Maia when she was alive!”

You try to reach out and pat him but before you can even touch him, Noah flinches, as though he’s expecting you to hit him. Red stains his cheeks in shame as he backs away from you, a distant touch of fear creeping into his eyes. He retreats hurriedly, nearly stumbling out of the door, and you try to follow him when someone catches your wrist.

You glance behind you, finding Troy’s wrist gently pulling you back. He looks both worried and sympathetic as he releases your wrist, fiddling with the paintbrush behind his ear.

“He needs space,” Troy explains, “Space and time. Noah strikes me as the kind of person who likes to keep things bottled up.”

You nod in understanding, chewing your bottom lip thoughtfully, “Do you know who Delores is? Noah mentioned her just now...”

Troy hesitates, as though unsure whether it's his place to say. He concedes after a moment of silent deliberation, “Delores is Noah’s mother. Maia told me about her. They have a...troubled relationship-”

“His mother is a junkie who cares more about her current boyfriend and getting high than she does about her own kids,” Daisy drawls, bluntly, suddenly appearing at your side, “Maia used to ask me to keep an eye on him, make sure the other kids don’t bully him because he gets enough of that from home.”

“Oh...” you murmur, slowly.

“Yeah,” Troy says, staring at his feet.

An uncomfortable silence passes between the three of you as you stand in a circle, processing what had just happened. Daisy leaves as abruptly as she came, stalking across the room to Juniper’s side. Troy has his hands in his pockets, rubbing his shoes together before he smiles and nods at something behind you.

“I think you have a little visitor,” Troy beams. You spin around and grin, crouching down to welcome Nightshade into your arms.

“What are you doing here, B?” You coo, kissing Nightshade on her head. She rubs herself against your leg, tail curling in the air and she purrs and meows at you.

You scratch her ear, fingers grazing against her collar before you spot something folded inside her bell. Frowning, you carefully pull away a small piece of paper and you unfold it, nervously, hoping with all your might it isn’t related to the photo pinned to your investigation board and you stare down at it, taking in the familiar writing and you-

You smile, bite your lip, watching as dozens of tiny, red hearts shudder to life and flutter off the page like butterflies in the spring. You watch as they spell out words in mid air, tracing around invisible letters until they form a coherent sentence that reads, in unmistakable cursive writing;

Will you go to the Ball with me?

You laugh, recognising the style of it all, knowing the only person who is capable at something so sweet and romantic is-

“Will you go to the Ball with me?”

Cedric Diggory.

The heart butterflies scatter, fluttering away as though being carried away in a summer breeze. Cedric standing at the end of the hallway, grinning broadly at you. He strides toward you in smooth movements, one arm bent behind his back, beaming brightly, his blue eyes never straying from yours. A tiny laugh of disbelief slips from your lips as you smile, gazing lovingly at him until he stops right in front of you.

Cedric stretches out the arm bent behind his back, brandishing a cupcake with a giant, red love heart planted on top, holding it to his face as he awaits your answer.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, swept away by the dramatics, “Are-are you bribing me with food?”

Cedric chuckles lightly, “I knew that this would be the driving force that would compel you to come with me.”

“You must really want me as your date,” you murmur, a simpering smile curling graciously across your lips.

“More than anything,” Cedric whispers, gazing at you longingly. His blue eyes sparkle like sunlight dancing off the ocean. He’s absolutely mesmerising...

“Okay,” you giggle, suddenly giddy, “I’ll come with you to the Ball.”

Cedric sweeps you into his arms and twirls you around in a hug. You shriek a laugh as he lifts you off your feet, hands buried in his hair as he spins you before placing you gently on your feet. He grins goofily, eyes narrowing on your lips, hungry for a kiss you are all too willing to give him, and you reach up, wrapping your arms around his neck, guiding his lips onto yours until-

“Ahem.”

Troy clears his throat.

Cedric reluctantly pulls away from you as you crane your neck, suddenly remembering that Troy is there.

“I’ll...give you guys some privacy,” Troy mumbles, cheeks pink. He steps back into the Newsroom and closes the door and you turn back to Cedric.

“So...” you start, slowly, “Are we going to...?” You nod at the cupcake still in Cedric's hand. Cedric laughs.

“Oh,” He says, “Right.”

Nightshade meows, gazing up at Cedric with large, green eyes, staring at the cupcake longingly.

“I guess you deserve a treat or two,” Cedric says, crouching down to feed a piece of cupcake. She eats from his hand, carefully licking the tiny crumbs from his palm as Cedric strokes her head.

You beam at Cedric as you watch him affectionately scratch Nightshade, heart swelling like a balloon, suddenly understanding the excitement surrounding the Yule Ball and making a mental note to tell Dean that you won’t need a Plan B anymore...

***

Thursday December 17th

***

You wake up early on the morning of Luke’s birthday, grinning from ear-to-ear.

As per the usual birthday tradition, you had picked out the most ugliest Christmas sweater you could find - complete with itchy wool and an unflattering turtleneck collar - and had wrapped it in embarrassingly bright wrapping paper. You can just imagine Luke’s face when he unwraps it; contorting in both disgust and amusement but holding it to his chest.

The rules were that he had to wear the sweater all day for the entire day, no excuses. Last year, McGonagall had been so unimpressed, she had nearly begged Luke to burn the sweater to a crisp and had threatened to send him to detention for the day if he didn’t.

But that wasn’t the only birthday tradition the Arden siblings had amongst themselves.

They also had to bake the worst tasting birthday cake with whatever they could find and dare each other to eat it. Once, you had baked a cake during the holidays using eggs, tomato sauce, flour, mushrooms, oats, sugar, spearmint and hot sauce and saved it for Luke’s birthday. When you had dared Luke to eat a slice, Luke, never one to turn down a challenge, had devoured the entire thing. He had then spent the next hour bent over a toilet bowl but, really, that was his own doing. You had only dared him to eat one slice, not the whole damn thing.

This year was no different; you have to keep to the Arden tradition and bake a disgusting cake. The problem is, you don’t know where the kitchens are. Last year, you had made it ahead of time and had preserved it using a cooking charm (perhaps that was why Luke reacted so...violently to it) but this year, you had been more preoccupied and less organised.

You make your way down to the Common Room, wondering how you’re going to sneak into the boy's dormitory and steal the Marauders Map when you suddenly run into a tall and firm figure.

“Woah,” you gasp under your breath, staggering backwards. A strong arm catches you by your arm before you can fall flat on your ass.

“Sorry,” George Weasley snickers, “I didn’t see you there; you’re kind of tiny, (Y/N). You’re definitely a tripping hazard.”

You scowl at him and rearrange your clothes, ironing your skirt with the palms of your hands.

“Anyone tell you you’re a class A asshole?”

“On many occasions, actually,” George grins, then shrugs, “Sticks and stones.”

“Whatever works for you,” you snip, a smirk tugging on the corners of your lips, “Anyway, what are you doing here so early?”

“We could ask you the same thing,” says Fred, sauntering toward you.

“I’m baking a cake for Luke,” you explain, grinning, “It’s his birthday and we usually bake each other really disgusting cakes and get each other terrible gifts. It’s kind of an Arden thing.”

Fred and George exchange a mischievous glance.

“Sounds like you need to head to the kitchens,” Fred smirks down at you,

“You guys know where it is?” You ask, hopefully, and Fred nods.

“Ready for a private tour?” George asks, grinning devilishly, his eyes shimmering and a thrill courses through you.

You beam at him.

***

The kitchens look like they’ve just crawled out of Hermione’s worst nightmares.

House-elves are everywhere; bustling around the large kitchens, looking harried but content as they buzz around the room. They work around you, occasionally rushing up to you to offer you various sweets and treats, practically imploring you with round orbs to enjoy their homemade delicacies.

You’ve learned that it’s better just to accept the cakes and cookies instead of politely declining, and you enjoy the ones you’ve gathered with Fred and George as you sit in front of a large oven, watching Luke’s cake swell inside of the cake tin.

“I’m surprised it’s actually baking,” George observes, nodding at the oven, “Are we sure that’s even a cake in there?”

“If it has flour, egg, milk and sugar, then it’s a cake,” you state, biting into a cookie and moaning in delight, “These cookies are to die for.”

“Right?” Fred marvels in agreement, “I mean, they’re not as good as Mums but they’re still pretty darn good.”

Your eyes flutter closed and a smile stretches across your lips as you chew languidly on another cookie, savouring the sweet flavour as it oozes onto your tongue. You hum in delight again as you begin licking chocolate off the tips of your fingers.

You open your eyes and catch George watching you with a strange expression on his face. He boldly maintains eye contact, something unfamiliar flashing in his pupils.

Fred glances between the two of you, intrigued, “I’m going to go take some of these to Lee,” he announces, standing and stretching.

You break away from George and watch him as he leaves.

“That was odd,” You note, frowning as the portrait door closes shut.

“Fred is a bit of an oddity anyway,” George shrugs, sliding closer to you, “How’s that cake going?”

You peer through the glass, studying the cake, “Honestly? I don’t know, though I want it to burn so I guess another twenty minutes or so.”

You turn back to George, whose scoffing down an incredible amount of cookies.

“So, you excited for the Ball?” He asks through a mouthful of cookies.

You grin uncontrollably, “Yeah, I am.”

“Found anyone to go with?”

“Yeah,” You slide your bottom lip between your teeth, “I’m going with Cedric.”

George stops cramming cookies into his mouth and swallows, forcing a strained smile onto his lips.

“Oh. That’s...good.”

You shrug meekly, trying not to appear as giddy as you feel, “Yeah. Are you going with anyone?”

“Uh-Harper Shacklebolt.”

You nearly choke on your laughter, “What?! You managed to convince Harper Shacklebolt to leave the Newsroom?”

George flashes a devilish grin, “Well, it wasn’t that hard. I just had to turn up the old Weasley twin charm and she was practically falling for me.”

You roll your eyes, chortling at George’s confidence, “Huh, interesting. Well, you might have some competition. Did you know Harper has a pen pal?”

“Is that so?” George arches an eyebrow, intrigued, “And who would that be?”

“Someone with the initials ‘O.W.’, which could only be-”

“Oliver Wood,” George’s lips break into a smirk, chortles slipping from his lips, “I can’t see that lasting too long. They’re both stubborn and passionate about other things. Wasn’t Harper and Luke a thing for a while?”

You bark a laugh, “Ha. Luke and Harper? Harper is so out of Luke’s league, he’d probably have to pinch his dick to make sure he isn’t dreaming.”

George laughs at that, and the sound travels through you, glowing in your chest and probing your own laughter to spill from your lips.

“Must have just been some silly rumours,” George shrugs, “By the way, I think his cake is burning.”

You turn back to the oven as smoke begins to bleed through the cracks in the oven, filling the air with a horrid, acrid smell.

“Yup, that would be about right,” You chortle, grinning, “He’s going to love it.”

***

Luke is on his way to the library when you spot him.

He’s pacing down the hallway, moving quickly, and you nearly have to break into a sprint just to catch up with him. It’s a little uncharacteristic, given that he usually saunters lazily but in a businesslike manner. Casual, but cool and composed.

Today, he’s in a rush, taking long, deliberate strides and not giving you a chance to catch your breath as you struggle to catch up to him.

He rounds the corner, and you’re about to call out to him when someone else beats you to it, cutting you off with a thick, smokey accent.

“I vas beginning to zink you vere going to flake on me, Lukas!”

Kazimir Volkov strolls up to him, smirk like a sharp dash across his lips. He looks impressive and menacing, but Luke isn’t afraid.

Kaz stops right in front of Luke, eyes flashing with something both dangerous and alluring, as though he’s trying to assert his dominance but is also trying to seduce Luke into relaxation.

Luke stops, glancing around furtively. When he’s certain that no one is looking, Luke’s composure relaxes, steel melting off his shoulders like mercury. He greets Kaz like an old friend, nodding at him and flashing a charming smile. Curious, you press yourself against the wall, peeking out from behind it.

Luke leans forward, speaking in an undertone.

“I thought we agreed to talk in Russian?”

Kaz’s smirk broadens, “Why, you don’t vant anyone knowing zat Hogvart’s Golden Boy is up to no good?”

“Well, yeah,” Luke snips, a little impatiently, “I mean, it’s more about my sister than anything. If she knew…”

“She’d understand,” Kaz murmurs, then shrugs, “But if zat’s what you vant...”

Luke and Kaz begin covering in Russian, speaking rapidly. You furrow your brows, straining to listen to their conversation, but you never learnt Russian and they’re speaking too fast for you to pick up on any familiar sounding words.

Two words pop out from their conversation; you only recognise them because they are repeated by both Kaz and Luke; krov' Niks

Krov Niks…? What the heck is that supposed to mean?

Sighing, you’re just about to leave when Kaz suddenly retrieves something from the inside of his Durmstrang robes. You squint, leaning forward, spotting a small vial with black, glittering liquid inside. It resembles melted obsidian; sunlight bounces off small flecks of silver and gold.

Luke takes the vial and pockets it, nodding at Kaz in gratitude.

You flatten your back against the wall, thinking fast. What kind of potion could Luke possibly want that he couldn’t brew himself? What is he up to? And why does he have to keep it a secret when you’ve never let any secrets stand between the two of you–?

“Lulu!”

You jump, startled by Luke’s surprised voice, a fleeting look of panic flitting across his face. Your mouth flaps open, searching desperately for a good excuse, momentarily forgetting about the gifts in your hand until Luke’s gaze drops to them.

“Oh!” You bleat, nervously, “Oh I was…looking for you because I – uh – it’s your birthday and I wanted to give you your birthday presents…”

“Oh,” Luke says, biting his lip nervously, “Thanks.”

You hand him his sweater and cake and iron your clammy hands on your skirt, “Happy Birthday.”

Luke balances his presents on one hand and ruffles your hair with the other, “Thanks, (Y/N). I can’t wait to try what delicious, home-baked cake you conjured up for me this year.”

“Fred and George helped me whip it up,” you smirk, teasingly.

“Ah,” Luke nods, mirroring your smirk, “Well, then, it’ll be a masterpiece.”

Luke lassos you into a one-armed hug, pulling you to his chest, and for a moment, you forget about that strange vial in Luke’s pocket.

***

Friday, December 18th

***

The last day of term ends with a gruelling test on Antidotes in Potions.

Fortunately, you had studied hard for this test; it was hard to do anything other than study when your best friend is Hermione Granger. But your hard work paid off in the end, earning you full marks from a somewhat sour Snape.

“I see you’ve proven to be worth more than just a pretty face,” Snape has grumbled, peering down into your cauldron after class, “All that time spent with Granger must have rubbed off on you.”

You had screwed your jaw shut in an effort to stop yourself from snapping back at Snape, knowing that your marks and House Points were worth more than any retort you could have possibly sassed back.

“Actually, Professor,” you grit, through a clenched jaw, “I was wondering if you could tell me about a Potion that…looks black with silver and gold speckles in it?”

Professor Snape frowns, evidently in thought. After a moment of silence, Snape speaks in his usual, oily tone, “Nyx’s blood. It’s a difficult potion to brew, used as both a narcotic and a healing potion. It also happens to be illegal in the United Kingdom.” Snape arches a thin, black eyebrow in suspicion, “Why would you want to know about Nyx’s blood?”

“Um…” you begin, cursing yourself for not stringing a proper excuse together, “Um, I–”

“Severus!” Hisses a sharp, accented voice from behind you. Snape’s black eyes travel past you and you follow his line of sight, finding Karkaroff at the end of it. Karkaroff glances between you and Snape.

“You may leave, Arden,” Snape drawls, sourly, dismissing you with a scowl. You nod, slinging your book bag over your shoulder and rushing out of the dungeons, exhaling a sigh of relief.

As they promised, Ron, Harry and Hermione are waiting outside for you.

“So, what did Snape want?” Ron pries, softly patting the top of your head.

“Oh, nothing,” you sigh, “He just wanted to have a word with me about my Potion.”

“How did you think you went with that?” Ron asks, considering you curiously. You shrug.

“Well, I followed everything as per the instructions but it’s Snape so I’m not sure.”

You glance at Harry, who has remained uncharacteristically quiet for most of the day.

“How did you think you went, Harry?” You ask, loud enough to snap him out of his thoughts.

“I botched it,” Harry confesses, though he doesn’t seem too worried about it at all, “I don’t really care, though.”

“Well you should,” Hermione chides, loftily, “Potions is a core subject in our curriculum. If we don’t pass Potions, we lose a huge percentage of our end of year scores.”

“Which means Snape will look bad enough for Dumbledore to finally fire the git,” Ron mutters in your ear, grinning. You snort a laugh and nudge him in the ribs, earning a yelp of surprise.

“You’re trouble, Ronald Weasley,” you murmur back, snickering.

“Arden!”

You pause, Ron, Harry and Hermione stilling, too. A familiar prickle of agitation threads itself beneath your skin as you recognise the familiar voice and wheel around to face him.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” you practically spit, watching as Draco, Crabbe and Goyle saunter towards you. He’s sneering, but there is an indisputable touch of worry in his eyes.

“You,” Draco snips, “Alone without your little guard dogs to defend you.”

His cold, pale eyes dart between Ron and Harry. Ron steps forward.

“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Ron snarls, darkly, stretching out a protective arm as if to shield you.

“Funny, I didn’t realise you were her keeper,” Draco snaps, venomously, “Are you really that poor you have to start working for your friends, Weasel?”

Crabbe and Goyle snigger gleefully. You roll your eyes and tap Ron’s arm gently.

“I’ll be fine,” you coo, reassuring both Ron and Harry. They nod in unison.

“I’ll take your book bag,” Hermione offers, and you hand her your bag gratefully, “We’ll see you at dinner.”

You nod and watch them leave, forcing a soft smile onto your lips when Harry glances back at you over his shoulder. You turn back to Malfoy moments later, glowering at him.

“Okay, you’ve got me,” you snip, harshly, “Now, tell me what it is that you want?”

Draco glances behind him at Crabbe and Goyle and flaps a dismissive hand at them, silently shooing them off. They stump away, pushing past other students and knocking frightened First Years aside.

When he’s sure it’s just the two of you, Draco, takes a few steps toward you, bowing his head so he can catch your eyes, “I wanted to ask you something.”

“If it has something to do with Noah Underwood, I don’t want to hear it,” you snap, sternly, “The guy is going through enough as it is, he doesn’t need you to keep snooping around like he’s some sort of criminal-”

“-Will you go to the Ball with me?”

Your lashes flutter rapidly as you blink at Draco once, twice, again. His cheeks are beginning to flush an interesting shade of pink.

“What?”

Draco rolls his eyes, “Don’t make me ask you again, Arden, you heard me.”

You stare at him quizzically, bemused by his request. Why would Draco want to ask you to the Ball? Was this a prank? A joke? A trick question or a weird way to humiliate you? You frown at him, thinking hard, raking your eyes across every inch of his face and scrutinising him carefully in the low, flickering lights of the dungeons, mind sprinting through a million theories at once until-

Laughter bubbles up your throat on impulse and spills from your lips, echoing through the Dungeons.

Draco blinks, taken aback.

“Very funny, Malfoy,” you chortle, sighing, and Draco glowers at you.

“This isn’t a joke, Arden!” Draco snaps, angrily.

Your laughter dies on the tip of your tongue when you realise he’s serious and you scoff in cold indignation.

“Why would I want to go to the Ball with you, Draco?” You spit, coldly, venom dripping from your words, “You seem to relish in bullying me and my friends, particularly Harry. So give me one good reason why I should even consider coming with you when all you are is a jealous, spoilt and arrogant bully with a chip on his shoulder.”

Draco’s eyes glimmer like light bouncing off the tip of a blade. He opens his mouth then closes it, working around words he doesn’t want to say, doesn’t want to give a voice to, before he works his jaw and flares his nostrils and twists his lips into a frown.

“Never mind,” he snarls, bitterly, “I shouldn’t have bothered asking someone who parades around Potter like some loyal, little bitch.”

Before you can give him an angry retort, Draco storms away, fists clenched at his sides as though he wants to smash something.

Who are you kidding? You want to smash something.

Perplexed and incensed, you march out of the Dungeons and make your way toward the Great Hall for dinner, wondering what the fuck just happened.

***

After dinner with Hermione, the pair of you wander back to the common room, in which you explain everything that had happened with Malfoy earlier. Hermione had struggled to contain her gleeful giggles as she listened, which was as infuriating as it was embarrassing.

“Malfoy fancies you, (Y/N),” she manages through a bout of giggles, “That’s why he asked you. He’s always had a soft spot for you.”

“Oh don’t be so silly!” You dismiss her with a slap to her shoulder, “Malfoy was probably just mucking around.”

“But you said-”

“I know what I said,” you snip, warmth creeping up your neck and spilling across your cheeks, “But Draco Malfoy does not fancy me!”

Hermione bites down on a grin, swallowing the rest of her giggles and slinging an arm across your shoulders, “Whatever you say, (Y/N).”

You and Hermione reach the portrait of the Fat Lady and find her laughing boisterously with her friend, Violet. They both look rather tipsy in their tinsel crowns, faces flushed and words slurred.

“Fairy Lights,” you utter, speaking loudly so that she can hear you over Violet’s loud cackles.

“Aren’t they jus - hic - Magical,” the Fat Lady sighs, and you and Hermione exchanged an amused look as she swings open, admitting you into the common room.

You and Hermione climb through the portrait hole, entering the dim common room and spotting Harry, Ron and Ginny sitting by the fire.

“There they are!” Hermione says, pointing at the two snickering boys and an irritated-looking Ginny.

“Why weren’t you two at Dinner?” You ask, curiously dropping into a seat beside Harry. The two boys don’t seem to hear you, your voice drowned out by their laughter.

“Because - oh shut it, you two - because they both just got rejected by girls they asked to the Ball!” Ginny snaps, shooting a particularly nasty look to Ron and Harry.

You snort a laugh, slapping a hand across your mouth to smother your giggles as Ron glares at Ginny.

“Thanks a bunch, Ginny,” Ron grumbles, sourly, cheeks red beneath his freckles.

“All the good-looking ones taken, Ron?” Hermione snips, smirking bitterly, a touch of sardonic insolence in her tone, “Eloise Midgen starting to look a great deal prettier now isn’t she? Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone somewhere who’ll have you, it serves you right for being so snotty.”

Usually, Ron would snap back with something snappy. But Hermione’s snide remark seems to slide off Ron, who’s staring at the two of you as though a certain realisation had just dawned on him.

“Hermione, (Y/N), you’re both girls-”

“-Oh well spotted,” Hermione barks, coldly.

“You guys can come with us! Hermione can come with me and (Y/N) can go with-“

“I can’t,” you and Hermione both snap at the same time. You both exchange a glance.

“Why not?” Ron says, impatiently, “Look, Harry and I are going to look really stupid if we don’t find partners - especially Harry-“

“I - we - can’t come with you,” Hermione interrupts, blushing furiously, “Because we - I - am already going with someone!”

“No you’re not!” Ron says, scandalously, “You only said that to get rid of Neville!”

“How dare you, Ron?!” Hermione seethes, her eyes glinting dangerously, “How dare you think that, just because it takes you three years to notice, doesn’t mean no one else has spotted I’m a girl!”

Ron gaped at her in disbelief, before his shock melted into a grin.

“Ok, Fine, you’re a girl we get it. Now will you come with us?”

Hermione springs to her feet, fists shaking at her sides, “I told you already that I’m going with someone else, and if that’s so hard to believe I suggest that you get over yourself!”

Hermione storms away angrily, stomping up the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

“Now look what you’ve done!” You snap, glowering at Ron, “She wasn’t lying!”

Ron shakes his head, “Who is she going with then?”

You fold your arms across your chest, glaring at Ron angrily, “She obviously doesn’t want you to know, so I’m not going to tell you.”

Ron rolls his eyes and sighs, “This is getting stupid, Ginny can go with Harry and (Y/N) can come with me-”

“-No, Ron, weren’t you listening?” You snip, icily, “I’m already going with someone.”

You leap to your feet and march toward the winding staircase, intent on pursuing Hermione.

“Wait!” Harry calls out and you pause, wheeling around to face him, “Who-who are you going with?”

You hesitate, biting down on your bottom lip hard before unfurling it, “Cedric. I’m going with Cedric Diggory.”

Not waiting to see their reaction at this news, you spin around and scale the winding staircase, an uncomfortable warmth soaking your cheeks. Why did Ron have to be such a giant prat? He could be so incredibly mean to Hermione at times and completely oblivious to everything around him.

You come to a stop outside of your dorm and knock gently, cracking your knuckles against the wood of the doors.

“Hermione? Can I come in?” You ask, softly, carefully.

“You’d better,” says Hermione’s voice from behind the door, all traces of her anger having already left her voice, “There’s-there’s something here for you...”

Frowning, you pull open the door, spotting Hermione standing in front of your bed.

“Why? What is it-?”

You pause, your words forming an uncomfortable lump in the middle of your throat.

A strange box is sitting on your bed, practically screaming trouble.

“Someone must have brought it up here,” Hermione deduces, studying the box carefully, “It would have taken at least three owls to send it...”

You recognise the signature style all too quickly and your stomach curls in on itself, heart shuddering and throat constricting like a straw.

After weeks of silence, the mysterious sender is back again and it looks like they’ve upgraded from creepy photo to mysterious box.

You gasp.

Oh.

“What is it?” Hermione asks, mincing hurriedly to your side.

“Oh,” she gasps, “Let’s-Let’s take it out.”

You do, pulling it from the box and holding it out in front of you. Hermione gasps again, raising a hand to cover her mouth.

“It’s beautiful,” she sighs, lips breaking into a smile.

You couldn’t agree more.

The dress is dripping with soft flowers and thin, curling vines, like gold veins running beneath ivory skin. The tulle cascades in soft waves to the floor, flowing through your arms like water. It’s elegant, dainty, feminine and incredibly expensive.

Hurrying to the full-length mirror, you hold the dress to your body, admiring how the style compliments your complexion. White diamonds wink at you from the centre of the dozens of flowers planted on the fabric.

“There’s a note, too!” Hermione exclaims, handing you a folded piece of parchment. You carefully take the letter from her outstretched hand, unfolding it with a smile.

My Dearest Belle Fiore,

Your mother once said that you were the ‘fiore of her life’, and she was right. You were the fiore of her life, and I have watched you blossom into the beautiful rose you are today. I couldn’t be more proud of the young woman you have become, and I will always be proud of you until my dying breath.

I know your mother would want you to wear this to your first ball; it was her wedding dress. But now, it’s yours, and I’ll know you’ll treasure it as much as the beloved bracelet she bestowed to you.

I wish I could see you in it but, unfortunately, the Prophet demands my time and energy. But I know you will be the most beautiful fiore in the entire garden, with or without this dress.

I love you now and always,

Papa

You blink through tears, clutching the letter tightly in your hands.

Your mother had worn this dress; her hair had flowed over it, her skin had warmed the delicate fabric and her wild and boundless heart - that heart that could swallow the world - had hummed beneath it like a hummingbird in her chest.

You clutch the dress a little tighter, embracing it, feeling a new kind of warmth gush through you like butterbeer and sunlight. Its as though your mother is hugging you back, holding you to her chest so you can listen to her hummingbird heart one last time.

In that moment, it’s as though your mother is alive again.

@marauderskeeper @weaselby418 @acciorinn @hervench @theseusscamandcr @depressed-octopods-art @steph-fowlie @lilulo-12 @randomfangirl117 @asofslytherin @seunlight @thebesteleganttrashyouseen @elsie2018 @polkadotfairyposts @hylianhighlander @dracosdoves @siriuswitches @bernadineisreborn @lousimusician @randomoutsiders @smolldork @danidomm @xrosegoldwolfx @ashkuuuu @sly-vixen-up2nogood @reimiwritrs @tchalland @lucifersnipnips @ notorious-fiction @peppermintspecks @sleep-i-ness @reducto-bitch

258 notes · View notes

swtsvrndr · 4 years

Note

book + harry potter

i’m rewriting the harry potter series with maya as the chosen one so buckle up kids, let’s see how many books it takes her to screw things up.

maya marceli and the philosophers stone

maya decides to befriend draco malfoy. or she would have if he wasn’t being a prick. she breaks his nose and he vows to get his revenge. on the train she thinks ron is weird and avoids him, sits with his older brothers instead because she thinks they’re cool. she finds neville’s toad and slips it into his bag; she’s not a monster but she doesn’t want people thinking she’s decent.

she gets sorted into slytherin and that’s when things start diverting. professor snape is a dick but she’s constantly giving him hell. she was definitely a handful as a child and never learned how to keep her mouth shut, even when she was punished for it. she spends the majority of the first few months antagonizing malfoy, in detention, and getting in fights. she ends up on the quidditch team bc malfoy claims ‘ girls aren’t as fast ’ and ofc she needs to prove him wrong. professor mcgonagall gives her detention but word spreads and snape gets her on the team. i think maya reminds him a lot of lily, where as harry reminded him of james, and that’s what eventually turns that relationship.

everything else happens the same. she befriends hermione, they investigate snape and get info out of hagrid, and somehow ron gets thrown into the trio even though maya could give less of a shit about him. she’s also really good friends with blaise zabini so he becomes part of the trio, which is now a quartet. maya and blaise make it the final chamber and then it’s just maya, face to face with voldemort. she blacks out and the professors save the day but u know, the guy who killed her parents still lives and she’s a vindictive bitch. she knows he’ll be back and becomes obsessed with being prepared for it.

maya marceli and the chamber of secrets

everything that happens at the beginning of the book still happens. dobby ruins everything, ron shows up in the impala, and they crash into the whomping willow. except this time maya’s driving because she was not putting her life into ron’s hands. the wrong decision, clearly, but u know.

since she’s a slytherin, in a room surrounded by snakes, i feel like she figures out pretty quickly she can talk to them. so when she starts hearing the voices, she tells everyone she can think of. they all think she’s crazy and gaslight her so when people start getting hurt she just shrugs and says you’re all on your own. hermione and ron are goodygoodys though and keep investigating, only believing her after blaise gets petrified that it’s a big ‘ol snake. in the end it catches hermione off guard, they tell the professors, and everyone’s on high alert but ginny is still possessed so u know, we end up in the same place anyway. she goes missing and because lockhart is a dumbass, and ron’s grown on her, maya knows her dumb ass is going into that chamber. instead of lockhart’s wand backfiring though i want to say maya just straight up fucked that man’s career up with no hesitation. he would have left them drooling on themselves and her spell was, y’know, not the best. good luck dude.

she has a nice showdown with young voldemort, who is super hot, would do him, and then takes on the snake and stabs the journal with it. ginny lives, dobby goes free, and everyone’s happy. the end.

maya marceli and the prisoner of azkaban

she’s not an idiot and sees peter pettigrew on the map sleeping with ron and questions everything. she tells blaise who tells profssor snape who busts the door down and gets pettigrew on blast. pettigrew gets arrested, sirius’ name gets cleared and he doesn’t live as an escape murderer anymore. she goes to live with him at grimmauld place, tells dumbledore and the dursleys to get fucked, and lives happily ever after with remus & sirius, her new gay dads.

she and draco malfoy are still at odds. she hates him because he’s a dick, and he hates her because she’s hot and constantly better than him at everything even though she’s not a pureblood. we love petty bitches.

maya marceli and the goblet of fire

her name gets put in the goblet by crouch. lupin’s smart so he figures out what to do with the second task and the egg. she ends up using the charm with the bubble head and y’know does okay. her loved one at the bottom of the lake is blaise, her best friend and confidante. sorry harry/ron shippers. she finds out about hermion and krum and is like girl get it, even when ron starts complaining. krum’s going to lose but it’s none of her business if hermione wants to date losers.

the portkey is still the cup, cedric still dies, but voldemort doesn’t come back to life right before her eyes because his helpful servant is a hot mess and doesn’t tie her up properly. she makes it to the portkey and yeets before the guy wakes up. they already had her blood though so when the guy woke up they just finished the job. so okay maybe she is a dumb. harry take notes.

i was going to do the rest but i’m tired. she dates ginny weasley but they break up because maya’s not down for that cookie cutter life. the weasleys are too perfect and she’s too unpredictable. she, blaise, and hermione go after the horcruxes. ( ron’s bitter she broke his sister’s heart ) and she asks for all the help so they figure it out. she also noticed that draco malfoy was having a meltdown and they had a touching ‘ moment ’ at the end of 6, before dumbledore died, so when they see each other again in 7 and draco saves her life, there’s some mutual respect. ( draco / maya endgame ? maybe so. ) TLDR: the war ends before it even starts because they look for horcruxes right away and ask for help. people die but not as many. neville still kills nagini bc he deserves it.

#( meme )#( answered ask )#troubleson

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throbbin-bobbies · 7 years

Text

Harry Potter x Reader fluff

Requested? Yes

Forgive me if I accidentally wrote ‘I’ instead of ‘you’ where it’s appropriate, I’m used to first person because that ‘tis my preference usually. And it’s kinda long, sorry and has a semi slow start sorry. Enjoy!

You’re in the Gryffindor common room, along with some others as well, waiting for the match to start between Gryffindor and Slytherin that would take place in a couple hours. You were playing Wizard’s chess with Ron, and were pretty evenly matched, both concentrating hard on the game in front of you two. That is until a certain arry otter, with a capital HP walked through the portrait in a rather slap happy mood. “Y/n, can you help me with some stuff later?”

“I’m not your girlfriend Harry, you know that wouldn’t be right on both parties” you said laughing while Ron was about to take his turn.

He dropped onto the couch behind me, in a rather dramatic fashion for extra effect, arms draped like one would have in a old medieval painting. “Alas, I am wounded, fair maiden! Doth thou not will to aid Sir Potter, whom requires help?”, he said just as dramatic.

“Harry, the doctor’s note specifically said there’s no way to help such a case as yourself”, you chuckled, taking Ron’s last knight (“Bloody hell!”).

“Help me with History of Magic, pretty please y/n”

“Oh, seeker of truth? Then sir Potter must acknowledge Truth is a fair lady to be won, Sir Potter must chaser (chase her) and beater (beat her) taradiddler’s evil lies, should Sir Potter wish to keeper (keep your) marks in a fashionable manner”

“Did you just say- did you just way tarradiddle? What the bloody hell does that even mean?!” Ron said looking up as confused as he’s ever been.

“Why of course, I did. Tarraddidler is a made up word, from the word tarradiddle, which means a petty lie Sir Weasley. And now I shall claim your king as mine” you say taking his queen “, ‘tis a shame, she’ll never feel the king’s presence in the bedchambers for quite some time”. You laugh at the innuendo while gathering your pieces and put them in a bag while they were all laughing - Ron’s pieces were too. You stand up and turn to Ron before turning to Harry, “Jolly good show ol’ chap! What do you need help with Harry? Best to get some done before the game starts, it’ll help you”. Harry got up and you two went over sit down at the unoccupied table before Harry tosses his bag in front of him, on the table of course.

“How would that help? If anything it would make it worse, if you ask me”

“It’ll get your noggin joggin for when you’re flogging and hoggin the snitch”

“Why are you so weird?” Harry let out a laugh teasing you.

You fake a surprised gasp, and look around pretending to be offended, “Why I never! Who do you think you are!”.

“The Chosen One” Harry said trying to keep a serious face, but in all honesty, you both were starting to have a hard time trying not to laugh.

“Who?”

“Harry Potter?”

“Nah” you say with a sly smile and opening Harry’s History of Magic book to the first page you would need.

“Nah?! Then what?!” he threw his hands out laughing.

“You really wanna know?” giving him a side glance.

“Of course, why would I be ‘The Chosen one’ or ‘Harry Potter’? I’m all of the above!” he tried to bargain with you.

“You’re not ‘The Chosen One’ and you’re not ‘Harry Potter’”

“Then tell me!” Harry groaned putting his head between his arms on the table.

You turn to him, with an evil grin, “You can’t be either...”. You wrap an arm around his shoulders and put your head on his shoulder “...because you are cute”. Seeing his face turn red, he turned his head and hid his face in the sleeve of his arm furthest from you, followed with a muffled ‘oh my gosh’. You leaned off of him to be a little more mischievous, you put a hand on his leg and saw his head shoot up towards you, face even redder. “Among other things” you say in a teasing voice, but the shock it brought out in Harry’s expressions was priceless. You just didn’t know that Harry was this, we’ll call it embarassed, was because, well, he liked you like you liked him. A lot. “So, what’s been giving you trouble from yee olden book?” “O-oh, yeah- tha- that’s, um, right…”

*some time passed, both of you are walking to the quidditch field alone*

“OH MY GOSH HARRY, YOU CAN’T JUST HAVE THE WORLD IN YOUR HANDS!” you laugh at some of the sarcastic stuff that’s come out of Harry’s mouth.

“Why, I most certainly can! Just you watch!” he was trying to convince you of one of his many opinions once again.

“Proof it” you challenged him still smiling from laughing.

“Fine!”, he said stopping, making you stop and turn to him. Then he put his hands on either side of your face “There, see?! Have the whole world in my hands!”

It was your turn to turn red today, “H-Harry, that doesn’t count! I’m not the whole world!” chuckling from excitement and hormones because your crush was touching you in such a manner (oh my! lol). “You’re right.” Harry said stepping closer to you, causing both of your hearts to quicken, unbeknownst to both of you. “You’re mean much more than that….” he finished, there being no space between you in the empty hall. You wrap your arms around his torso and he wraps his arms around you too, embracing each other, smiling like gits, but looking like two hugging tomatoes with how red both of you are. He put his head on top of yours before opening his mouth “DOTH THEE WILL TO ACCOMPANY SIR POTTER AS COURTMANSHIP, FAIR LADY? TO THEE VILLAGE DOWNETH YONDER? HOGETHS-MEAD?”

You start to laugh, hysterically even, how could you say no to that? It’s not like you didn’t hear it, he practically screamed the question right on top of your head. “Thee fair maiden upholds of this proposition before her” you say as Harry looks at you smiling, even with his eyes you could tell. “Alas, we should part from this spot, the game finds itself neareth with each second - and I hear there art a exquisite set of exotic, robust looking young fellows”. You both laugh, arm in arm walking the rest of the way to the quidditch field, both happy with the courtship to sooned be and to be swooned.

So this happened, yeah. Well, hoped you liked it, I have more requests to do, but feel free to ask for any other types of fics, I’d be happy to write!

#harry potter #harry #potter #harry potter fluff #harry potter x reader #x reader #ron weasley #gryffindor #hogwarts #quidditch #gryffindor quidditch #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff fanfiction

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themaraudersstoriesandtales · 7 years

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Sirius Black x Reader: Illogical

You stirred the stew with a wooden spoon slowly. Sirius was in the other room with The Order. You didn't like being with them in the room much. It made you sad, thinking about how to keep your husband and Harry Potter, your and Sirius's godson, safe. The child you loved dearly but couldn't bare seeing him without Sirius at home, the child you never got to see grow for this reason. Now you were grateful for eternity that these kind wizards agreed to protect your small family, but you didn't like thinking about the dangers he was in. You poured in a teaspoon of salt into the big silver pot on the stove top when Molly Weasley came in. "Need any help my dear?" She asks eagerly, with a warm, motherly smile plastered on her face. "Only if you don't mind." You respond, not looking up from the pot. "I wouldn't have asked if I minded." She responded. "Do you need the bowls down?" "And spoons too?" You ask, turning the stove down a bit. The heat was beginning to make it bubble up. Mrs. Weasley stood behind you and swished her wand around a bit, several pairs of silverware and sets of china bowls flew out and onto the table magically. The silence was painful so you begin to strike up a conversation. "How's Arthur?" The Weasley family had gotten the news that Arthur was attacked about a week ago. Harry had claimed he had seen the incident in a dream and it was Nagini, Voldemort's snake. He had also said that it was as if he was the snake. "He's getting by. He's in pain sometimes." She stops for a moment, then comes up with a question. "How's Sirius? Does he still...?" "Yes. He still has the nightmares. He's happy, though. Unlike before." Molly pats your shoulder. You took it as a sympathetic pat. "I'll call the kids down." She says, exiting the kitchen. You turned the oven all the way off and moved the pot to another side of the grey-stone counter, that way the heat wouldn't overcook the potatoes. You heard Molly shout from the bottom of the stares, "Dinner!" And then she came back. Her footsteps were followed by loud ones barging down the stairs and to the kitchen. They all erupted in conversations, you tuned them out. The Weasley kids came over while their parents stayed in the meetings. They all gathered around the table while you and Mrs. Weasley began to serve them. After they all left, you and Sirius ate. Everyone leaving made the house seem big and empty. "Was it a good meeting?" "When is ever a good meeting when Severus is there?" He sighed. "Severus was there huh? Did it remind you of the good ol' days?" You smile. "What? Where I had to fight for the princess's hand?" Sirius asks, you both stand up and place your bowls in the sink. "I'm guessing that you're referencing towards me?" You ask smiling. "You are my princess. Yes." You turn to look at him and smile. "Well I'm glad you won." You say. Since he was at least six inches taller than you, you had to stand up on tiptoe to kiss him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a short but sweet kiss. After you pulled away, you kept the position as he said, "you have no idea, how much I missed and dreamt of those in Azkaban." "Well, you never will have to again." He kisses you again, and then you pull apart. You take your wand from your back pocket and wave it around in the air to clean the table, you yawn deeply as the crumbs and napkins fall into the trash. "You can go on to bed. I'll clean up." Sirius says, running the dish water. "Okay." --- In the middle of the night, you notice the bed was empty. This worried you. Surely he wasn't still cleaning, for that was two hours before! You shove the sheet from your warm body and leave the room. You noted the door opened and hallway light on. You peaked down, looking left and right as if checking for traffic, but you didn't seem him. "Love?" You call out, wrapping the magenta robe closer to your body as the temperature changed when you moved down the stairs. "Love..?" "He's at Hogwarts... he's at Hogwarts..." You heard in a hushed whisper. You flipped the switch on at the bottom of the stairs. By the door, hiding behind the coat hanger, curled into a ball was Sirius, rocking with his eyes closed and muttering those words over and over again. "Sirius?" You quickly walk to him and kneel down. You press a hand lightly to his shoulder, concern in your eyes. When he didn't respond to your touch, you shook him a bit, he answered to this. His eyes shot open, wide and alert. He breathed heavily, he looked almost worries. "Am I going mad?" He asks, pressing a hand to his forehead and wiping off beads of sweat while you help him up, holding onto his other hand. "No. You're mind is just comprehending with everything." You say, pushing hair out of his face. "Everything in my dreams is so illogical." He complains, climbing the steps with you, slowly. "Those are only dreams. It's not reality my love." You say, and bring his hand to your lips. After you fell back asleep, you woke up again. Finding yourself curled up in your husband's arms. Wanting nothing else but this. _______ ~ Sirius (Hoped you all enjoyed!)

#sirius black #hogwarts #harry potter #fred weasley #george weasley #x reader #romance #sirius black x reader #oneshot #love

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julietcapulct · 7 years

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breathe, my love, get high hp au, marcus flint/oliver wood 8131 words Marcus counts the days in the hours he can manage to get through, the hours he can spend avoiding floppy-haired, Scottish Gryffindors who try to follow him with their eyes. He doesn’t want to talk about something that will only leave them both burning and rotting in the end. Something that can never be kept safe. A flame that will only die out in the cold. He spends his nights in bed, whispering the name over and over to himself, the name he has kept hidden in his heart for so long and wants to etch all over his skin–– Oliver. Oliver. Oliver.

notes: this may or may not be the most self-indulgent fic you will ever read in your life, and it’s probably completely ooc and unbelievable and wow i’m not selling this to anyone but yay for flintwood??? yes??? this is dedicated to yenna @owvlery, erin @mxrcusflint and everyone else who makes the beautiful flintwood art/fics/everything that has dragged me into this 6ft hole of cute angsty quidditch boyfriends. (also i stole a line from lolita and managed to reference little mix’s ‘touch’ so u never know what ur going to get with me)(also sufjan stevens was my soundtrack writing this enjoy)

If he were pushed, Marcus could tell himself that it was simply a pride thing.

Because of course, there was an element of it there, quivering in every shove of shoulder against sharp elbow, in the snarls and hisses thrown at one another. From the moment he had looked across the Quidditch pitch, seeing a flash of red and gold as their sprite little second year Keeper blocked the Quaffle again and again and again, his accent clouding over his words as the boy couldn’t help but yell and holler at his teammates with each success, his voice carrying out like a signal, Marcus had felt a rush of something in his veins, and before he knew it his broom was propelling him closer and closer, the Quaffle barely touching his fingertips before he was shoving it towards the hoops, his gaze almost blinded by the boy’s answering grin. A dare, almost. A dance.

He’s thirteen years old and his blood is thrumming in that way that only Quidditch can do to him, and his head is swimming with theories and fleeting thoughts, his legs gripped tightly either side of his broom and God, this is the only thing he knows how to do, only thing that makes him feel real−−

And then two minutes in, the new Gryffindor Keeper gets his head knocked in by a Bludger and the whole thing is called off.

The rest of the team moan and whine as they make their way to the changing rooms, their boots trampling in the mud of the October leaves, red and dirty yellow bleeding into one another and reminding him far too much of the Gryffindor colours.

Wood, someone had called him. The kid who got knocked out, only a year younger than him.

“Guess for someone called Wood, his broom didn’t help him stay off the ground much, did it?” He mutters, his words low and tumbling out with the air of someone of less eloquence; he’s never been witty, never had a way with words, but he tries. His teammates chuckle heartily at the joke, as it stands.

The next time he sees the Wood boy, it’s more than a week later and Marcus raises an eyebrow at the spectacle that seems to be going on at the Gryffindor table, the kid surrounded by his teammates and friends, his robes adorned with pins and medals as if he were a hero of sorts. Ridiculous.

He tries to forget about the fact that his feet scrape on the floor as he makes his way over to the table, seeing each face turn to his, their expressions of laughter and joy quickly souring into something filled with disgust and shock. Only Wood, seated in the middle of his ragtag group, seems to puff out his chest and look up at him with wide eyes, trying to appear confident and bold. Marcus resists the urge to roll his eyes.

He could just walk away, leave them scratching their heads, wondering. But if Wood is a cliché of sorts, so is he.

“Pity you didn’t manage to see more than a minute of the game before you bowed out, Wood,” he says, his words accentuated by his crossed arms and smirk. He plays his part well, as ever. “Although it gives whoever replaces you a nice low standard to beat for the next one, I suppose.”

Wood’s eyes narrow and his nostrils flare in indignation, and he immediately stands up, a couple of Gryffindors coming with him. Even at his full height, Marcus still has a good few inches on him, and it just makes it easier for him to look down with a twisted smile, watching the boy rage internally. One of the girls, her hair in a long braid as she clings to his arm, juts out her chin and replies, “We’re not replacing Oliver, for your information, and we won’t be anytime soon. So you can run and tell your snakes that.”

Whistling low, Marcus doesn’t miss a beat. “Perhaps some food for thought, though, yeah?”

He’s about to walk away with a chuckle, having had his fun and wanting to head to Potions so he can tell Avery about the easy way the Gryffindors can get riled up just by insulting their newly-crowned ‘Golden Boy,’ when the boy in question calls out to him, his voice certain and sure despite the cracks in it.

“I’ll see you on the field, Flint.”

He doesn’t reply, simply keeps on walking out of the Great Hall.

If his fingers clench and unclench several times against his robes on the way to class, knuckles white and calloused, he doesn’t let himself feel it.

And so a dance of sorts begins between them, both participants riling up to the challenge. Each time they see one another, whether it be behind their respective captains on the pitch before a game, or across a staircase, they end up running toe to toe, insults flying from their mouths so fast Marcus barely thinks about what he’s saying. All he focuses on is making Wood’s lip curl in distaste, to see him spluttering as he tries to sling a comeback in return, lost for words.

There’s a certain sort of addictive quality to leaving Oliver Wood speechless.

He figures it’s innocent enough in the beginning; quips about him being so much younger than him (a full year means a lot to Marcus, okay?) and not as experienced, and perhaps that was why he missed that Quaffle again and again in the last game? Or he takes another direction, and tells Wood he’s possibly taken one too many Bludgers to the head when he stumbles to get off his broom after one match. Sometimes the younger boy only glares at him in return, being pushed along by his teammates, but before long he’s striding towards him to shout comebacks in return, and the game plays on.

“Maybe you should worry about your own team, Flint. Your seeker flies like a newborn deer trying to walk.”

Marcus snickers, showing his teeth as he does. He hopes it terrifies. “Better than your Beaters, I’d say. They couldn’t tell a Bludger from a Bertie Botts Bean. Wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to eat one.”

“Well, unlike you, Flint, they don’t have any troll blood in their family, to do something so idiotic.”

For a moment, he’s left seeing red in the corners of the eyes, and he doesn’t have much of a response other than to snarl back at Wood, who’s still breathing heavily and holding his broom by his side, eyebrows raised as he awaits a response.

And it’s not that he’s insulted, because God, being a Slytherin means having a thick skin and letting everything roll off of your back, and it’s not like he’s fucking insecure. He’s not a Malfoy, prissy and obsessed with appearances and slicked back blonde hair. He’s always been something more in line with rough edges and scabbed lips and dark hair with tugs through it, never really being brushed. Yet, there’s something stinging under his skin that he can’t place.

Before he can bite back something quick and snarky, Charlie Weasley, tall and lanky and redheaded with that stupid grin on his face, sidles up beside them and throws his arm around Wood.

“Wow, Ol, guess you managed to get one over on Flint, here,” a pause, and then with a smirk, “Left him speechless!”

Wood laughs in return, looking away for a moment to meet Weasley’s eyes in a gaze filled with admiration and awe, and Marcus would vomit right there if he felt the need to waste any acid reflux on Gryffindors.

The redhead isn’t finished yet, though. “Tell me, how does it feel to be beaten by a second year?”

Weasley’s leaning over him with a glint in his eyes, like he knows something he shouldn’t, and Wood doesn’t seem to catch it. He’s too busy frowning back at Marcus, his gaze troubled. As if he didn’t want Weasley to say that. That infuriates him even more, because of course Oliver Wood would regret the one time he actually had the guts to not hold back like every other Gyffindor obsessed with being the ‘better’ person.

He doesn’t need the pity, and he certainly doesn’t need Wood to look at him like he wants to say something else.

And so Marcus doesn’t offer him a reply, only moving forward to push his shoulder against Wood’s in a threatening stance, muttering, “You’re mine on that pitch, Wood,” into his ear as he moves past.

(He can still feel the boy’s breath on his skin hours later.)

For a year or two, things are a mundane routine of classes and Hogsmeade and friends and Quidditch and Oliver Wood, all piled into one, rotating and meshing together, smashing into one another faster than a Snitch at high speed to form the fabric of his everyday life.

He seems to see this kid wherever he goes, whether it’s on the way to class, capturing his gaze in a steadfast glare that’s returned in kind, or as he makes his way out of the castle with his classmates, eyes catching sight of tawny-brown hair leading his group to the pitch for more practising. Even as the youngest member of the Gryffindor team, Wood seems to have already decided he’s going to lead, even when he can’t reach the shoulders of his teammates; it’s no surprise when he makes Captain in his fourth year, Marcus thinks, before killing that thought immediately. And there’s his voice too, which seems to find him from wherever Marcus tries to flee, his accent soaking into his mind. He mimics it easily, soon becoming a running joke in the Slytherin Common Room when he wants cheap laughs, but it’s only because he’s heard it enough times to have committed the way he pronounces each syllable, the letters he drags on and the ones he skips over skittishly, the way he speaks a million miles per minute when it’s anything to do with Quidditch.

It’s important to know your enemy, though, and that is why Marcus commits everything about Oliver Wood to memory.

The mishmash of his days, of classes he sleeps through and assignments he leaves until the last minute because he hates the frustration of looking at an empty piece of parchment and not knowing a thing to put on it, to the roar of the crowd as he shoots Quaffle after Quaffle into the hoops all while feeling his eyes fixated on him from the stands, feeling the warmth of their chants wash over him when Slytherin win.

(The relief that comes from knowing, I still have this. I can do this. I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.)

And if he’s suddenly hurtling towards OWLs he hasn’t studied for in fifth year because he’s noted that Wood has grown more than should be allowed in two years – still not as tall as Marcus, but enough that their gazes can find one another easily over crowds of kids – and if he once finds himself nearly missing a catch from Pursilla because the sun had hit Wood’s skin at just the right moment as his eyes lit up over a goal, and holy Merlin he’s not breathing right now, but it’s not—he can’t even choke the words out of the recesses of his mind, instead waving a hand to silence the blonde as she yells at him, not letting himself even look at Wood when he throws the Quaffle in the direction of his face, which has managed to chisel out slightly over the summer.

It’s not until he scores, ten minutes later, that he lets himself stop gripping his broom so tightly.

He thought he was safe—okay, he had a close call earlier, but he could blame it on the sunlight. He could mutter away about bad positioning and they probably got Trelawney or some shit to help pick a day for them, so they could pull this, any stupid excuse he can spurt out to keep the rest of them moving, ignoring their raised eyebrows. He doesn’t need this.

Marcus is alone in the changing room, picking at the laces of his boots (sometimes he just enjoys the feeling of the dirt on his skin and the roughness of the clothes against his skin, and he feels a little more grounded, and that’s not weird, okay) when he hears footsteps, stomping, really, and looks up to see a flushed and panting Oliver Wood before him.

He would’ve thought he’d have dreamed him there, if he were the type for sappy shit.

“You’re not allowed in here, Wood,” he drawls, and it comes out more monotonous than he thought, which pleases him. No need to let him know his heavy breathing was making Marcus think of dangerous things.

“I don’t care.”

“I think you will when I call Snape and tell him you’ve snuck in here to try and attack me.”

“Wh—” Wood’s face scrunches up in confusion, before his eyes narrow, still catching his breath. Marcus notes he probably ran straight over here, the idiot. “Shut up, Flint. I’m not here to fight, as tempting as that is.”

Marcus can’t help himself, his fingers dig in a little on his leg, and he can feel his nails through the Quidditch robes. Wood seems to notice, too, his eyes flickering down to his calf for a minute, and he could swear the boy’s face reddens a tinge.

“I, erm, I had to ask you something.” It takes a full minute for him to look up again, and when he does, Wood is standing with his hand scratching the back of his head, his eyes unreadable. Oliver Wood, who is the most predictable and readable person Marcus knows, is standing with an almost frightened gaze at him and it makes him want to shiver.

He takes a deep breath. Play the part, Marcus. “I haven’t got all day,” he replies, and he’s barely finishing the sentence when the boy is speaking again in rushed words—

“Why were you staring at me during the game?”

Fuck.

“No, I wasn’t,” he immediately throws back, and it’s stupid and ridiculous because he was, of course he was, he nearly missed a goal because of it, and he can’t lie right to Wood’s face about it. Not when he looks at him in that open, vulnerable way that twists Marcus up inside in ways he didn’t know was possible.

“Yes, you…you did. I felt you staring.”

They’re staring at one another in that very moment, too, eyes heavy on one another and Marcus knows he should look away, should roll his eyes and murmur, Are you gay now, then, Wood? Fancy me, do you? and walk away. Leave it as a gloating remark and pretend it was nothing. Let him pretend he was just trying to freak him out so they could win. Go on with his life and let himself lock this feeling away, left to rot as memories of this boy and his smile and the curve of his neck haunt him.

And then the moment passes, and he’s snarling out, “I don’t know what you thought you felt, you idiot, but I don’t want it. Leave me alone.”

He’s breathing heavily, and it takes a moment to register that he’s on his feet and a few short steps away from Wood now, and he can see the gold flecks in his eyes now, see the way his pale skin patches in pink where he’s blushed, from the center of his cheeks to around the side of his neck stretching down to his collarbone and Marcus is consumed with the need to just touch, just for a minute.

The patch of skin he’s fixated on gets closer, and his eyes flicker up to see Wood has made the step towards him, his own gaze moving from Marcus’s mouth to his eyes to his hairline, oddly enough, a certain kind of worn yet fond kindness tainting his smile; he’s being so soft, even without touching him, and it makes Marcus want to scream.

“This is okay, you know. This…whatever this is between us.” Wood’s words are barely over a whisper, but he hears. He would hear it from an ocean away. “This isn’t wrong, Marcus.”

It’s him saying his name, his real name, that has him marching out of the door still in his Quidditch robes, leaving one half of his heart behind with flushed cheeks and soft gazes.

After that, it becomes so much easier to pretend. If he were a different type of person, Marcus ponders one night when he’s had too many smuggled Firewhiskeys in the dungeons and he’s lying alone with his thoughts, he could’ve been an actor. When he has a role – his in question being that of the antagonist, the evil Slytherin who makes children quiver with intimidation when he walks down hallways, the perfect foil to the floppy-haired, charming Gryffindor hero – he can stick to it well enough that there’s no room for anything else.

Wood, on the other hand, seems to want to turn the tables. He doesn’t understand the rules of the game, it seems.

Although fair play to him, Marcus later thinks, he did try. After their moment in the changing rooms, Wood seemed to have committed himself to hating everything about Slytherin, particularly anything to do with him. He doesn’t even call him Flint now, simply glaring at him when they spar verbally on the pitch or through hallways. During games, they play faster and more aggressive now than ever, almost as if they were in their own duel, the others melting away by the sidelines.

He’s complimented for it by his Captain, after one particularly trying game where he managed to help Hyun score not one or two, but three goals in a row by having Wood focus all his attention on him, their eyes never wavering from one another as he fouled again and again. He’s told he ‘has the potential to take Captain’ once Lucinda leaves, and he only grunts in response while his heart hums in something close to contentment.

When it does happen, he throws himself fully into the role, relishing his moment in the sunshine. He’s never particularly been singled out for anything like this before, and not that he would ever admit it to anyone, but there is something calming about the hole Quidditch is starting to fill inside him, the hole that’s been there for as long as he can remember, that being on a broom and orbiting around Oliver Wood seems to soothe and leave trembling as it collapses.

While his game strategies become more efficient and he makes more and more goals, swerving through players without a care for grace and roughly shoving Quaffles at Wood’s face (ignoring the poorly-concealed grin the boy hits him with when he manages to hit him in the nose during one move, his mind whirring between Merlin he’s bad at acting and why the fuck is he grinning at me hitting him like he likes it?) his work in class begins to suffer more and more, not that he cares.

Nothing seems to really matter in the end, when it comes down to it.

Honestly, he’s not even surprised when he doesn’t pass N.E.W.T.s, considering he barely made it to class all year and can’t find much beyond his games to focus on. That still doesn’t seem to stop that ever-sinking feeling in his stomach, of knowing this is all he will be; of knowing he is nothing that can be salvaged or saved or to be acclaimed. In the end, he’ll be but one of a sea of faces who have walked these halls, who have spoken the same words he has and believed they could conquer the world in a sea of glory before hitting the fall.

And so he buries it all, miles and miles below the ground where nobody can find his pain, and he walks onto the Hogwarts Express with his head held high and his wand twitching in his palm, ready to be used on any kid who thinks they can bring him down for this.

He could tear Wood apart when he catches sight of him, because this is not what he needs.

(It’s enough to have to walk through the entire school, them knowing he’s still here, but Wood? There’s shame and fury and heartbreak all bubbling under his skin at the thought of his pity, of his taunting, and he wants to set himself alight than walk through these flames.)

Wood only stares at him from through the glass doors of the train carriage, and his face crumples into something void of pity or triumph, only…warmth. Something so foreign, enough to leave him slack-jawed in the middle of this train, staring back at him and being struck with the desire to barrel into this boy’s arms and never leave. The sensation hits him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, and he has to close his eyes before he can grip his wand tighter and force his legs to move away, far away from Wood’s gaze and his inviting arms beneath that stupid Gryffindor jumper.

He can’t take another year of this, he already knows.

To his credit, Wood manages to wait two whole days before tracking him down in the library, where Marcus is burying himself in Charms textbooks; he’s never actually taken the time to look at the assigned reading, but he figures if he doesn’t want to go through seventh year for the third time, he better start. He’s pointedly ignoring the looks he’s receiving from third year Hufflepuffs who are muttering about him, because he can’t get himself banned from the library this early in term, when someone budges the side of his table, spilling his ink slightly.

He looks up to glare at the back of Wood’s head, who doesn’t look back once as he makes his way past another aisle of books and disappearing, his arms swinging as if he doesn’t have a care in the word. Git.

Marcus waits a full six minutes and twenty-four seconds before he looks down and sees the scrap of ripped parchment, a detailed list of the most efficient books and their chapters for passing his subjects.

He has to stop himself from turning the damn table over, because clearly he’s in Hell.

When he passes his Transfiguration exam after spending three hours in the section of the library Wood’s noted down for him, with McGonagall looking at him suspiciously as she hands him back his parchment as if she doesn’t believe he could do it, well fuck her, Marcus feels something fluttering in the pit of his stomach. His immediate thought is to flatten it.

It’s been building for so long, though, and he thinks to himself, he could allow himself one moment.

He doesn’t allow himself much time to ponder what he’s doing when the thought first comes to mind, because even thinking the words makes him want to slap himself, because it’s so stupid.

He just focuses on the sound of his shoes hitting the floor, left, right, left, right, as he makes his way out of the dungeons.

Marcus has never once thought that he would ever, in a million years, be the one sneaking into the Gryffindor common room. It’s much easier than he would think, considering the lions tend to value too much on stupid things like bravery and standing up for others, things that can have you bleeding out on the ground in an instant. Things Oliver Wood has in abundance, and then some, but he won’t let himself consider that. The Fat Lady is asleep and he’s picked up enough underground spells, things only taught in cold stone walls with green and silver tapestries, that he can sneak in and survey the warm fire.

He doesn’t let himself think about Wood spending hours in front of that fire, what he would look like dozed off in his red and yellow jumper, because he doesn’t hate himself that much. Not yet.

He can’t let himself go any further, so he simply takes out the precious, fragile piece he’s kept in the pocket of his robes, and charms it to find Wood, wherever it is he sleeps. Marcus knows if he let himself get that close, to see him in such a state of undress, warm and consumed by sleep, he’d drive himself mad.

(And there’s another part of him, whispering all the time, telling him that he doesn’t want it to be like this. He wants to see Wood happy and content in sleep, but he wants to be offered it. To see Wood give himself up like that, all for Marcus.)

Before he can regret it, he’s running back through the entryway and doesn’t stop until he’s back in familiar territory, and for the first time since he was eleven years old, the dungeons feel too cold.

The next morning, Marcus is deliberately not looking over at the Gryffindor table, moodily moving his eggs around on his plate while beside him Thruston is droning on about another girl he’s been trying to woo that he’s already mentally checked out of listening to, and when he finally can’t stop himself from flickering up to look over, he has to bite down on his lip so hard he feels the skin break, warm blood on the bottom of his two front teeth.

Oliver Wood is sitting beside his friends, looking as if he doesn’t even see Marcus, laughing at some joke that’s being passed around— and on the table in front of him is the fluttering paper bird that Marcus had left for him, levitating just a centimetre or two above the wooden table above bowls and plates, gentle and delicate and everything that Marcus is not. He wouldn’t believe it had came from his hands himself if he didn’t have the sting of the paper cuts still on his fingers.

His heart is threatening to burst, and he has to close his eyes before his glass of pumpkin juice smashes on the concrete floor

They don’t speak about it, because there is nothing to speak about, he tells himself.

Wood just likes him around because he keeps him on his toes. Nothing more.

They still bite at one another in taunts, their hands gripping tighter and tighter each time they’re forced to shake before a game, trying to break one another’s fingers. He can easily memorise the feeling of every scrape and bump in the man’s hand, knows how it curves around his own, can close his eyes and feel the warmth flood over his palm once more.

He rarely allows himself to indulge in these moments, because that’s what it is –– a guilty, awful pleasure that he knows he shouldn’t want, that he shouldn’t slowly be growing addicted to. Oliver Wood is the most ridiculous, incredulous, bull headed, ill-tempered creature he’s ever laid eyes on, and he wants nothing more than to keep him all to himself, away from anything that could take that blinding, dazzling passion away for even a moment.

He could ruin this boy, and that’s exactly why he fights every spark in his fingertips threaded against his.

“Hey, Flint, want to remind your Chasers which direction their hoops are in? Not that I mind them giving us points, but I figure coaching your team for you as well as mine actually gives me a bit of competition, but I don’t want to have to do your dirty work for you,” Wood’s voice is bright and loud and entirely not what he needs at eight in the morning, but he still almost leans towards it, following its sound as he walks around Marcus, stopping directly before him.

He’s smirking, dressed in his colours and looking entirely too good in them, his chest puffed up and his gaze locked.

Marcus hears Bennett and Doe’s outcries behind him, but ignores it. He doesn’t seem to give a thought to much else other than shooting back, “Don’t worry, Wood, I’ll just tell them to look for your giant head and they’ll know where to go.”

And he’s expecting a comeback of sorts, but instead, the boy just laughs, a great big belly laugh that seems to light him up from within as he shows his teeth, eyes gleaming and it’s all directed towards Marcus, of all people, and he’s not sure how to react to that. Potter is looking at him with raised eyebrows, and he hears a Weasley twin mutter something about ‘Oliver finally going off the deep end,’ but he’s not concerned with much more than capturing every second of this state Wood has himself in, his own gaze flickering over every inch of him because he’s not sure he’ll ever see him like this again, and he’s a desperate man.

By the time Wood composes himself, Marcus already has his hand outstretched.

“Or maybe they’ll just hear your foghorn of a laugh, considering you never shut up during games.” He shouldn’t still be speaking, but he wants to keep him here as long as possible, to savour this.

Wood chuckles again, his nails scratching at the edges where the leather of Marcus’s gloves expose his fingers as they push against each other’s palms. “I have to keep you looking somehow, don’t I?”

He’s walking away in a second, and Marcus is left standing with shaking fingers and stares stamped onto his back. He doesn’t even look at them. He’s just as confused as they are, quite frankly.

Marcus wakes up on the day of the final Quidditch match of his Hogwarts career with something undefinable fluttering in his chest.

He doesn’t say a word as he marches down to breakfast with the rest of his team, huddled at one side of their table, and he doesn’t once lift his eyes to catch Wood’s gaze, although he can feel it burning on his skin, making him itch. Malfoy notices, his peroxide-blonde hair gelled back in a way that makes Marcus want to push him off the Astronomy Tower.

“You want me to say something, Flint? He’s trying to freak you out.”

Marcus snaps, “Shut up and eat your toast, if you want to beat Potter. You’ll need it.”

And then within a flash he’s got his hand in Wood’s, looking down to see green and silver encased in red and gold; he wants to cling on for dear life, can feel his fingers fluttering between Wood’s, wanting to twist and scratch and do something to mark that this is real. One look up, and he knows Oliver Wood feels the same. This is what it’s all come down to, from that first match as a lanky third year watching this boy bounce through the air, knocked out of flight with one snap.

The moment is over before he can breathe out, and he sees a glint of something in Wood’s eyes, like he wants to keep holding on, too. Like he knows how difficult this is for him.

Within fifteen minutes, Wood’s been hit by a Bludger, and Marcus would actually laugh out loud if he had the time to, because he’s always been a cliché, hasn’t he? Start with a Bludger, end with a Bludger.

There’s something else there, though, in his gut, something gnawing and thrashing and pushing him to fly over to where Wood is trying to regain his balance, hoping nobody notices just how much he’s leaning over to see if the man’s okay. By the time Wood is flying again and trying to look back at him, Marcus is gone, keeping himself on the other side of the pitch to pass.

It’s another four minutes before the second Bludger comes, and he can almost feel the jolt in his own stomach as he watches Wood go down again. He can’t even react in time to stop himself flying over, hovering too high above where his heart has dropped to the ground with the broken boy lying there in the grass, muddy and groaning and ripping at every edge of him. One Bludger is enough to keep him still up, but two? Marcus could kill him, if he weren’t too busy trying to stop himself from taking him into his arms every second of the day.

He keeps himself in the air, although half of him isn’t there on the pitch at all.

Gryffindor wins, and Marcus can’t force himself into feeling anything.

Everything he’s worked for has been for the Cup, for the title, for the one thing that he actually can do in this world. He’s not handsome, and he’s not sharp; he’s not smart in the slightest, and he’s not particularly good with a wand. All he can do is fly and pass and chase, and in the end? It meant nothing.

He tells himself that over and over, staring at Oliver Wood on the shoulders of the Weasley twins, shining in his uniform with his broad shoulders and his assured smile, his eyes wide as if he can’t believe it either, and he’s chanting along with his team and the stands. Marcus doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so beautiful, and then Wood looks over directly at him and beams at him, the sun beating down on him like he’s some sort of God, and Marcus could die right there and be happy with what he has been given in this miserable life, just to look up at that face.

He keeps his expression blank, however, and returns to the ground quickly, leaving the rest of his team to deal with a petulant Malfoy.

Once again, he’s back in the changing rooms when Wood comes to find him, although he’s fully dressed and is trying to re-do his tie in the small mirror levitating beside him at the correct angle. He doesn’t even look up, although he knows exactly who it is and that he’ll still be dressed in his Quidditch robes like last time, having spent the last hour or so running through the castle, shouting and dancing and shining like the goddamn sun that Oliver Wood is. Like he can stop himself.

(Like Marcus could stop himself from being burned.)

Wood clears his throat, and his voice is fond when he speaks. “You played a good game, Flint.”

He snorts. “You don’t need to gloat, or worse, give commiserations, idiot. This isn’t a kid’s league.”

There’s silence, and he looks up to find Wood gazing at him once more, although he’s frowning now. He’s chewing his bottom lip as if he’s in deep contemplation, and Marcus wants to both snap at him and drag him into his space. He has to stop himself from moving forward from doing either of the two, gritting his teeth and running a hand through his air, as if holding onto something else will stop him.

“You’re still here,” he notes, raising an eyebrow. “What do you want?”

Of all the things Marcus could have imagined, he would never have let himself even dare to think of Wood striding towards him and roughly grabbing his shoulders, smashing their lips together.

It’s like an untamed fire let out once they finally kiss, something within Marcus finally being set free that he had tried to restrain for so long, so long, and he lets out a cry of sorts as he snakes his fingers around Wood’s wrists, squeezing them and pushing their bodies flush together. The Gryffindor moves his own hands through Marcus’s hair, latching on as if he were to never let go, licking the inside of his mouth and biting into the skin of his bottom lip.

Within moments they’re pressed up against the wall, and Wood wastes no time in pushing up against him and moving his lips against his own once more. It’s rough and coarse, hands shaking as they brush against one another, and when Marcus pulls back to lean his head against the wall and try to regain his breathing, he swears he hears Wood whine against his lips, before he’s already moving across his jaw, biting and nipping and licking until he’s on his neck, and Fuck, this man will be the death of him––

“Merlin, Wood,” he murmurs. “Who knew you had a good use for that mouth of yours.”

There’s something that can only be described as a full-on growl against the skin of his neck, and Marcus can’t help the shiver that runs through his spine as Wood pulls back to lean his forehead against his, breath ghosting over him.

His voice is low when he replies, “Oliver. Call me Oliver.”

Marcus wants to scoff at first, because this isn’t a romance or anything, but then Wood is pulling away so he can look into his eyes, soft and begging beneath the fire. “Please,” he whispers. “I need to hear you say my name.”

Could he?

Looking into this boy’s glazed over eyes, shining with lust, feeling his mud-stained fingers scrabbling at his shirt and the fabric of their trousers pressed together, Marcus feels himself swallow, never looking away from Oliver Wood staring at him like he’d cross Neptune itself to hear him just speak his name. Just once.

He wants to say no more than ever, because he knows if he lets himself say that name, whisper it against Wood’s lips, he’ll be jumping headfirst into something that could rip his skin from him and leave him exposed, vulnerable to the world and to Wood himself, more than anything. He’d be dunking his head into freezing cold water, opening his mouth and screaming into the void; untamed, undefinable, all-consuming. He’d never be able to step back.

He decides to fling himself over the edge.

“Oliver,” he says, and it’s only because Wood is so close to him, so close his name is dragging along his jaw, that he can hear it on his tongue. Marcus immediately closes his eyes once he does so, not wanting to see whatever is on Wood’s face, but then the nose on his jawline is moving across his cheek to nuzzle against his own nose, urging him to open his eyes. When he does, he loses his breath at the sight of Oliver Wood, wide-eyed and looking at him with a devotion that could very well be the end of Marcus.

He doesn’t speak. He tells him everything he can’t say with his lips, instead.

Somehow, Wood becomes Oliver.

It’s only in his head, however. Marcus spends the last week of his time at Hogwarts before he has to leave glaring at him across doorways, stomping on his foot when they pass one another, making rude gestures during dinner. Oliver only responds with a smirk, nothing that would make anyone who didn’t know suspect a thing; he usually did so in retaliation, after Bell or some other Gryffindor Chaser had convinced him that they should ‘take the high road and not stoop to the Slytherin’s level.’

Only Marcus can see the softening in his brown eyes, can see the glint of his teeth when it catches his bottom lip as their gaze meets for a moment too long. It makes him want to hide, to run far from the Great Hall, preferably into the Forbidden Forest with the cool night air, to let himself melt into the darkness. Instead of slowly becoming undone right there in full view under Oliver Wood’s gaze, so warm and familiar when it shouldn’t be. When he has no right to make him feel like this.

They don’t speak of the kiss, in fact, they don’t even approach one another in the last days of their time at Hogwarts. Marcus counts the days in the hours he can manage to get through, the hours he can spend avoiding floppy-haired, Scottish Gryffindors who try to follow him with their eyes. He doesn’t want to talk about something that will only leave them both burning and rotting in the end. Something that can never be kept safe. A flame that will only die out in the cold.

He spends his nights in bed, whispering the name over and over to himself, the name he has kept hidden in his heart for so long and wants to etch all over his skin–– Oliver. Oliver. Oliver.

The thing is, he’s well aware, as everyone else in this place is, that Wood’s been offered a reserve spot on Puddlemere United, swooped up in the roar of the Cup victory and snatching him just as easily as if it were destined. Which, perhaps it was, Marcus thinks to himself; Oliver Wood is storybook hero, one even Beedle the Bard would be proud of have conjured up, perfect even in his folly. He’s well aware of who he is, too, and so he’s okay with the uncertainty of the future before him, the whispers of Dark Marks and Death Eaters possibly reforming and family businesses and engagements to nice young girls thrown at him, never even letting him blink before he’s been shunted into the life of his father and his father before him.

That is why Marcus doesn’t let himself burn over in jealousy when he sees Oliver walk through the halls with people clapping his back and congratulating him, professors ranting on about his bright future, his smile threatening to blind. No, he always knew it would end this way, and he’s…he’s not happy, because he’s not sure he’s ever felt truly happy the way he’s heard others speak of it, but seeing Oliver Wood like this is pretty damn close.

He doesn’t even look up when he feels Oliver move behind him, tap his fingers in three little dots, one, two, three, on the back of his jumper before taking off through the door and out of the Great Hall. Marcus leaves himself a good seventeen seconds before he gets up to follow, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve because he’s not a gentlemen at all, and he doesn’t want to be.

They keep walking, leaving enough space behind them that he lets Oliver out of his sight for a good few seconds before he catches up, all the way down to the dungeons, and he’s raising his eyebrows as they stop in a deserted classroom, the only light coming through from the high window above them and shedding down to highlight the gold in Oliver’s eyes, because if this isn’t the most beautiful torture, he’s not sure what is.

Oliver stops, and Marcus can see his fists clench before the boy’s turning around to face him, and his face is pale and entirely unlike the expressions warming them earlier. His own eyebrows furrow, trying to figure out what this is.

“Are…” He stutters, starts again. He’s not going to break down. “What do you want, Wood?”

Using his last name seems to flicker a switch in the man before him, and his eyes glaze over with something Marcus doesn’t want to spend time analysing. It would only break his heart into even sharper edges than it already has.

“Erm,” he begins, and his voice is husky and strained and fuck. “I guess, I just…you know about Puddlemere, don’t you?”

So he was just coming to boast?

Marcus rolls his eyes, because it’s a defence mechanism that hasn’t failed him yet. “Yes, Wood, we’ve all heard about your lovely little job set up for you. So you don’t have to rub it in my face, I get it.”

None of what he’s saying is true, because it was never a competition, not really. Maybe when they were younger, when he wanted to show his dominance over this burning piece of light that threatened to up-end him and leave him dangling by a thread, but not now. Not with the respect and the awe and the fondness that radiates between them.

He sees Oliver start to move, to take a hesitant step or two forward, so close he could reach out and touch, just one touch and Marcus is shaking as he stands, speaking again in a rough whisper that betrays too, too much.

“Don’t touch me. I’ll die if you touch me.”

Oliver stops directly in front of him, his face only centimetres away, so close Marcus can smell the cologne and the sweat and everything that makes him want to push himself over into the abyss and drown in this boy, lap up the waves and lose control. Instead, he simply closes his eyes and lets out a shuddering breath when he feels scabbed over hands cradle his jaw, a feather-light touch that could be the end of him.

A second of silence, and then everything bursts into colour when Oliver kisses him.

It’s the opposite of last time, in all the ways Marcus could never believe. He could never have thought that he and Oliver Wood would have anything resembling something so soft, but here they are, curling into one another against the wall as the boy before him continues stroking his face, his lips never demanding. As if they have all the time in the world.

As if he isn’t about to leave him.

It stops too soon, and Merlin, Marcus is embarrassing enough that he actually chases Oliver’s lips when he moves back a step, which elicits a small smile from the boy. They’re still close enough that their breath mingles, and he feels dizzy and light and entirely unlike himself.

(Or perhaps more like himself than he’s ever felt before.)

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” Oliver is whispering in his ear, his eyes frantically searching Marcus’s face as if he needs him to know this. “Everything…everything is because of you, because you made me better.”

He has to close his eyes again because this can’t be real, these words are not real. He is not being held up by this shining, beautiful boy who has not been made for him to ruin and take, and he is not falling harder and faster with every word he says, with every look that leaves him scared and naked but never alone, never with Oliver. Marcus can’t say a thing in return, can only let out something that he doesn’t want to call a whimper because that would make him want to die on the spot, and clutches at Oliver’s robes as tight as he can, a sign of Please don’t leave me. Please don’t go. Please.

It’s not until he’s being held in Oliver’s strong arms and hears his voice again, “No, baby, no, I’ll never leave you,” that he realises he said it all out loud, and Marcus lets out a shuddering sob.

They stay like that for longer than he can count, and he doesn’t let himself try to. He only focuses on the strands of Oliver’s hair that curl at the back of his neck, twisting his fingers between them and pressing his lips to the curve where his neck ends and his shoulder begins in something that isn’t a kiss, trying to fit himself into him the way he wants to, as impossible as it is. Oliver doesn’t seem to mind, cooing and shushing him every time the tears begin again, and it’s almost not embarrassing simply because it’s him, who never seems to look at Marcus with anything other than admiration and awe and respect.

Even when they hated one another, he still looked at Marcus as something to be revered. To be taken with.

He’s finally being taken apart, piece by piece, and put back together by this boy with his rough hands and his sharp accent and his twinkling eyes, his pulse that he whispers beats only for Marcus as he takes him back to his dormitory, because it’s our last week and I’ve had the fantasy of having you up here for at least three years, Flint, and when he’s being bundled up in long limbs with red and gold stitched onto the arms of pyjamas, Marcus tries not to let himself sleep, even when his eyes weigh down and Oliver’s voice is telling him to dream, to dream of them and the future and the possibilities, can’t you see them, baby?

Nothing can compare to his reality right now, he knows.

(If Wood insists on being a cliché, he has to be, too.)

#owvlery #mxrcusflint #flintwood #flintwood fic #idk!!! what this is!!! help me!!#fics #there's a reason i dont generally write fics and certainly do not post them online #pls ignore this its awful and goes nowhere wow

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