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reb0rned · 21 days

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Precious Truths: Part 2

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: After your father finds out you’ve been writing under a male pseudonym, he threatens to marry you off to an atrocious man unless you find yourself a husband within a month’s time.

Warning: physical assault - reader gets slaped on the face

Series Masterlist

Your gaze reveals the precious truths

The beauty that you see within

The bravery that I once never possessed

Your love is strength

Your love is pure

Your love is everything

-Arthur Talbot

You set your quill back into the ink jar and lean back in your chair, letting the ink dry. It's well into the night. Your father and aunt now sound asleep in their respective bedrooms. You find that late nights like these are the best times to write. It's when the world is quiet and you can indulge in your guilty pleasure of writing poetry. You're sure that if your father were to ever find out about this, he'd cast you out.

So your secret remains. Some parts of you felt like you should at least tell Benedict, for he's your closest, and dearest friend. However, you thought best not to. If the ton were to find out, it would be the end of you and you could never be one to drag Benedict down with you.

You can never do that to the man you love.

____________________________

You're in the sitting room watching as stands at Benedict at his easel, Colin and Greggory play chess, and Daphne coos over Auggie. Benedict works on his still life as you sit close by.

He frowns, taking a step back from his painting, "This is wrong. It's-Something's missing."

You lean closer to get a glance at his work, "Benedict, it looks beautiful."

"Are you sure?" he asks with an unsure look on his face.

You stand up and take a better look at the canvas, "Don't you artists always say beauty is in the eye of the beholder?" you look at Benedict with a smirk and then back at the canvas, "What you may find as unattractive, Benedict, someone else might find alluring and lovely."

You pat his arm and then plop yourself back into the chair you previously occupied. You go back to your reading completely unaware that Benedict is looking at you with absolute love in his eyes.

He hears someone clear their throat and he looks away to see Anthony staring at him expectantly, "I'm sorry, brother. Did you say something?"

"We're all going for a promenade. I believe we've all been inside for long enough."

You stand up, "I shall take my leave then, Bridgertons."

"Or you can join us?" Benedict immediately asks with hopeful grin.

You softly shake your head, "I don't want to intrude."

"Nonsense," Kate says as she enters the room, "We're always happy to have you, Y/N," she joins her husband's side.

"Well, I can't reject you, Viscountess Bridgerton," you give Kate a smile and Benedict is confused, "So you have no problem rejecting me?"

You laugh, "I'm only jesting, Benedict. I'd love to accompany you and your family for a promenade."

"Wonderful, let's get to it then," Anthony says, trying to gather his siblings together.

_________________________

You're following Benedict's younger siblings whilst said man was walking beside you. You're walking in silence, but it isn't awkward. Silence in Benedict's presence is never awkward, but rather comforting.

"I've realized something, Y/N."

"Yes?"

Benedict keeps his eyes on you as you two continue to follow his younger siblings, "You've always been very supportive of my artistic prospects, but I don't believe I've given the same curtesy to you and your poetic writings. I recall you enjoyed writing them when we were younger."

It warms your heart knowing that Benedict remembers of the times you'd write whilst he'd paint or draw. You let out long and deep sigh. Looking ahead, you reply, "Yes, well, I've given up those dreams, I'm afraid. You know how my father is about my indulgence with poetry. I have to be very careful. Even reading it and reciting it to the ton is risky. Luckily, my father is inebriated a majority of the time he's out and about."

"Well if you ever decide to return to writing poetry, you have my full support."

You nod, "Thank you, Ben. I really appreciate it."

"Y/N," you turn to your right to see Daphne now walking beside you, pushing Auggie in his pram.

"Yes, Your Grace?" you stop and answer her with a teasing smirk. You're older than Daphne by a few years, but just two years younger than Benedict. You've always seen Daphne as a younger sister, being that you are an only child. Occasionally the teasing will produce itself between you two.

"Would you like to join us for dinner?"

You can't help but laugh, "Of course, but I've been spending my entire day with you already. Won't you all get tired of me?"

"We'd never tire of you, Y/N," Benedict replies with earnest and it brings a warm smile to your place.

"Be that as it may, I believe the Viscount should have the final word?"

Anthony, Kate, and Violet catch up to you as you're all looking at Anthony. He looks at you all in confusion, "Something the matter?"

Daphne speaks up, "I invited Y/N to stay for dinner if that's alright, brother?"

He shoots you a grin, "Of course. Miss L/N is always welcome. You're practically family, yes?" he shoots Benedict a wink and you're not sure why.

"Well thank you for the invitation," you look down at your dress, "But perhaps, I should at least change. This dress isn't particularly dinner attire."

"What do you mean? You look beautiful as always," Benedict states as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

The Bridgertons all give each other knowing looks. That's when the Dowager Viscountess speaks up, "Benedict, darling, Y/N is right. After the promenade, we should allow her to freshen up before dinner."

Kate removes herself from Anthony and loops arms with you, "Let us continue our promenade, Y/N."

"Of course!" you giggle with your friend as you continue on the trail.

Benedict moves to follow, but Anthony pats his brother on the shoulder, "You've spent hours with her, brother. Let her take a break from you clinging to her all the time."

Benedict looks at his older brother in offense, "I don't cling to her...do I?"

"A bit, darling," Violet says and Daphne nods in agreement.

He runs his hand through his hair and sighs, "I'm too obvious, aren't I?"

Daphne shakes her head, "No, I don't think so. If you were, she'd have said something, yes? Or maybe would have run for the hills?" she asks with a smirk to her elder brothers, before continuing to push Augie down the path.

_________________

When you arrive back home to change, you ask the housekeeper, Mrs. Burnett, if your aunt is home.

"No, Miss, she's gone to meet with Lady Danbury," the older woman replies.

You nod, "Thank you, Mrs. Burnett," you gather your dress and make your way to your room upstairs.

You freeze when you see the door ajar and you know for a fact you closed it before leaving earlier.

You slowly push the door open and your heart drops when you see your father surrounded by pages and pages of poems. Poems that are supposed to be written by a man.

You gulp and slowly approach him as he sits at your writing desk, "Papa?"

His eyes meet yours in a cold and intimidating stare, "Not only have you still been indulging in poetry, but you're writing it? Under a man's name?"

"What were you doing in my room?"

"THIS IS MY HOUSE! I CAN BE ANYWHERE I PLEASE!"

You take some cautionary steps towards him, "Papa, you've had too much to drink."

"No!" he abruptly stands at your desk, causing you to jump ack in surprise. His chest is heaving as he tightly grips pages of your work, "If anyone finds out about this-"

"They won't! I've hid this from everyone for months!"

"You need to marry," he says with definitive authority.

You look at him with a confused expression, "What do you mean?"

"I can't take your defiance any longer!"

"Defiance?"

Your father walks around your desk so it's no longer a wall between you and he. He points a warning finger at you, "If you don't find a husband within a month's time, I'm marrying you off to your cousin, Albert."

Your jaw drops, "Cousin Albert?! He's absolutely horrendous! He's a rake and a gambler-"

"And looking for a wife!" he exclaims as he cuts you off, "When you were younger, your Uncle Wallace tried to convince me to have you two promised to each other once you came out to society. I regret not taking the opportunity now seeing how you've grown up."

You clench your fists in anger, "Mama wouldn't stand for this! She-

THWACK!

Your words are stuck in your throat, your cheek stinging after your father slaps you. His eyes are red and wild as he spits out, "Mama is dead! She is not here anymore! This is my house! You are to find a husband in a month or you are to marry Albert. Be grateful I'm not sending you away right this moment."

You're holding your cheek now, trying to soothe the pain. Your heart hurts for yourself and your mama. You know she'd hate the man your papa has become.

Without another word, you're rushing out of your room and bounding down the stairs.

Your aunt had just arrived back and you rush past her without a glance. She follows you in concern, "Y/N? What happened?! What's wrong? Y/N!" she yells after you as you run down the street back towards the Bridgerton household.

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reb0rned · 22 days

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Precious Truths: Part I

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: After your father finds out you've been writing under a male pseudonym, he threatens to marry you off to an atrocious man unless you find yourself a husband within a month's time.

Ever since you were little, you found solace in poetry. Your mother highly encouraged your governess to have you read any and every poetry book that was ever made. The imagery and feelings it produced was something you never experienced before.

After your mother died, your father forbade you from reading poetry. He forbade you for ever mentioning your mother again. Their love was strong and true. As a result, it caused your father deep heartache. He became cold, heartless, and cruel. A drunkard and a gambler. Fortunately, his sister, your aunt, had moved in and became lady of the house. She became your mother figure, but she could only do so much.

She snuck you poetry books when she could. The words now being the only part of your mother you had to connect to.

Because of this love, you began to write poetry yourself. You only ever shared it to your aunt and friend, Kate Bridgerton nee Sharma, another lover of stories and poetry. Both having expressed their hopes of you publishing your writing some day.

"Maybe some day," you'd always say.

What they didn't know was that you did publish your poems. You went under a man's pseudonym, Arthur Talbot. His poetry books were becoming popular among the ton and it brought you joy and a sense of thrill whenever someone mentioned his name to you.

You'd recite your his poetry readings held at Lady Danbury's often. Everyone was always in awe of how the words poured out of you with intense and deep emotion.

But the one who was most taken with them and you, was none other than Benedict Bridgerton.

_______________________

The small group break out into applause and you curtsy. Lady Danbury walks up to you with a proud grin on her face, "Another splendid performance, Miss L/N. I can tell you deeply resonate with Talbot. "

You bow, "Thank you, Lady Danbury. His words mean a lot to me. It's as if he and I are one." You hold back a laugh as you express your gratitude to the hostess.

"Well, I think this calls for a break," the older woman turns to face her guests, "Everyone please enjoy some refreshments."

People begin to disperse, leaving the sitting room for other parts of the Danbury estate.

You're standing off to the side, watching those around you, when your dear friend, Benedict, approaches you. You smile wide at him, "Ben!"

"Another splendid performance, Miss L/N," he lifts his glass to you.

You chuckle, "Thank you. But I think Arthur Talbot deserves just as much praise. They're his words after all."

Benedict nods, "Yes, but you perform his words so beautifully."

You look away, feeling a heat crawl up your cheeks. Benedict clears his throat, "I take it you still have no marriage prospects since you haven't mentioned anyone courting you."

You look back up at him and snort, "Ben, this is my fourth year in society. I highly doubt I'll ever find a man willing to marry me at this point." You cast your eyes down to play with a thread on your skirt, "No one wants to be married to someone who has gambling drunkard father. Doesn't matter if he's a Lord or not."

"If my brother, Anthony, managed to find love and a wife, you will to, Y/N."

You scoff, "How dare you put me in the same category as Anthony."

"I agree," you turn to see said brother and Kate, approaching you, arm in arm, "You're much better than my husband," Kate says with a smirk.

"Still disgustingly in love, I see," you arch a playful look at your friend.

"Very much so, I'm afraid."

Anthony unhook his arm from Kate's and moves towards Benedict, "Come, brother. Let us let the ladies socialize." He takes Benedict's glass and downs it in a gulp.

The younger brother frowns, "I was drinking that."

"Then we shall grab another and drinks for the ladies," he pats his brother's shoulder and Benedict groans, following his brother out of the room.

You and Kate take a seat on the couch and catch up while the men grab drinks.

_____________________

"So, have you finally decided to court Miss L/N?" the eldest Bridgerton asks.

"We are friends, Anthony. Nothing more."

"So you don't love her anymore?" Anthony asks with a curious gaze, taking a sip of brandy.

"...I didn't say that. Besides, you originally didn't want me involved with her because of her father. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, well, we are the not the sins of our parents. Miss L/N is a lovely woman. She's smart, well-read, not to mention she laughs with you even when your jokes aren't funny."

Benedict's brows furrow, "I am funny!"

Anthony takes another sip of his drink and sighs, "What I mean to say is that I think you two would be a fine match. Besides, it's not like any other man is interested in her."

Benedict immediately clenches his jaw and takes a leering step towards his older brother, "Don't talk about her like that."

Stunned by the sudden change of his brother, Anthony takes a cautious step back, "I meant no harm, brother, but is it not true? It's been years since she's stepped into society and very few men have made an effort to court her."

Benedict lets out a deep breath and apologizes, "I'm sorry."

Anthony clears his throat, "All I'm saying is that you've had several chances to be with her. If you don't take the opportunity, you may lose her."

_________________________

"I apologize for missing another one of your recitals," Kate says, grabbing your hand and intertwining her fingers with yours. Ever since she married Anthony, you two have become acquainted due to your paths crossing whenever you came to see Benedict.

You shrug, "You've heard it all before, Kate. Just another one of Talbot's poems."

"You're quite smitten with this poet, it seems."

You laugh, "I can't help it! His words are as if he speaks to my soul!"

"Maybe I should write to this Talbot and see if he'd like to ever attend a Bridgerton ball."

You shake your head, "Oh no. Please, don't. People say never to meet your heroes, so I don't think I would want to meet him."

Kate shrugs, "As you wish."

Anthony and Benedict come back with drinks in hand. Anthony hands Kate a glass and Benedict hands you one.

"Thank you, Ben," you give him a grateful smile and he smiles back, "Of course."

He sits in the chair beside you and you two fall into discussion about the poem you recited, all the while Kate and Anthony give each other knowing looks.

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reb0rned · 22 days

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Paper Flowers (b.b. x fem!reader)

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: classism, anxious/slightly insecure reader, use of "young lady" and feminine descriptors

a/n: the second part of Language of Flowers is here! Thank you so much for all the love on the first part and I hope you enjoy the second one just as much! I set it up to have more parts in the future so if anyone is interested in that, let me know!!

The eyes of the ton were as insufferable as ever. One would have thought that a lady in simpler attire would attract less attention than those in large adornments or hair pieces, but today appeared the opposite indeed. Sure, when you were personally delivering large floral orders to people’s estates, you had eyes on you, but you could ignore them then. Then, you knew you would not be in their line of vision for long and you could rest assured with the guarantee that no one would remember past that moment. Now, however, now you were out walking in your simple attire with a lord. A lord of one of the most illustrious families no less. You had tried to convince Benedict to take the less occupied back roads, but he insisted that his desired destination would be faster reached should you take the main road. Not wanting to make a scene in public, you were left to be made a spectacle.

The looks you were receiving were not lost on Benedict, but he chose to keep his head up high, nodding and smiling when someone was about to pull an ugly face. Perhaps the ton were weary as to why someone of his status was walking with a working class young lady, but frankly, he was too happy that he had gotten you on this walk in the first place to even consider how wild it might appear on the surface. He nearly reached out to grab your hand when he saw the Cowpers were approaching from the modiste, but realised just in time how much worse the physical affection might be and refrained, choosing to wipe some imaginary dust off of his trousers instead.

“Something else will catch their attention by morning, do not fret,” he whispered with his head tilted in your direction but looking over your head rather than at you in an effort to look less obvious.

You had been so caught up in the whirlwind of emotions that were entrapped in him appearing at the shop and your parents sending you away that you had not had the time to think about presentation at all. You had heard girls lamenting to each other about their lacklustre presentations to the Queen and you could imagine that it felt something similar to this. All eyes on you, no one truly seeing you, yet everyone so quick to make a passing judgement.

“Had I cared about the opinions of others, I would not have asked for your time. But I am here because I care not about them, but about you. Keep your head high, we are almost there,” Benedict whispered once again. While his words were nice, they did little to soothe your anxiety. Nonetheless, you raised your chin up higher, realising you had been staring at the cobblestone more than what was in front of you. You soon found yourself quickly approaching a luscious green field that left you wondering how Benedict had ever found it. It was much closer to the shops than his estate, and with the ton spending most of their months in the country, you questioned how his discovery of this place might have come about. “We have arrived,” Benedict commented with a small smile on his face, waving his arm out to the side in demonstration.

“However did you find this place?” You questioned.

“Being a child in a clan of eight means a lot of time to make daring escapes during family shopping trips,” he smiles, mischievous as you ever saw. The smile gives the impression that he looked back on those memories fondly, as you did with memories of you and your sisters. Maybe you had never had big family shopping trips into town, but the moral of the story lies in the bonds strengthened with those you were with. You started to believe you might have more in common than you previously imagined.

“I figured we could sit and admire the view. Talk for a little, if it suits you,” Benedict looked over at you, gesturing to a place clear of any wandering eyes where you could lean against the sturdy tree trunk and watch the breeze create waves over the pond.

“It suits me very well,” you nodded, a small smile etching its way onto your face as he sat down first, offering his hand as to assist you in doing the same.

“I’d say the way the sun hits suits you very nicely as well,” he complimented, “you’re practically glowing”.

“A fan of flattery are we Mr. Bridgerton?” you asked, teasingly but trying not to show it.

“Only when I feel it necessary”.

Though you were promised conversation, Benedict did not want to force it, so the two of you sat in silence, taking in the sights and sounds of this hidden paradise. The silence was not uncomfortable, mind you, but rather a space in which the two of you could gather all of your thoughts. The grass waved to and fro in the light breeze, catching glimmers of sunlight in every direction. It looked as though someone had sprinkled fairy dust and every sparkle was destined to catch your eye. The tree you were leaning on had a small hole in the trunk, and you quickly caught two squirrels dashing in and out of it, dancing on the tree branches above you.

“This place is-” “I wanted to ask-” you realised you had started speaking at the same time. You nodded at Benedict, silently urging him to continue first.

“I wanted to ask why you were so adamant about disliking me upon our first visit”.

You paused. You knew this question was going to appear sooner or later and yet you did not have a precise answer. Not one that felt worthy enough of your anger anyway. It was not unlike you to get an idea stuck in your head and run with it, so unchanging that you had to apologise many a time to family members for such unwavering anger. It always felt silly a few days later, as it did now, to have held onto an unsupported emotion for so long, but you liked admitting your faults just as much as you liked giving Benedict the time of day when you first met. Surely your idea was not so drastic this time, as you had met many men of the ton and of the working class who held women in low regard, instantly annoying you, but you also knew that this time you were angered more because of his brother than because of him. You had just happened to meet him first.

You decided it would be easier to just tell Benedict as such, and he sat there quietly during your entire speech. He did not interrupt, did not interject, did not even look away while you were explaining. It made you feel even sillier that he was listening so attentively to a situation you grew more and more embarrassed about. Ending your spiel, you placed your head in your hands, leaning your elbows against your knees as to become as small as possible. Benedict was quick to remedy this, gently grabbing your wrist and pulling your arm away from your face. He looked at you with a goofy smile before reaching for an inner pocket in his jacket.

“So your problem lies not with me, but with my brother?”

“I do not believe I actually have a problem with any of you. Not a reasonable one anyway; I was merely already agitated and the situation you laid before me sounded so similar to ones I had heard before that I clumped you all together. This is not to dismiss the derogatory nature that men in the ton and of the working class have I just-”

“I believe I understand,” Benedict cut you off, but only so you would not have to repeat your feelings in order to feel that you had explained them properly. “Now that we are at least a little on the same page, I did not want you to think that I had left you out of my gifting endeavours entirely,” he pulled something out of his inner pocket and you immediately noticed a delicate pale pink ribbon tying little cards together. “I couldn’t entirely fight the urge to gift flowers, even though you work with them constantly, so I figured some longer lasting ones might be nicer”. He handed you the stack of cards and you gingerly unwrapped the bow from the front in order to get a better look. Now it was Benedict’s turn to become embarrassed, as he feared you may not like or appreciate them. You came from a family of florists, of course it was a low blow to gift you something related to your trade. This was a terrible idea and he should have never-

“These are…beautiful,” you sighed, shifting through the cards with soft eyes. He had painted multiple flowers with their meanings listed under them in the fashion of miniatures. They were incredibly detailed and gorgeous that you could not imagine the amount of effort it took not only for him to create each flower but find their meaning as well. “You are an artist, I take it”.

“I…dabble”.

“Do not be modest Mr. Bridgerton. If this is dabbling I would love to see what your proper art looks like,” you smiled up at him and felt all worry about his gift choices melt away. You liked them and that is all that mattered.

“My mother is quite well versed in the language of flowers, so I figured I would use what talent I have for you”.

“My little sister, Abigail, keeps our flower book on her shelf so it is quite nice that now I can have one of my own. No matter how versed one might be, there is always the fear that one might forget, so these will prove quite useful I think.”

Everything was going perfectly in Benedict’s mind. You liked his gift, you enjoyed the space you were in, you were smiling. You carefully tied the cards back together with the pale ribbon, turning them over and over again in your hand as if you couldn’t believe someone had taken the time to gift you such a thing. In truth you couldn’t; your family were certainly not the wealthiest in England, so gifts were small or hard to come by. They only really happened during holidays and birthdays, but half the time you ended up sharing with your sisters. Not that you were complaining, you loved your sisters dearly and were grateful for anything you received, but being able to have something to call your own was magical.

A quick glance at Benedict’s pocket watch caused the whole scene to come crashing down, however, as he jumped up and informed you that he was late for a family event. You urged him to go, thanking him for the gift and the time, assuming this would be the end of your time together indefinitely. Benedict seemed to have other ideas.

“There is a party. Two nights from now and I would love if you would come with me”.

“Should you not be worried about bringing me?”

“Whatever for?” Your question seemed lost on him.

“Bringing someone of a lower status to a ton party would surely cause scandal, would it not?”

“No, see, this is a party where everyone is invited. All types of people mingling together for an evening, doing whatever the night calls them to do. It is truly wonderful and it would be even more wonderful if you would attend. It would be after shop hours, so you would not have to worry about leaving your family to fend for themselves,” he teased and you laughed, “and I could come pick you up, make sure you arrive safely and all”.

“If you are sure,” to which Benedict nodded enthusiastically, “then I suppose I shall”.

His smile grew wide as he lightly grabbed your hand and kissed the back of it before starting the walk in the opposite direction back towards Mayfair. You were still wary of what had taken place, and the promise you just made, but you supposed if one of you was certain enough about it that it would be fine. Or at least you hoped.

people who asked to be tagged: @easybrainrot34, @imgondeletedis, @sublimepenguinpeach-blog

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reb0rned · 22 days

Text

Language of Flowers (b.b. x fem!reader)

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: classism, use of "miss" and "y/n", stubborn mc

a/n: class differences in historical fiction have my heart and what better man to write them for than benedict! hope you enjoy and requests are open!

pt.2

For all your years helping run your family’s flower shop, you could not remember a day as memorable as this. You were in the back of the shop, cutting stems and bunching bundles of similar flowers together when you heard your little sister gasp from her spot in the doorway. Though gentlemen callers were not entirely uncommon, as flowers were a typical house gift when men went to call on their chosen lady, this one seemed to have caught her by surprise.

“Who’s there Abigail?” you asked without turning around. “Abigail?” you asked again when she did not respond. It only took one look at the familiar chestnut head of hair to understand why your sister had gone as silent as Mayfair during the ton’s visits to the country. There stood a Bridgerton. Abigail had been obsessed with them ever since she got one of the printer apprentices to give her a copy of the gossip column the ton had been infatuated with. Anything that was ever written about them, Abigail had saved and regaled you when you were both in bed after a day’s work.

“Y/N! I believe your expertise might be required,” your father called from the front of the shop, where he stood with parchment and a pencil, jotting down people’s requests.

Abigail had not moved from her spot in the doorway, effectively blocking you out. “Abigail, I need to get through,” you waved a hand in front of her face but she did not move. She was utterly and entirely captivated, so you resorted to picking her up by her waist and moving her to the side. The perks of her being your little sister meant that moving her came easier to you than moving you did to her.

“I was summoned?” You looked at your father who nodded at the man standing in front of him. “Yes sir, how can I help you today?”

“I am here to buy flowers for a lady-”

“What a novelty,” you muttered under your breath, glancing at the sheet your father had been working on moments before.

“Pardon?” The man asked, clearly not expecting to be cut off in such a manner.

“Apologies, good sir, you were saying?”

“I am buying flowers for a lady. You see, my brother has crossed his wife and wants to apologise, but has no time for such an errand so he has sent me-” “He has truly no space to make time for apologising to his wife?” You interrupted again.

“Do you interrupt every customer in this manner?”

“Only the ones with ridiculous stories,” you countered.

“I can assure you, despite how ridiculous it might sound, I speak nothing but the truth,” he looked at you, hoping you would change your mind. When you said nothing, he continued, “Now, I mentioned to your father earlier that I would like to gather flowers that mean an apology or makes it clear that the sender knows they have done some wrong-” “Ah, so you are keen on the language of flowers? I take it this has happened before then?” You interrupted yet again, raising a brow.

“Apologies for my sister, my lord, she has been working long hours lately,” your older sister Jeanine stepped in. She gave you a harsh look as she finished her sentence, nonverbally telling you to scoot out of the way. You huffed and pushed the sheet of paper with the man’s order on it towards her before making your way to the back of the shop to finish the arrangements from before.

It took Abigail no time at all to meet you back there, desperate to know how your interaction went. When you disappointed her with the fact that you had absolutely no thrilling news to report back, she smacked your arm and grabbed some flowers from the vases in the corner, complaining that you should have done a better job.

“Well perhaps if he was not exactly like all other men who enter this shop then I would have something interesting to share with you,” you responded, grabbing some baby’s breath to add in.

Jeanine came to greet you both with the sheet of parchment in hand, “something with an apology and sorrow but also suggesting forgiveness,” she muttered, looking at the selection in front of her.

“White roses, forget-me-nots, and pink tulips,” you commented without looking at her.

“If only you could do your job that easily in front of the customers”.

“If the customers were not all so alike and insufferable perhaps I could”.

“That poor Bridgerton did nothing to you and you know it,” Jeanine tried.

“He irked me, is that not enough?”

“Not when we are trying to keep a business afloat, no,” Jeanine replied as she stepped back onto the main floor to have Mr. Bridgerton pick the colour of ribbon with which the bouquet would be tied together. “Now there you are Mr. Bridgerton, and if I could grab a first name to keep our records in order and for possible future transactions?” Jeanine asked as she handed over the bouquet.

“Do I truly look so similar to my brothers that you cannot tell us apart?” Mr. Bridgerton jested, at least you hoped he was jesting.

“It is that arrogance that irritates me to be sure,” you muttered to Abigail.

“It is merely a formality my lord,” Jeanine laughed lightly as she looked at him expectantly.

“Benedict then, Benedict Bridgerton,” he placed the pound notes on the counter and picked up the bouquet, wishing Jeanine a pleasant day before scurrying away.

So the annoyance finally had a name.

A few days had passed, and it felt like you had pushed the interaction successfully out of your mind, when the universe decided to spite you once again. You had already been at the front of the shop this morning, but you wished to do nothing other than sink to the floor or send one of your sisters in your place.

“So we meet again,” Benedict announced, overly joyful.

“Well you did just walk into the shop my family happens to own-”

“I was hoping to make your acquaintance once again-” “At least one of us seems happy about it,” you conversed over each other, making it appear as if the dialogue had no point of breath.

“I firstly wished to inform you that the flowers worked wonders and greatly aided my brother in his apology-” “Wonderful, now if that is all there is quite the queue forming behind you-”

“And that I have a plan to get you to change your mind,” Benedict finished his thought and it struck you silent. You must have done two or three big, slow blinks before what he said fully sank in, leaving you only more confused. “I must say, it is much easier to think when you are not constantly fighting back at me,” he smiled and you wanted to reach over the counter and smack that smile clean off his face.

“Change my mind? On the flowers? I thought you said they were a great success?”

“Oh no, not about the flowers,” he waved his finger back and forth in front of you, “about me”.

“About you?” You questioned with raised brows, a scoff of disbelief escaping past your lips.

“Yes. I noticed the other day we left off on quite the wrong foot and I would like to change your mind”.

“And why do you think that is Mr. Bridgerton?” you bent your elbows a little and leaned closer into him from your spot over the counter.

“Well I was not entirely sure, but I figured if I could get 10 minutes alone with you, your opinion of me would be much improved”.

“Has anyone ever told you they do not like you Mr. Bridgerton? Has anyone, especially someone below your status, been honest enough with you to display how they truly feel about you? You might consider that notion and find the root of our problem there. I know you do not care much for your high society Mr. Bridgerton,” you noticed his ears prick up, so to quickly shut him down, “and do not think too deeply about my knowing of you for Lady Whistledown has printed much more than I cared to know, but as soon as someone is off with you, you suddenly become interested. Your ego is much too inflated to reason with the fact that some people just might not like you, present company included, and you cannot stand it”.

Now it was Benedict’s turn to blink slowly, as your speech had halted all his energy to a standstill. “Good day, Mr. Bridgerton,” you shooed him out of the shop with your hand, waving forward the next customer who had been waiting very awkwardly a few paces behind this encounter. You sighed deeply, mentally resetting yourself back to your more demure customer service appearance.

Mr. Bridgerton had not been back for at least two weeks, not that you were counting of course, and though you claimed you were not thinking about him, you hated to admit how much that man had taken of your mental space. It did not help that Abigail was insistent that you two were fated to meet again somehow, even though you had explicitly told her you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. Jeanine was upset that you had lost a valuable customer, but the money that he could have possibly brought in was the last thing on your mind. The season was usually a high reward time for your family’s shop anyway, you were sure one lord would not be such a loss.

On an afternoon that felt uncomfortably reminiscent of your first meeting, the bell above the front door rang as you were arranging a bouquet in the back. Abigail gasped from her spot in the doorway, and you did not even want to turn around and guess what caught her breath this time. “Oh my god,” Jeanine muttered, joining Abigail in the doorway as a pair of frantic feet made their way to your father at the counter. “Good afternoon, I should like to ask for a moment alone with Miss Y/N”.

You nearly dropped the flowers in your hands and stood staring at the wall while the heads of both your sisters whipped around to look at you, mouths dropped and eyes wide. Your father did not really know how to comprehend the situation, to be honest none of you did, but one nod from him and Abigail was grabbing the flowers out of your hands while Jeanine pushed you forward through the entryway. Your feet were cement, standing in front of the man that definitely had not been occupying your mind for days on end, his arms stuffed with different boxes and trinkets.

As if taking advantage of the silence, Benedict started, “I come bearing gifts. It occurred to me that I had no idea what your preferences were and with the safe answer of flowers obviously gone I got,” he dropped some of the goods on the counter, “these”. There were chocolates and pieces of jewellery and perfumes and accessories. You stared in awe at the collection before you, admiring the beauty of them all before you snapped back into reality. Benedict Bridgerton had come to spoil you in an attempt to win you over and you could not stand for it.

“If you think gifts are going to magically change my mind then you are-”

“Oh they are not for you. Well not exclusively anyway, I believed some of them to be for your family”.

It took your sisters absolutely no time at all to rush over to the counter, rummaging through all the items present and claiming their picks before your mother and father came to join you on either side. With a quick scolding from your mother and a muttered thank you to Benedict, your sisters were off, resuming their position in the doorway. “I hope I am not interrupting any major, I just wished to spend the afternoon with your daughter,” Benedict glanced between your parents, silently asking for permission.

“Well I do not see why not,” your mother replied, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Mother!” You hissed, surprised she would respond in the affirmative so quickly.

“What? It is not like you get out of here much anyway!” Your father piped up, making you tilt your chin down in embarrassment and kick his shin under the counter. Benedict stifled a laugh, and you could sense his eyes on you as you kept your head down. “The pleasure is all yours,” your father looked at Benedict as he and your mother stepped back, laughing between themselves.

“I figured a walk would do us both some good,” Benedict put his hands behind his back as you looked up at him, suddenly very aware of how much he towered over you.

“What makes you think I have the time to just step out and walk around with you? In case you were not aware, I am currently working-”

“Oh for god’s sake! Just go!” Jeanine yelled from the back, her and Abigail having given the two of you some privacy. You huffed, crossing your arms in front of you and mentally squaring up Benedict before rolling your eyes. “I suppose one afternoon wouldn’t hurt, but if you try anything I swear-” His hands shot up in defence, “You have my word, nothing nefarious will take place. I simply want to walk”.

“A walk it is then,” you nodded, making your way around the counter and into the main section of the shop.

“I promise, you will not regret this,” Benedict commented, clearly happy with himself as he opened the door for you to walk through.

“Let’s not go making promises we’re not certain we can keep”.

“I feel pretty certain about this one”.

949 notes · View notes

reb0rned · 2 months

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vitality | 1

Summary: You were always told heroes and villains had no place in your home. Not when there’s an increase in crime, not when there’s monsters on the loose in Hosu and certainly not when the man in your home raises a hand to you. All it takes is one impulsive decision to change your life forever. content: shigaraki tomura x female reader, slow burn, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, reader has a quirk, graphic depictions of violence, past abuse, past sa, angst, pstd, eventual smut, found family LoV, mdni wc: 3.1k | chapter 2 | m. list | read on ao3

It’s been raining all day.

The cold droplets make your cheeks feel numb as you run along the sidewalk. The sky is a murky gray and your lungs are burning in a desperate attempt to regain air in them. There is blood on your clothes and none of it belongs to you.

You don't know how long you’ve been at this but you know you cannot stop. There would be consequences if you stopped.

Your body would have to give out first.

You chance a glance behind you and see there is no chase, there are no sirens and no angry mob following you but your body keeps moving.

You decide to take a sharp right turn into an upcoming alley and use that moment to catch your breath. Your chest heaves as you desperately inhale. The rain has soaked you to the bone and you just know that you’ll have a stuffy nose in the morning. Adrenaline is what you assume is keeping you going at this point — with the rate of your heart beating you're sure it’ll beat right out of your chest and leave you here in this dingy alley alone.

Even through the patter of the rain you could hear the footsteps of multiple people shuffling your way.

You’re sure they’ve found you. Damn it, you shouldn’t have stopped.

You look around the alley and run to the grimy dumpster further down, hiding behind it and willing yourself to calm your breathing.

Closing your eyes, you place a cold hand over your own mouth, praying it will quiet your own ragged breaths.

“C’mon, guys, let's be reasonable.” It's the voice of a man and it is not familiar.

He seems to be stepping closer, slowly. You creep closer to the wall and hope the footsteps cease.

They do.

“Reasonable would be having your head for the shit you pulled on us, Giran.” A different voice, hostile. You're starting to think these people have nothing to do with you.

The guy, Giran, sounds weary, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m always good on my word.”

There’s another voice piping up now, denying his words, insisting that they were scammed. Between the rain and the men talking over each other it feels impossible to understand. You decide it's best to just wait this out, you’re sure they will finish soon and you can go back to figuring out your next move.

“Bullshit!” Someone yells and it startles you, pulling your attention back to the scene unfolding behind you.

The sound of a gunshot rings through the alley and you jolt in surprise, reflexively covering your ears as your heart stops in your chest. What the fuck was happening right now. Whatever Giran was going to say doesn’t make it far.

“Oh shit,” one voice panicks, “what the fuck did you do, dude!”

“You said we would get him back!”

“Not kill him, you fucking idiot!”

Your nerves are on fire as you hear the pair run off, leaving Giran groaning in pain and bloody.

You move fast, rushing from your place behind the dumpster to the wounded man. Giran was slumped against a wall, hand clutching his abdomen and breathing heavily. You don’t know what's compelling you to do this, so you blame it on the adrenaline still pumping through your veins. No one deserves to die here.

“Hey!” You yell out, an attempt to get his attention and keep him from slipping into unconsciousness. His brows lifted as his eyes met yours and you’re just glad this stranger is still breathing. “Let me help you.”

He only looks at you and you’re sure he’s fighting with all he has to hang on. You’re probably a sight to see yourself — clothes drenched in a mixture of blood and rain and eyes wild with panic.

You reach for his hand covering the bloody wound and he only presses tighter.

“Trust me.” You plead, meeting his eyes in desperation before trying again. Giran nods, moving his own hand and allowing you a chance to see the injury for yourself — blood was everywhere and given the rain you had no clear view. You shoot him a pointed look once more before going for his shirt, lifting it and exposing his stomach and bloody wound. You could work with this.

Your hands were freezing cold, but you willed yourself through it, bringing both to hover over his abdomen and focusing. Giran watched the soft green glow emit from your hands and wash over his wounded abdomen, his wound healing from the inside out. Raindrops drip from your hair and down your nose, yet you focus until the injury is gone, as if it had never been there in the first place.

Giran sighed, resting his head on the brick wall behind him, muscles relaxing and breath stabilizing.

“You’re a healer.” He speaks, voice hoarse and winded.

You nod, bringing your hands back and looking at the grovel below, “yeah, something like that.”

A silence falls over the both of you, the rain continuing to seep its cold into your bones. It's almost time to face your reality again. Time to get up and move.

“What are you doing out here, kid?'' Giran speaks again, voice gaining more clarity as he stabilizes from the events before.

What are you doing out here? Where even is here? You weren’t paying attention while you ran — there was only the urge to get away and get away as fast as you could.

“I...” you look down at your clothes clinging to your form and drooping lower than they should due to the onslaught of rain. Not even the rain could wash away the blood staining the cotton material. Whatever may have gotten on your face could be washed away, but you’re unsure. “I don’t know.” You finish, chancing a glance at Giran.

He looks to you before taking a moment to stand, finally gaining composure and taking a slow breath.

You follow suit, ready to go the other way, never see this man you saved again.

“I owe you one, kid,” Giran starts again, adjusting his glasses, and you begin to protest. He cuts you off, “Those crooks almost killed me. Really, at least let me get you someplace warm.” he insists and you stare for a moment, you were unsure of your next move anyway.

You nod, “alright.”

—---------

Giran takes you to an underground bar. One where the lighting is low and there aren't many people around. You’ve never been to a bar before, but you’re sure this one had bad news written all over it.

Even so, you don't feel afraid. The bar had a bathroom where you could dry off better and there was even spare clothes in the lost and found. You were finally able to get the rain soaked clothes off and wipe away the red staining your face as well. It was miles better than what you had before.

Now you were sat across from Giran as he lit his cigarette, taking a drag and exhaling it to the side.

The harsh smell of nicotine flooded the area and you bit back the scrunch of your nose as you stuffed your face with chips from the bar. Once your adrenaline settled, the feeling of hunger was overwhelming.

“So,” you're midbite when Giran speaks, breaking the silence, “what were you doing out there, kid?”

You force your food down and ponder your answer. There was no reason you shouldn’t trust Giran right now, but—

The splatter of blood crosses your mind, accompanied by a memory of glass breaking that makes you shiver and you decide that no, you couldn’t share this.

“I…” you can’t meet his eyes, “I got lost.”

Giran taps the ashes from his cigarette and sucks his teeth. “Lost, huh?” He raises a brow, “where are you from, then? You were covered in blood, and not all of that belonged to me, so what’s your deal – are you some kind of hero?”

You vehemently shake your head, “no, no. I’m not a hero.” You anxiously pick at the loose sem in the sweater, “I’m nobody. Not anymore.”

“You’re a healer, people would kill for a quirk like that.” He takes another drag, blowing the smoke and pointing to you, “what is it you were running from?”

There were tears welling in your eyes and you wished this conversation could be over. The reality of the situation setting in. “I hurt someone. Bad.”

“Can’t be that bad since you can heal ‘em, right?”

You’re quiet. Flashes of what occurred hours ago flooding your memory. It feels so far away. So foggy. “No. No, I didn’t heal them.” Your fists tighten in your lap. “I hurt them and then I left. I ran away and now I’ll never go back.”

Giran looks you over for a bit before tapping the excess ash from his cigarette. “Well, since you need somewhere to go and you have a pretty sick quirk, I think I have the perfect place for you.”

—---------

The dark corridors Giran leads you through feel endless and you can’t help but wonder if he’s leading you into a trap of some kind. You thought the bar before was shady, but wherever the hell he was taking you seems to be much worse.

There was no elaboration on where you were going, just an absent trust me and promises that you would be safe and taken care of here. Promises that no one would look for you or find you here. You sigh, out of options and desperate. He had no reason to lie to you, but it still gave you an uneasy feeling.

“This guy,” Giran’s voice catches your attention, “Can seem like kind of a brat, but he’s good on his word.”

It’s as if he could feel your restless thoughts and you only purse your lips, glancing at him and then back forward, noting a large metal door coming into view.

You can't fight the lump of dread in your stomach but you try to put on a brave face as the screech of the heavy metal door fills the corridor. It led to another bar — this one looking more… normal. Empty, quiet and even quaint.

The only occupants being a shadow-like figure of a man, dark cloudy whisps covering his face and hands and another, younger man dressed in all black and sporting what looked like a pale blue hand covering his face like a mask.

“Giran,” the man spoke, voice raspy and sharp. He couldn’t have been much older than you, maybe younger. “What have you brought us today?”

The man in question smiled, gold tooth glimmering in the low light of the bar. “Something special.”

You couldn’t see much of the man’s face beyond the hand, but you could see the glint of interest in his red eyes.

“Is that so…” he turns his attention to you, “what’s your name?”

His gaze gives you goosebumps and you turn to Giran, seeking some kind of reassurance, but the boy speaks again, “Don’t look at him. I’m the one talking to you.”

It shakes you, but you snap your attention back to him and tell him your name.

“And why are you here?”

You don’t know. You have no idea why Giran brought you here and you don’t even know who this guy is. How could you hope to answer that with no information?

Giran steps in before you can make a retort, “she’s here because I think you could get a lot of use out of her, Shigaraki.”

Shigaraki’s gaze never leaves yours. “Oh, yeah? What’s your quirk?”

You bite your lower lip, you didn’t expect this to be an interview of some kind. Shigaraki looks impatient, tapping a finger on the bar beside him. You swallow your nerves and speak, “My quirk is called Vitality – I can heal others and myself.”

“That’s a rare find, Giran, even for you.” Shigaraki crossed his arms, interest successfully piqued.

Giran huffs a laugh, lighting his cigarette and taking a drag. “Yeah, well, she kind of found me.”

You steal a look at Giran, the smoke leaving his lips as he speaks. Shigaraki doesn’t say anything, his silence seemingly urging Giran to continue. “This one here saved my life yesterday. Some hothead shot me and she rushed in and healed me. I’m good as new.”

Shigaraki scoffs, tone sardonic and cruel, “Wow, how heroic of you.”

It feels like you’ve made the wrong choice, like the idea of saving someone was foolish and wrong. You acted on instinct — no one deserved to die there.

“So, what’s your deal, then? The heroes would kill to have you on their side. Why are you here?”

“I don’t care about the heroes,” it’s the truth, you want nothing to do with their flashy shows of power and silly displays of heroism. “I couldn’t care less for it.”

You see Shigaraki’s eyes narrow through the fingers of the hand on his face. “So you’re one of Stain’s followers, then?”

Who? You didn’t keep up with that kind of stuff. You vaguely remember seeing the news articles about some crazed villain, but you have had your own villain to deal with. Nothing else mattered.

This was beginning to frustrate you. All the questions, all the prying — who cares about any of this stuff? You don’t even know where you are!

“I’m not familiar with him. I don’t care for any of it.” You couldn’t help but hear the question ring in your head again.

Why are you here?

“I don’t,” you start up again, voice catching in your throat. “I don’t have a home to go back to.”

The memory of glass breaking and blood splattering crosses your mind, running away in the rain clouds your thoughts, yet you continue, “I don't know what lies ahead for me, I don't have a future anymore. I just happened to stumble upon Giran.”

Shigaraki is quiet for a moment. You have to force yourself to refrain from squirming under his gaze.

“Show me.”

Your eyes snap to his, “What?”

“Show me your quirk.'' His voice is firm and unwavering. You’re looking at him to see if you could find any injury or even bruises but from your distance you cannot. It's not until Shigaraki pulls the already loose collar of his shirt down over his shoulder and you see it. There’s a large bandage on his shoulder and your steps falter a bit – not expecting him to expose so much skin so easily.

You swallow, uneasiness buzzing through your veins as you watch him remove the bandage and expose a gash on his shoulder. It looks recent, but you can't tell from this distance, so you move towards him.

The closer you get, the more you notice the finer details of the man. His ashen hair looks soft up close and his dark shirt does little to hide the lithe muscle underneath. It’s like walking into the cage of a wild tiger, sitting and waiting for its perfect moment to grab you.

He notices your hesitation and sucks his teeth, “I don’t have all day.”

You swallow your nerves and continue on. The closer you get, the more clearly you can see the scars on his neck as well. Not as bad as the gash on his shoulder, but still noticeable. You try not to steal too long of a glance and reach out, slowly — ready to heal him.

The wound doesn’t seem to be very deep so you only use one hand, a seafoam green glow emitting and covering his injury.

Shigaraki inhales slowly, feeling the relieving effects of your quirk healing him from the inside out. It doesn’t take long, the wound was already in the process of recovering before so this was more minor than you thought. You pull away once you were sure his shoulder was back to normal, taking a cautious step back from the man before you.

His attention is on Giran as he rolls his shoulder, flexing out all the previous tension and sighing in relief.

“Something like this isn’t easy to come by, Giran. What’s your price?”

Price, he says. Like you’re cattle, as if you’re some kind of product to be shipped off and traded. It makes you feel low.

Giran shrugs, smile pliant on his face and cigarette hanging loosely in his mouth. “No price. I told you – I owe this kid my life. Just make sure she’s safe and fed and we’ll call it even.”

Shigaraki still seems to be skeptical because he stands to his feet and you take another step back from him. His form is tense and you have to fight the urge to run to the door behind Giran. Shigaraki is taller, even with his slouched posture, and the sinking feeling in your stomach only grows as you anxiously watch for his next move.

You vaguely register the man engulfed in dark clouds calling Shigaraki’s name — a warning in his tone.

Giran raises a hand, smile never faltering. “Seriously. Eye for an eye.” He cocks his head, “But I’m not opposed to additional payment, if that’s what you want.”

It's a joke, one that the man before you does not find funny. He stands up straighter, “Whatever. Fine, we’ll take her in.”

You’re unsure if this is something you should celebrate or ease your way out of, but Giran seems to take it well. An honest smile gracing his features as he looks back to you, “You hear that, kid? You're in.”

Shigaraki turned to the shadowlike man behind the counter, “Kurogiri, prepare a room for her.”

Kurogiri nods and makes his way from behind the bar, you assume you should follow, but this was… a lot to take in. If they were to take you in then you wont ask too many questions. As long as you could lay low and keep to yourself then things would be fine. This wouldn’t have to be forever, just long enough to get yourself together and make your next moves.

You find solace in that thought as you walk past Giran — sending you an amiable wave as you trail behind Kurogiri.

Shigaraki stays behind in the bar and you’re thankful, his demeanor doesn’t seem like one you would like to be around for long periods of time.

There’s a brief moment when you're passing Shigaraki. His eyes meet yours and you notice the shine in them, a glimmer of covet curiosity so quick you almost miss it.

And you can’t help but wonder what exactly is it you’ve just gotten yourself into.

281 notes · View notes

reb0rned · 3 months

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HPB, Chapter 2 - Something Wicked

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: none?

Masterlist

Word Count: ~5,200

Note: Y/M/M/N = your mother's maiden name, assuming reader's mother took her father's last name (yes this is awkward, I wasn't sure how else to do it, sorry)

The summer warmth dissipated just as you thought you might drown from the amount of homework being assigned in each of your classes, and with it went your hopes for the Quidditch season. Zacharias had been running the team ragged, which only served to emphasize how poorly everyone played. It was sabotage so effective, Yvette suggested in jest that perhaps he was a plant from Slytherin to secure the cup.

Transfiguration remained the most difficult class, even with Professor Snape teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, and even with the advice from Draco Malfoy last term lingering in your ears.

You stared daggers at the owl perched in front of you. It stared back, indifferent and aloof. All around you, everyone else had already turned their own owls into opera glasses, and time was running short. The owl blinked at you, and began preening.

The wood of your wand had warmed in your grip, the anxiety you felt pouring into sweat on your palms. You adjusted your grip and prepared to cast. It would work this time. The owl’s huge eyes mimicked closely the shape of opera glasses, you could see the connection. The owl was not vicious. You had enough wand power, you had enough power.

This would work.

“Strigiforma,” you commanded. The magic pulsed out of your wand and-

The owl’s eyes enlarged, swelling its head.

Professor McGonagall tsked as she strolled by. “Reparifarge,” she said and the owl returned to normal. “Try again.” She hovered over you as you prepared to cast again.

As if it wasn’t hard enough without an audience.

“Ahem,” you cleared your throat, and rolled your shoulders back. “Strigiforma.”

Once again, magic flowed from your wand in a sliver and swirled around the poor creature. You watched, mortified, as it transformed down into a single drinking glass.

Professor McGonagall de-transfigured the owl again, and said, “And yet you managed to perform the Aguamenti charm.” You opened your mouth to protest. “It does not matter how I know, Miss Y/L/N. Keep trying, and see me after class.”

Donna looked over at you through an ornate set of opera glasses. She grinned, “Don’t take it too hard, Y/N, you had to be bad at something.”

You grimaced. “But did I though? Did I really?”

Class wore on. You continued trying to turn the owl into opera glasses, though the closest you got were a pair of half-moon spectacles like Dumbledore wore. You shooed your friends off to lunch when the bell rang, no need for them to witness your shame and go hungry.

Professor McGonagall was waiting for you at her desk. As you approached, she folded her hands in front of her and gave you a long appraising look.

“It should come to no surprise to you,” she began, “that I have noticed your continual struggle with this subject. The O.W.L. examination will be rigorous, and I am sorry to say I have not properly prepared you.”

You raised an eyebrow and prepared to protest.

She raised a slender hand. “I should have done this sooner, and for that I apologize. I am planning to meet with the Headmaster to discuss finding you a suitable tutor for this year, until I see a significant improvement. Now, I understand you have joined your house’s Quidditch team?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“We will do our best to ensure this does not interfere with your extra-curriculars. Expect a note from Professor Dumbledore within the week. You may go.”

“Yes, Professor.” You made a bee-line for the door, then paused. “Thank you.” She nodded graciously once then returned to her desk.

Herbert, Donna and Yvette had all laughed when you told them what Professor McGonagall had said.

“’Continual struggle’?” Yvette hissed through her nose. “That woman is brutal.”

You sulked after them down to Hagrid’s, chomping on an apple tart Donna had been kind enough to swipe for you. Care of Magical Creatures had proven to be the only bearable class what with the pressure of O.W.L.s looming down on you for every other subject.

Donna snorted. “Do you know who’ll tutor you?”

“Not a clue,” you said dully. “Only person good enough I can think of is Hermione Granger.” You remembered being paired with her in DA, and shuddered. “If Dumbledore wanted to torture me I suppose he could arrange it.”

“You don’t like Hermione?”

“She’s fine, just a bit of a know-it-all I guess.”

Yvette gave you a look. “Oh, but Malfoy was fine.”

“First of all, I was tutoring him - totally different. And it’s not like she doesn’t know what she’s doing, it’s just she does everything by the book and it works for her. I’ve done everything by the book, and it’s almost never worked for me.” That was only partially true, though, wasn’t it? Draco’s advice from last year had helped, a little anyway.

Hagrid was waiting at the edge of the forest, hands on his hips, ruddy cheeks set in a grin. His hippogriff (heaven only knew how he’d convinced Dumbledore to keep a pet hippogriff) Witherwings pawed at the ground next to him. The four of you were the first to arrive.

You bowed low to the beast. “Handsome as ever I see, Witherwings.”

The hippogriff nodded his head gracefully. He still liked you.

“There’s my favorite fifth years,” Hagrid drawled. He seemed to take great pleasure in greeting you this way at the start of every year.

“Afternoon, Professor,” Herbert said mid-bow. “What’ve we got today?”

Hagrid clapped his hands together excitedly. A few other students had gathered, including Luna who waved dreamily at you. “Today we’ll be relocating a branch of Bowtruckles whose Wiggentree has started to die. Go ahead and grab a pouch o’woodlice from the basket while we wait for everyone else.”

Once the rest of the class arrived, Hagrid led everyone into the forest. Tendrils of mist curled through the trees, slicing through whatever warmth the sun had bestowed upon you. You knew which tree it was as soon as you saw it. A massive rowan tree sat in the middle of a mushroom circle, the gnarled roots of it black as ash, leafless.

Someone spoke up, “Why’s the tree dying?”

A somber look passed over Hagrid’s face. “A good question.” He did not elaborate.

The Bowtruckles were hard to spot, their natural camouflage made them look like new branches of the tree itself, but once you saw one you could make out no less than fifty. Their movements were slow, catatonic even, and their spindly fingers had started to turn that ashy brown of the Wiggentree’s roots.

You sucked in a breath. Had they been slowly withering all summer?

Hagrid directed each of you to try and get a few of the stick-like beasties to follow you with the woodlice to a newly planted magical rowan further in.

A few were tempted by them, so you lured them up to sit on your shoulder, feeding them one or two every several feet. Donna was not having as much luck; one had made a mad grab for the pouch in an unexpected burst of energy while another snuck around to try and desperately reach for her wand tucked into her back pocket. She looked at you pleadingly.

“Don’t worry,” you said, lowering your wand and letting the two Bowtruckles grab on to be carried. “You had to be bad at something.”

“I resent your tone.” Donna let them have a few woodlice. “I am bad at many things.”

The two Bowtruckles on your shoulder joined the ones clinging to your wand. They all sat there, contented by the healthy wand wood. A few others tried the same thing.

The new Wiggentree was barely big enough for every Bowtruckle to perch comfortably in its branches, but they flocked to it desperately. Hagrid’s eyes turned a little misty watching them squabble over their preferred branches and settle into their new home tree.

With all the Bowtruckles successfully relocated, Hagrid led the class back through the forest to where Witherwings had been waiting.

“Next week,” he shouted over the bell tolling from the castle, “we’ll check up on ‘em, and talk about why their old tree had died, if I can find the reason meself. Now off with ye!”

By mid week, the expected summons from Professor Dumbledore still hadn’t come, and you were starting to hope that both he and McGonagall had forgotten about the whole thing.

During your free period before Potions, while Donna and Yvette had Divination, you joined Herbert in the library to finish up an essay on the many uses of moonstone, but you found yourself distracted by what Draco Malfoy had said in the owlery.

You tapped your quill against your palm and frowned. What did he expect you to do, exactly? If Helga Hufflepuff hadn’t wanted a password, who were you to even try to change that? This would require no small amount of research.

Herbert fixed you with a stare. “You look like you’re chewing on something. Care to share?”

“Just thinking about the other night, is all.” You threw a look over your shoulder to see who was close. “About what Malfoy said.”

“Shh!” Madame Pince’s shushing cut across the room.

“Ah,” he said in a lowered voice. “That old chestnut.”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to add a password to a room that’s a thousand years old.”

He thought for a moment and shrugged. “What if it didn’t have to be a password?”

“What do you mean? He said password.”

“Well,” he smirked, “first don’t worry too much about following his directions to the letter, this is Malfoy we’re talking about. And he asked about a password, but he said line of defense. That’s a bit broader at least.”

“Hmm. That is something.”

“You want me to spell this out for you?”

“Yes, please.”

“What we need is a good old fashioned trap.”

“Go on.”

“Something that won’t affect anyone who’s supposed to be there, nothing they’d even notice. But something that’d spring on anybody trespassing.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, “I can see the logic in that. Any ideas?”

He smiled sardonically. “That is where my genius runs out, unfortunately. And it’s time for Potions.”

You still hadn’t gotten used to the Potions classroom in the middle of the dungeons being comfortable, but Professor Slughorn was chipper as ever during his lesson on Strengthening Solution, and caught you on your way out.

“I wonder if I may have a word, Miss Y/L/N?” he said. His voice was smooth and kindly. “Are you related at all to a Ms. Y/M/M/N?”

“I am,” you said, surprised. “She’s my mum.”

He smiled genially. “I thought that may be the case, the two of you look so alike. Talented witch, your mother, I remember when she was in school. I wonder if you’d join me for dinner in my rooms on Friday - I’ve put together a little party. A few people you may have met before, and I hope,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “a Mr. Potter may be in attendance.”

“Oh! Um, well. I,” you paused. He looked so hopeful. “I would be delighted. Is there anything I can bring?” Your mum had trained you well to never appear at someone’s home empty handed.

Professor Slughorn chortled. “No, no, that’s very kind of you of course. I’ve got it all covered. Look forward to delicious food and stimulating conversation.” He patted his belly and winked amicably. “I know I do.”

When you explained why you’d been held back to your friends, Herbert gave you a strange look.

“I want to go to dinner with Slughorn and Potter,” he said. “But I guess my mum wasn’t cool enough when she was in school.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Yvette said, “it seems like you were only invited because of your mum.”

You frowned. “It does seem that way, doesn’t it.”

“And Donna and I are muggleborn,” she continued. “He never asked us about who we were related to.”

“I’m sorry, would you like me to apologize for being related to someone he taught years ago?” you asked, incredulous. “What’s happening?”

Donna put a hand on Yvette’s arm. “No, that would be like asking us to apologize for being muggleborn.”

Yvette deflated. “I think I’m just jealous, is all.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t really want to go. But I’ll put in a good word for all of you. I’ll tell him all about your dueling talent, Donna’s affinity for transfiguration, and Herb’s perfect rendition of Celestina Warbeck’s greatest hits.”

Herbert laughed. “Don’t forget about my Patronus. Only took me one try.”

You laughed too, “Right right, how could I forget?”

Friday morning, you sat yourself down to breakfast, crossing your fingers you wouldn’t have to follow through with Transfiguration tutoring. Alas, Ernie was already seated, but as soon as he spotted you, he held up a roll of parchment and wiggled it in the air.

You groaned and took it from him. Your heart sank as you read the slanted writing.

Miss Y/L/N, I have arranged a tutor for you. Kindly meet Professor McGonagall outside my office at 5 P.M. for details. Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore

With any luck, this could turn into an excuse to miss Professor Slughorn’s dinner party.

Professor McGonagall was waiting for you in the seventh floor corridor in the West Wing, standing perfectly poised in front of the massive gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster’s tower.

Her expression gave nothing away, but she acknowledged your presence with a polite nod. Then she turned to the gargoyle and spoke the password. “Acid pops,” she said.

You had only ever been in Dumbledore’s office once, in your first year when Professor Sprout had all but begged him to let you jump ahead a year in Herbology. It looked almost exactly the same, four years later.

The Headmaster himself was seated casually at his desk, peering at you over his characteristic half-moon glasses, and smiling, welcoming you in.

You returned a nervous smile of your own, and tried not to stare at his withered hand.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he greeted you, “please, sit.” You obeyed silently. “Surviving your O.W.L. year, I take it?”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“No need to be nervous, this isn’t a punishment.” His eyes twinkled. He was up to something, you were sure of it. “Your tutor should be here any moment. In fact,” a small device on his desk began to spin around like a top, “Minerva, would you be so kind as to show him in.”

Professor McGonagall nodded her head once more, and went to retrieve whoever had arrived.

Professor Dumbledore continued to appraise you. “I have heard, of course, of your experience with Herbology, and your affinity for magical creatures. I am, therefore, not surprised you have had some trouble with Transfiguration. I have found that students with your skill set often dislike transfiguring living creatures, find it repugnant, even.”

You gave a cautious nod. That could be the problem, maybe.

“Ah, excellent,” he said, now looking at someone behind you. You turned to look and your stomach curled. “Thank you for coming.”

Draco Malfoy glared down at you.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you said.

At the same time, he huffed, “Of course.”

Before he could say anything else, you turned back to Dumbledore. “Please, Professor, anyone, anyone but him.”

Dumbledore feigned surprise. “Miss Y/L/N, I was under the impression the two of you were friends. Is that no longer the case?”

You sputtered - the Slytherin common room, that must’ve been how he’d gotten that idea.

Draco didn’t argue; he only sat down next to you. Instinctively, your arm pulled itself off your chairs armrest, away from him. Dumbledore clocked the movement, eyes still twinkling.

The Headmaster ignored your protests and explained, “Mr. Malfoy received excellent marks on his Transfiguration O.W.L., and Professor Sprout reported how well the two of you worked together last year.” Draco shifted uncomfortably at the praise. “I have already checked your schedules, and I believe this should not interfere with either of your Quidditch schedules.”

Draco turned to you sharply. Apparently he hadn’t heard you’d made the team. You still refused to look at him.

Professor McGonagall chimed in, “I have provided a rough curriculum to Mr. Malfoy, as well as some spells from previous years I believe will be helpful.”

“Thank you, Minerva. Does Monday work for the both of you?”

Draco nodded sharply.

You replied sourly, “It does.”

Dumbledore let your tone slide. “Then I’ll expect a report from either of you by the end of next week, on your meeting schedule and any other concerns I, or Professor McGonagall may be able to address. I imagine you will require a quiet place to study, as I hear the library can be rather barmy.” You marked his inflection - was he unofficially recommending the Room of Requirement for this use? He certainly must know you were aware of it, your name had been on the DA list.

Draco frowned. He must’ve caught it as well. “Yes, sir,” he said in his typical icy tone that gave nothing away.

Dumbledore smiled again. “Then, now that that’s all good and settled, Miss Y/N, I believe you have made a commitment for dinner? You may go, give Professor Slughorn my regards.”

You nodded again and rose, ready to be anywhere but this office. Finally, you locked eyes with Draco. His lip lifted subtly in a small sneer. Pivoting on your toes, you fled before either of you could say anything more than had already been said.

You cursed the whole way to Slughorn’s rooms.

What was Dumbledore playing at? You’d joked about Hermione tutoring you if he’d wanted to torture you, but this? This was never something you’d considered a possibility. And Draco had agreed. Obviously he couldn’t have known who he’d be helping, but that he’d agree to help anyone. Dumbledore must’ve offered him something he couldn’t pass up.

You bit your tongue to stop it’s grumbling before you knocked on the door.

Professor Slughorn opened it in the blink of an eye. He wore a decadent smoking jacket embroidered with shiny golden stars and a matching cap. You were almost surprised there was no lit cigar in his hand, but rather two mugs of Butterbeer, one of which he offered you as he shepherded you inside.

Standing by a roaring fireplace, two students you recognized as Slytherins glanced up from their conversation and looked you up and down. The boy, Blaise Zabini, you knew had worked his way into Malfoy’s little group. The look did not last more than a moment before they deemed you inconsequential and resumed their own conversation.

Ginny had been cornered by some massive Gryffindor you didn’t know from the DA, so you made a bee-line to her.

She looked up gratefully and said very quickly, “Oh look my friend Y/N I have to go talk to her now thank you goodbye,” before stepping nimbly out of his grasp. She took you by the arm and steered you around.

“What was all that about?” you asked.

“That,” she whispered, “is Cormac McLaggen. He is very upset he was passed over for Quidditch and he keeps asking me to talk to Harry. Like I could get him to change his mind if I wanted to. And Dean hates that he keeps talking to me.”

“And how are things with Dean?”

“Oh, they’re,” she sighed, “they’re alright. We’ve had a few spats but we’re working through it.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

She laughed. “Right.”

A few others trickled in after you: Neville, a Ravenclaw you didn’t recognize, and Hermione (who mentioned twice that she was late because of prefect duties). Once everyone Professor Slughorn had been expecting arrived, he invited all of you to sit down for dinner.

A dark wooden dining table appeared where nothing had been before. He chuckled lightly at the couple surprised looks the conjuration had caused, clearly pleased with his party trick. The table was already laden with a full Sunday roast - Yorkshire pudding, roasted potatoes, three different variations of a horseradish sauce and a basket of steaming rolls surrounded the massive beef roast. The smell of it made you homesick.

Professor Slughorn bid you all sit down, and you clung to Ginny, who did her best to maneuver away from McLaggen and sat next to Neville. McLaggen then tried to snag a chair by Hermione, but the Ravenclaw beat him to it. Stymied, he slouched into a seat between the two Slytherin students.

Your host barely let you fill up your plates with food before launching into a litany of questions about school, family histories, and career goals. He started going around the table clockwise; you tried to sink lower and lower into your chair and then -

“Y/N, how is your mother’s shop doing these days?”

Everyone at the table turned their attention towards you.

You nodded and put down the potato you’d speared with a fork. “It’s doing well, she’d started to plan to expand last year, but with things as they are…”

“Of course, of course. I’m glad to hear it, she was one of my favorite students when she went here. Slytherin, right?”

Blaise snorted. “Your mother was in Slytherin, and now she owns a garden shop?” The Slytherin girl next to McLaggen laughed too.

You smothered a look of disdain, and substituted a winning smile. “That’s what she wanted. To build a successful business from the ground up, and she did. I wonder if you’ll be able to achieve whatever it is you desire.”

Slughorn chimed in, “Ho, ho - a good wit too, from her no doubt. You mustn’t blame Mr. Zabini, his family is used to a more gilded kind of success than us common folk.” He tossed a wink Blaise’s way, who smiled thinly at the attempt to break the tension. He waved a hand, “Anyway, Neville, how is your grandmother?”

Dinner dragged on for another hour, before Professor Slughorn ran out of questions and dessert was served, and then another half an hour of poking the same chunk of ice cream around a bowl before Ginny gave you a look and you both excused yourselves.

In the hallway, the moment the door closed, the both of you burst out laughing.

“That was maybe the most uncomfortable I’ve ever been,” you said, breathless.

“Oh, but did you see Zabini’s face? That was worth the whole thing.”

In the common room, you sat your friends down to deliver the news, that Draco Malfoy would be tutoring you for the forseeable future at Dumbledore’s request.

No one but Herbert said a thing.

“Well, at least one good thing may come of this,” he quipped.

Exasperated, you asked, “Like what?”

“Now you’ll have the opportunity to ask him what the hell he wants you to do about the common room.”

You slept exceptionally poorly the next three nights, tossing and turning, trying to figure a way out of tutoring with the biggest git at Hogwarts again. Who could’ve known that one ill-conceived attempt at kindness could ruin two school years in a row?

You fell through every stage of grief - denial that it had not been a bad dream, anger at Dumbledore, bargaining with whatever force governed the universe as we know it, and depression as you faced the Room of Requirement on Monday evening. Draco must’ve already arrived and gotten settled, the door wouldn’t have appeared so quickly if the room was empty.

It was not too late to run. To beg Herbert for a Puking Pastille you knew he had leftover from last year.

No. If someone was going to run, it was going to be Draco Malfoy, running from you. Whenever you got around to chewing him out.

You pushed open the door.

The inside was not what you’d been expecting. Where you’d imagined a cold, clinical classroom designed to impart knowledge and nothing else, was a sitting room, nice but not too grand, with a few crushed velvet armchairs and a large coffee table suitable for note-taking in front of a cozy fireplace, where a kettle was already about to whistle.

Above you, a sneakoscope dangled from the ceiling, eerily still.

Draco looked up from his place on one of the armchairs, book open upon a knee. He still looked tired around the eyes.

“Y/N, good. The water’s almost ready.” A lovely floral tea pot and two tea cups appeared on a tray on the table.

You blinked. “You’re making tea?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s not poisoned?”

“I’m not an animal, Y/N.”

“And you’re making it? There’s no house elves hiding in the corner ready to do it for you?”

He finally huffed. “If I wanted a house elf to make my tea I’d have to tell them about this arrangement. Now are you going to sit down or do you have more insipid questions?”

Satisfied that this was not an assassination attempt, you did sit down across from him and set your school bag on the floor. Even in the cushy chair, in front of the crackling fire, you couldn’t relax. You sat forward in the chair, hands rubbing your knees.

Draco rolled his eyes.

“What?” you asked.

“Go ahead.”

“Go ahead… with what?”

He snapped the book shut and poured the boiling water into the teapot. “You want to know why I’m doing this - Dumbledore asked me to - when my time is so precious to me - which it is - and you’re the last person I’d want to help - not technically true and I didn’t know Dumbledore had you in mind when I agreed.”

“But why did you agree in the first place?”

“I figure it may keep me out of trouble.”

“Uh huh.” You took a long pause, debating. “And if it’s not me, who is the last person you’d help?”

He grinned wolfishly, “Potter, obviously.”

“Ah.” You should’ve known. Even in light of every sin he undoubtedly counted against you, you’d never be as despicable as Harry Potter, The Chosen One. You wondered if it was terrible that, for a moment, you were grateful for that years-long grudge of theirs.

You took the tea he offered and sipped on it silently. It was fragrant and floral, jasmine, maybe.

His grey eyes watched you carefully, looking for something. What, you couldn’t say. “And how was your dinner meeting then? With the Slug Club?”

You grimaced. “Is that what we’re calling it? Yikes. It was fine, I guess. I met a friend of yours, one Blaise Zabini. Delightful conversationalist.”

“You never said you had family in Slytherin.”

“You never asked.”

“Hmm.” Then he reached around and retrieved a cardboard box with holes in the top.

You grinned, you couldn’t stop yourself. “Is that a hedgehog?” you asked.

An eyebrow twitched up. “It is.”

“So this was on McGonagall’s list then.”

“McGonagall’s list,” he scoffed, “I could’ve come up with. I’ll get to that later. Maybe. But let’s stick with what you can already almost do for now.”

You frowned. “But she said-“

“I know what she said.”

“But, Draco if this isn’t on the O.W.L.-“

“You still need to learn it.”

You crossed your arms and huffed. “Will you just listen to-“

“No.” He pulled a squirming hedgehog out of the box and set it on the coffee table. “Now turn this into a pin cushion.”

You whipped out your wand, furious, leveled it at the hedgehog, and hesitated. What if you couldn’t do it? What if, even with help, you remained incapable of this one thing?

“Y/N,” he said impatiently.

“I’m getting there, I’m getting there.”

“No, you aren’t. Just cast the spell.”

“But-“

“Cast the spell.”

“Draco-“

“Y/N. Do it. Now.”

You did. But not on the hedgehog. Draco Malfoy, all hundred-eighty and some odd centimeters of him shrunk down into a pin cushion you could fit in your palms. You picked him up in shaking hands.

“Oh my god. Shit.”

Dumbledore was going to find out, and then after congratulating you on how well you’d transfigured a whole person he’d expel you and you’d be gardening for your mother without magic for the rest of your lift. Which wouldn’t last long if Draco’s family ever found out what’d happened to their silver haired progeny.

No, no. McGonagall fixed bad transfigurations all the time. If you could do this you could do that - simple.

You put the Draco-cushion on the coffee table and picked up your wand again. The hedgehog gave him a sniff then retreated to the behind his box.

“Ahem,” you cleared your throat, still steadying your hands. “R-reparifarge.” Nothing happened. You smacked your wand against your other hand a few times, white sparks flying from the tip with every thwak. “Reparifarge!”

The pin cushion began to spin and stretch until it was roughly the size Draco Malfoy had been before, then with a sharp pop, the material of the pin cushion changed back into skin and clothes and Draco blinked several times.

He looked around, confused by how he’d moved from the chair to the coffee table in less than an instant. Then he looked at you, your ashen face, and guessed it. “Did you turn me into a pincushion?” he asked, quietly.

The calmness in his voice unnerved you. Heat flooded into your cheeks, you pressed your fingers into them trying to calm the blush.

“Yes, b-but I fixed you. Do you feel alright?”

He gave himself a once over, patting down his legs for leftover pins. “I’m fine, I think.” He smiled that scheming smile again, and you leaned back in your chair. “Now, not only have you just committed an actual crime, that was also pretty advanced magic.”

“Well, you were being a bit prickly.”

He laughed at that. It was cold and sharp and over before it began, but it was an actual laugh. “So it should be child’s play now to transfigure this.” He set the hedgehog in front of you again and moved back to his armchair.

Too shaken to argue, you obeyed and tried again on the hedgehog. When you were, once again, unsuccessful, Draco scrubbed a hand down his face and slumped down in the chair.

“This is going to take a lot of work,” he remarked.

At the end of the hour, the wrist of your wand hand was sore. If Draco was frustrated, he was doing an excellent job of not letting it show as he bid you goodnight in a civil tone. It was almost too civil.

You parted ways down opposite sides of the hall, the paths to the kitchens and the dungeon evidentially being different. But when you reached the stairs, a gentle itching began on the back of your neck, and you indulged it.

You turned around, and, stepping softly, crept back to peer around the corner. You felt silly, surely he was already halfway to his common room by now.

But he wasn’t. He had also circled back, and was re-entering the Room of Requirement.

The ends of his cloak disappeared inside and you were on the move. The door closed, and no sooner had you reached out to touch it, it disappeared under your fingers.

~~~ Taglist ~~~

@jemomgershippingco

@snickersmee

@lafrone

@cillshot

@reb0rned

#brilliant as always #that ending GOT ME SO CURIOUS #and MALFOY TRANSFORMED INTO A PIN CUSHION!??!?!#art at its finest #i love these two

13 notes · View notes

reb0rned · 3 months

Text

HPB, Chapter 1 - A Vague Warning

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: mentions of murder

Masterlist

Word Count: ~3,200

Note: Welcome to the second part of my Draco x reader fic, taking place during the events of Half Blood Prince!

Since the full, public reveal of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s return at the end of your last school year, he and his Death Eaters had come out of hiding more and more to wreak havoc and violence across the wizarding and muggle worlds alike.

Donna and Yvette had both carefully explained to their muggle parents the dangers of them accompanying them to places such as Diagon Alley, where not even the witch and wizard locals were safe. Most shops either had boarded up a few front-facing windows, or, if you squinted from the right angle, you could make out the glimmer of a magical ward. Your mum and Julien insisted on accompanying you and your friends through the shops, and afterwards Donna and Yvette both came back to stay with you until it was time to head to King’s Cross.

Even with the world as it was crumbling around you, the book list for your O.W.L. year was as long as it had ever been. The three of you sat around your living room, flipping through textbooks with growing trepidation while your mum and Julien worked in the garden outside. Buttercup, your King Charles Spaniel, had her head across Donna’s lap, and Wilbur, your white cat, bathed in the warm glow of the open window. Hagrid hadn’t even assigned a textbook for Care of Magical Creatures, so at this point, you were just trying to kill time before leaving for King’s Cross.

Yvette sighed dramatically and closed her book with a clap. “This sucks. Are we even going to be allowed to go to Hogsmeade now?”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Donna asked incredulously. “Not the rising kill count of Dark Wizards abroad?”

Yvette huffed. “Well obviously, I thought that went without saying. But I’m sure that between the Order, Ministry Aurors and Dumbledore someone will put a stop to that. I just don’t want the world to stop spinning until they have. Is that so wrong?”

Donna raised her eyebrows but said nothing, electing instead to scratch behind Buttercup’s floppy ear.

You chimed in, “Some normalcy would be nice. And I doubt the only all-wizard village in Britain is at the top of You-Know-Who’s hit list. Aurors frequent The Three Broomsticks. Fudge used to frequent The Three Broomsticks. As for the new Minister, we’ll see.”

Just then your mum poked her head through the door, brandishing a trowel as she spoke, “You should be perfectly safe in Hogsmeade, but you must keep your wits about you! And stick together, no wandering off to look for Puffskein burrows this year, Y/N. Now, get your trunks together, we’re almost done out here.”

After a long, heartfelt goodbye to Buttercup and coaxing Wilbur into his carrier with a tuna flavored treat, you piled your trunks into the magically expanded trunk of Julien’s station wagon. Your parent’s accompanied you all the way to your first steps onto the train, hands hovering above their wands, where you found Herbert waiting for you in an empty compartment.

He grinned and lent a hand as you and your friends shoved your trunks into the overhead compartments. “Ernie and Hannah may join us later,” he said, “once they do their rounds.”

Donna laughed. “Hey Y/N, remember when I thought you might be dating Ernie?”

“What?” Yvette asked sharply. “Have I missed something?”

“No,” you said firmly, “it was just because of the DA meetings. Before you guys knew about it.”

Donna continued to tease, “The two of you strolled into the common room pretty late. He even opened the door for you.”

The train’s whistle screamed out and the car lurched.

Yvette’s eyebrows creased. “Well, to be fair, you could certainly do worse.”

Herbert was shocked. “Do you like Ernie?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. But he’s nice, though. And he made a good dueling partner.” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t judge if you did like him, Y/N.”

“Well that’s very nice but-” you stopped short as Wilbur’s paw began reaching out of his carrier and swiping at your shirt. “D’you think Ernie and Hannah’d mind if I let him out?”

The compartment door slid open.

“Surely not, go ahead,” Hannah said, entering the compartment with Ernie close behind. Wilbur gave the air a sniff before climbing out, stretching dramatically, and curling up on your lap. He allowed Hannah to pat his head.

“You seem in good spirits today, Hannah,” Donna remarked.

She laughed, and explained, “Prefect duty was just unusually pleasant this time round.”

Ernie scoffed. “Yeah, since Malfoy’s taking the day off, apparently.” A jolt plunged through your gut - you’d somehow forgotten another year at Hogwarts meant another year hearing about him. You still felt conflicted - no, conflicted wasn’t the right word. Angry, yes, at him for being exactly who everyone else had told you he was, since he was the kind of person who could use the terms blood traitor and mudblood in the same sentence. His father even had been arrested at the Ministry last year, undeniably in league with You-Know-Who. There was an entire article in the Daily Prophet about it, explaining that the Malfoy’s (apparently very old and very large) family mansion had been raided shortly after. Oddly enough, learning that had sparked some level of sympathy, for Draco at least. It had to have been difficult for him, even if his father deserved it. And you were also disappointed in yourself, that who you were beginning to think he was happened to be so far off the mark.

With any luck, your Herbology 6 would be with Gryffindor and Hufflepuff and you could avoid him altogether.

The train ride to Hogwarts was pleasant - the sun came out halfway through to cast a warm glow on the countryside, and Ernie and Herbert swapped stories about Peeves. When the snack trolley rolled by, everyone pooled together some Galleons to split a box of twenty chocolate frogs, then you opened all of them to trade cards.

Once settled in the Great Hall for the feast, you turned to Yvette to speculate about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He was a short man, with a round face and a mustache, and a snappy dresser. No one seemed to have any idea who he was. Then, once the pudding was unveiled, Professor Dumbledore arose and took his place by the great owl podium.

You half-listened to his welcome speech, really only interested in the new professor, and whether he had anything to say about You-Know-Who, and you didn’t have to wait long. Professor Slughorn, an old colleague of Dumbledore’s, had returned to resume his old positions as potions master. Potions? You looked around confused at your housemates, then over to the Ravenclaw table where a similar bout of confusion had struck.

Dumbledore continued to explain, “Professor Snape, meanwhile, will be taking over the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.” Another uproar followed and you sank into your pudding. There went the hope of an O.W.L. for that subject.

It was a relief to learn that your Herbology 6 period was, in fact, with Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and it pleased Hannah and Ernie too, to know they could whisper questions in your ear whenever it suited them. Most of the Gryffindor sixth years you had already met through the DA meetings, and some of them even remembered you enough to ask what you were doing in the class.

The potions classroom had undergone a subtle change for the better. Under Professor Snape’s reign, the lighting had always seemed cast in that same cold-green glow you’d encountered in the Slytherin common room, but here it was almost cheerful. Almost. Though it was accompanied by Professor Slughorn grinning at the door and shaking hands enthusiastically with every student as they filtered in. Luna seemed particularly comfortable, launching off immediately about her father’s publication, The Quibbler, when asked. It was, easily, the best Potions class you’d ever sat through.

Professor Snape, in Defense Against the Dark Arts, had given a lengthy speech on the nebulous nature of the Dark Arts and had hinted more than once at the inferiority of Harry Potter’s instruction through Dumbledore’s Army. Thankfully, you saw a few others barely hiding their own eye rolls.

Zacharias Smith wouldn’t take no for an answer when he asked you to try out for Quidditch Keeper again this year. Apparently, since Ezra Miller had left Hogwarts, Wanda Clemm wanted to try for his spot as Beater. In the end, you relented, and thus found yourself on the Quidditch pitch with Yvette and the rest of them at the crack of dawn Saturday morning.

Herbert and Donna settled into the stands with a few others including Professor Sprout to cheer you on, and the tryouts commenced. As it turned out, Wanda Clemm made a fair beater, and beamed triumphantly when Zacharias offered her the spot. Yvette retained her position as Chaser, as did Cadwallader. Devon Summerby barely came out on top; Zacharias was not pleased, but offered him the spot anyway.

Then, Keepers were up. There were only two others vying for the spot: a fourth year you’d only met in passing, and Ernie Macmillan. You quirked an eyebrow at him, he responded with a shrug. You elected to go last, wanting to see how they did, and secretly hoping that one of them would be good enough so you wouldn’t even need to try out. Unfortunately, though, Ernie struggled greatly to turn quickly in the air, and the fourth year kept doing loop-the-loops in between the goal posts.

It was unavoidable, then, when your turn rolled around and you were able to actually block the quaffle, Zacharias offered you the spot confidently and you didn’t have the heart to say no after seeing the other options.

Yvette was characteristically excited, and her enthusiasm managed to rub off on you enough to make you grin by the time you got back to the common room.

During the week that followed, a growing foreboding grew in the air. There was a tension, a pregnant pause. You thought that maybe it was your luck avoiding Draco Malfoy wearing thin.

Then, during Herbology, Professor McGonagal had interrupted to pull Hannah out of class. She never returned. You learned later that her mum had been found, dead, earlier in the day. It was enough to remind you of the real dangers that existed just outside Hogwarts, and you had to scold yourself for forgetting. Draco Malfoy was the least of your worries.

The common room atmosphere took yet another hit. If even the Abbotts, an old pureblood family, weren’t safe, was anyone?

Zacharias, ever sensitive to the feelings of others, had reminded you brusquely of quidditch practice to take place in an hour. As anyone but Zacharias could have predicted, that practice did not go well. Everyone had one eye on the quaffle and the other on the castle in the distance, hoping that one of the people coming and going would have news about Hannah. But not one did.

You followed Yvette back to the common room after, thoroughly exhausted and hopeless, intending to flop onto bed and sleep through breakfast in the morning. When you thrust back the bed curtains, though, Wilbur sat, tail curled around him, purring happily.

“What’s that, bud?” you asked, spotting the corner of some kind of parchment under his bottom. You lured him off of it with a treat and read, “Come to the owlery at midnight, alone. It’s important. -SB.”

“SB?” you asked yourself. “Do I know anybody… maybe Silas Babbage? No, he left last year. Who in the world?”

“Talking to yourself again?” Donna asked, strolling into the room.

Yvette answered before you could, “Looks like Y/N’s got a secret admirer.”

“I do not!”

She shrugged. “Not sure who else would leave a note on your bed asking you to meet them at midnight.”

“What?” Donna exclaimed as she snatched the note out of your hands. She turned it over and over, incredulous. “SB?”

“That’s what I was just wondering.”

“Well are you going to go?”

You thought for a moment. The note gave no real indication of who you were meant to be meeting, and given the state of things, that could be dangerous. But, then again, it said to meet at the owlery so whoever sent it must be from someone already on Hogwarts grounds.

Finally, you nodded. “At worst it’s a prank, and I’ll complain about it to you both when I get back.”

You waited until the last Hufflepuff had gone to bed, Donna and Ywette Made you promise a full report before bidding you goodnight, and then you slipped out the huge round door. Wilbur had abandoned you hours ago when he realized you weren’t on your way to bed, and both Donna and Yvette had gone to sleep.

“Sipellum,” you whispered, casting the Disillusionment charm on yourself to obscure your form. It wouldn’t make you invisible, but it would be easier to hide from prefects in the dark corners of the castle. Your mum had insisted upon teaching you the incantation over the summer, and this technically was the first time you’d tried it. Surprisingly enough, it worked.

Carefully, you stepped lightly on the balls of your feet out of the castle. The outer doors were all closed except for the small courtyard between the great hall and the library’s wing, so you waited a few beats for whoever was on curfew patrol to pass, and climbed through an arch onto the grounds.

The lingering summer air made the night breeze warm, but you still shivered through your jumper. It was a clear night, too, the waxing gibbous moon illuminating the highlands sufficiently enough you never bothered to cast lumos. The owlery loomed on a hill above you.

So, you climbed.

Halfway up, you heard a muffled curse. Then another, and when you were inches from the door, “Get away, you mangy thing,” hoarsely whispered.

You tossed open the door and dismissed the spell; it was Draco Malfoy, sitting on a bench previously covered in owl droppings. Your eyes narrowed. He was shooing away a fluffy white cat, who was purring aggressively trying to head butt his leg, and yelped slightly at the sight of you.

“Wilbur!” you chided, ignoring Malfoy. “What are you doing here? Don’t touch that, you don’t know where it’s been.”

He ignored that last bit, asking, “This thing belongs to you?”

Finally, you leveled your gaze at him. The absolute gall it must’ve taken for him to summon you here tonight, after last year, astounded you. “This is my cat. Who is apparently a terrible judge of character. What in Merlin’s Beard is ‘SB’?”

He said coldly, “Study buddy.” You snorted. “It was the best I could come up with.”

“Well, I’m here. What do you want?”

He took a steadying breath. The summer hadn’t treated him well; his normally cold features were especially worn, harried even. Dark circles had appeared under his sharp eyes. He replied, “The Hufflepuff common room, is there a password?”

“Huh?”

“To get in - is there a password?”

There were barrels outside the door you had to properly knock on, and if you got the rhythm wrong you got sprayed with pumpkin juice, but you weren’t sure that really counted. “Uhh… Why’d you want to know?” He crossed his arms. “Okay, fine, not really. But it’s just outside the-“

“No, don’t tell me. Just,” he paused, hands folded in front of his mouth. “In the event there was someone attempting to enter to cause mischief, it would be advantageous for there to be some line of defense. In the Hufflepuff common room.”

You took a moment, blinking rapidly, to unravel what he could mean. “That’s… vague.” The thought of his father, a Death Eater, imprisoned in Azkaban flickered across your mind. “Do you… know something? What are you implying?”

A wall of ice descended behind his eyes once more. That was all you were going to get out of him, it would seem.

“I’ve said all I can. Goodbye, Y/N.” He turned and stalked out of the owlery, not even bothering to sneak or cast the Disillusionment charm. Still depending on his prefect status to keep him out of trouble, no doubt.

You waited a beat, fuming, wondering what the point of this meeting had been. Was it a prank? What had been the punchline? Was it possible he was actually trying to warn you of something important? Maybe he’d overheard something over summer. Or, maybe he just wanted you out of bed after hours for an excuse to dock house points.

After a heavy sigh, a groan, and a feeble kick to the bench, you recast the Disillusionment charm and went out as you came in.

“Donna,” you whispered, standing over her bed, “get up.”

“Huh? What? Ah!” She started awake, then rubbed her eyes. “Y/N, do you know what time it is?”

“Yes and this is important, get Herbert to the common room.” You moved over to Yvette’s bed and woke her next.

Your three friends assembled themselves on a plush leather sofa by the fireplace, still warm with embers, as you recounted the events of the evening, including just who was waiting for you in the owlery.

“Total transparency, I have no idea what it was all about. There wasn’t some trap waiting for me, no one jumped out to laugh. I don’t know what to make of it, “ you finished, hands folded in your lap.

Herbert frowned. “And he didn’t mention who would be trying to get into our common room?”

“No. Only that if someone were to try, for the purpose of causing mischief, it’d be better if there was a password. Or some other thing, I guess.”

Donna pondered. “And it didn’t seem like he was trying to trick you? He never asked where the common room was, though, right? So it’s probably not him playing some long-gamed prank.”

You shook your head. “At first I thought that must be it, right? Why on earth else would he go to these lengths to get me alone at midnight. It’s possible he was just testing how far I would go for a mystery. Or for some weird misdirection. But if I had to put words to it, he seemed… almost… afraid.”

“If you thought he looked afraid, he was probably terrified. That git’s facade could fool a boggart.”

Yvette shrugged. “After everything that happened last year, do you trust him?”

You let out a bark of laughter. “No. I don’t trust him. But I’m inclined to believe him. About the possibility of a threat, I mean.” They were quiet as you pondered. Beyond the grounds of Hogwarts, darkness was spreading fast. You knew they lived in fear of receiving similar news as Hannah had, and though you were loathe to admit it, so did you. It seemed unwise to ignore such a warning from someone who might have inside information. Thinking of just who that information could have come from, you shuddered.

Finally, Donna nodded. “I don’t think this is the sort of thing we ignore.”

Herbert agreed, “So how do we fortify an enchanted room, in an enchanted castle, under our teachers’ and everyone else’s noses?”

~~~ Taglist ~~~

@jemomgershippingco

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@cillshot

@reb0rned

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reb0rned · 3 months

Text

OoTP Epilogue

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: it's that scene where a professor threatens to literally torture a child

Masterlist

Word Count: ~680

Note: a little from Draco's perspective - the winds of change, they are a-blowing

Draco Malfoy was having an excellent day. Perhaps the best day in months. He'd just walked away from his Potions O.W.L., certain he'd get an O, and now he was answering a summons to the High Inquisitor's office on official Inquisitorial Squad business. Sure, Potter and his little friends had narrowly escaped a life sentence of detentions, but things were looking up.

But, just thinking about Potter now made him think of Y/N. How she'd pretended to be so sickeningly nice, pretended to care. Chosen her mudblood friends over him. It made his tongue sour.

No matter. Her silly little plan, whatever it was, hadn't worked. And he'd gotten a passable Herbology O.W.L. out of it.

Things were certainly looking up.

Draco arrived at Headmaster Umbridge's office just in time to watch her dragging none other than Harry Potter away from her fireplace. This day just kept getting better and better.

The scene unfolded beyond his wildest dreams: Millicent Bulstrode, a bit thick for his inner circle (Goyle was tolerated only at the behest of Draco's father), had already cornered Granger, and behind him the other members of the Inquisitorial Squad marched in with their own spoils. But Potter was uncooperative, and Snape had to be involved.

Draco smirked. Veritaserum would work quickly and Potter would spill his deep, precious, pathetic little secrets. And nobody brewed a better potion than Professor Snape.

But then, things took an interesting turn.

As it turned out, the High Inquisitor had already used Professor Snape's stock of the prized potion in a different, failed attempt to interrogate Potter. He offered to poison him instead, which earned a chuckle from every Slytherin in the office, but he was ultimately unable to assist.

Then, Headmaster Umbridge flushed angrily, her rage boiled over, and she shrieked, "You are on probation!" A stillness fell over the Slytherins. Their head of house, pinned against the Headmaster, they just weren't sure whose side they were supposed to take. Even Draco Malfoy hesitated. His father always spoke highly of Severus Snape, and his father's word was so often true.

Headmaster Umbridge began muttering to herself, chest heaving with rage. Draco leaned in to hear, "... justify the use... no choice..." Draco held his breath. "The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue."

Draco was mesmerized. He had never seen the curse do its work in person. He'd heard its effects over the summer, of course, echoing from the lower floors of his home where he had never been allowed to intrude. But his curiosity was finally about to be sated, and on Potter no less. Granger yowled and protested in the corner, ever too concerned with what was allowed over what was possible, but Draco barely heard her. Headmaster Umbridge raised her wand and -

- Draco pictured for a split second that it was Y/N instead of Potter at the end of the wand, and his stomach churned. He took a shaky step back. What was that? Crabbe looked at him, confused with a touch of annoyance.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a shrill voice chiming, "Malfoy. Malfoy."

"Huh?"

Headmaster Umbridge had Potter and Granger by the bicep, a greedy look on her reddened face. "You will remain here, to make sure the rest of them don't escape."

"A-all right," Draco replied. He had missed entirely where they were going and why. But he could follow orders.

And, this would give him a moment to gather himself. Why should he care whether it was Potter or Y/N? After all, she had tricked him by helping him - for practically nothing in return - which was suspicious! He just hadn't been able to put a finger on why. But, maybe this was why. To get into his head. To wriggle her way in, to make him care like she'd pretended to. That must be it, and to his absolute fury, it had clearly worked.

He'd smother the feeling, he had to.

Then, Weasley's annoying little sister ripped herself from Goyle's grasp, leveled her wand at Draco's shocked face, and unleashed a Bat-Bogey Hex that covered his face in flapping wings, and he was preoccupied with a more immediate problem.

~~~ Taglist ~~~

@jemomgershippingco

@ronslovergirl

@snickersmee

@lafrone

@cillshot

@reb0rned

#hehe...#feelinhs..#feelilnlll #feels #...#i love this

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reb0rned · 3 months

Text

OoTP, Chapter 7 - The Sack of DA

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: none?

Masterlist

Word Count: ~2,500

Note: it had to happen, Malfoy is still a massive butthead, don't blame me...

The days following the term resuming were, in a word, horrific. You rose Monday morning and were greeted in the Great Hall by a swarm of Gryffindors passing around a battered issue of the Daily Prophet, and your heart sunk. Ginny was nowhere in sight, but the teachers' table carried the same intense chatter.

"What's happened?" you whispered to Hermione. She said nothing, but passed you the newspaper so you could read the headline. It took a moment to process what you'd read - Death Eaters, an escape from Azkaban, ten Death Eaters. Hermione remained silent, rose abruptly, and hurried out of the Great Hall.

A few tension-filled days later, and you learned that the old toad had put Hagrid on probation. The only thing worse than that was that no one knew when the next meeting of Dumbledore's Army could be. An odd coldness had settled between yourself and Draco, spurred by his smugness and malicious pleasure regarding Hagrid's status. During the Herbology lesson that followed, Professor Sprout beamed through her lecture on Screechsnaps; apparently Draco had done an excellent job with the puffapods over the break. The small victory seemed hollow, though.

Care of Magical Creatures was even worse. Umbridge insisted on interrupting every few minutes to ask a mind-numbingly stupid question, rarely related to the lesson plan, and then Hagrid would stumble through a response that only ever half-answered her question.

You did, eventually, run into Ginny in the Owlery, and managed to ask her how Mr. Weasley was getting on.

“Oh, he’s doing much better, thanks!” she said, grinning. Her breath fogged instantly in the chilled air at the top of the tower. “He’s home now, driving Mum crazy.”

“Well that’s good, I’m glad to hear it.” You looked casually over your shoulder. “Do you know when…?” you trailed off, eyebrows raised.

Ginny caught your meaning and nodded. “Pretty sure soon, he’s been busy with, erm, remedial Potions.”

Your mouth fell open. That was surprising. Harry wasn’t Snape’s favorite, no one was, but surely he couldn’t be that bad. Especially not with Hermione around to whisper corrections every few minutes, which you knew she had a habit of doing since having been paired with her one very, very long DA meeting. “Wow,” was all you managed to say.

Ginny frowned, “Yeah he’s not thrilled about it either.”

You laughed sardonically. “Well if he needs any help in Herbology,” not sure where that came from, you trailed off, uncomfortable.

Ginny looked at you quizzically.

You sighed. “I’ve got a bit of an odd question. What do you think of Draco Malfoy?”

Her face screwed up in disgust. “Why d’you want to know about him?”

“Well,” you hesitated, deciding on a half-truth, “he’s in my Herbology 5, and I don’t quite know what to make of him.”

“He’s a bully, and a git. And an idiot.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

She patted your arm sympathetically. “Your determination to like everyone is admirable, but trust me - that one’s a lost cause.” You smiled weakly at the compliment. “I’ve got to go, see you later!”

Ginny trotted down the icy stairs as fast as she could manage, leaving you in the cold with only more questions than before.

Valentine’s Day came and went, and you and Donna observed with increasing amusement as Herbert attempted on three separate occasions to invite Yvette to Hogsmeade, presumably on a date. The first time, sitting in the Great Hall over breakfast, she attempted to invite a few other people along. The second, after History of Magic, she hadn’t heard him properly and agreed that yes, they should study veritaserum for potions in the library today. The third, from across the common room, she replied that she planned to spend the whole Saturday gearing up for the next quidditch game against Gryffindor.

Herbert watched, dumbfounded, as Yvette moved on casually to discussing the practice schedule with Zacharias Smith.

Donna patted him on the shoulder. “Maybe for the best though. Valentine’s Day is way too much pressure for a first date.”

The Saturday morning of the long awaited match, when you woke Yvette and the rest of the quidditch team had already left for breakfast, so you and Donna bundled up and met Herbert in the common room. At the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall, the team sat eating in unhappy silence. Devon Summerby sneezed loudly over his breakfast.

“What’s got you lot in a twist?” Herbert asked as the three of you sat down.

Zacharius Smith flinched. “I guess Gryffindor’s last practice was exceptionally pitiful. Which would be great for us, except-”

“Except,” Yvette interrupted, seething, “Summerby caught a cold. What was it this time? Forget your cloak for Care of Magical Creatures?”

Devon Summerby’s voice came out nasal and stressed, “How many times are you gonna make me say I’m sorry?”

“As many times as needed to win the match,” Zacharias snapped. “And I’d ask you to step in, Y/N, but Hooch says he’s well enough to play.”

Then the Gryffindor team sat down at their table in similarly poor spirits.

Adding insult to injury, Draco Malfoy and his gaggle of goonies followed, taking a long and all too satisfied look around. He never met your eye.

“Well,” he said, smug, “this certainly promises to be quite the show. Do try not to embarrass yourselves too much.” Finally his gaze met yours, lingering uncomfortably. He looked away and said to his lackeys, “Crabbe, Goyle, let’s go.”

You scowled at his back as he led his ‘friends’ out to the courtyard. Donna clocked the look and raised an eyebrow.

Across the room, Ron Weasley had turned a shade of green. Ginny patted him on the back in an attempt at encouragement.

The match was nothing to write home about. Yvette, Zacharias and Cadawaller snuck upwards of fifteen goals past Ron Weasley, but Devon Summerby missed the snitch as it passed under his nose twice, eliciting screams of outrage from the Hufflepuff spectators. In the end, Ginny caught the snitch, closing the gap, and Hufflepuff won but only barely.

During the entire match, the Slytherin attendees could be heard singing another insulting refrain of “Weasley Is Our King,” and you didn’t need to wonder who had led the chorus.

After dinner, Donna cornered you in the common room amidst a half-hearted celebration.

“Please tell me,” she began in a whisper, “that Slytherin you were tutoring wasn’t Draco ‘My-Father-Will-Hear-About-This’ Malfoy?”

“I never noticed how perceptive you are, you should really-”

“Y/N. Be serious. He’s insufferable; why are you helping him?”

You shrugged, unsure of your own feelings. “He’s not that bad when there’s not an audience.”

“Oh, so you’ve been spending quality time alone with him too? Don’t tell me you’ve got a crush now?”

Once she said it, you couldn’t unhear it. Was it a crush? Your gut churned; you weren’t sure.

You answered, “I don’t know, ok? Yeah half the time I wanna punch him in the face, but the other half? I don’t know.”

Donna frowned, looked around to see if anyone had been listening. “Look, I don’t care if you’ve got a crush on the rich bad boy, but I wish you’d told me. I wish you’d told me when you started tutoring him. And I wish you’d told me about the study club.”

“I told you I didn’t think I could-”

Yvette threw an arm around each of you. “Whatever it is you’re whispering about can wait. Please help me save this party.”

The argument halted before it could begin, you spent the remainder of your evening enchanting chestnuts to roast themselves and explode into confetti.

The Great Hall was abuzz with chatter the next morning, nothing new, but about halfway through your breakfast you watched as Umbridge stomped over to the Gryffindor table.

“This can’t be good,” Herbert muttered as the whole table tried to eavesdrop.

Whatever it was must’ve been something truly magnificent as, for maybe the first time ever, she was speechless. She sputtered for a moment, then stomped back up the aisle, something tucked under her arm.

Exactly one hour later, a new Educational Decree went up, banning a certain news publication, and Herbert proudly appeared in the common room with said publication.

This edition of The Quibbler featured an interview from none other than Harry Potter himself.

Wanda Clemm and Ezra Roberts corralled him into an arm chair and demanded he read the article aloud. He obliged. It was a tell-all account of what happened during the games last year, so well written it had captivated everyone in the common room who sat at the edges of their seats.

It also named the Death Eaters that had been unmasked by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself: Peter Pettigrew, not dead after all; Avery; Macnair; Crabbe; Goyle; and… Malfoy.

So. This is what he’d meant when he said their families went ‘way back.’ That they were more like ‘colleagues’ than friends. Their fathers were all Death Eaters together, like some sick social club. Disgust rose in your throat - but he never seemed particularly fond of them, maybe, just maybe there was still hope?

In the month that followed, Dumbledore’s Army continued to meet with renewed vigor. No longer were these secret meetings merely a replacement for the joke Defense Against the Dark Arts had become, but something far more immediate. Finally, after months of asking about it, Harry Potter announced it was time to learn the Patronus Charm.

He kept on trying to emphasize the importance of being able to produce it under attack from Dementors, but was respectfully ignored as the wispy white animals took over the room.

Donna had no trouble at all thinking of a happy memory and letting it fill her up to the brim. A massive, slobbering St. Bernard leapt from her wand and nipped at the wisps from failed charms.

Herbert followed close behind. From his wand, an osprey, a fish-hawk, took flight.

You had far more trouble, as did Yvette. You shared a disappointed look. For some disconcerting reason, every happy memory you could think of was overshadowed by some feeling of disappointment. Seeing the dragons during the tournament - Cedric’s death. Hagrid returning with tiny versions of those dragons - Umbridge putting him on probation. Christmas at home with mum and Julien - a painful reminder of your father’s passing. Racing across a frigid pond to a crystalline forest with an unexpected friend - the hot, uneasy feeling you got in the pit of your stomach at the sight of him now.

All tainted, all failed.

Then, Yvette’s patronus burst forth, a beautiful dun mare galloping through the air, and the frustration you felt boiled over.

You groaned, shoved your wand in your back pocket, and stomped over to the edge of the room. There were a few others having equal trouble, like Seamus, but it was his first meeting. He hadn’t been training under Harry’s (and Hermione’s at times) excellent tutelage for months as you had. Harry was across the room, coaching Neville and trying to coax more than a faint wisp from the spell.

This was ridiculous.

You were training under Harry ‘the Chosen One’ Potter. Preparing for an all too possible, almost inevitable, magical war. And your closest friends were doing even better than you; they’d be just fine.

You abandoned fragmented warm and fuzzy memories, and instead tried to let the confidence of watching your friends, Ginny and Luna too, succeed fill you up. Then, you attempted to cast the Patronus Charm, just one more time before giving up.

Slowly, confidently, a grey wolf lined in silver came padding out of your wand. Its head held high, it circled around behind you to stand at your side, content to observe the wandering patronuses around the room. That was interesting.

“Talk about a wolf in sheep’s clothing, eh Y/N?” Herbert joked at you.

Sarcastically, you replied, “Oh, very funny.”

Across the room, a nervous voice stuttered, “Harry Potter… she… she…”

You recognized the house elf - he was always wearing multiple knit hats, gloves, socks, which he was still wearing as he tried desperately to impart some information to Harry, who was leaning over him in concern.

The room grew terribly still and the silvery wisps dissipated along with the images of animals as spells fizzled out. Your stomach sank to your feet once Harry finally deciphered the house elf’s meaning - Umbridge. Your worst nightmare. Everyone’s worst nightmare.

Harry looked around incredulously, then shouted, “RUN!”

Your friends wasted no time - Donna grabbed your wrist to pull you along - and bolted for the exit. In the corridor, members of Dumbledore’s Army scattered like sparrows out of a roost, and Barnabas the Barmy giggled wildly to himself in his portrait. Herbert, at the lead, pivoted hard and followed Hannah towards the library.

Behind you, an unmistakable voice laughed cruelly. Surely, Draco wouldn’t have aligned himself with that toad. Surely.

You didn’t have time to ponder, for a meter or two from the library doors your friends slowed and tried to catch their breath before ambling off nonchalantly, branching into the stacks.

For a moment you thought it may have worked, you’d caught your breath and had picked a book at random to idly page through. Then, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle burst through the doors.

“Really!” Madame Pince exclaimed.

Draco held up a hand, commanding and smug. “We are here by official instruction of the High Inquisitor. I’d hate to have to tell her how you interfered.”

Madame Pince paled at his words, and went back to the papers on her desk.

Then they moved through the library, in almost predatory unison. You tried to keep a subtle eye on Draco, moving when he moved, angling for the exit. This was not a confrontation you looked forward to. But it was all for naught. You rounded a corner you shouldn’t have and came face to face with Malfoy. He took a suspicious step back.

“Tell me,” he said, voice low and threatening, “you weren’t hanging around Potter,” he spat out the name like a curse, like the taste of it was foul, “and that louse Weasley, and that mudblood Granger.”

Oh.

Oh. Several key pieces of information clicked into place in your head. Ginny’s opinion of him, the Slytherin password, the way he’d said ‘goblins’ talking about Gringotts. So many signs. And you’d missed every one.

You stepped back on a foot, fists held to your sides, and returned his wrathful glare.

The Slytherin girl barged through the doors, stealing the attention. “We’ve got the list,” she purred, “Round them up.”

Malfoy turned back to you, and in the second it took you considered disarming him. Stunning him maybe. You were getting detention up to your ears anyway. And you'd like to see if you could do it.

But then, Crabbe came round the corner with Herbert, Goyle had Donna by the arm, and the saccharine girl caught Yvette as she tried to edge out of the room.

Still looking at you, Malfoy commanded, “Take these to Professor Umbridge. I’ll finish here.”

Fuming, you followed your friends to certain doom, leaving Malfoy behind, certain which side you both fell on.

~~~ Taglist ~~~

@jemomgershippingco

@ronslovergirl

@snickersmee

@lafrone

@cillshot

@reb0rned

#oh these are always so exciting to read!#draco prepare to be chewed up

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reb0rned · 4 months

Note

sejanus gives the best cuddles like he will try to lay on top of you and he’s so warm and soft and UGHHHH (i’m touch starved)

no cause

He’d be so silly like you’re just laying in bed on your tummy and reading, your book sat nicely on your pillow and he gets back from the shower, changes into his comfiest clothes.

When he kneels on the bed, you assume he’d just take his normal spot next to you but nope, Sejanus rolls over and lays directly on top of you, snaking his arms underneath your body to hug you to him while all of his weight is on top of you, his head nuzzling against the back of your shoulder. “Sejanus,” you warn, not wanting to be bothered from your reading, but you couldn’t help the smile that comes to your lips.

“don’t you worry about me, ‘m gonna lay here for a bit,” he coos almost, his voice like pure, sweet honey as he plants a kiss to your shoulder. And he’d be good! He’d lay still, just holding you, occasionally squeezing you. He’d rub his nose against you and give you little kisses wherever he can reach and before you know it, he’s grabbing your book and pushing it aside-

AND YOUD WHINE ABOUT IT AND ON INSTINCT HE REACHES HIS HAND UP TO COVER YOUR MOUTH AND HE KISSES YOUR NECK AND CHEEK ALL SLOPPILY BEFORE ROLLING OFF OF YOU AND LETTING YOU CUDDLE BACK INTO HIM CAUSE OF YOU WANNA BE BACK IN HIS ARMS FUCK THE BOOK

let’s chat about sej, here :)

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reb0rned · 4 months

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✶ : EYES ON ME

SEJANUS PLINTH x COVEY!READER

summary: a night at the hob leads sejanus to you, a member of the covey, but he didn't expect for you to pick him out of all people to be your dance partner — based on this post. (wc: 1.1k)

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, a bit suggestive towards the end (nothing crazy, though)

author's note: it's about time i showed my boy sejanus some love! not proofread.

Locals and Peacekeepers crowded the Hob, but Sejanus couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.

You were part of the Covey, but you weren’t there for the previous performances he attended. You were a new face. Coriolanus nudged him, a slight smirk on his face at his obvious infatuation. Sejanus dismissed his friend, turning his attention back to you. You curtsied on the stage when the younger girl, Maude Ivory, introduced you. The people cheered and whistled, and a few hollered your name. They loved you, and he could see why. You didn’t have to utter a word. Your looks were captivating enough.

“Sadly, she won’t be able to perform with us again tonight,” Maude Ivory said, “Her voice is still strained from singing too hard.”

Before an uproar of complaints erupted in the old coal warehouse, you swiftly went to the microphone. “But I can still dance,” you proposed, and although your voice was slightly hoarse, it was the prettiest thing Sejanus had ever heard. “Make a circle. You guys should know the drill!”

And, almost immediately, people formed a circle, wooden boards creaking under the shifting weight. Sejanus debated if he should join, but his bunkmate, Smiley, decided for him, laughing and tugging him towards the crowd. He looked back at Coriolanus, who didn’t move from his spot but seemed amused, a smile dancing on his lips.

He wasn’t going to help him out of this one.

Everyone around Sejanus was drunk beyond belief but lively nonetheless. He watched as you hopped off stage, chatting with the folks nearby. Your eyes scanned the crowd, skimming right past him, but then your gaze flickered back to him.

Sejanus suddenly felt self-conscious. Did he have something on his face? But then you tilted your head and smiled. His heart nearly skipped a beat. You were smiling at him.

You squeezed through two people and made your way into the circle. He didn't think much of it until he realized you were walking towards him, the frilly skirt of your dress swaying with each step. Sejanus lost all the color on his face.

You stood in front of him, your hands on your waist. “You’re friends with Lucy Gray’s boy, right?” you asked, your voice cutting through the music and reaching his ears.

Lucy Gray’s boy? Oh, right—Coryo. He nodded. “That’s right.”

You hummed, your gaze flitting to his lips. “What’s your name, handsome?”

Handsome? His mind spun with joy.

You were even more beautiful up close. Sejanus was stunned. Dumbstruck. He stared at you all wide-eyed and blamed his flushed cheeks on the white liquor. The boy was only brought to reality when Smiley patted his back and pushed him towards you.

He stumbled forward, and you laughed. What a heavenly sound. “Sejanus,” he answered, straightening himself out. “My name’s Sejanus.”

You grinned, lower lip caught between your teeth. “Well, count yourself lucky, Sejanus,” you said, grabbing his hand and guiding him to the middle of the floor.

He looked at Smiley—eyes pleading for help, advice, anything—but he didn't do much except shoot him a thumbs up. He needed better friends.

Sejanus asked nervously, “And why is that?”

“Because you’re going to be my dance partner for the evening.”

Before he could say anything, you looked at the people around you. “Find a partner, everybody. Don’t be shy!” you shouted, which you shouldn’t be doing, with your voice strained and all, but you didn’t seem like the type to follow the rules.

“I can’t dance,” Sejanus told you. He couldn’t even recall the last time he did.

You tutted, turning to face him. “Nonsense.”

“I’m serious. I can’t,” he repeated. You were far too confident in him. “I’ll look like a fool.”

“It’s nothing hard. Just follow my lead,” you said. Sejanus looked around, starting to feel hot under the collar with all the eyes on him. You patted his cheek lightly, gaining his attention. “Eyes on me, handsome.”

He stared at you, and you gave him a comforting smile, your eyes warm and inviting. Under the orange glow of the lights, you almost looked ethereal. No, you were ethereal. “You’ll be fine,” you assured, and for some reason, he believed you. You glanced at the people surrounding you. “Everyone got a partner?”

After people confirmed they did with shouts and cheers, you looked towards the Covey and gave them the signal. They started performing, Lucy Gray and Maude Ivory at the microphone, melodic voices and instrumentals filling the air. You stood next to him and linked arms with him, and if Sejanus weren’t so focused on you, he would have seen everyone else do the same. You smelled familiar, like the baked goods Ma always made. Sweet and leaving him wanting more.

“Ready?”

Sejanus nodded, not like he had much of a choice. “Yeah.”

And then his surroundings became a blur. He followed your lead, skipping around in circles, periodically alternating directions, arm in arm. You giggled, head falling back as your dress billowed. Sejanus would wake up the next day, hungover and nauseous, and think he made you up. Because how could someone be so beautiful? So perfect?

“You’re a natural,” you beamed, and he laughed in response. “Get ready to spin me.”

“When?”

You listened to the music before answering, “Now!”

The two of you separated before Sejanus found your hand—your and his arm pulled taut before he spun you. Time slowed as he took in the sight of you, then pulled you in, chest to chest. Sejanus mimicked your movements, spinning so much that it had him stumbling, but he didn’t care. He was dancing with you.

Eventually, the song ended, chests heaving and faces sheen with sweat. You were still holding his hand, and he hoped you wouldn’t let go. Not yet, anyway. The Hob filled with applause for the Covey, the people having more than enough energy to have one more dance.

“Can’t dance my ass,” you teased, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand.

Sejanus laughed at your comment as he tried to catch his breath. “You know, that was the most fun I had in a while.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, taking a step towards you. Sejanus didn't know if it was the adrenaline or alcohol or both, but he added, "And you're the most gorgeous girl I've seen."

"Handsome and sweet,” you noted, eyes darting across his face. Your adoring gaze made him blush. “I might’ve struck gold.”

Silence fell between you briefly as you stared at him, but then you leaned in close, your lips ghosting over his ear. “How about you meet me outside once my folks are done performing,” you whispered. He froze. “I’ll make it worth your while.” It sounded like a promise.

Sejanus gulped. How did he end up here? But he did meet you outside the Hob later under the starry night sky, ignoring how his friends hooted and laughed as you dragged him away.

author's note: what happened after that is up to you wink y’all fucked WHO SAID THAT??? i am honestly not happy with this because sejanus deserves better than whatever i just wrote LMFAO. but i hoped you guys enjoyed this anyway!

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reb0rned · 4 months

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sejanus plinth doesn’t get drunk very often, but when he does, all he can seem to do is cling to you and wax poetic about you. his hands will be anywhere and everywhere — your hips, your waist, your back, holding your face while he gazes at you like you’re made of sunlight. he’ll press a warm path of lazy kisses from your shoulder to your neck and then your jaw.

he’ll tell you he loves you over and over, tell you how lucky he is and how you’re so lovely, he sometimes thinks he’s dreamt you up. you’ll be trying to drag him home and he’ll just cling to your waist, telling you how pretty you look and how he loves you so much he feels sick with it. “I think that’s the liquor in your system, handsome,” you say with a pat to his head, secretly flustered and glad he’s too far gone to notice.

eventually you do get him home, into bed and out of his uncomfortable clothes, and he drags you into a bear hug, warm and smelling of pine, and you get to fall asleep in his strong arms <3

bonus: in the morning, he gets really embarrassed when you tell him all the things he did and said last night. because while everything he said is true, he’s not usually so forward with his affection for you. you kiss his flushed cheek and tell him you didn’t mind one bit

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reb0rned · 4 months

Note

you write finnick like nobody else i’m gnawing at the bars of my enclosure literally feral for your fics. anyways could i just get a lil blurb w reader coming home after a long day and finnick letting her straddle him while he reads? like nothing nsfw just fluffy sitting on his lap as she drifts off and he rubs her back or smt

tysm lovely!!! I’m sorry this is so short but I hope u enjoy it anyway <3

finnick odair x fem!reader

“You okay?”

You rub your eyes blearily and turn your head to look at Finnick. You’ve been quiet, almost zombie-like, since you got home. He’s worried.

“I don’t know,” you mumble. You blink at him slowly, as if your eyelids weigh ten times more than they actually do. “Had a long day. M’really tired.”

Finnick puts his book down. Your obvious tiredness makes his chest ache. “Poor girl,” he says. “C’mere, honey.”

You don’t need much convincing. All he does is hold out his arms and you’re already shuffling over to climb into them. You go for a hug but Finnick has other ideas, pulling you into his lap easily, your legs caging his hips. You tense up like you often do when he gets you in his lap, worried the position is uncomfortable for him. It never is, and even if it was he wouldn’t care.

“Relax,” he tells you, hands pressing down gently on your thighs. “I’ve got you.”

You melt. He doesn’t know if it’s his words or his hands that do it, but it doesn’t matter because you sink into him like honey on bread. Your chest flush with his, you rest your head on his shoulder, cheek to his collarbone. He thinks you’re settled until you drag a warm hand up his chest slowly. It makes his heart go wild, but he’s not gonna tell you that.

“Is that better?” He asks you, soft so as not to accidentally pull you out of your sleepy state. “You comfortable?”

You hum into his t-shirt, nodding clumsily. Your hand travels up to his neck, warm fingers curling around the back of it. You push your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and his breathing hikes. Thankfully, you’re much too tired to notice.

“Y’can keep reading,” you tell him. Your breath fans over his neck and he pretends it doesn’t affect him as much as it does. “Tell me if you want me to get off, okay?”

He can’t imagine a world where he’d ever want you to get off. He presses a warm kiss to your forehead and picks up his book again, content.

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reb0rned · 4 months

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sejanus plinth x fem!reader | sejanus is a helpless romantic, you’re totally shy under his affections, but he just can’t help himself!

implied shy!reader, coryo being a menace but in a playful way, sejanus being a tease, kissing, so much fluff!!!!

Coriolanus watches you and Sejanus with a look of mild disgust on his face.

“Ugh,” he says. “They’re gross.”

Lucy Gray laughs, up to her knees in the long, soft grass.

“Don’t be mean, Coriolanus,” she chides, digging her elbow into his ribs. “I think they’re cute.”

“Cute?” Coriolanus huffs, incredulous. “He looks like he’s about to eat her.”

Truth be told, Sejanus does look a bit like he wants to eat you. In the most romantic way possible, of course. You’re both sitting on the pier over the lake, and he’s got you in his lap, your knees caged on either side of his hips, his face so close to yours you’re almost kissing. He thumbs at your collarbone, fingers curled over your bare shoulder, hands warm on your sunkissed skin, gazing at you like you’ve been threaded with pure gold. The lake sloshes softly beneath you.

You peek over Sejanus’ shoulder, buzzing with fondness. “They’re looking at us.”

“Who?” Sejanus asks, distracted by the way you shudder under his touch. He thinks it’s sickeningly cute, how shy you are. “Coryo, huh? Don’t worry, honey. He’s just jealous.”

Honey? Heat creeps up your neck at an alarming rate. Any more of this and you’ll melt in a lovesick puddle. The pet name plays in your head over and over like a broken record. Honey, honey, honey.

“Jealous?” You ask breathlessly. You can’t seem to think straight when he’s got you this close. His hands on your skin, his thighs firm under yours. You glance over his shoulder again, self conscious.

“Mhm.” Sejanus brings a hand to your jaw and tilts your head in his direction with two fingers, forcing your gaze away from your friends. “‘Cause you’re so pretty,” he explains, voice like melted sugar. “And I’ve got you all to myself.”

You fear you’ll go up in flames. You hide your burning face by dropping it to his shoulder, shy and so so in love with him. Sejanus laughs softly, soaked through in fondness, and rubs your back with a big warm hand. Your spaghetti strap top means his palm graces a slice of exposed skin at the top of your back, and pleasured goosebumps erupt in his wake.

“I’m sorry, that was a bit much, wasn’t it?” He murmurs, his mouth ghosting your ear, so close he’s almost kissing it. He sweeps his hand up your back and then down again. “C’mon, come back out. I want to look at you.”

He pulls back slightly and gets a hand under your chin to encourage you up. You’re putty in his hands, surprising yourself at how quickly you oblige, how quick you are to do what he wants. He waits patiently for you to meet his gaze and once you do, you find your own feelings of overbearing fondness reflected back at you. His pretty eyes are pools of love, the honey sun painting them the colour of browned butter. You like him so much you could suffocate in it.

Sejanus grins at you, cheeks dimpling. He tucks some of your hair behind your ear.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks softly. His hand lingers at your throat.

“Yeah,” you nod, breathless and much too eager but you can’t bring yourself to care. “You don’t have to ask, Sej.”

Sejanus hums before capturing your mouth in a swift kiss. You breathe him in and curl your hand around his neck, breathing in his scent of pine and firewood, something sweeter, like caramel. Your fingers brush over the short hair at the nape of his neck. He’s told you he used to have curly hair, and as much as you like imagining him with his curls, you like his buzzed hair just as much. He’s so handsome he doesn’t need curls, anyway.

Sejanus brings his hand to your waist and tugs you closer, desperate and greedy but never rough. You go happily, kissing him back with as much earnest as you can manage, pushing up onto your knees in your desperation to be closer still. You get lost, forget where you are, like you tend to do when you’re with Sejanus.

Meanwhile, Coriolanus is fake gagging into the grass.

“You agree that’s a bit excessive, right?” He asks Lucy Gray.

Lucy Gray just rolls her eyes. “You’re dramatic. They’re in love.”

Coryo scoffs. “Couldn’t they be in love somewhere else?”

Lucy Gray watches as you pull away from Sejanus and start giggling like a lovesick fool, while he tries to coax you back into another kiss.

No, she thinks. Not gonna happen.

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reb0rned · 4 months

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a cowboy and a capitol girl → tanner

tanner!tbosas x reader

notes → in which you find it a struggle to connect with your tribute, too distracted by his charm. this was supposed to be a request fill but i got too off track, sorry 😭

warnings → not edited & uploaded via iphone. 2k+ words

you had been taking an early walk, hours before you were required to get ready for school, when you saw your classmate, coriolanus, already dressed in his uniform, a white rose in hand. he was walking with purpose, a pep in his step as if he had somewhere to be this early in the day. there was something odd about it, and before you could stop yourself, your feet were carrying you to him.

“coryo!” you called out, running to close the gap between the two of you. the boy stopped, shocked that someone he knew was up early enough to see him. it was clear he wasn’t expecting it, as he tensed up, putting on a faux smile for you. “where are you going this early?” you pushed, squinting your eyes at him skeptically. he opened his mouth to answer, but you cut him off. “and what’s with the rose?”

“well, y/n, i was planning to meet my tribute when she arrives at the train station.” he answered, truthfully, to your surprise. it was quite a clever idea. you recalled coriolanus’ tribute, the small girl from district twelve who sang a song after shoving a snake down a girl’s dress. her voice was quite haunting, if you were being honest with yourself, but you were almost certain she was a psychopath. that was useless to her here, though. she could do no harm given her small frame, and she was no match for the other tributes.

“may i join you?” you asked politely, even though you intended to do so despite whatever his answer was. you had been intrigued by your tribute ever since he was assigned to you, even taking this walk to brainstorm strategy, and you were eager to finally meet him. coriolanus obviously wanted to object, but you came from a very powerful family who’s bad side he did not want to be on. not to mention, you could help him persuade the peacekeepers if he was forced to, so he agreed. you kept a steady pace with him as you made your way to the station, walking inside the building hurriedly. the early morning breeze made you shiver, and you realized how inconveniently you were dressed. you were clothed just in your pajamas as well as a fleece cardigan with your family crest plastered on the back that didn’t offer much protection from the wind.

you must’ve been waiting there for a couple of hours. at this point, you opted to just sit down, leaning back against a metal post in the spacious station. you had already informed a peacekeeper to contact your mother and let her know where you were, and within the next half hour your driver arrived with your school bag and uniform. you quickly changed in the back of the spacious vehicle, digging through your bag for the small hairbrush you kept and brushing the tangles out of your hair. you were worried that the tributes would arrive as you were getting ready, but thankfully, you scrambled back into the station just as the whistle that signaled a train’s arrival blew. your brows furrowed in confusion as you saw coriolanus turning around, preparing to leave.

“what’s wrong?” you asked the boy, placing your hand on his bicep to prevent him from walking away further.

“it’s a cargo train, the tributes aren’t here. we might as well go home,” he informed you, continuing to leave before a distinctly human cry came from one of the carts. almost immediately, he turned around, walking closer to the train, you right beside him.

“there’s no way…” you muttered, in disbelief that they couldn’t even provide the tributes with decent transportation before they sent them to their death. really, you shouldn’t have been all that surprised, considering the capitol’s track record. typically, you would not put something like this above them, but it felt so surreal knowing that your tribute was in one of those carts. twenty minutes had passed of you and coriolanus sitting anxiously in silence, waiting for peacekeepers to unlock the carts and let the tributes out. you had half a mind to demand them to do so, but you decided against it with a protest from coriolanus. finally, a few peacekeepers sauntered to the train, taking their time as they opened the carts one by one. the stench of manure reeked from the carts, and you gagged as the scent filled your nostrils. nothing could’ve prepared you for seeing the tributes in person, especially in the conditions they were in. coriolanus’ tribute, lucy gray, emerged from the second cart, and he became preoccupied with the girl. as patiently as you could, you waited as the peacekeepers opened the third cart, threatening the tributes to come out.

your eyes lit up as you saw tanner for the first time in person. his back was turned to you, but you recognized the outfit he had worn during the reaping. nervousness crept up on you as you debated approaching him, but that was the whole reason you joined coriolanus, and you didn’t want to have waited multiple hours for nothing.

“tanner?” you called, catching his attention, as well as the few tributes around the boy. he sized you up with a menacing glare as you took a hesitant step closer to him. “i’m y/n, i’ll be your mentor.” your eyes darted up to peer into his as you stuck your hand out. he didn’t take it, leaving you slightly flushed from embarrassment. “well.. welcome to the capitol!” was the best you could do, trying to keep your cool.

“a real warm welcome alright. your peacekeepers yanked my district partner out of the cart by her hair.” tanner scorned distastefully.

“woah, woah, woah, who did?” you asked, tone growing concerned as your hand instinctively reached for his arm. he nodded his head in the direction of a younger peacekeeper, and you excused yourself, striding over to the man. “sir, pray tell, what does peacekeeper mean?” you demanded, stealing the man’s attention.

“miss l/n, oh wow.. uhm, to keep peace in panem, ma’am.” he answered, surprised by your presence. it was not a shock that he knew your face, your family had been well known in the capitol for many generations.

“right. and is pulling a girl by her hair keeping peace, officer?” you queried rhetorically. the man shook his head shamefully. “so, to make things clear, you weren’t doing your job correctly? i’d go as far to say that you were doing the opposite,” the man shook his head once more. “than i will see to it that you will no longer be employed. hell, you may never be employed again if it was in my wishes,” you remarked, promptly walking back towards tanner, whose face held a look of astonishment.

“damn, i didn’t think you had that in you,” tanner mused, a southern drawl peeking out, giving him an alluring charm. you smiled, glad that he seemed to be warming up to you.

“right, so.. as your mentor, i’m supposed to help you win the games, and introduce you to the capitol,” you explained in another attempt to get him to trust you.

“how so?” he simply asked, scanning your eyes for any sign of deception, which he didn’t find.

“well…” you thought long and hard hard for an answer, but came out empty handed. the boy laughed, and although it was directed towards you, you couldn’t help but think his laugh attractive. “i’m currently trying to figure that out. that’s why i came to greet you here! i really wanted to meet you, y’know.” the comment seemed a little too flirtatious as it escaped your mouth, and you cringed as tanner raised his eyebrows.

“yea?” he teased, smiling slightly at your embarrassment. you nodded hesitantly, just to see how he would take the comment. tanner was amused, it was evident, but you weren’t sure that it would be enough to win his trust. from what you had gained, flattery could possibly be the way to his heart, and you decided to continue further down that path.

“mhm, you were real handsome on camera. it won’t be hard to get the capitol to like you. you could win, too. easily, given your physique.” you complimented, just to see how far adulation could take you, and partially because you meant it. sure, it was over the top, but you would gladly take on the role of a sycophant if it meant tanner would cooperate with you.

“well, you’re not too bad yourself, cutie,” the boy shot right back at you, causing you to stutter as you processed his statement. blood rushed to your face as you tried to brainstorm something to say. peacekeepers beat you to it, though, herding the tributes to a van near the entrance of the train. tanner was whisked away, the gap between the two of you growing by the second, and you stood next to coriolanus, slumped. your chance had slipped out of your grasp, and you were more than embarrassed as you realized you had wasted your time flirting with tanner. coriolanus was inquiring a peacekeeper about something you weren’t paying attention to, instead staring longingly at tanner’s shrinking figure climbing into the truck, disappearing from your line of sight, and suddenly coriolanus had grabbed your wrist, pulling you along with him.

“let’s go, y/n” he said, following the path the tributes had taken to the entrance of the station. “we’re going with ‘em.” the truck heavily resembled a cage on wheels, reminding you of what they had used to transport circus animals before the rebellion. coriolanus hoisted himself into the cage, hauling you in after him. the door slammed shut behind you, making you jump. coriolanus took you to the front of the truck with him, eyeing the tributes apprehensively.

“what’s the matter, pretty boy? you in the wrong cage?” said the boy from district eleven, reaper, if you had remembered correctly.

“no, this cage is delightful.” coriolanus remarked. reaper surged forward, hands encircling coriolanus’ throat, you tried to back up, shocked, but instead fell into the lap of a tribute, brandy. tanner’s district partner. you were unable to pick yourself back up in the cramped car, forcing you to remain, stuck, head pushed against her knees.

“i will kill you right now,” reaper threatened, inches away from coriolanus’ face.

“he’ll do it too,” reaper’s district partner, dill, coughed out. “reaper killed a peacekeeper back in eleven. they never even found out who did it.” reaper growled at the girl to shut up. “who cares now?” dill hopelessly whispered.

“i say we all kill ‘em,” spoke up bobbin, the boy from eight, viciously.

“i’m in,” brandy mocked, glaring down at you with malicious intent. you gave coriolanus a look, both of you rigid with fear.

“oh, hush, brandy. she’s the one who helped you earlier, remember? got that peacekeeper who pulled you out fired. we’re not killing her,” tanner reprimanded his partner condescendingly. he was stationed nearby the girl, grabbing your hand to help you up and pulling you towards him. the contact seemed to make the rest of the world stop, leaving just you and your tribute. there was discourse occurring between the rest of the tributes, but it was simply background noise to you. it seemed only like a brief moment, but it was quickly crushed as suddenly, the cage tipped, dropping you down a chute nearly twenty feet. you landed in a heap on the floor, a pained groan escaping your lips. rock formations towered around you, and upon squinting up at your surroundings, you saw that a crowd was formed outside the bars enclosing you. you were in a cage, but not just any cage. the monkey house at the zoo.

you took notice of the capital children that were gawking in at the lot of you. lucky flickerman’s voice, which you could recognize anywhere, boomed as he spoke into his microphone. standing up slowly, you caught your breath, locating coriolanus, as well as tanner. some of the citizens must have recognized you, calling out into the cage and alerting lucky, who asked why the two of you were in there. you stared at the crowd like a deer in headlights, unconsciously inching towards tanner, who was a foot to your left. he was looking at you expectantly, curious as to why you weren’t already begging to be rescued. coriolanus had already taken quick action, though, guiding lucy gray to the front of the exhibit and interacting with the children that stood there. you groaned in frustration as you realized that he had gotten a one up on you, already stealing the camera man’s attention. his demonstration was being aired to all of panem while you merely stood in the background.

“is that what you’re supposed to be doing?” tanner asked, nudging you with his elbow.

“yep,” you deadpanned. it had been a waste of time to go to the train station, you had gotten virtually nowhere in your assignment, instead embarrassing yourself in front of not only your tribute, but all of panem. “i’m sorry for bothering you, tanner. i just wanted you to warm up to me, that’s all.”

“hey, don’t beat yourself up over it,” tanner tried, brushing your arm. you were delightfully shocked that he had made an attempt to reassure you. maybe your journey to the station had been more fruitful than you believed.

“thanks, tanner,” you muttered, but peacekeepers soon stormed into the enclosure, striding towards you. looking between the peacekeepers and tanner, you almost didn’t want to leave, deeming him as the much better option. but it was too late for you as a peacekeeper wrapped a hand around your wrist, leading you away.

“will you be back later?” tanner called out for you, genuine interest in his tone.

“of course,” you smiled as you were being pulled away, and he offered you a small smile in return. you would undoubtedly be looking forward to seeing him again.

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reb0rned · 4 months

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☆ ~ meet me on the beach

pairing: coral x district 12!reader summary: daydreaming always brought the possibilities of what you could’ve been. warnings: fem!reader, second person, reader kinda takes lucy gray’s place, jessup and reader friendship, mix of things from the movies and books, not much romance but a little bit a/n: yes guys i’m a coralbaird shipper

when she’d first confronted you in the cattle truck after her and the others had an unwelcoming encounter with your mentor you’d felt an overwhelming desire for her.

it might’ve been your desire for something that’ll keep you from spiraling into the deep dark hole you were in or it could’ve been that you felt it was unfair that such a beautiful tribute would be one you would have to be against soon.

even when she was threatening to kill your mentor you didn’t once interrupt her, obsessed with the bloodthirsty smirk held on her face and the crackling of her knuckles. the only thing that ended up interrupting your adoring gaze was the back of the truck shaking, a chute unceremoniously dumping all of you onto the ground of the monkey enclosure.

you had stayed closer to jessup through the hot days and the cold nights, cuddling up together for some sort comfort. even when the brandy girl died and you and the others were heavily chained it didn’t stop you. it also didn’t stop you from taking glances at the captivating redhead that strayed even closer to her district partner.

but the days were growing longer and your bodies weaker; despite your mentor - coriolanus - bringing you food whenever he could. yet whenever you slipped away and deeply thought about it, even though on the surface his intentions seemed genuine, deep down you felt that he was doing this to gain an advantage - for what, you didn’t know.

however, the only capitol citizen that had caught your attention was the muscular but otherwise kind looking boy that had brung a huge bag of sandwiches (meatloaf if you remembered correctly) and plums. you could sense that he was seemingly different than coriolanus, never outwardly bringing the attention of the crowd and broadcasters to show that he was being a good person. only doing it because he wanted to.

you honestly wouldn’t have minded being his tribute rather than coriolanus’.

the only way you were coping was by daydreaming. your imagination ran wild with the thought of escaping with the other tributes, with coral. maybe up north, you could find a place and learn to live with what you had together - connecting in a way that you’d wouldn’t have been able to because of the separation of the district borders and the threat looming over all of your heads.

but you knew that wasn’t plausible after seeing the district 10 girl hanging from the crane while you were paraded in a cage during the capitol girl’s funeral. it wasn’t plausible when you heard the bullet shells clang against the arena floor as districts 1 and district 2’s tributes got gunned down after running. it wasn’t plausible because no matter how hard you hoped, you couldn’t develop any more of a platonic or romantic interest in the others because in a few days your hands could be tainted with their blood.

but that logic definitely didn’t stop your heart from beating a little faster when you felt her eyes on you, even when her gaze was predatory. or the blush that would take over your cheeks when she came a bit closer to you than she should’ve - even if she was just passing to grasp one of the offers from the crowd. and it definitely didn’t stop jessup from noticing, your shy smile more than enough of a hint of what you could possibly feel towards her.

“did you really have to lay your feelings for the district 4 girl,” he whispered softly towards you, ignoring your objecting nod, “don’t give me that bullshit, this bite may be deluding my senses but i’m not stupid.”

you fidgeted with your fingers, “i know, with the situation we’re in it’s probably not the best idea to get all love sick. and i know that i just..i don’t know? i can’t stop myself from wanting her, jess.”

he nodded in understanding, “i’m not saying you can’t go for it but..sooner or later one - or both - of you would end up dead.” there was a pause as he considered how to lay down the next words, “plus, she seems very determined to win so i don’t even think she would be open to your feelings..”

your face fell but you knew jessup was right, “yeah, i know. but thank you, for worrying about me. i’m happy that i was stuck with someone as kind as you in this horrible circumstance.”

he laughed with whatever energy his body had left, “yeah but it would be funny if you two did get together. you’d be some sort of star crossed lovers.” a smile appeared on your face as you leaned your head on his shoulder.

although, never knowing that despite your careful whispering, hidden in the dark was the short haired redhead who was shocked at your revelation. if not also a bit smug.

the day had finally come, a multitude of dread, fear, and nervousness radiated off of all of you as you were placed on the red markers; just minutes away from the gong ringing. weapons lined up on the cornucopia waiting to be stained with blood.

you knew your plan, despite your mentor’s advice you’d planned to grab one of the weapons before leading jessup to the tunnels. anticipation weighing heavy on your chest as you waited for the gong. and as soon as it sounded you ran as fast as you could into the bloodbath.

initially you dodged most of the others that came for you, only getting a bit knicked before quickly swiping a fair sized combat knife quickly tucking it away before searching for jessup.

once you found him you quickly escaped into the tunnels, running from whoever decided to target you two. the doors were locked but you were able to escape through the small opening at the bottom, just seconds before an axe came down on where your foot rested just moments before. gasping in relief as you heard the displeased banging on the other side.

“hey lumberjack, get in there and get her out,” her voice echoed through the tunnels. “i’m not sticking my head in there, she could be waiting with a brick.”

she scoffed, you could tell she was already impatient with them, “you’re useless.” the tunnel went quiet, and as time stretched on you assumed they were either leaving to hunt some other unfortunate soul or camping outside the door to ambush you once you got out.

averting your attention you gently patted your shoulder, allowing jessup to lean on you after noticing the prominent dark eye bags resting on his face. trying to ignore the adrenaline that felt too good, spiraling through your chest.

you didn’t remember falling asleep, and you almost cursed yourself for doing something so stupid until you realized you were temporarily protected by the door closing you in. there was a stir against your shoulder, alerting you that jessup must’ve woken up too.

he definitely looked dehydrated; fatigue shown on his face pairing with what you could remember the occasional twitching coming from him. so hoping to relinquish that, you gently cupped some water from the nearby source, holding it up to his face. barely making it to his chapped lips since he hurriedly slapped your hand down, leaving you a bit confused and scared.

“jessup?” you looked towards him, only to see his dark eyes staring at you. “what’d you do to it?”

you backed away from his intimidating stature, fear coursing to your veins - knowing if he did turn on you, you could either run or use the sharpened knife you held in your boot. “i didn’t do anything!”

sensing how this was going to escalate you dived down to the opening you had gotten through the day prior. not wasting any time in escaping the tunnels as - what you now realized - a rabid jessup hastily chased after you.

you had climbed up one of the elevated pieces of debris, knowing - hopefully - in his haste he’d probably loose his balance. but eventually there wasn’t anywhere else you could escape to.

yet it seemed like you had some outside help, the objects flying overheard now proving of that. another obstacle that jessup would have to face to get to you.

as it booked straight towards him the unreliable drones had broken the bottles open, the water splashing from the impact, making jessup react horribly. not even realizing the tilting of his feet until he’d fell smack down onto a piece of rubble.

you quickly looked down in both shock and horror. and for a moment as you watched you could see jessup’s body release all the energy he had before, it slipping away like the white foam trailing down his chin.

you carefully got down to where he was resting, scared but you knew he couldn’t hurt you anymore. his slow blinking and shallow breaths were the only sign of him being alive, although you knew he was slipping away fast.

“it’s okay jess, you can rest,” your shaky hand gripping onto his, wanting him to at least know he wasn’t going to be alone in his last moments, “how can you dream if you don’t sleep?”

his hand gave a brief squeeze in recognition since his mouth couldn’t do the job for him, him tilting his head to get a better view of you even if it was just for a second.

silence rang as you watched him take his last breaths, shakily sighing before closing his eyes. you pulled out a piece of ripped clothing you stored in your pocket, taking it to the puddle of water to soak it before cleaning his face; wanting him to atleast have one last piece of kindness.

only seconds after would your world spin, a certain redhead ready for your blood.

she’d decided that using your momentary vulnerability would be the best to get rid of you, not to mention after hearing your little confession to your district partner she knew you’d (most likely) wouldn’t be willing to hurt her. but underestimating always brought a person down.

you heard them before you saw them. you tucked the makeshift cloth under jessup’s hand before pulling out your combat knife. yet no matter how fast you ran there was always one to stop you in your place; the little one mizzen, the cowboy from 10 and the lumberjack from 7. not to mention the dangerous woman wielding a trident being the most eager.

luckily your speed and the aftermath of the drones crashing against their bodies buyed you enough time to escape. hoping that this would be the last time you’d encounter them like this.

you could sense her following you as climbed up the rubble, wanting to get as far away from the winding bodies of the holographic snakes that were out for blood. you only had gotten a safe distance away before she collapsed at your feet, the snakes wrapping around her arms and neck as they sunk their venomous teeth into her skin. a betrayed look on her face. “it’s not fair, it’s not…i couldn’t have killed them all for nothing.”

the feelings you felt so strongly when you first saw her returned. the ultimate defeat you and her both felt in the moment left you with clarity. so you tried your best to grip onto her hands, pulling her up so she rested on you.

even as more snakes came for her you tried to fight them off, pulling at them but stopping when you heard the pathetic whimpers leave her lips; the strong front she held till now disappeared.

“i’m sorry for what i did,” her voice was weak but she fought her hardest to get it out, “for hunting you.”

your eyes crinkled as you listened to her. “i’m sorry that we had such little time with one another and that we never got to experience more together.”

she fought against the venom as she pulled up her head from your chest, “i’m sorry that we couldn’t have gotten together like we both wanted.”

you gently pulled her head so it rested back on your chest, lips skimming across her forehead since it’s the last opportunity to do so. “we can still be together if you just promise to wait for me.” her eyes slipped closed as you whispered the last words, “just wait for me on the beach.”

and as coriolanus watched the other side of the screen, an astounding buzz rang through the room, your profile being the only one that was standing.

a/n: the snakes didn’t attack reader cause y’know snow cheated and made sure she’d win :3 (sorry this was so late. i appreciate everyone’s patience!)

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