lumosflairr

[lumosflairr]

this isnt much to work with but imagine fred ron or harry doesnt matter with like that one scene from wolf on wallstreet with margot robbie putting her heel on the dudes forehead?? imagine how desperate they would be oohhh em jeepers just a desperate pathetic man is all i need in life

OH BABYYYY I LOVE THIS THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REQUEST!!! I chose to write with Fred because i really have nothing of him written AND this scene is so him core.

NO TOUCHING - Fred G. Weasley

Fred had crossed a line. Again.

He’d pushed your buttons all day—flirting shamelessly behind the register, brushing his hand too high on your thigh under the table at dinner, and worst of all… he charmed your favorite knickers to float down the stairwell like confetti in front of George.

So now here he was, on his knees in your shared bedroom, smirking up at you like he wasn’t the one in trouble.

“Aw, love,” he drawled, hands spread like he was being reasonable, “I was just having a bit of fun��”

“You think this is funny?” you said sweetly, stepping forward slowly.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the click of your heel on the wooden floor shut him right up.

Fred watched, transfixed, as you climbed up onto the low window seat—bare-legged, wearing one of his old Quidditch jerseys and nothing underneath. The moonlight pouring in behind you made the scene feel more like a spell than real life.

Then, you did it.

You lifted your foot, gently resting the tip of your stiletto heel right against his forehead, forcing his head to tilt back. His eyes fluttered closed. The smirk slipped.

“Oh, now you’re quiet?” you teased, voice smooth as honey. “Not so smug when you’re the one begging, are you?”

Fred groaned, equal parts flustered and absolutely wrecked. “I’d do anything right now.”

You arched a brow. “Anything?”

He nodded—slow, reverent. His voice came out rough. “You’re driving me mad.”

You pushed your heel just a little firmer against him—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind him who had the power tonight.

“I know,” you whispered. “And you love it.”

He looked up at you, completely undone, and you knew you had him.

“You’re going to sit there,” you said, dragging your heel down slowly until it slid off his chest and hit the floor with a click. “And you’re going to earn me back. With your mouth. No hands. No spells. Just obedience.”

Fred’s pupils blew wide.

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, already leaning in.

His breath ghosted against your inner thigh, his mouth inches from your skin, and still—he hesitated. Like he needed permission. Like this was sacred.

And maybe it was.

You let your heel slide down from his chest, letting it hit the floor with a deliberate click. You shifted back on the window seat just enough to open your legs wider—slow, deliberate, your eyes never leaving his.

That was all he needed.

Fred’s mouth met your skin like a prayer, soft and reverent at first—slow kisses pressed to your thigh, just beneath where the lace ended. Then higher. Then higher.

His hands stayed at his sides, clenched into the fabric of his trousers like he was restraining himself from grabbing you, dragging you closer. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. You hadn’t given him that.

So he used what you allowed.

His mouth.

You let your head fall back against the wall behind you, a slow smirk tugging at your lips as you felt him trace his tongue in slow, aching circles just where you wanted him. The heat of him. The way he murmured your name under his breath like he couldn’t help it—like it slipped out between kisses, between soft, panting groans as he tried to keep up with the way you moved your hips.

He was so eager. So good at this. Not cocky, not teasing—just starving. Like the only thing that mattered was you falling apart under his mouth.

You threaded your fingers into his hair, tugging just slightly to guide him, and he moaned into you like he liked being pulled—like he’d let you keep him there all night if you wanted.

“You really are sorry,” you murmured breathlessly.

He nodded against you, lips not daring to leave your skin. His nose brushed your inner thigh. Then his voice—raw and low—came between kisses.

“I’ll spend every night like this if it means you’ll forgive me,” he breathed.

“Don’t tempt me.”

[lumosflairr]

hi baby i absolutely adore your works 🥹 what do you think of oliver wood with a begging knk..... wink wink....

Your the sweetest!! and i absolutely adore this idea, thank you for the request love❤️

BEGGING KINK W/ OLIVER WOOD

The fire crackled low, throwing warm golden light over the worn couch cushions. Most of the common room had emptied hours ago, but neither of you had moved—too caught up in the quiet tension crackling between you. You sat with your knees tucked under you, heartbeat still racing from the match… or maybe just from the way Oliver was looking at you.

“You know,” he said, voice low, like a secret, “you really shouldn’t toy with me like that.”

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

He gave you that lopsided smirk—the one he only wore when he was barely holding himself back. “Wearing that bloody jumper like you didn’t know what it’d do to me. Whispering in my ear like that before the match.”

You blinked, feigning innocence. “Oh, that? I was just wishing my captain good luck.”

Oliver leaned in, elbows on his knees, so close now you could feel the heat of him. His voice dropped another octave. “I don’t need luck. I need you.”

Your breath hitched. The tension between you had always been there, unspoken, simmering under every glance, every brush of fingers when he handed you your broom. But tonight—tonight it was like the air had shifted.

He reached out and toyed with the edge of your sleeve, eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes. “Tell me you want this,” he murmured. “I need to hear it. Don’t make me beg.”

The corner of your mouth curled into a smirk. “Why not?”

His jaw tensed, and for a moment, pride battled desire behind those storm-dark eyes.

You leaned in just enough to brush your lips near his ear. “Say it, Wood.”

His breath came out in a low groan. “Please,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long, I can’t think straight. Say you want me back.”

The pleading in his voice sent heat rushing through your chest. You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “I want you. But I could get used to hearing you ask like that.”

Something wild and hungry flashed in his gaze. “You have no idea what that does to me,” he said, voice rough now, hands sliding to your waist. “Say it again.”

You grinned against his mouth just before he kissed you—desperate, deep, and all-consuming, like he’d been holding it in for far too long.

[lumosflairr]

GUYS IM BACK🥳🥳 ive been so busy but TRUSTT im back

[lumosflairr]

another harry fic is in the making🔥🔥🔥

[lumosflairr]

★:fluff ꩜: smut ʚɞ: angst ୨ৎ: humorous

• What he left in me(ʚɞ ★): As Voldemort's influence drives Harry into isolation, Harry grows distant, angry and cruel - pushing away the only girl he's ever loved.

• Green and Gold(★): when you, a sharp-witted Slytherin express interest in joining Dumbledores Army, you soon find yourself caught between not only house loyalty and what’s right - but an unexpected bond with Harry Potter.

Love Triangle w/ Draco and Harry (★ ʚɞ): Ravenclaw reader in triangle with Harry and Draco, similar as it was with Lily, James, and Snape.

All This Time (★ʚɞ꩜): coming soon!!

[lumosflairr]

What would you think of a Ravenclaw reader in a sort-of triangle with Harry and Draco, similar as it was with Lily, James, and Snape? Both guys have feelings for her and the reader chooses Harry in the end. What say you?

Love Triangle w/ draco and harry

Summary: self explanatory

This story contains: ‘love triangle’ based off Snape, Lily and James (somewhat). Reader is a Ravenclaw. Draco is possessive and lowkey obsessed with reader, Reader picks Harry, boom.

This story is shorter than my others. I hope you still enjoy!

You didn’t mean to end up between them.

It started, like most things at Hogwarts, with something simple: a shared textbook, a clever answer in class, a late-night duel of wits disguised as debate. Draco was first - sharp-eyed, sharper-tongued - who always called you by your last name, like he was afraid of sounding too soft. Then Harry came crashing in like a storm - too loud, too brave, and too real.

You were a Ravenclaw. You should have seen the signs.

With Draco, it was always about the small claims. The way he’d slide into the seat beside you in Potions without asking, flicking a glance at anyone who looked like they might try to sit there first. The way he’d tell people you were “his partner” for a project even if you hadn’t agreed yet. He never asked. He just made it so.

Draco liked you because you were everything he wasn’t allowed to be.

You were unafraid to speak your mind. You didn’t need him. You didn’t want anything from him except what he gave freely - his thoughts, his sarcasm, his rare moments of softness. You were smart, opinionated, and impossible to intimidate.

He told himself it didn’t matter that you were a Ravenclaw. That blood didn’t matter with you. That you were the exception.

He never said the word love, not then. But you could feel the gravity of it, pulling between conversations, glances, silences that lingered too long. Showing up with gifts at your dorm room with a stupid smile on his face.

The problem was, Draco didn’t know how to love something without trying to own it.

As the years went on, and things in the world got darker - so did he. And where you challenged him to think deeper, the people around him pushed him to shrink everything into fear and bloodlines.

And when he started choosing control over kindness, legacy over conscience, that’s when you began to see it:

He wanted you close.

But only if you stayed within reach.

Only if you didn’t make him question the worst parts of himself.

“Don’t waste your time with them,” he’d murmur, low enough that only you could hear, when a Hufflepuff boy tried to walk you back from the library one night. “They wouldn’t know a decent conversation if it bit them.”

At first, it felt like protection. A shield of sarcasm and Slytherin pride that you were secretly allowed behind. He listened to you-really listened, when others didn’t. You’d talk for hours about magic theory, ancient bloodlines, books you weren’t supposed to have read yet. He liked your mind. That was rare.

But then the jokes got sharper.

“You shouldn’t be so friendly with Granger. Or the Weasel. People might start thinking you’ve gone soft.”

You’d laugh it off, until you couldn’t anymore. Until it stopped being playful and started feeling like a boundary - one you weren’t supposed to cross. You’d roll your eyes. You’d challenge him. But part of you, the younger part that still remembered feeling invisible, wanted to believe the attention meant something deeper.

Maybe it did. But it didn’t mean love. Not the kind that made you feel safe. Not the kind that left room for choice.

And that’s where Harry came in.

Not all at once, of course. He looked at you like he was waiting for you to hex him the first time you corrected him in class. But over time, he didn’t just hear what you said - he let it change him. He trusted you.

He listened without defensiveness. He didn’t shut down when you challenged him, didn’t flinch when you pushed back. You could tell him the truth - even the hard parts - and he wouldn’t twist your words into something to hold over your head later.

Most importantly?

He never once told you who you could or couldn’t talk to.

He never hovered, never tightened his grip when others were around. He never made you feel like you had to shrink to fit into his world.

Being with Harry was like coming up for air after years underwater.

There was a gentleness to him that didn’t make him soft - just safe. A kind of strength that didn’t need to control everything it touched.

He didn’t push people away just to pull you closer.

He let people in. Even when it scared him. Even when he didn’t know how.

And you started to realize something.

With Draco, you were always trying to balance. To calm. To manage the heat before it burned. But with Harry?

You didn’t have to fight for space.

You already had it.

And in the quiet between stolen library glances and the way his voice softened when he asked how your day was - something in you began to heal.

And Draco noticed.

“Potter doesn’t think,” he snapped one day in the corridor, when he caught you walking beside Harry after Charms. “He reacts. He doesn’t understand you. not like I do.”

You turned to him, heart already sinking. “You don’t get to decide what other people understand about me, Draco.”

His eyes flashed. Hurt. But underneath it, something colder. Something entitled.

That was the moment you knew: whatever had been between you wasn’t about understanding anymore. It was about possession. And you didn’t want to belong to anyone like that.

The corridor was mostly empty — just the echo of footsteps and the faint hum of late afternoon light through the windows. You were walking beside Draco, books in your arms, mid-sentence about your Arithmancy essay when it happened.

A younger student - a Muggle-born, you were almost certain, brushed past. Not rudely. Just quickly.

Draco’s wand was out before you registered the motion.

“Locomotor wibbly.”

The girl dropped her books with a gasp as her legs gave out, tumbling to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Her eyes were wide with confusion. Embarrassment. Fear.

Then he said it.

“Watch where you’re going, Mudblood.”

It was said lazily — like a reflex, like a word he didn’t even think about. That was what made it worse.

You stopped walking.

“Draco.”

He turned to you, shrugging. “She ran into me.”

“You hexed her.”

“She’ll be fine. It was harmless.” He waved a hand like he hadn’t just humiliated a child.

You bent down, helping the girl gather her things with trembling fingers.

Then came his voice.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Harry’s footsteps echoed across the stone floor, faster than yours. His wand was in his hand, eyes locked on Draco like he was one second away from cursing him straight into the hospital wing.

Draco’s expression twisted. “Potter. Always ready to swoop in and play the bloody hero.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy hexing first-years for walking too close,” Harry snapped. “You think that makes you powerful? You’re just a coward with a wand.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Careful, Potter. You’re not exactly welcome everywhere these days. People are watching you—waiting for you to fall.”

“At least I don’t go around cursing kids to feel tall.”

You stood between them before either of them could draw closer. “Stop it. Both of you.”

But they weren’t listening. Not really.

Draco looked past you like you weren’t even there, venom now turning toward Harry. “You don’t get to act like you’re some white knight when you’re just waiting for her to fall for you.”

Harry’s brows pulled together.

“She was mine,” Draco hissed. “She is mine. So why don’t you back off before I remind you what happens when people take what’s mine.”

You didn’t yell.

You just turned to face Draco fully - and something cold and final settled into your voice.

“You don’t get to say you care about me,” you said, loud and clear, “then hex someone for their blood. That’s not love, Draco, that’s control.”

He faltered, the words striking sharper than any spell.

“I don’t need protection,” you continued, voice shaking now but unrelenting, “I need honesty. I need someone who doesn’t treat me like a possession just because it makes him feel important.”

Draco was silent, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. The only sound was the soft sniffle of the girl behind you as Harry helped her back to her feet.

“Even if there’s still feeling between us,” you said, softer now, more tired than angry, “there’s no future. Not if this is who you’ve decided to be.”

Draco didn’t speak. He just stared at you like he didn’t recognize you anymore.

Maybe he didn’t.

And that, more than anything, told you he never really did.

“So you’re choosing him? After everything we’ve been through?” His voice cracked, anger tangled in disbelief.

“She’s choosing someone who respects her,” Harry cut in sharply, stepping forward now. “And someone who doesn’t treat her like she’s a bloody trophy.”

Draco’s eyes darted to Harry’s hand — how close it was to yours. Something cold passed across his face.

“You don’t know her like I do.”

“No,” Harry said, voice even. “I think I just don’t try to own her.”

Draco looked at you like the ground had shifted underneath him. Then, slowly, without a word, he turned and walked away.

The silence left behind buzzed with what hadn’t been said.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Harry stayed beside you, gaze soft now.

“I mean it, you know,” he said, voice quieter now. “What I said. You shouldn’t have to face any of that alone.”

You nodded. “I’ve gotten used to doing things alone, though.”

“Yeah,” he said, tone a little dry. “Me too.”

That earned a soft laugh from you. Then silence again, but a warmer one. It wasn’t awkward — just filled with something unspoken, something waiting.

Harry shifted a little, then ran a hand through his hair in that classic way of his. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

He glanced around - like he was making sure no one else was nearby, then looked back at you, eyes earnest, voice low.

“I’ve never really known what love’s supposed to feel like. Not the kind people write about. Not the kind that makes you want to stay.”

You didn’t interrupt. You just watched him, heart softening with every word.

“I mean, the Dursleys never gave a damn. And everything else has always been… complicated. Messy. Like it came with conditions. Even with Ginny… I think I wanted to feel normal more than I actually felt anything real.”

He let out a quiet breath. “But you?”

Your heart stuttered.

“You make everything feel clearer. Lighter. Like I’m allowed to be a little messed up and you won’t run from it. Like I don’t have to prove anything to be enough.” He paused, swallowing. “You see the worst parts of me - and you still stay.”

“I’d never do to you what he did,” Harry added, softer now. “I’d never try to change you or keep you quiet just to feel strong. I don’t want to own you. I just… I want to stand next to you. That’s all.”

You took a step closer, your voice barely above a whisper. “Harry…”

He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if he’d said too much- but then you reached out and gently laced your fingers with his.

“I don’t need protection,” you said, echoing what you’d told Draco. “I need honesty. And that’s what you’ve always given me.”

His hand tightened around yours - not possessive, not desperate. Just steady. Certain.

You leaned your forehead lightly against his. “This… whatever this is… it’s the first thing that’s made sense in a long time.”

He smiled again, softer this time. “Then let’s not question it.”

And for a long moment, there was no war. No names. No history trying to drag you backward.

Just two people.

Choosing each other.

Finally.

[lumosflairr]

HIIII

Can you pleaaaase write something about Harry x Slytherin reader?? I'll literally take anything PLEASE 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Green and Gold - harry j. potter

summary: when you, a sharp-witted Slytherin express interest in joining Dumbledores Army, you soon find yourself caught between not only house loyalty and what’s right - but an unexpected bond with Harry Potter.

This story contains: Slytherin! reader, enemies to lovers trope, slow burn, fluff. Um***dge.

Thank you for your request!! As a fellow Slytherin i enjoyed writing this💚

You found Gryffindor’s far too predictable.

They wear their emotions like their ties — loud, proud, and always slightly crooked. Especially Harry Potter.

You didn’t hate him, you hated how carried himself. How he fed into and entertained the “Chosen One” act. You hated how he eyed some of your fellow house members with disgust. You hated how teachers let him break rules without blinking. Especially when Dumbledore gave him more second chances than you’ve had detentions- and don’t even start with the house cup points for Gryffindor being handed out like it was candy on Halloween.

You didn’t like him. That much was certain.

And yet, somehow… you didn’t quite hate him either.

Which, in Slytherin, might be worse.

You were raised to see people like him as reckless, impulsive, dangerously idealistic. And honestly? He is. He breaks rules like they’re twigs and shouts back at professors who could end him with a look. He’s messy. He’s loud. He’s Gryffindor.

But lately he was far too quiet.

And in Slytherin, silence was never innocent.

You soon found yourself in the Slytherin Common Room plopped on a sofa with Blaise while Draco was on one of his many, many rants.

“I’m telling you,” he said, chin high, voice sharp, “Potter’s planning something. He disappears for hours. Granger’s been whispering with Lovegood. Weasley hasn’t shut up about practicing defensive spells. It’s not for class.”

You smirked at him while he spoke - letting out a snort yourself. “You sound obsessed with them.”

“It’s not obsession,” Draco snapped, letting out a huff.

Drama Queen Draco.

“It’s observation. He’s up to something. He’s got to be plotting on Umbridge and the Ministry- he can never keep his head up his own ass.”

You didn’t say anything else. In honesty, you were in zero support of what Umbridge has been doing to Hogwarts. You were shocked on why Draco would even like her, hell even practically work for her as some spy. maybe its something to do with his father and the Ministry, you thought, but you tossed it to the side. If anyone - even if it was some Gryffindor wanted to fight again the injustice you wanted in as well. For now, however - you stored the information in your brain and filed it.

You’ve always been good at patterns, but it seems Potter’s been breaking his.

——————————————————————————

It was late.

Too late for class. Too late for anyone to be slipping into unused rooms — unless they’re sneaking, hiding, or both. You walked through the corridors of hogwarts with ease, scanning every class you came across.

So when you spot a familiar messy head ducking through a side corridor, you follow.

Quiet as shadow. Curiosity sharper than caution.

And then you knew who it was.

Harry Potter. Shutting a door behind him. Tension in his shoulders, jaw set tight.

He doesn’t see you at first.

But you’re leaning against the stone wall when he turns. Arms crossed. A single brow raised.

“Potter.”

He gives you a scowl while he rolls eyes and narrows his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Bit defensive, aren’t we?” You smirk at him as you walk towards him, slowly. “Not used to being caught?”

He straightens up, clearly trying not to look flustered.

cute.

“I’m not hiding.”

“Mm, right. So that was just… a casual stroll out of an unused classroom with a pocket full of parchment and a face like someone just nicked a broomstick?”

His jaw clenches. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” you say as you finally come to a stop just about three feet away. “But I do enjoy a good mystery. And this school’s been very loud about one thing lately ‘Potter’s planning something.’”

You playfully raised an eyebrow at him as you awaited for him to reply.

“You sound like you’d rat me out.”

You cock your head. “Do I?”

“Yes.” he spoke with a sharp tone.

You frown at the sharpness in his tone, then lower your voice. “Relax. I’m not Malfoy, not quite like him either.”

You glance down the corridor, then let out a sigh. “Look. I’m not saying I like you. You’re arrogant. Impulsive. And you’ve got this whole ‘Chosen One’ complex going on.”

“Thanks,” Harry mutters.

“But,” you continue, ignoring his comment. “you’re not wrong about Umbridge and how corrupt the Ministry has started to become. And people are scared. Not just Gryffindors.”

Harry studies you. Suspicious. Curious. “So what are you saying?”

You smile, something sharp and slightly amused. “I’m saying if you are planning something… maybe don’t assume every Slytherin’s dying to see you fail. I am far aware of the reputation we have earned from the other houses- but we aren’t villains. We’re not all Malfoy, Potter.”

He blinks. That clearly wasn’t what he expected.

“And if I was starting a group?” he asks, almost testing you.

“Then I’d probably already know about it.” You tap his cloak pocket where the parchment is still tucked away before walking past him. “You Gryffindor’s aren’t exactly subtle.”

“Wait—”

You pause, glancing back over your shoulder. “What?”

“…Why would you help?”

Your expression turns just a little softer. “Because some of us grew up being told not to ask questions. And I’m tired of that. ”

Harry gives you a look - a genuine one.

You spoke again as you begin walking back to your own common room as Harry loses sight of you. “Filch is probably lurking, so if i were you i’d be off.”

Harry stood there for a second, shocked - confused. You wanted to help? A witty, smart mouth Slytherin? He pondered for a minute, trying to process it all. Maybe he’s been wrong about all Slytherins being the root of all evil?

——————————————————————————-

Ron throws a Bertie Bott’s bean at the fireplace and misses. “What d’you mean she caught you?”

Harry drops into the chair across from him, eyes still narrowed from replaying the whole thing in his head. “She was just… there. Leaning against the wall like she’d been waiting.”

Hermione’s head lifts from her book. “And she didn’t tell Umbridge?”

Harry shakes his head. “No. She knew what I was doing, I don’t know how, but she knew. And then she said—” he pauses, trying to find the right words. “She said we’re not all Malfoy. That she knows when to pick the right side. That she wants to fight for good.”

Ron snorts. “That’s rich. Coming from someone who shares a dorm with Parkinson.”

Hermione doesn’t laugh. She’s thinking. “Maybe she meant it.”

Ron gapes. “You want her to come to the meetings now?”

“I didn’t say that,” Hermione replies carefully. “But if she already knows… it might be smarter to bring her in. Keep her close.”

Harry doesn’t say anything right away. His mind is still stuck on the way you’d looked at him. Calm. Calculated. Not scared. Not arrogant either.

Just… certain.

“She’s not like the rest of them,” he says quietly.

Hermione turns to him, surprised.

Ron groans. “Oh no. He’s got that look.”

“What look?” Harry frowns.

“The ‘maybe Slytherins aren’t all evil’ look,” Ron says, flopping back dramatically onto the couch. “Next thing we know, you’ll be offering her your seat in class and writing her name on your cauldron.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Ronald.”

But Harry just stares into the fire, still thinking.

Of all the rotten luck.

“Potter. You’ll be partnered with…” Snape glances at the seating chart like it personally offends him. “Miss Y/L/N.”

Harry’s head jerks up. Across the room, you blink once, then slide your quill behind your ear and rise smoothly from your seat.

You don’t grin. But there’s a knowing look in your eyes as you settle beside him at the shared table, parchment already unrolled.

“Don’t worry,” you murmur without looking at him. “I promise not to poison you. Yet.”

Harry snorts under his breath. “Comforting.”

Across the room, Draco throws you both a look like he’s watching someone pet a wild Hippogriff and is just waiting for the mauling.

You ignore him.

The silence between you and Harry isn’t tense exactly — more like… charged. He hands you the ingredients while you measures out the powdered valerian root, careful and precise. At some point, your elbows start bumping. Neither of you moves away.

“You know,” you say lowly, as you stir, “for someone who acts like he hates all things Slytherin, you’re not half bad at teamwork.”

“Funny,” Harry mutters back, “I was just thinking the same about you.”

You glance up, eyes catching his. “So you do think.”

“Occasionally,” he says, smiling a little.

You look back at the potion, smirking. Across the room, Draco is practically craning his neck trying to eavesdrop.

You tapped Harry on his shoulder, keeping your head faced at the potion but eyes faced to him. He turned his head to you, then down to your hands as you slip him a piece of parchment folded. He cocked a brow up as he grabbed it from your grasps, fingers brushing.

Harry opened it hiding it from his side,

‘Draco says Umbridge is meeting with Filch every other evening now. They’re setting patrols for corridors near the Room of Requirement. She thinks someone’s hiding something behind one of the walls. She’s not stupid, just paranoid.

Filch has been checking the west hall on the third floor just past midnight. That’s his current favorite hunting ground.

I’ll keep watching. Act normal.’

Harry gives you a smile, a subtle thank you. You returned it and you both went back to your work as he stuffed it into his pocket in his robes.

——————————————————————————

For the next three days, Harry kept receiving these notes from you. He would write back a simple ‘thank you.” Except this time, where you planted it in his pocket yourself.

Harry didn’t notice until dinner that day when he fiddled in his pockets for something, then he felt the parchment.

He pulls it out from under the table, trying not to attract much attention to himself as his eyes flicker from yours across the Slytherin table.

‘Umbridge is trying to get the Inquisitorial Squad involved. Draco says she’s giving them free roam to catch anyone “plotting. I think she has more plans than what shes feeding Draco.”

Avoid the west wing after ten. Filch changed patrols again. He’s onto you.

Also — your handwriting is atrocious. Fix it before McGonagall sees your essays.’

Harry stares at it for a moment, eyebrows raised.

Then, without a word, he passes it to Hermione, who reads it once and immediately looks toward the Slytherin table. Her lips part in surprise.

Ron leans over to peek. “Wait - she gave you this?”

Harry nods. “She’s been slipping me notes for the past few days. Every time Filch changes where he’s patrolling. She knew about Umbridge’s plans before we did.”

Ron blinks. “You’re telling me a Slytherin has been protecting the DA?”

“She’s the reason we haven’t been caught,” Harry says. “She’s been feeding us what Draco’s telling their house — without raising any suspicion.”

Hermione leans in, her voice low. “I knew she wasn’t like the others… but this? She’s been risking everything.”

Harry glances again at the note, then tucks it into his Transfiguration book with quiet care.

“She’s on our side,” he says simply.

It’s quiet enough to hear the wind skimming along the stone parapets — moonlight casting pale silver across the flagstones. You’re standing with your arms folded, waiting, watching the shadows move.

You hear footsteps, and a familiar voice calls out softly:

“Y/N.”

You turn. Harry stands there, hands tucked in his pockets, and behind him — Hermione and Ron, watching warily but not unkindly.

He steps closer, his voice low. “You said Umbridge has plans. Real ones. Things even Malfoy doesn’t realize.”

You tilt your head, careful. “And you want me to tell them.”

“I trust you,” Harry says plainly. “I think they should too.”

You smile at his comment then glance at Hermione and Ron. Hermione gives the faintest nod. Ron still looks like he’s trying to puzzle you out.

You sigh lightly. “Okay..but I don’t repeat myself, so listen close.”

You step toward the low wall and lean your hands on the cool stone. The three of them follow.

“She’s trying to push Dumbledore out. Not just politically, structurally. She’s replacing staff, rewriting policy, spying on students. Filch is practically her personal bloodhound now. She wants full Ministry control over Hogwarts. No independence. No magic she can’t regulate.”

Hermione’s expression darkens. “That’s… way beyond anything we thought.”

“She’s been meeting with Ministry officials privately,” you continue. “Even tried to ban certain books in the library. She’s using Draco and the others to dig — anything suspicious, anything that smells like rebellion.”

Ron shifts uncomfortably. “So she’s turning Hogwarts into a bloody prison.”

“Pretty much.”

Harry doesn’t look surprised. Just angry. “How do you know all this?”

You meet his eyes. “Because I listen. And because Slytherins are excellent at being ignored when it matters most.”

There’s a pause. Then Hermione steps forward.

“You’ve been helping us. Risking a lot, actually. And you didn’t have to. That says more than your house ever could.”

“Well, a house doesn’t entirely define you.” You sighed as you looked around at the hogwarts grounds. “Frankly, theres a good amount of Slytherins who agree with what all four of us stand for. Some just follow Draco because of his parents i presume.” You turn back around to face them, sort of more specifically Ron.

“I’m not a bad person just because I was placed in Slytherin. Its a common misconception though. Suppose its because Voldemort was one and Salazar did place a Basalisk in a secret chamber.. and Dracos a proper pain.” You let out a little laugh at that last part and so did the four others.

Ron looks between you and Harry, and after a beat, says grudgingly, “Alright. You’re not like Malfoy. You’ve got a better spine, for starters. And i s’pose your right. I trust you if Harry and Hermione do.”

You smirk. “High praise.”

Hermione smiles a little, then glances at Harry. “She should come to the next meeting.”

“Definitely,” he says, already certain.

You raise an eyebrow. “You lot always recruit people in shadowy courtyards at midnight?”

Harry grins. “Only the interesting ones.”

You shake your head with a small laugh, and for the first time, the four of you stand there not as enemies or rivals because of a silly house fued -but as allies, friends.

The wall shimmers and opens like a secret only certain people are meant to know. You step inside cautiously, and the first thing that hits you isn’t the magic - it’s the heat of twenty pairs of eyes staring straight at you.

Gryffindors. Hufflepuffs. Ravenclaws.

No Slytherins. Except you.

You catch the flicker of confusion, a few students stiffen. One whispers something to another. Zacharias Smith audibly mutters, “What’s she doing here?”

You ignore it.

You always do.

Harry steps forward, casual but firm. “She’s here because she’s helped us. More than most of you even realize.”

Hermione follows suit. “She’s risked getting caught by Umbridge. She’s helped keep this a secret and she’s on our side.”

You gave a smile at their remarks, then glance at Ron, half-expecting him to stay silent. But he clears his throat.

“She’s alright.”

High praise from Weasley.

The room slowly relaxes. Suspicion simmers down to curiosity. And that’s something you can work with.

Harry starts the meeting like always — wand held in both hands, voice calm but sure. “We’re going to start with disarming spells. Partner up.”

There’s a brief shuffle. Hermione moves toward Neville. Ginny grabs Luna. Ron pairs with Seamus.

You’re still standing there when Harry turns to you.

“You’re with me.”

Of course you are.

You take your stance across from him, wand raised.

“Try not to embarrass yourself, Potter.”

He grins. “I was going to say the same.”

“Expelliarmus!” you fire first and he blocks, quick but not smug. Just sharp.

He counters. You dodge. The two of you trade spell after spell, the energy between you buzzing just slightly more than it should.

“You’ve been practicing,” he says, ducking a hex.

“I grew up in a house where survival’s kind of… expected.”

“Sounds familiar.”

He says it lightly, but it lands heavier than expected. For a moment, there’s something almost reflective in the way he looks at you. Like he’s starting to see something beyond your crest, something shared.

Another spell flies. You catch it. Disarm him. His wand clatters to the floor, and a few heads turn.

“Oops,” you say, tilting your head innocently.

“You’ve got a mean streak.”

“You love it.”

He doesn’t deny it.

——————————————————————————

When the meeting wraps, people are smiling. Laughing. Even Zacharias looks begrudgingly impressed. The tension that followed you in is long gone.

Ginny Weasley nudges your arm with a grin, “You were wicked with that disarming charm. Might ask you to teach me how you do that wrist thing.”

You smirk, bumping her shoulder gently. “Only if you teach me how to hit a Bludger with that much attitude.”

Ginny laughs, full and unfiltered - and suddenly, it’s easy. Hermione joins the conversation next, tucking her hair behind her ear as she says, “That was impressive. You really are a good witch” You gave her a smile which she returned.

Then Luna walks up, wide-eyed and glowing in that distant way of hers. “You looked like you’d been practicing with wandless dueling fog spirits. They make you sharper, you know.”

You blink. “I… haven’t, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

For the first time, it feels like you actually belong here - not because you’ve earned it, but because they’ve decided you don’t have to.

Before you leave, Harry catches up to you at the door.

“You were great,” he says, quieter now. “Really.”

“You always this sentimental after disarming spells?” you ask, one brow raised.

He huffs a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Only when I nearly get my wand taken out by someone who says they don’t like me.”

You gave him a cheeky smile. “Who said I don’t like you?”

His cheeks heat up at your comment, clearing his throat.

“You’re hard to read,” he says honestly.

“Good. You’re not supposed to have me figured out yet.”

There’s a pause, but it isn’t awkward. It’s… something else. Something a little charged.

“I don’t think you’re like the others in your house,” he says quietly, stepping just a little closer.

“I know,” you reply, eyes lifting to meet his. “That’s what scares you, isn’t it?”

His smile quirks, half-impressed. “A little.”

You tilt your head toward the door. “You going to walk me back, or do Gryffindors only do chivalry when there’s a camera around?”

“Chivalry?” he echoes, pretending to scoff. “I was hoping you’d protect me from Filch.”

You laugh under your breath, turning to go. “Come on, Chosen One. Try to keep up.”

The halls are quieter than usual, even for after curfew. The kind of quiet that lets you hear the soft echo of your own steps… and Harry’s, just a little behind.

He falls into rhythm with you easily, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking toward the windows where moonlight spills in pale silver.

“You always sneak around this late?” he asks, voice low and casual.

You glance over at him. “Only when I’m walking Gryffindor royalty back to enemy territory.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Right. Because I’m so royal.”

“You said it, not me.”

You flash a teasing smile, and he catches it - holds your gaze a second too long before looking away like it caught him off guard.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The corridor bends into another stretch of silence - empty staircases, the distant groan of old pipes behind the walls. But it isn’t awkward. It’s something else.

Something settling in.

“I used to think I had you figured out,” Harry says suddenly.

You raise a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Slytherin. Sharp tongue. Friends with people who hate me.” He glances sideways at you. “But now you’re helping me. Protecting the people you’re supposed to hate like you’ve got something to prove.”

You shrug, half-smirking. “Maybe I do.”

He stops walking for a second, and so do you. His gaze lifts to meet yours fully now, serious but soft at the edges.

“I was wrong about you.”

You study him for a moment. His voice isn’t teasing anymore. It’s quiet. Honest.

And it hits a little harder than it should.

“You’re not the only one who’s been wrong,” you admit. “I thought you were all fame and ego and dramatic speeches.”

Harry laughs under his breath. “Dramatic speeches?”

“You literally have a fan club.”

“Unfortunately.”

You both laugh - but it lingers this time. Fades slower. And when it does, there’s something warmer in the space between you.

You tilt your head slightly. “You always this charming during illegal castle strolls?”

He steps a little closer, hands still in his pockets. “Only when I’m with someone who keeps catching me off guard.”

There’s a flicker of something between you then, subtle but unmistakable. Like gravity, like something pulling, even though neither of you move.

Finally, you take a slow step forward. “Come on, Potter.”

But when your shoulder brushes his again, it stays there a moment longer. And neither of you say a word about it.

The next morning, sunlight cuts through the narrow windows of the Slytherin dorms, pale and soft against the stone walls. The room is quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of someone getting ready for class. You’re halfway through buttoning your robes when you spot it:

A folded piece of parchment, tucked just beneath your Charms textbook at the foot of your bed.

No one’s said anything. No one’s around. But the moment you open the note, you know exactly who it’s from.

‘You were right.

You do keep me off guard.

Not sure what last night was exactly.

But I keep thinking about it.

If you ever want to walk the long way back again…

Let me know.

—H’

You stare at it for a long moment, thumb brushing over the edge of the parchment. There’s no joke. No awkward attempt to cover it with sarcasm or a fake nickname.

It’s just… honest.

And you can’t help it — your mouth lifts at the corner. The kind of smile you’d never let anyone else in your house see.

You fold the note once, then again, tucking it safely behind your potions essay.

You’ll see him again tonight at the next DA meeting.

And suddenly, the day feels just a little bit easier.

——————————————————————————

The DA meeting flies by faster than usual.

Tonight, Harry focuses on practicing defensive spells in pairs — steady, clean wandwork under pressure. He lets Hermione take charge of the demonstrations, which she does with sharp precision and only a few eye-rolls at Ron.

You’re paired with her. At first, it’s all business - counters, stances, corrections. But soon, she’s smiling when your spell knocks a practice dummy flat on its back. You laugh when she mutters something about how Parvati once nearly set her sleeve on fire trying that exact hex. It’s easy, surprisingly so. There’s no tension like there used to be in the library, no side-eyes because of your house. Just a natural rhythm. Respect.

By the time the meeting ends, she leans over and says quietly, “You’re really good, you know. I think we make a solid team.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Did Hermione Granger just compliment a Slytherin?”

She smiles. “A certain one, maybe.”

When the last few spells are cast and the group starts packing up, you wander toward the tall enchanted mirror against the wall - the one that reflects everyone in the room with little golden sparks dancing faintly around them.

You’re not paying much attention, just scanning the blurred reflections, your expression soft with something almost wistful.

From across the room, Harry watches.

He’s barely moved since the meeting ended, wand still loosely in his hand. Ron notices first, then Hermione. Both glance between him and you, then share a quiet look.

“She’s different, a good different.” Ron says eventually.

Hermione doesn’t answer. She’s too busy watching the way Harry’s eyes trace your outline, like he’s seeing something he hadn’t allowed himself to before. or maybe something that’s been there all along, just waiting.

There’s a kind of quiet in him now. One that feels big. Unspoken.

“She’s good for him,” Hermione murmurs, so low only Ron hears.

Harry barely notices they’re watching. His eyes stay on you as you tilt your head and smile faintly at the mirror’s reflection. Not at yourself, but at the people around you. The ones you’ve slowly let in.

Hermione nudges Harry gently, “We’ll see you back in the common room, yeah?”

Harry blinks, barely registering her words. “Yeah. I’ll… I’ll be up soon.”

They go, leaving him standing in the now-empty Room of Requirement - except for you, still near the mirror, fingers brushing the surface like it might reveal something more.

He walks toward you slowly.

“I’m not,” he says, and his voice has that familiar mix of nerves and honesty. “Just… thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.”

Harry stops beside you, close enough to feel the quiet hum of magic still lingering in the room. “You looked happy earlier.”

You smiled. “Maybe i was”

“It’s nice seeing you like that.”

You turn to face him, arms folded loosely over your chest, smile growing wider. “That sounded dangerously close to a compliment, Potter. You sure you’re feeling alright?”

He laughs softly, but it’s quieter now, more real. “Maybe I’m just seeing things differently lately.”

“Like what?” you ask, stepping just a little closer. Your voice is teasing, but your heart is louder now, like it knows something’s about to shift.

“Like you.”

That makes your breath catch - not dramatically, but enough to feel it. Enough to know this is no longer just casual banter in the safety of dim candlelight.

“You’re not what I expected,” Harry says, eyes locked on yours. “You’re clever, and yeah, you’ve got that Slytherin sharpness, but maybe thats what attracts me to you more than it should. you care. You’ve risked a lot to help us. To help me.”

“Don’t get soft on me now,” you murmur, but there’s no bite to it. You’re soft, too. And vulnerable in a way that feels dangerous but true.

“I mean it.” He shifts, his fingers brushing yours - not quite holding your hand, but close enough to feel the warmth. “I used to think… I don’t know. That you saw me like everyone else does. Like I was just… the Chosen One. Some Gryffindor hero with a target on his back.”

Your lips twitch upward, but your eyes are steady. “I did.”

Harry blinks.

“I did think that,” you clarify, “for a long time. That you were arrogant, self-important. The kind of person who expected people to follow just because you’ve got a scar and a name.But then I started watching, and you weren’t any of those things. You’re loyal. Reckless, sure. But not because you want attention. You’re just… trying. Always trying. Even when no one sees it.”

He says nothing for a beat — just looks at you like he’s never heard anything like that before. Like he wants to believe it, and maybe does.

Your voices are hushed now, the quiet wrapping around you like a charm. The candles have dimmed, the fire low and golden, and the room seems to be listening.

And then, gently.. without warning - something begins to shimmer above you.

A flicker of enchanted magic gathers into shape: mistletoe, delicate and glowing, suspended just overhead. Harry glances up, then back to you. He looks almost surprised, like he’s not sure he deserves this kind of moment.

You smile again. “Mistletoe…”

Harry shifts closer, and this time, he does take your hand, fingers curling between yours like it’s instinct. Like it’s always meant to be that easy.

“Probably full of nargles, though.”

“Shut up and kiss me Harry.”

And then he does.

The kiss is soft at first - careful, like he’s still afraid he might ruin it , but you lean into him, and it deepens naturally, warmly. His hand finds your waist, yours tangled at the collar of his robes. It’s gentle, but not shy.. like both of you had been waiting, denying, until now.

You taste winter air and something like firewhisky on his breath. He smells like pine and old parchment and something unmistakably his - and when you finally part, just barely, your foreheads rest together, and you’re both smiling like fools.

“I can’t believe I thought you were insufferable,” you whisper.

“I can,” Harry murmurs, brushing a thumb along your cheek, “but I’m glad you stuck around anyway.”

[lumosflairr]

WHAT HE LEFT IN ME - harry j. potter

summary: As Voldemort's influence drives Harry into isolation, Harry grows distant, angry and cruel - pushing away the only girl he's ever loved.

This story contains: angst, Voldemort is alive, sirius lives, harry is distant and rude, fluff at the end so happy ending.

taglist: @ronhazmione @roseidol @h0gw4rtssturn @aouoo

[This fic is LONG!! it contains loads of build up though so i salute to you if you can read this through]

Before everything started to fall apart, Harry had been the kind of boyfriend who held your hand like it grounded him. Like maybe if he let go, he’d float away. He wasn’t always good with words - often fumbling or red-faced when trying to say how he felt, but he didn’t have to say much.

his actions spoke.

He’d sit beside you in the common room with his thigh pressed lightly against yours, fingers brushing, eyes flicking over occasionally like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. He’d shower you in gifts and often you would come back to your dorm with him casually sitting on your bed with fresh picked flowers. The flowers he knew you loved.

He laughed more, back then. Not often - not loud, but just enough to make your heart melt. You’d catch it moments like a wizard chess game against Ron going hilariously wrong or a whispered joke behind Snape’s back, and your personal favorite- when you stole his jumpers and would simply claim it as your own.

Overall, he loved quietly.

He didn’t shout it from the rooftops or have over the top gestures - there was no need to.

You saw it in the way he showed up to your special events, the way he actually listened to you instead of it going in one ear and out the other - which goes with how he remembers every little detail of you down to the bone.

He remembers your favorite books to read in the library in your free time, exactly how you took your tea, even how your eyebrows always furrow and you twiddled your quill on your test lightly when McGonagall gave lectures in words only Hermione could comprehend.

He’d wait for you outside of class even when he pretended he “just happened to be passing by.” His hand would find yours in the corridors, unsure at first, but firmer over time, like he was getting used to the idea of someone choosing to stand beside him.

When you were alone, he was different.

He wasn’t “The Chosen One,” not the Boy Who Lived, Just Harry. Funny, dry, a little awkward sometimes.

Just Harry.

YOUR Harry.

The Harry who would hold you as you both steal kisses under bedsheets and whisper sweet nothings. The Harry who was vulnerable with you, telling you about his dreams to live with Sirius or how his childhood was. Even his fears for the future. He told you things he hadn’t even truly mentioned to Hermione or Ron.

He wasn’t perfect. He could be stubborn and reckless. But with you, he tried. He tried to be better, to be present. And even if he didn’t always have the words, his actions told you everything-

You were safe.

You were Loved.

You truly had a purpose and could be loved.

But that was before.

Before Voldemort’s presence crept under his skin and far deeper in his head - not just in dreams anymore, but in his emotions. The anger wasn’t his, but it settled itself deep into his chest like that’s exactly where it was born and raised. He grew colder without meaning to.

He was always distant. Distracted. Like there was more than just a war going on inside his mind.

The worst part about it?

He stopped trying to protect what he had with you. Because deep down, he didn’t think he could keep it.

It didn’t fall apart all at once.

It unraveled in quiet, small moments where something felt off, but you convinced yourself it was nothing.

The first time he snapped was on a normal Tuesday afternoon in the common room. Hermione was out with Ron at Hogsmeade while you stayed with Harry. You had both arranged to meet there just to enjoy one another’s presence, hoping to find a moment of normalcy. Something where you both can share a smile again.

As soon as you arrived, you noticed him on one of the sofas. His figure slumped over and his eyes focused on the fire burning infront of him. You could feel a knot form in your stomach and a slight ping at your heart from the sight.

“Hey,” you said gently, sliding into the seat beside him.

Harry glanced up, his brows furrowed slightly. “Oh, hey.”

You offered a small smile. “I thought we could study together while we have some time alone to.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess. Sorry, I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

You nodded as you placed your charm books on the table in front of you two gently, trying to ease the tension. “Want to talk about it?”

For a long moment, he just stared at the table, lost in thought. Then finally muttered, “It’s… nothing. Just tired.”

you frowned to yourself. You knew bloody well that wasn’t the case at all, but he was already on edge. You reached your hand out to his, but he snatched it away. Your eyebrows furrowed and your mouth opened slightly as your eyes make their way to his face - confused.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, voice low. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

You blinked. “Snap? What do you mean?”

He looked at you, running a hand through his hair. “I guess… I’ve just been on edge. I don’t want to drag you into it.”

You squeezed his hand. “You’re not dragging me anywhere. I’m here.”

He gave you a small, almost sad smile. Not the smile you were hoping would come out of this. “I know. And I’m sorry. It’s just… sometimes it feels like Voldemort’s closer than ever, and I don’t know how to fight it without breaking everything around me.”

You intertwined your fingers with his and placed a kiss to the top of his head. His eyes met yours and you gave him a smile. you didn’t have to say what words were behind them - he knew.

“im here. you wont break me. i’ll always be here”

It didn’t last though.

The little things began to fall apart.

He stopped waiting for you after class. He didn’t meet your eyes as much when you spoke. When you laughed, he barely reacted — like he hadn’t even heard you. And when he did speak, there was something sharper under his words. Not always. Just enough to make you second-guess yourself.

One morning, you reached for his hand in the corridor between lessons. He let you, but his fingers stayed limp in yours. His grip used to be so sure — like he needed the contact. Now, it felt like he barely noticed. Like you were just there. Like you weren’t holding him steady.

You found him later that night pacing in the common room, eyes bloodshot, fists clenched. He didn’t even notice you at first. And when he did, all he said was, “Don’t start.”

You didn’t even say a word.

It stung the way his guard shot up like a wall between you. And even though he apologized again and again, always just enough to make you stay, something inside you started to ache in a deeper way.

He was slipping away farther and farther and neither you or both of you two closest friends could either.

Its been days, maybe even weeks since then and everything has gone down hill since. Umbridge remained nothing but trouble with her torment towards the students - even staff. You often found dinner to be just Hermione, Ron and you.

You missed Harry. Your Harry. The Harry that would hold you and refuse to let you go. The Harry who would stay up all night if he could just to hear your voice. Now it was like he was invisible.

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m gonna go talk to him” You told Hermione and Ron as you stood up from where you sat.

“Don’t be to pushy - he shouted at me earlier im sure Godric Gryffindor could hear” Ron muttered, going right back into his food.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron and spun around to give you a friendly smile.

“I hope it goes well. I’ll be in the common room if you need to talk after”

You gave her a smile and nod as you made your way out the great hall walking your way to the Gryffindor common room.

You looked around for any signs of Harry, nothing.

You sighed and made your way up to the boys dormitory finding Harry and Ron’s shared room.

You raised your fist up to knock, breath shaky as your arm froze. You let out another sigh and knocked on the door. Two knocks.

“Not in the mood for company.”

“Harry, please - Its me.”

Silence.

After what felt like ages, you had enough. You opened his door and watched him as he sat on his bed in his signature blue shirt and some jeans your sure he’s been wearing almost all week.

You stood a few feet away, keeping space.

He didn’t even look at you when you walked in.

“You’ve barely looked at me all week. Let alone speak to me.” You started off slow, your eyes glued to his figure.

“Maybe I didn’t have anything worth saying.”

ouch.

Your face scrunched up in disbelief as you watched him. Cold and lifeless. Eyes glued to his feet as he twiddled them on the floor.

“Harry, something is wrong. And not just Umbridge, or the Ministry, or — or everything. You’re different. You’re not the Harry I know.”

Harry turned to you finally. You were met with eyes that you were sure didn’t belong to him.

cold. lifeless. dark.

“Maybe I’ve changed”

“I didn’t say that was a bad thing. I said something’s wrong.”

“Well, sorry if I’m not chipper enough for you lately.”

Your breath hitched. You were starting to get pissed off and your voice raised slightly higher than it was earlier.

“That’s not fair. I’ve been patient. I’ve been here. Hell - Hermione and Ron don’t even know what to say to you anymore, especially after you lost your mind on Ron. You keep shutting not only me out but our friends from first year and pretending like you don’t care, like nothing matters.”

Harry gave you a look. a dirty one. One that said so many things you couldn’t even explain.

“Maybe nothing does matter”

You felt like you just got a slap to the face. Your fist balled up in anger and pain as you made your way even closer to him, which he returns with a scoff.

“Do you even hear yourself? You sound like—like someone I don’t even recognize.”

He stood up. voice low and cold as he stared at you. An angry expression all over his face. Your heart broke as you looked at him. This was not the Harry you know and love.

“Good. Maybe if you don’t recognize me, you’ll finally stop pretending I’m someone worth fixing.”

You pushed a finger on his chest and gave him a stern look.

“I wasn’t trying to fix you. I just wanted to be here for you. But you keep pushing me away like I’m the enemy.”

Harry grabbed your wrist and shot you a look. You hissed and looked into a pair of unrecognizable eyes.

“Because maybe I don’t want anyone near me! Maybe it’s easier that way! I’ve got enough people to lose without adding you to the list!

His fists clenched around your arm, words sharp and bitter.

“Voldemort’s out there, and he’s looking for me — always. Every time I close my eyes, it feels like he’s closer, like he’s in my blood, and I wake up furious, like his anger is mine. So forgive me if I’m not in the mood to hold your hand and cry about it like some sad little love story.”

Your eyes narrowed as tears threaten to pour out. You yank your wrist away from his grip and shoot him a deadly grin in return.

“You think that’s what this is about? A sad little love story? I’ve been standing here, trying to fight for you, and you’re acting like I’m just some needy extra in the tragedy of your life!”

“You are if you wont stop always getting in my fucking way! Y’ know what? I’m done. This is over. I don’t need to carry you around when you can’t even function properly without me holding your hand. I don’t need this - I don’t need you.”

Harry practically yelled right in your face with his last sentence. The tears no longer threatened to pour, they simply did. You stopped breathing - only for a moment. You searched in his eyes for something - something to let you know he didn’t mean it. He would apologize. Something that screamed “I’m still your Harry!”

You didn’t find it.

“Is that really what you think of me?” your voice shook as you spoke.

Harry remained silent, the stern look on his face not washing away.

Was he serious? This was how things ended? The boy you’ve loved since your second year, the boy who held you like someone would pry you away, the boy who made you truly believe love was made for you and him, had just ending things like that?

“right. got it.” you muttered as you head straight for the door. As soon as it was swung open, you were gone. You ran down the stairs with tears falling down with what it seems like every step you took. As you ran, you barley even noticed how you completely ran past Ronald.

He didn’t even have to ask what happened to know. He felt bloody bad for you - You were both his mates. While Harry was obviously his best, he really felt horrible for you.

When Ron made his way up to his shared dorm, he was met with harry shaking, jaw clenched as he tossed his robes into his trunk. not even bothering to fold them.

Ron walked to his side, sitting on his bed as he just watched Harry for a moment.

Ron took a breath before he spoke..

“That bad?”

Harry paused for a moment, glared at Ron, then went back to tossing things in his suitcase before he spoke.

“It’s fine. We broke up”

“yeah.. assumed that..” Ron coughed, awkward as always.

He didn’t know what to say. He liked Y/N — really liked them. Not just because they made Harry happier, which they did, but because they were one of the few people who treated Ron like Ron, not just “Harry’s mate.” They laughed at his jokes, teamed up with him to roast Malfoy, helped him with homework when he pretended not to care. He’d gotten used to them being around.

And now it felt wrong not to say anything. But it also felt wrong to say anything.

“She really cared about you, mate.”

“Yeah, well. Doesn’t matter now.”

Ron was baffled at Harry’s response. He knew Harry didn’t actually think it didn’t matter. He saw the two of you everyday and was well aware of how much Harry adored you.

“You don’t actually believe that. You’re just mad. At everything.”

Harry spun around, shooting daggers at Ron.

“You don’t know what it’s like, Ron. You don’t know what it feels like to have him in your head. To feel like you’re turning into something dangerous.”

“Your right, I don’t. What I do know is exactly how it looks when someone’s hurting and pushing every one they care about because they’re scared. I don’t care about how you snapped at me earlier and yelled like bloody murder. But the light of your life is crying her eyes out because of you. I care about that. Pushing not only me and Hermione away, but the girl you would talk about a future with to me won’t solve anything with Voldemort. It’s only hurting you worse.”

Harry’s gaze on Ron softened. His shoulders were now more tense.

‘The light of your life is crying her eyes out because of you.’

The words hit like a punch to the chest — not because they weren’t true, but because they were. Harry sank down on the edge of his bed, his fists clenched in the blanket, jaw tight. He could feel it — the rage crawling just beneath his skin, the familiar cold weight that came with it. Voldemort’s presence, faint but constant, like a shadow just out of sight.

But that wasn’t the part that shook him the most.

It was you.

Crying.

Because of him.

He pictured your face — the way you smiled when he made stupid jokes, the way your fingers found his under the table without thinking. How your voice softened when you said his name like it meant something sacred. How you looked the last time you spoke — blinking fast, voice cracking, like you were trying not to fall apart right in front of him.

He’d done that.

He’d let himself become something that hurt you.

And Ron was right — he’d pushed you away because he was scared. Terrified. Voldemort was always out there, always watching, always closer. And Harry kept thinking that if he distanced himself from everyone he loved, Voldemort wouldn’t have anything to take.

But he never stopped to think about what he was losing in the process.

He thought of what Ron said again:

‘The girl you would talk about a future with.’

He had. On quiet nights. On walks back from Hogsmeade. In the gaps between danger and duty, you were always the person he imagined beside him when the war ended. A future with peace. A future with you.

He’d torn it apart with sharp words and silence and the twisted belief that pushing you away was the same as protecting you.

But it wasn’t.

It was cowardice wrapped in good intentions.

Hermione found you sitting on the floor between your bed and the wall, knees tucked to your chest, face buried in your arms. She didn’t say anything at first. She sat at your side, cross-legged, her hand resting lightly over yours. She hadn’t left since you came back upstairs. She didn’t ask questions at first. She just stayed — offering tissues, brushing hair from your face, letting you breathe.

You didn’t try to speak - you simply just sobbed, the kind of quiet sobs that came from too much held in for too long.

“Im so sorry” Hermione whispered as she rubbed your back trying to sooth you. “Nobody has the right to say things like that no matter whats going on in their lives. None of this is your fault”

Your breath hitched as you tried to somewhat collect yourself so you don’t throw up from all the tears you’ve shed.

“He’s not… He’s not the same. And I don’t know if he’s coming back. I know its not my fault, but I feel like maybe if I’d have done something differently or- or maybe if i hadn’t just said anything at all.. maybe-”

Hermione cut you off with her own sentence.

“If you said nothing, you’d still be crying over this. You did exactly what you should’ve and I’m so glad you did what was right. With Harry..” Hermione’s voice cut off as she collected herself some as well trying to stand strong in this situation. You two were her closest friends and to her, seeing this go down was worse than what Voldemort could’ve done.

“I think he’s scared. Of what he’s feeling. Of what he could become. But that doesn’t mean it’s your job to carry that weight.”

You leaned into her with a shaky breath as you wiped more tears that fell. You wanted to stop them from pouring but you couldn’t control it.

“I just didn’t want him to feel alone.” you whispered out, voice fading in and out from your earlier cries.

Hermione leaned back into you and spoke up again.

“He knows. Even if he’s too angry to show it right now. He knows.”

You were truthfully so blessed for Hermione. As she brushed the hair from your face and spoke with that quiet, unwavering certainty only she seemed to have, something inside you settled, just a little. The ache didn’t vanish, but it no longer felt like you were drowning alone in it.

They sat there for a long time — no more words, just shared silence. Shared heartbreak.

It’s been weeks since everything with Harry and you went down.

Harry was asleep, but it didn’t feel like it.

He was awake - painfully. His body remained stiff beneath his blankets in the boys’ dormitory. What pulled him under this time wasn’t rest.

It was rage. Hunger.

He could feel the stone floor beneath his coils. He could see through slitted, reptilian eyes. He was gliding through the corridors of the Ministry, low to the ground, every movement silent and precise. He could feel the pounding of a heart, but not his own.

There it was: a man with thinning red hair, dozing in a chair beneath the soft golden glow of a flickering light. Arthur Weasley. Alone. Vulnerable.

“Strike now.”

Without hesitation, he lunged.

Harry felt the impact. Felt the fangs tear through flesh and muscle, tasted blood. There was a weak cry - and Arthur fell sideways, clutching his ribs, blood already spilling across the polished floor. Again, he struck. Again.

And then—

“NO!”

Harry shot up in bed, gasping for air, drenched in sweat. His scream had ripped through the dormitory, waking Ron instantly. The curtains around his bed were yanked open. Ron’s voice was frantic.

Harry - what? What is it?”

Harry was trembling, clutching the sheets. “Arthur… your dad. He’s been attacked.”

“What?!”

“I saw it. I was the snake… I was inside it. I bit him - he’s in the Department of Mysteries. He’s bleeding, he’s dying - Ron, we have to tell someone! Now!”

Ron didn’t hesitate.

——————————————————————————

The guilt didn’t settle. It grew. Even after Dumbledore confirmed that Arthur had been found alive, but just barley - Harry couldn’t shake the feeling crawling under his skin.

He wasn’t just seeing Voldemort anymore. He was connected to him. He had been the thing that tried to kill someone he loved.

The worst part? he enjoyed it.

He kept his distance even more after that.

From Ron. From Hermione.

Especially from you.

Because if Voldemort could use him to hurt Mr. Weasley… what would stop him from using Harry to hurt you? It was no longer a fear. It was a possibility.He told himself that he was right all along, and that he did the right thing by pushing you away from him.

But then he remembered the way you looked at him in the firelight. The way you cried the night he let go. The way Hermione said you weren’t just hurting — you were breaking.

And Harry knew then that Voldemort wasn’t the only one doing damage.

He was too.

Grimmauld place was colder than usual, even with the fire lit crackling infront of Harry. He’d been sitting with the weight of it all — the vision, the blood, the connection. The echo of Arthur Weasley’s cries still rang in his ears.

“your thinking to loud again”

Harry startled slightly. He looked up. Sirius stood in the doorway, his coat draped over one arm, looking every bit the shadowed version of the man he used to be — but there was warmth in his eyes. Concern. Familiarity.

“Sirius..” Harry muttered, “I didn’t hear you come in”

Didn’t need to,” Sirius said, stepping in and sinking into the armchair across from him. “You’ve been looking like that for hours.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re blaming yourself for Arthur being attacked. “I know that look. I wore it for years after Azkaban. And my father, well- he’d have worn it his whole life, if he’d had a heart to break.”

Harry didn’t say a word, just looked at Sirius while he spoke.

Sirius leaned forward, eyes softer now. “You think you’re becoming him, don’t you? Voldemort?”

Harry’s silence finally broke.

“I felt it, What he left in me,” Harry finally whispered. “Through the snake. I saw it happen, Sirius, I was it. And it… it didn’t even feel wrong at first. I felt powerful. I felt… hungry. What if there’s something in me? What if I’m like him?”

Sirius was quiet for a moment. Then, firmly..

“You’re not a bad person, Harry. You’re a very good person who bad things have happened to.”

“We’ve all got both light and dark inside us,” Sirius continued. “What matters is the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are.”

Harry’s face softened completely before he spoke again, “What if he takes over again and I don’t know it? What if the next time it’s Ron, or Hermione, or…” He couldn’t say your name.

Sirius’s voice softened, but it didn’t waver. “Then you fight harder. And you trust the people who love you to help pull you back.”

He gave Harry a long, meaningful look.

“Including her.”

Harry looked up at Sirius, his eyes glistening with regret.

“I broke her Sirius. She was trying so hard to reach me.. to help me. I pushed her away and treated her like she wasn’t anything to me. But she means so much to me.”

“Then tell her before its far too late.” Sirius stood up and placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, giving it a pat before he walked away.

You heard it all

You didn’t mean to stop outside the door to be fair.

You were just coming downstairs for tea. A simple excuse to escape the suffocating quiet of the girls’ room, where your thoughts kept swallowing you whole.

then you heard his voice.

Harry, the harry who once was yours.

His voice was muffled , low. Fragile in a way you hadn’t heard it in weeks.

Your hand gripped the banister. The flickering light from the hallway sconce spilled just enough through the cracked door that you could make out Harry’s silhouette inside — curled in a chair across from Sirius.

“What if he takes over again and I don’t know it? What if the next time it’s Ron, or Hermione, or…”

or who? you? your breath hitched with the sudden cutoff. You wanted to pry your hands away and go back to your room, you wanted to ignore it and act like Harry still wasn’t your everything while you felt sure you meant nothing anymore. but your body wouldn’t let you. Your hands remained glued to the banister as you continued to listen.

“Then you fight harder,” Sirius said gently. “And you trust the people who love you to help pull you back. Including her.”

You froze.

Her.

Your heart pounded in your chest, pressing up into your throat.

“I broke her,” Harry murmured. “She was trying so hard to reach me. And I shoved her away like she didn’t mean a thing. But she did. She does.”

You blinked hard. Your throat ached.

There it was. The thing you had begged to hear the night he shut down. When his eyes went cold and his words came out cruel, and you left because it hurt more to stay.

But now — alone in that room with Sirius, Harry was saying it aloud.

He still loved you.

He never stopped.

But your knew deep down it wouldn’t be that simple to let him back in. No matter how many times you believed you would let him walk straight back in. His words still stung. Maybe he was still in there — the boy who used to wait for you outside class, tuck letters in your books, kiss you like he thought you hung the moon.

And maybe he’d have a damn good enough apology.

You made your way back upstairs and closed the door softly behind you, leaning against it like it was the only thing holding you upright. The air in the room felt heavier than before, but in a different way. Not suffocating. Just… full.

Hermione looked up from the edge of her bed, where she’d been reading in the golden glow of a low-burning lamp. She sat up straighter the moment she saw your face.

“Are you okay?” she asked gently, putting her book aside.

You nodded too quickly. Then shook your head.

Hermione was up in an instant, crossing the room to you. “What happened?”

“I… I heard him,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “Downstairs. With Sirius.”

Hermione’s expression softened. “Harry?”

You nodded again, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “He was talking about the attack. About the way Voldemort… felt through him. He was scared. So scared.”

you and Hermione shared a sympathetic look.

“And he mentioned me,” you added quietly, staring at the floor. “He said he broke me. That I tried to reach him and he shoved me away. But that I mattered. That I still matter.”

The words cracked in your throat while it felt like the words hit you even harder this time. Your breath was short and you were sure you were on the verge of tears.

Hermione ran to you and embraced you in her arms. You wrapped yours around her as your breath became slightly unsteady as a single tear fell.

“I never stopped hoping he’d come back,” you whispered. “Even when I hated him for hurting me. I still… I still loved him.”

Hermione pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. “He’s coming back now. Piece by piece. And he’s going to need you — not because he’s broken, but because you’re the one who reminds him who he really is.”

you both pulled away and shared a smile. Though yours faded once again.

“I don’t even know what to say to him when i see him..” you groaned as you smacked your head into your hands.

Hermione let out a little giggle at your actions, pulling your hands away from your face so she can look at you.

“You don’t have to know,” Hermione said. “Just listen to your heart. It’s always known him better than anyone.”

——————————————————————————

The next morning, sunlight streamed faintly through the tall, dusty windows of the corridor, casting a soft golden glow over the creaky wooden floor. The quiet of early morning held the house in a kind of hush, the kind that settles right before something important.

Harry stood outside your door.

He’d barely slept. After Sirius’s words and Ron’s pointed honesty, after Hermione’s quiet look when she passed him late in the hallway - he’d stayed up, thinking. Feeling. Regretting.

really regretting.

Harry knocked on your door. Two knocks.

He heard a quiet shuffle inside. Then the door cracked open, and there you were, hair a little messy from sleep, jumper slipping off one should.

his jumper.

Your heart skipped a beat when your eyes met harry’s. His hair was messier than usual. His eyes were tired - not just from lack of sleep, but from the weight he’d been carrying. Still, when he looked at you, something in his expression shifted. Lighter. Softer. Like seeing you was the first deep breath he’d taken in days.

“I was hoping you’d be up,” he said quietly.

You held the door, unsure whether to lean into it or close it again. “I figured you’d come.”

You didn’t mean it to sound bitter — it didn’t, really. Just honest.

“Can we talk? Somewhere quiet?”

You stared at him for a moment. Part of you wanted to close the door and guard whatever was left of your heart. But the rest of you, the bigger part - remembered the sound of his voice the night before, cracked and vulnerable through the door. Remembered Hermione’s words. Remembered love.

“The kitchen’s probably empty,” you murmured.

He didn’t move immediately. Just looked at you like he was surprised you still had space in your heart for him.

Then he followed behind you.

It wasn’t forgiveness. not yet.

The kitchen was quiet when you entered — dimly lit by the weak morning sun peeking through the grimy windows, and empty.

You sat across from Harry at the long table. The space between you wasn’t far, but it felt like it carried weeks’ worth of words left unsaid.

He didn’t speak at first.

Just looked down at his hands. Twisted his fingers together. You noticed the faint tremble in them.

“I, um…” His voice cracked a little, and he cleared his throat. “I don’t really know where to start.”

You waited.

“I’ve been a right mess,” he said finally. “I was angry. At everything. At Voldemort. At Dumbledore. At the prophecy. At myself.”

You looked at him, and for the first time in a long while, he met your gaze.

“And instead of dealing with it, I took it out on the one person I trusted not to leave.”

Your heart twisted.

“I pushed you because I was scared,” he continued.

“Because Voldemort is looking for me. Because I feel him inside my head some days and it makes me question who I even am. And I thought… if I kept everyone at arm’s length, I couldn’t lose them.”

“But I lost you anyway,”

“I didn’t mean a single bit of the things I said,” he went on. “I only said it all to make you leave. To hurt you before I could hurt you worse. So maybe, you would realize how I don’t want to wake up one morning to you dead because of me. Because of him. What he left in me, i took out on you.”

“I know sorry doesn’t fix everything. But I am sorry. For all of it.”

You sat still, breathing through the knot in your chest.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Harry said, quieter now. “But I need you to know you never stopped mattering to me. You still do.”

You took a fair look at him, you saw the pain in his eyes and how his soul had seemed to be almost entirely sucked out. But beneath it all, you saw him.

Your harry.

The boy who once waited for you outside Potions. The one who snuck you Honeydukes sweets when he knew you were upset. The one who held your hand under the table during DA meetings, because your nerves were louder than your wand.

he was still there. Barely, just barely.. but you saw your boy.

And for the first time in weeks, you let yourself speak without a wall between you.

“I missed you,” you said softly. “Even when I hated you.”

Harry’s breath caught.

“I hated how much I still loved you.”

He blinked hard, and you saw his shoulders shake just slightly as he nodded. “Me too”

You watched him. Not the Boy Who Lived. Not the weapon Dumbledore needed. Just him.

And still, part of you wanted to reach out.

But part of you didn’t trust your own hands yet. So you stayed still. Let the quiet speak for you. Let him see how much it had cost to be hurt by someone you trusted with everything.

“I know I don’t get to ask this,” he said eventually, “but… do you think you’ll ever be able to look at me the same way again?”

you didn’t answer immediately. You took a deep breath before you answered his question.

“I don’t know,” You answered truthfully. “I want to. Its like a part of me does and always will, but you hurt me in ways i’ve never been hurt. And that takes time.”

Harry nodded. He was looking at you. Really looking at you. Like he used to. his face spread with guilt and shame.

“thats fair”

“I’m not asking you to forget it,” he added, voice a little hoarse. “Just… let me earn your trust again. However long that takes.”

The words sat with you. You didn’t move closer to reach for his hand. You didn’t pull back either. That was enough for you.

So you nodded. Small, but real.

——————————————————————————-

The library was tucked away behind thick, creaky doors, the kind that groaned every time someone opened them. so naturally, you chose it.

You weren’t sure if you came to find them or just stumbled in out of instinct, but there they were: Ron slouched sideways in an armchair by the fireplace, chewing on the end of a Sugar Quill, and Hermione curled up with her knees to her chest, a book resting forgotten in her lap.

They both looked up the second you stepped in.

“You talked to him,” Hermione said softly.

It wasn’t a question.

You sank down into the space between their chairs, curling your arms around your knees.

“I did.”

Ron sat forward slightly, watching you with careful eyes. “How’d it go?”

You breathed out a shaky little laugh. “It was… hard. He apologized. Really apologized. But it doesn’t fix everything.”

“No,” Hermione murmured. “It wouldn’t.”

“But I didn’t shut the door on him,” you added. “And I wanted to. But i looked at him - really looked at him. He’s still Harry.”

Ron scratched the back of his neck. “He’s been different these past few weeks. All that anger. It’s not him, not really. But when he talked about you… it was like that part of him came back.”

Hermione leaned over and took your hand gently in hers.

“You don’t owe him instant forgiveness,” she said, her voice strong but kind. “But you also don’t have to keep punishing yourself by pretending you don’t care.”

Ron gave a half-smile. “For what it’s worth… I think he’s finally learning not to run. That’s got to count for something.”

You nodded slowly ans gave them both a smile, leaning your head against Hermione’s shoulder.

The train ride back had been quieter than usual. No sweets from the trolley. No laughter from younger years. Just the four of you — you, Harry, Ron, and Hermione — pressed into one compartment, bundled in scarves and unsaid things.

It wasn’t the same as it used to be. But that didn’t mean it was broken.

Something between the four of you had shifted — tightened, maybe. Like surviving the weight of December had quietly stitched your threads back together. There were fewer outbursts now. More shared glances, longer silences that didn’t feel uncomfortable, and the occasional smile that felt like a promise that things might be okay again someday.

You and Harry didn’t sit as close as you used to. But you talked. You shared smiles here and there. Things started suddenly looking up.

Strangely enough, there was something comforting about the DA meetings.

Despite everything - the tension in the halls, the fear in the headlines, the ache that still settled in your chest when you looked at Harry too long, even Umbridge.. the evenings in the Room of Requirements brought back hope. Like you had some stability.

And Harry was still a fantastic teacher.

Tonight’s meeting had gone exceptionally well - spells flying, laughter bubbling as Neville accidentally disarmed himself, a round of light applause when Ginny nailed a perfect Reducto. It felt normal. Just for a little while. Like everything you yearned for was finally back.

But when everyone started to pack up, laughing and shaking out their arms, you hesitated. You told yourself you were just reorganizing the spellbooks. But your hands weren’t really moving.

And when you looked up — he was still there.

Harry stood near the back wall, wand loosely in hand, watching the last of the group file out. You told yourself you should just leave and tell him goodnight, but you stayed.

He didn’t say anything right away. He locked eyes with you and just took a slow step closer, the distance between you still careful. Still heavy.

“You’re getting good with Expelliarmus,” he said quietly.

You gave a faint smile, not looking at him. “Well, I’ve had a pretty consistent example.”

He huffed a small laugh through his nose. “Yeah, it’s kind of my thing.”

When you finally turned to face him fully, you saw it — that flicker in his eyes. Longing. Regret. All the things he hadn’t been able to say when the world was falling apart and he was pushing you away with it.

“You’ve been doing better,” you said. “In here, I mean.”

His jaw shifted slightly. “This room’s the only place I feel like I still know who I am.”

You nodded once. “That makes two of us.”

Harry looked at you and smiled. “you’ve always been really talented with spells, you still are”

You arched an eyebrow. “Are you complimenting me, Potter?”

“maybe im finally starting to remember how.”

You smirked. “You know, I still remember the first time you tried to teach me Expelliarmus. You were so serious like you were prepping for a NEWT exam and not just trying to show off.”

Harry let out a laugh - a genuine laugh. The laugh that makes your stomach turn in so many ways. The laugh you’d yearned for and missed more than anything.

The laughter faded into quiet smiles, but neither of you looked away. And in that pause, something else started to fill the room, a kind of warmth that had been missing for far too long. The kind that lived in old memories and late-night talks and the way your eyes lingered on each other now, just a second too long.

“You remember that night after the Yule Ball?” Harry asked suddenly, voice lower.

You tilted your head, curious. “When we snuck up to the Astronomy Tower and you nearly got us caught?”

He laughed again.

“Yeah. That one. You told me you’d hex me right after.’”

“right before you kissed me to shut me up”

“exactly.”

Your heart skipped a beat and your sure his did as well. You both help eye contact, shit. It was just like how it used to be. Harry was never angry anymore. He obviously had his moments, but he hadn’t lashed out. never on you. never came close.

“I didn’t know what I was doing back then,” he admitted, stepping a little closer.

“I don’t think either of us did,” you said, voice softening. “But it still felt easy… back then. With you.”

Harry’s eyes locked with yours. “It could be again. I want it to be.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe. You weren’t ready to trust that so easily — but gods, you wanted to. The space between you had vanished without either of you realizing. His hand brushed against yours, tentative, like testing the weight of the moment.

And you didn’t pull away.

“I’m still mad at you,” you murmured.

“I know.”

“And I still don’t forgive everything.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

“But…” you stepped closer, your voice barely audible, “I still love you, Harry.”

His breath caught, and the look in his eyes nearly undid you.

“I never stopped,” he said.

Then — slowly, carefully — his hand came up to cup your cheek. You leaned into it before you could think twice.

And when he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t perfect. It was trembling and quiet and real. All the broken pieces trying to fit back together, not because they were forced — but because they wanted to.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, smiling like fools.

You leaned your forehead against his. “Still an idiot.”

Harry grinned. “Yours though?”

You nodded.

“Mine.”

Spring had finally started to sneak into Hogwarts, soft and quiet. The sun was warmer on your face, the air smelled like blooming grass, and for the first time in what felt like months — you could breathe. Things slowly reverted to how they were. This was how it used to be. But stronger now. Wiser. Braver.

You and Harry lay side by side on the slope near the Black Lake, his hand laced with yours, thumb tracing circles against your skin. His other arm was slung lazily behind his head, eyes half-closed, the wind tousling his hair in that ridiculous, untamable way you’d grown to love again.

Ron and Hermione were a few feet away, bickering over some spellwork, though Ron’s grin betrayed that he was only trying to get a rise out of her. Hermione rolled her eyes and pretended not to smile.

“Feels like the world’s still spinning,” Harry murmured beside you, breaking the silence.

You turned to him. “It always was. You just forgot how to feel it.”

He looked at you then — really looked — and smiled like he used to. The one that reached his eyes, made everything feel steady.

“I don’t think I would’ve remembered without you.”

You squeezed his hand. “That’s what we do, remember? You fall apart, I put you back together. I fall apart, you do the same. It’s teamwork.”

Harry chuckled. “So what you’re saying is… I can’t ever break up with you again or I’ll be tragically incomplete.”

“Exactly,” you said, deadpan. “And I’ll hex you if you try.”

“Romantic,” he grinned, and leaned over to kiss you softly.

You let it linger. Not because it was new, or uncertain — but because it wasn’t. Because it felt like home.

[lumosflairr]

heres a little snippet of the upcoming fic 🤗

[lumosflairr]

if you enjoy long, detailed harry james potter fics tighten ur seatbelt because im writing one as we speak!! 🥳🥳

lmk if you would like to be tagged !!❤️

[lumosflairr]

warnings: smut 18+, slight choking, pet names such as 'good girl', reader is female. Aggressive Dom! Oliver. short, no plot really.

The way Oliver Wood shoves you against his Quidditch locker with his tongue down your throat after a terrible loss to Slytherin- while his teammates are Merlin knows where.

The way his grip on your hips moves up to your breasts as he presses his pelvis against yours while you try to suppress a moan, but you just can't hold it in because his hardening cock rubbing against the growing puddle in your panties is just too much.

The way his lips leave yours to hear your sweet moan, earning a groan from himself as he travels hot, sticky and sweaty kisses down your neck finding just the spot immediately.

"Ollie.. please.." You moaned out, hands finding their way in his short locks gripping on for dear life.

Oliver let out a chuckle, wrapping his hand around your neck applying slight pressure on it. "Ill give you what you wan' sweetheart, but this is about me." Your eyes rolled in the back of your head, his accent coming out so strong. It always does when he's mad, and Merlin..

you ravish in it.

Oliver was now face to face with you, same smirk on his face. "Those damn Slytherins, that fuckass Flint-" The pressure on your neck tightened, not enough to choke you but just enough to make your brain go fuzzy.

"Might've won the game, but they don't get this. They don't get to fuck the hottest witch like I do. They don't get to see these perfect tits, all mine.."

all his..

Oliver finished his rant by smashing his lips back on yours, earning a gasp from you which he took to his advantage to slide his tongue into the heat of your mouth.

You both groaned into the kiss, soon departing after losing oxygen to each other's brain. "Gonna be a good girl f' me?" Oliver asked, removing his hand from your neck to slide down your hips, picking your leg up and swinging it over his shoulder so he can get the perfect feel of your clothed pussy. "yes, fuck- yes Ollie.." You moaned out, looking dead into his eyes- those beautiful eyes.

Oliver gave you a smile before his head vanished beneath your thighs, not to be seen for Merlin knows how long.

[lumosflairr]

FRED WEASLEY

★:fluff ꩜: smut ʚɞ: angst ୨ৎ: humorous

• Ma Belle Evangeline(★) : You and Fred are dancing at the Yule Ball together, when a certain song comes on. Fred falls more in love with you then he expected, and realizes that you are his ‘Evangeline’. (based off the Disney movie ‘The Princess and the Frog’)

• No Touching (꩜): When Fred has pushed all of your buttons, you restrict him from touching you, but his mouth was an exception.(Based off the scene in Wolf Of Wallstreet)

-more coming VERY soon-

[lumosflairr]

RONALD WEASLEY

★:fluff ꩜: smut ʚɞ: angst ୨ৎ: humorous

• Ron’s ‘eating’ skills. (꩜) - short headcannon on why ron would be the best at eating you out.

• Best Friends little sister. (꩜) - When Ron’s feelings for his best mate, Harry’s little sister escalate from a silly school crush to a deeper, lustful feeling after a trip to the river. To his surprise, feelings just might be mutual.

• Can’t contain myself. (꩜) - Ron can’t contain himself when he’s around his pretty girlfriend!

• Sleepover with Ron! (★ ୨ৎ) - Ron and his girlfriend have their first sleepover together.

-more coming soon!-

[lumosflairr]

GOLDEN TRIO ERA♡...

Harry Potter!

Ronald Weasley!

Fred Weasley!

George Weasley!

Draco Malfoy!

Oliver Wood!

Cedric Diggory!

[more will be added at a later time]

[lumosflairr]

Lumosflairr's m. list!!࣪ ˖⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

⭑.ᐟ golden trio era. ⭑.ᐟ marauders era.

⭑.ᐟ stranger things.

꒰ঌ more coming soon!! ໒꒱

reminder: my inbox is always open for requests, and I only write for fem! reader<3

[lumosflairr]

‘•.¸♡ welcome to my page ♡¸.•’

requests: ALWAYS open!

masterlist !! dm me to be apart of my taglist!

✧ hello and welcome to my page! I’m Mattie and here you will find basically only wizarding world golden trio era fics. I will start writing for more fandoms after i get back into writing more often!

✧ I would absolutely LOVE for you all to send me requests! I only ask that you keep your requests with fem! reader as to thats what im comfortable writing with. I am comfortable writing fluff, smut, angst etc.♡

✧ Heres a quick about me!

• I read more than i write, but i enjoy writing.

• Im a Slytherin

• my favorite color is pink!

• Madly in love with Fred Weasley but i barley write for him (oddly) unless requested

• I write for ALL requests unless i tell you otherwise

• i am quite busy somedays so i will answer questions and write your requests whenever i am able to! Please be patient ❤️

✧ I hope you enjoy my blog throughly and thank you for visiting!!

-lumosflairr!!

[lumosflairr]

harry james potter x reader

warnings: none pure fluff

summary: just harry high on liquid luck

The first sign that something was off with Harry was that he was grinning.

Not a tired smile after Quidditch. Not the smile he gave when he laughed at something. This was something else. A full, shameless Harry Potter grin — wide and completely unbothered. His green eyes were bright and he was walking through the school corridors like he’d just inherited the whole school.

You stared at him the whole time, in the middle of a hallway, and he didn’t even see you.

Just breezed past with that grin on his face.

“Hey!” you called, eyebrows drawn together. He bumped your shoulder, mumbled something and kept walking.

He stopped in a second. As if, the world shifted and he realized something was missing.

He turned.

“Hi!” he said, like you’d been gone for years. Like seeing you in this exact hallway, at this exact second, was the most joyful thing that had ever happened to him.

And he meant it. Every bit of it.

You blinked. “Hi..?” your tone was confused and more than a little suspicious.

Then he was suddenly right in front of you, stepping close, reaching up with both hands as if he’s forgotten what personal space was, and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

His hands lingered, his thumb brushed your jaw like like he was waiting all day to do this thing.

You just stood there, stunned, the warmth of his mouth still across your skin.

You weren’t unused to Harry kissing you but this wasn’t the usual soft, stolen in a corner before class affection.

“Okay…” You blinked again, feeling your lips turn into a smile. “Are you — are you high?”

His grin somehow widened. “Nope. Just… incredibly lucky.”

You squinted. “That’s not a normal answer.”

He reached into his jeans pocket, pulled out a small, clear bottle and held it up like a trophy.

“Felix Felicis,” he said cheerfully. “Took it after dinner.”

You stared at him. “You took liquid luck.”

He nodded.

“To do what, exactly? Charm everyone you bump into?”

“Nope,” he said, leaning forward, voice low.

“I’m charming like this everyday. The potion just helps.”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “You’re actually insufferable.”

He laughed, bright and unbothered, and hugged you with no warning, arms tight around your waist, his head dropping onto your shoulder. The sudden weight made you stumble.

“You love me, though.” he mumbled into your neck.

“Unfortunately” you muttered, heart hammering in your chest.

You pulled back enough to look him in the eye. “Why did you drink it? You were supposed to save that for, like… finals. Or sneaking into somewhere…something important.”

He tilted his head like the answer was obvious.

“To find you.”

Your heart skipped.

“I was heading to find Slughorn” he continued “but then I felt this… pull. Like I needed to turn left instead of right. So I did. And then I was here.”

You stared at him. “Harry.”

“Side quest” he said suddenly, tone bright and entirely unbothered by how confused you looked.

“Side quest?” you echoed, eyes narrowing. “Harry, what—?”

Before you could finish, he grabbed your hand — warm, confident, fingers interlacing like it was muscle memory — and started speed-walking.