During the first wizarding war, it should've been a rule that members of the order of the phoenix have to wear short sleeve shirts to make sure no one had the dark mark... and this is why the wizarding world lacks common sense.
Golden quotes (or snitches, if you will) from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
All of these quotes are the artwork of J.K. Rowling.
- "Holey? With the whole world of ear-related humor before you, you go for holey?” (Fred Weasley, page 75)
- "And are they getting married in my bedroom? No! So why in the name of Merlin's saggy left- " (Ron Weasley, page 92)
- "Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also." (Engraved on Ariana and Kendra Dumbledore's grave, page 325-326)
- "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.” (Engraved on James and Lily Potter's headstone, page 328)
- "Death's got an Invisibility Cloak?" Harry interrupted again. "So he can sneak up on people," said Ron. "Sometimes he gets bored of running at them, flapping his arms and shrieking...” (Harry & Ron, page 408)
- "We're all human, aren't we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving.” (Kingsley Shacklebolt, page 440)
- "He can run faster than Severus Snape confronted with shampoo.” (Fred Weasley, page 444)
- "Blimey, Neville, there's a time and a place for getting a smart mouth." (Ron Weasley, page 574)
- "After all this time?" "Always." (Dumbledore & Snape, page 687-688)
- "You'll stay with me?" "Until the very end." (Harry & James Potter, page 700)
- "It is a curious thing, Harry, but perhaps those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it. Those who, like you, have leadership thrust upon them, and take up the mantle because they must, and find to their own surprise that they wear it well.” (Dumbledore, page 718)
- "Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all those who live without love.” (Dumbledore, page 722)
- "Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?” (Dumbledore, page 723)
- "If you're not in Gryffindor, we'll disinherit you, but no pressure." (Ron Weasley, page 749)
Do you really admire The Dark Lord, for we all know you don't love? Or is this just like your late husband? (Yes everyone know you killed him.)
"Who said I was in love with the Dark Lord? Or that I had any intentions of getting him to marry me?" An eyebrow raises as she tilts her head curiously, "It's funny how unbelievable it is to people that two individuals of the opposite sex are capable of sharing common interests and nothing more or untoward of each other."
"I do admit, a marriage to someone capable of the power and strength he has... It would be most beneficial. Though if I were to marry him, I would not be foolish enough to snuff him out. He's far more useful alive than dead."
Request : You can find the request for this piece here.
Taglist : @empath-bunny @28cnn
He does not kiss her at first, as she had expected him to, rather he reaches out for her in turn. Tom traces his fingertips over her slick skin, swirling dizzying patterns over the hill of her shoulder and the valley of her throat, down her arms before swooping around her waist. She does not move, barely breathes, afraid to break whatever spell it is that they are under. She was wrong before, he is not the earth but the sun, and his touch scorches.
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There is nothing quite so peaceful as being fully emerged in water. There is something ethereal about it, something reverent, as if the brush of water over skin transforms you into something other, something holy. Or that is how the witch feels, at least. Often she can be found suspended well beneath the surface of the Black Lake, ears and eyes flooded with water, allowing the tug and push of the current dictate her movements, relinquishing any control she has over her physical form. It is quiet and dark and transformational, and as she breaches the surface once more she feels as if she has been born anew.
But this morning is not for floating or for peace, this morning is for driving every thought from her mind and expelling every stress her body holds with a gruelling swim across the lake. Despite the fact that she’s been swimming since the moon was high above her, her strokes remain smooth, gliding in and out of the water with precision.
She can feel the depths beckoning her, the tug of the current on her ankle. Why won’t you come down? Rest a little. But today is not a day for resting, so she ignores the calls of the lake, focusing instead on the silken feel of water rushing over her skin.
There is a burning in her lungs and in her limbs, but she does not stop, not until there is no thought left in her mind save for one-two-three-breathe-one-two-three-breathe.
The creatures in the lake do not bother her so long as she does not bother them, the lake had accepted her, doted on her even, and they would be wise not to betray its wishes. Back when she was a first year, the witch could hear the lake singing to her at night, a slow, deep lullaby that dragged her out of bed and to its edges. She would be found by her roommates in the morning with damp feet and sand encrusted limbs. It was not until her second year at Hogwarts that she plucked up the courage to enter. She could hardly be kept from it since.
Despite her assured safety, she kept her wand strapped to her thigh in a makeshift halter she’d fashioned out of one of Druella Rosier’s garter belts. It was a little scandalous for it to be out on display in such a manner, but her outfit as a whole was a scandalous affair, at least to the wizarding community of Britain, who had not yet grown fond of swimming. It was of the latest fashion, her muggle-born friends had assured her. The fabric was a lovely sea-green, soft to the touch and skintight, revealing every curve and dip along her body. It had a darling little halter neck, dipping low at her chest and down her spine, and the bottom of it was cut less like a pair of shorts and more like her underwear. The witch adored it, the professors did not. But most of them were not out of bed when she took her morning swims, which were not technically permitted anyway.
Once her strokes had turned to glides and the pressure that had been mounting in her chest since the day before had slipped out of her body, the witch pulled herself up and out of the water, perching atop an outcrop of rocks. She takes a moment to refill her lungs, chest heaving with each drag of oxygen through her throat, before turning her face back to the lake.
The sun has barely risen, but already the water has been gilded with light. The forest that surrounds it is still trapped in the mist of night, which too glints golden. The world is silent and the air, thick with moisture, is alive with magic. The morning holds an undeniable chill that is present no matter the season in Scotland. The witch drags her pruned fingers against the rough surface of the rock, leaving rivulets of water in her wake.
Someone clears their throat behind her and she is up and in a duelling stance in an instant, wand flourished before her. The sight is not as intimidating as she had intended given her swimsuit and shivers.
“Good morning,” Tom Riddle greets her with no small amount of amusement.
The witch sighs, tucking her wand away and dipping her head in an attempt to obscure the rouge that has grown on her cheeks. “Morning.”
Any thoughts of cold vanish as the boy’s heated gaze trickles over her skin, lingering on her expose legs and the hollow of her throat.
“Why are you up so early?” Her voice is rough from misuse and salt water, and she clears her throat awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot, hyperaware of their differing states of undress.
Tom looks far more rumpled and far more dishevelled than she’d ever seen him before. He is known across Hogwarts for his Grecian beauty and his immaculate appearance, and though the untucked shirt and ruffled hair do not detract from how ridiculously handsome he is, it is a strange sight nonetheless. There are half moons the colour of ink beneath his almond eyes, as if he hadn’t slept in days. Even his hands, usually so steady, able to cast the trickiest of spells with all the elegance of a master, have a slight tremble to them.
The concern must show on her face.
“Usually in the morning I can see you from the common room, I could not this morning and I was merely curious.” His voice too is rougher than usual, deeper too, and she suspects it cannot wholly be attributed to the early hour, for his eyes stick to her bare skin like honey.
“Are you satisfied?”
She’d meant for it to sound lighthearted, perhaps a little teasing. It had not.
Tom’s eyes darken until they are nearly indistinguishable from his pupils. “Not hardly.”
Usually Tom Riddle is as unmovable and unflappable as marble, polite and regal and coolly distant, but there is something feral in his gaze and his unkempt appearance that reminds her of a wolf, a predator, examining his prey.
Despite this, she braves a step closer. When he does not run or flinch, she takes another, then another, and another, until she is dripping lake water onto his polished leather shoes.
They have been doing this strange dance for weeks. Circling each other, closer and closer, and then pulling apart before they can touch, as if afraid to be burned by one another. And yet they cannot keep away. It is as if she is the moon and him the earth, forever orbiting one another, but never close enough to touch.
Not until now.
She reaches out with trembling fingers to push a stray curl from his brow, and it feels as if a wall has shattered between them.
He does not kiss her at first, as she had expected him to, rather he reaches out for her in turn. Tom traces his fingertips over her slick skin, swirling dizzying patterns over the hill of her shoulder and the valley of her throat, down her arms and swooping around her waist.
She does not move, barely breathes, afraid to break whatever spell it is that they are under. She was wrong before, he is not the earth but the sun, and his touch scorches her. It curves around her hip and nudges at the holster on her thigh, before gliding up to the dip of her spine. She shivers and leans into the touch, and Tom smiles down at her indulgently.
His fingers return to her cheek, gentle at first, and then he is pressing his palm to the curve of her jaw. His other hand comes up to cup the back of her neck.
He is kissing her before she can respond. Lips gliding over hers with such ferocity she fears she might break. His tongue probes at her lips and she no doubt tastes of salt and lake water but by the way he devours her mouth she is certain he does not mind. Her wet form is pressed firmly against him so that not even an atom of space lies between them, quickly the thin fabric of his shirt is soaked through, making it cling to his skin and reveal the sculpted lines beneath. Damp fingers twine through his unkept hair, and in response he wraps a hand around her dripping locks and tugs, releasing a high-pitched moan from her mouth to his.
He pulls back just far enough to mutter a spell against her lips. Heat blossoms first in her stomach, then glides smoothly over every inch of her skin. She’s not sure why he didn’t just use a drying charm, but she’s not complaining. Her cheeks warm once more, and it is not just from the sudden change in temperature. Tom Riddle is evidently not as selfish as she had first imagined him to be, though perhaps he was merely fed up of kissing an icicle.
Rational thought flies from her mind once more as he turns his head to kiss along her jaw, cushiony lips soft against her salt crusted skin and she’s sighing, dragging her nails against his scalp. She could get lost in this, in him, if he’d let her. Perhaps her morning ritual was due for a change.
But they are still in sight of the castle, and should another early riser decide to risk a promenade through the fog before breakfast they would no doubt be found. The witch would not mind, not really, in fact she would rather like to lay claim to the boy publicly seeing as every other witch over the age of fourteen wanted to sink their claws in, but such an act would no doubt tarnish his stellar reputation. So Tom hooks his hands beneath her thighs and hoists her up to settle on his narrow hips, lifting her with such ease she briefly wonders whether he had muttered another spell without her realising. Her legs hook around his waist and her arms twine about his neck as she pulls him in for another bruising kiss. As he walks the pair of them to somewhere more secluded, their centres press against each other and she squirms in his grip, muffling a whine against his mouth which he responds to with a breathy laugh.
She is clawing at the collar of his shirt when he places her down once more. They are stood in the shallows of the Black Lake, where the water barely reaches her ankles and the ground is soft and cool against her heated skin. The Lake does not claw at her skin as it usually did, instead it brushes kisses against the arches of her feet, and pushes her towards him with a small frothy wave. Tom moves to kiss her once more, but before he can she is dropping to her knees, sending splashes of water onto the dark fabric of his pants.
The witch stares up at him for a moment, admiring the clench of his jaw and the surprised uptick of his brow, he cocks his head to one side but she offers no explanation for her movement, and instead chews on her lip unsurely, fingers trembling once more as they reach for his belt.
They are caught in a firm grip before she can undo it fully.
“You needn’t continue if you do not wish to.” She had thought his voice deep before, but it is nothing compared to what it is now, so strained that it borders on a growl.
She does not answer him with words, merely brushes away his hand and continues on her mission, letting his belt fall open with a clink before scooping him out from his boxers. Her eyes grow impossibly wide, and she can hear the pleased chuckle he lets out, one that rapidly turns into a drawn out moan as she presses a gentle kiss to his tip, sucking off a pearl of pre-cum as she does.
She does not take him in all at once, instead she first envelops just his head into her warm, wet mouth, swirling her tongue around the buttery soft skin. Despite the general mess of his appearance that morning, he has clearly bathed recently, and holds nearly no taste at all. The only thing she registers against her tongue is the warmth and weight of him, as well as the faint salty aftertaste of the lake. The water rises around her, until her knees and calves are enveloped by the lake, and a long strand of seaweed reaches up to stroke at her shin. Slowly, she works her way further and further down the pulsing length of him, until her nose is pressed to the dark curls at his base and she is heaving in breaths through flared nostrils.
Tom lets out a choked sound, and his hands fly out to tangle in her hair.
His voice cracks as he taunts her, “Surely you can do better than that little witch?”
But he does not give her a chance to try, and instead takes matters into his own hands, literally. He begins to drag her up and down at a rapid pace, firm hold on her hair not allowing her to pull off for air, and she is suddenly very glad for all the days she has spent beneath the waves. Her hands curl around his thighs, nails digging into the fabric of his pants, and he hisses as she claws at the skin beneath. It is not in protest, or a demand for him to stop, she merely wants to touch, to mark, to claim him as her own.
“Look at me darling, I want to see your eyes as I ruin you,” he rasps from above her.
It is a difficult angle, but she manages all the same. His hips falter as their eyes meet, and then his pace becomes erratic. The unshed tears that cling to her lower lashes finally spill over her reddened cheeks and he uses a thumb to brush one away, then brings it to his lips and sucks it off. She hums around him at the sight, lashes fluttering, but a sharp tap to her cheek has her eyes flying wide once more.
“You look so beautiful like this.”
She gurgles something that may have been a 'thank you’ around him, and then he twitches once in her mouth and she is met with the most beautiful sight in the world.
Sooty lashes flutter closed against his pale cheeks, and a crease forms between his dark brows. The sun had gilded the edges of his dark hair and crowned him with a glowing halo. He is angelic as he cums, soft pink lips parting to release a guttural groan of her name. Warmth bursts against her tongue and shoots down her throat, and she chokes it down, pulling off him at last to heave in desperate breaths, a single thread of spit connects them still.
A cool hand strokes against her cheek, “Good girl.”
Then he is tucking himself away and hoisting her to her feet, bringing her in for one last searing kiss. His hands remain on her damp cheeks after he pulls back, “Meet me in my dorm at the end of class. I wish to return the favour.”
She’s back! Thanks for being patient with me guys <3
What do you think? You're the the only adult she had care for ever since the 'incident', hell, I'm not even an adult! I'm only 17 years old, plus you heard the saying, the school is your second family, so you're her father figure or the closest you can get to a father. So automatically, she already recognized you as flock alongside her kids and me and some other people. Meaning, if you're in danger, you bet your ass she would be immediately at your side fighting, like I told you, she'd give you the world if you want her to. - Gabriel
Tom sighed. "I am honored, truly, but I feel like she could have chosen someone a bit more...paternal. I am a professor, yes, but I have no idea how to be a father, how to - wait. You are not seventeen. I have known Thirteen since she was 15, that is going on ten years, and you were most certainly not a small boy when we met."
Summary: Y/n tries her best to adapt after being transferred from Gryffindor to Slytherin, and after the truth of her parentage spreads across the castle, Y/n finds herself unexpectedly well received by her new housemates, while the rest of the school seems to turn their back on her, even her old friends. This is the least of Y/n`s concerns however, as she desperately seeks a way to speak with her true fiancé, Fred – who has somehow returned to Hogwarts, for reasons she has yet to uncover.
“Knights of Walpurgis” Draco chanted the password in front of a seemingly normal dampened stone wall, not at all any different from the rest of the walls of the dungeons beneath the castle. The second he had spoken it a large passageway appeared before you, dust and water droplets falling as it swung open to the side. While the rest of the students were gathering in the great hall, likely to be presented with all new rules and guidelines now that Hogwarts had come under the rule of the dark lord.
You and Draco however, had been instructed to head straight to your new common room, as the terms of your privilege were already set. The rules others had to abide now no longer applied to you, and you were free to do as you wished as long as you studied well and remained in Slytherin, where your father meant you belonged.
As you entered behind Draco, you expected to be met with a dark and grim looking dungeon, something similar to Snape`s past office perhaps, but if anything, you were pleasantly surprised. The large fireplace was already crackling with embers, but it`s warm glow was outshone by an eerie green aura shining in from several large glass windows, which all revealed how very deep the dungeons of the castle went.
You were deep beneath the black lake, outside it`s magically enhanced glass you saw nothing but dark green water, and the seaweed dancing just outside. Over the mantleplace hung a portrait of a large serpentine creature, and there were hung several different portraits across the rough stone walls of ghastly looking wizards and witches.
From the tall roof hung several green chandeliers, which all failed to bring any more warmth to the space. The large space was far more sophistically decorated than what you were familiar with in Gryffindor tower, with dark green tufted sofas and some in black leather. The décor among bookcases and end tables ranged from various skulls to dark-looking artefacts and despite the stylish interior you desperately missed the homely warmth you were used to in your old common room.
“Beats Gryffindor tower, huh?” Draco muttered, as he closely studied your reaction to your new surroundings.
“I prefer a room with a view” you replied tiredly, before following him towards the dormitories which surprisingly did not seem to be split between girls and boys – perhaps the Slytherins were expected to be better behaved than Gryffindors.
He followed you to the very last door through the dark dim-litted hall, a door which looked larger and different than the rest.
“This used to be the chamber of the head of the house back in the day, but suppose it`s been half a century since they started using their office instead” Draco explained quickly as he opened the door to reveal a significantly larger sleeping chamber than what was common for students.
House elves must have prepared it for your arrival however, as there were certainly no signs of half a centuries accumulation of dust and cobwebs. Instead the space looked quite neat and tidy, with a large fireplace similar to the one in the common room and with a large four poster bed in dark wood, with green curtains of silk and a silvery bedding. Just by the bed stood all your books and luggage, waiting.
There was a single large window and like the rest you could see nothing but dark green water, deciding you might as well pull the curtains in case you thought you saw something. Before it sat a writing desk in dark wood, and an adorned wooden chair to match the set.
“This will suffice I suppose… you`re quite lucky you know.. prefects have been arguing for ages about it, but no one was ever allowed to move in until now”
You turned to Draco with clenched fists,
“Call me lucky one more time and I’ll feed you to the giant squid”
Draco rolled his eyes,
“Call me over if you need anything.. or don`t, my chamber is just across the hall”
He smashed the door on his way out perhaps a little too harshly, and you quickly threw yourself onto the bed, letting out a long sigh as you stared up at the rough stoned ceiling. You tried to close your eyes, but felt utterly restless as you thought about Fred.
Somehow he was there at Hogwarts, even Draco had spotted him as you left with the carriages from Hogsmeade station earlier in the evening. You had not spoken to him for what felt like ages, not even known whether he was safe or not during all this time. The death-eaters had tortured him with the cruciatus curse before taking you away during the finale of the wedding, and for all you had known he could`ve very well been dead.
It had all happened so terribly fast, one moment the pair of you had been dancing and you had had told him that no matter what happened, you would be married by the end of next summer – wether the Dark Lord was dead or not by that time, none of it mattered as long as you could be with him.
But now, now that you had gotten into an even larger mess with you and Draco`s fake engagement, how would Fred possibly react when he found out?
Would he feel betrayed? Or would he understand that the things that were happening were unfolding far beyond your power and control? As far as you knew, he might already know.
About half an hour later Draco knocked on your door, offering to follow you to the great hall for supper but you coldly told him to leave you alone.
Perhaps you were too harsh on him, he had been your friend for a long time though you were still not sure if it was possible to forgive him for joining the death-eaters – something he must have done quite willingly, even if he truly regretted the decision now today.
You hardly slept at all that night, it was as if the strange lights looming from the lake turned brighter and brighter, even shining through the thick velvet curtains you had attempted to block it with. In your troubled dreams you kept seeing Fred, but whenever you tried to reach him he disappeared into thin air. Waking up gasping for air you spent the remainder of the night, or what you assumed was night as it was hard to judge time when you were far down in the dungeons, – pondering on just why Fred had returned. Did he know you would be here or was it perhaps to protect Ginny if she was forced to attend too?
These questions kept churning in your mind as you left your chamber to get ready for breakfast, just as you opened the door you met Draco standing there with his fist reached out, ready to knock.
“Oh, I-I just thought I’d follow you to the great hall” he stuttered, and you shut him down yet again.
“I`m perfectly able to walk there myself” you spat before walking right past him towards the common room, which now seemed to be crowded by students.
“But shouldn’t we at least pretend we get along?” Draco called out after you, and you choose not to answer. From what you`d known, pureblood marriages never seemed to be very cosy either way, you`d seen plenty of examples before of supposedly engaged older students hardly even speaking to each other, as at most their engagements were on a strict business level between their families. Why it would even concern you to play along therefore felt completely ridiculous, as you had no plans of going through with this charade either way.
You hardly looked at any of the students in the common room as you passed them by, as you were quite intent on leaving the cold dungeons as soon as possible. You wanted sunshine and fresh air, and most of all you wanted to see and find Fred to explain to him everything that was going on, before he`d misunderstand.
You rushed up the last set of stairs, and found yourself in the large hall containing the marble staircase, as confusing as the layout of the castle could be you quickly realized it would be far harder to find your way back to the Slytherin dungeons than what you had anticipated.
You had been expecting you could easily join a crowd to enter the great hall rather unnoticed, but your plan would have failed from the start seeing as all the students were split into groups walking in what seemed to be reminiscent of military formations. Not even during the reign of the puritanical tyrant Umbridge, had you seen something as disturbing as this. The halls had always been lively, where students of all houses would chatter and hang out in between classes. Now you could not even approach a crowd of Gryffindor`s at all, so when would you possibly get a chance to speak to Fred?
As a formation of Slytherins passed you by you quickly joined them as seamlessly as you possibly could, all the while looking for Fred in every single crowd of students you passed. Upon entering the great hall, all the students were neatly seated by each their respected houses table. You immediately headed for the Gryffindor table out of pure habit, expectantly looking for Fred where he used to sit, but you were stopped in your tracks when someone grabbed your arm.
“Hey half-b..-Y/n what are you doing? You`re sitting with us, not them” a girl spoke, in a way that seemed ominous seeing as she usually had nothing nice to say to the likes of you. You turned to see Pansy Parkinson, looking at you wide-eyed as if you were something from outer space.
A little flabbergasted you followed after her to the Slytherin table, where people moved aside momentarily after seeing you, to give you space to sit down. You did not know what to say, as you were still half expecting some horrid insult or perhaps a threat or two, but instead your previous adversary poured you a cup of tea, and offered to hand you some toast.
“Thank you” you whispered, and upon bringing the tea to your lips you wondered wether you were about to be poisoned, or perhaps if she`d transfigure the piece of buttered toast into a buttered toad.
Not even a moment later the girls around the table started fawning about your engagement ring, and with horror you realized the word really had spread like a fiendfyre. You had no choice but to hold out your hand as you choked on your toast,
“Oh Draco it`s so beautiful, did you really pick it out yourself?” Pansy exclaimed, and Draco seemed to become just as uncomfortable as you. Neither of you had prepared very well to uphold your charade, and if you did not agree on a story it all might very well crumble.
“Yes, I-I did” Draco weakly insisted, “It`s her favourite stone, the black opal”
As a matter of fact it was not your favourite precious stone, at least it never was until the day Fred had first given it to you on Christmas eve a few years back. But you played along as best as you could.
“Did you have a big engagement party?” another girl eagerly asked, in the midst of fantasising about her own.
“It was rather intimate really, j-just our closest family” you lied with horror.
“When will the wedding be, will you wait until graduation?” Pansy asked, not quite able to hide her enjoyment of how uncomfortable she had made the pair of you. You avoided her gaze the best you could, letting it travel across the hall as Draco sputtered out some more lies to keep her happy.
You almost gasped, when your eyes met his. Interlocking with yours as if for the very first time, you almost knocked over your cup of tea as Fred smiled a worried yet loving one towards you. You could not communicate by any other means than with your eyes, and yet it was so adamantly clear that he was telling you that he loved you, that he missed you and that everything would be all right.
“I`m so happy for you two” Pansy smiled cunningly, and it gave you goosebumps as you immediately thought she referred to you and Fred reuniting at last, even if you were half a hall apart.