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heartthrobin · 2 months

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all's fair in love and war (2)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 7.87k

warnings: enemies to lovers, still so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, archie being my fav oc, cheese fest

an: literally fell asleep on my laptop last night editing this, i was so exhausted from school so i’m sorry it’s late !!! but i had the most fun in the world writing this and i hope everyone enjoys :)) don't forget to comment and repost your favourite writers

summary: Oliver is still impossibly miserable, maybe more uncooperative than before, except now when you look at him: you can't think of much else beyond how sweet his lips tasted.

part one

You can’t sleep.

You're not sure you'll find sleep ever again.

“I knew it, I knew it—“ Cherry had bounced the whole way to your dormitory, howling into your ear. “I knew it!”

The image of Oliver’s fluttering eyes swum around your brain as you blinked into the darkness of the poster bed. The taste of his tongue and his words still right against your lips.

It was a riddle of a calibre that you can’t seem to detangle. More than anything, you try to remember how strong has he tasted of Firewhisky - was he so drunk to really dismiss it to nothing at all?

You lingered on it all weekend.

Cherry didn’t help at all — he’s been in love with you forever, that’s literally so obvious — and Enzo even less so once he’d been filled in: Oliver doesn’t seem a bloke who let’s alcohol make his decisions for him, something about Scottish genetics I think.

The interaction plagued you: digging a wide hole in the base of your stomach. You mourned the thought that you may never have the opportunity to kiss those soft lips again, more than anything: preparing yourself for the feud between yourselves to worsen.

There’s barely enough time to make sense of your situation before you’re racing down over the grassy hills of the grounds, bag swinging violently over your shoulder and extraordinarily late for your Herbology lesson in the greenhouse.

Your morning alarm had rung right into one ear and out the other, a product of the tossing and turning you’d been doing for the last two nights.

When you swing the greenhouse door open, panting and face flush from the beating sun, the whole room turns to you. Sprout pauses where her hands are flailing in explanation.

“Sorry I’m late professor,” you wheeze, readjusting your strap over your shoulder.

Cherry is smirking at you from her bench, sidled up with Jane Emmet.

It hadn’t escaped you that you’d be sharing the lesson with the Gryffindors, but you’d precious little time to worry about it in the five minutes you had to pull a robe over your head and stick a toothbrush into your mouth.

Your eyes are purposeful in not looking over the room. Scared to catch the wrong eyes.

“Not a problem peach, we’re just repotting some Fire-Seed Bushes.” She brings a stubby hand to her chin, “uhm … well, Mr Kumar there in the corner doesn’t have a partner. Go join him by his pots.”

Archie has a lopsided smile on his face when you approach, a thick black curl drooping over his left eye.

“Hey.” He nudges gently.

You set your bag down and grab a pair of gloves, chuckling. “Hey Archie.”

The soil is warm when you stick your fingers into the dirt, shifting it gently enough not to mess over the edge of the bucket. There’s a Fire-Seed Bush sitting tentatively at the end of the bench, spitting sparks and emitting smoke.

“So …” Archie speaks first, the back of his hand bumping yours between the black soil. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a veiled question, a poorly veiled one at that. The question draws a laugh from the base of your stomach.

You shrug, adamant on missing the point. “It was alright, I guess. How about yours?”

He shrugs right back. “Wasn’t the greatest. Penelope Clearwater rejected me for Percy Weasley.”

You don't mean to, you really don't, but it draws another bout of laughter out of you - you clap your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry—“

“No, I get it. Percy bloody Weasley?” His brow is creased, dirt-stained hands rising messily from the soil to swipe at a fallen piece of hair in his face. “Dead sure that bloke's own mother can't say he’s handsome. I’m better looking than him, surely?”

There’s the hanging insinuation that it was rhetorical, but you reply anyways: “you’re definitely more handsome than Percy Weasley, Archie.”

His head cocks down at you, stained paws finding his waist and pressing black fingerprints into the red jumper. “You really think so?”

“Without a doubt.”

Archie smiles, bumping your side against his. You think he might be blushing. “You’re very charming. I understand what Oliver sees in you.”

You jolt involuntarily, spilling some black soil over the edge of the pot.

Swiping at the mess lazily, you play the comment off with another crumbly chuckle: hoping it convinces him more than it does yourself. “Oliver sees in me what a bull sees in a red cape.”

Archie’s reaching timidly for the Fire-Seed Bush, lifting it off the counter and holding the dangerous botanical at arm’s length. “Not true. The boy’s half in love with you.”

This conversation is getting awfully uncomfortable awfully quickly. It picks at your curiosity nonetheless.

“He said that?”

He’s quick to shake off the question, eyes still trained on setting the roots of the bush into the gap in the soil. “Oliver doesn’t have to say anything. He spends practically every fucking mealtime mooning over at your table, and he talks about you way more than necessary—“

“That’s just because I work on his nerves. Oliver doesn’t love me, he barely tolerates me.”

The boy turns on you, confusion set in his brow. “Why is this news? Last I saw you, your tongue was halfway into his stomach.”

Zachariah Smith and his Gryffindor partner look up at that. Your face goes hot all over - Archie doesn’t seem to notice.

“We were drunk.” You say softly, eyes stuck on a loose leaf crackling against the wooden counter.

There’s a special kind of fear that's crawling into your heart where you stand. The fear of putting too much faith into the words of Archie Kumar.

That it’s an elaborate ruse. A set-up, canons of confetti and a banner screaming “you’ve been fooled!” if you were to indulge his words. The danger of allowing your mind to drift too far off into the possibilities of a world wherein Oliver Wood doesn’t hate you - at least not as much as he lets on.

Archie looks at you out the side of his eye, you can feel it, but says nothing. He hands you a miniature yellow-handled spade.

Instead you fill the space. "I heard Isla Flynn has a crush on you."

He perks: "really?"

Across the room, Oliver is bumping elbows with Poppy Davis.

"Ow!"

A loose spark has evidently landed on her exposed arm. The sparks that Oliver was supposed to be watching for, the ones that he is intent on ignoring with the constant glancing back over his shoulder to where you and his best mate are in the corner of the room fucking giggling at each other like toddlers with a box of matches.

“Oliver — can you just focus for five seconds!” Poppy isn’t impressed.

Oliver isn’t either, with the situation as a whole. The pads of his fingers are blistered from the repotting of the bush and Poppy’s careless bumps and his general indifference to the task at hand.

It eats at his brain. What are you guys talking about? Is it about him?

You laugh again and it’s loud enough that it draws his shoulders all the way taut. There’s another snap of a spark and Oliver feels where it lands at his wrist, but he doesn’t react.

“Just pass me the bloody spade.” He grumbles.

The lesson passes more slowly than Oliver could swim shoulder-deep through molasses.

It feels like years later when he tosses his gloves into the box with the rest, when the class shuffles to return tools and begin slinging half-open bags over their shoulders.

Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever packed up faster - Poppy is still scowling at him, he doesn’t care - before he’s knocking through yellow and red tied students to find Archie’s head of curly black hair.

“Hey!” He catches him by the wrist, tugging on it like a dog with a bone. Archie jumps, eyes winding down to find his friend. “What did she say?”

You’re far ahead, Oliver can make out the back of your head: hips bumping with Cherry’s up the hill towards the castle.

Archie grins. “She said Isla Flynn has a crush on me.”

Oliver groans, “Not about that, you prat. About— wait, really?”

"Yeah!" He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. "Can you believe it? She's got that hot Irish accent and everything."

Oliver nods, "Yeah ... yeah. Good on you, mate."

He's trying desperately not to steal this moment from his best friend, but he's fucking itching to know what else you and Archie had been giggling about.

"Did she ... say anything else?" He presses, more gently than his character usually allows. "Like about me?"

Archie shrugs without looking down. "I asked her, but she seemed tense about the whole thing."

"Tense?"

"Yeah, she said something about a bull and a cape, and went like all quiet when I told her you like her--"

At that, Oliver's stomach leaps up into his throat. He grabs his best friend by the arm, jolting him to a short stop. Some Hufflepuff bumps into their halted figures, grumbling before shuffling around them.

"You told her what?" His eyes flare erratically.

Archie shrugs, an innocuously confused look painting his features. "Well I said Oliver's half in love with you, or something like that and she looked all confused about it--"

Oliver's grip on his friend's wrist tightened to a degree that a ring was sure to form on his dark skin. "You fucking pinhead! You told her I liked her?"

Pulling his arm violently from his grip, Archie has the nerve to look affronted. "You don't?"

The morning sun shining over Oliver's head feels like it's growing hotter by the second, there's a dribble of sweat running down his spine.

"That's -- that's not the point. Even if I do, which I'm not saying is the case, she doesn't need to know that."

"Were you two obliviated in your sleep last night?" Archie's eyebrows are pressed down against his eyes, slouching down to meet his friend's face. "I caught you two making out like the world was ending less than three days ago! Surely she has to figure that you feeling something for her, she's not stupid."

Oliver struggles between his thoughts, worse around his words. "That was ... we'd been drinking. For all I know, she only kissed me back cause she was trollied off Dragon-Barrell--"

"She said that, too."

Eyeing him, Oliver's hands find his hips. "Said what, exactly?"

"That you were drunk, I mentioned the kiss and she said we were drunk."

A sensation he can only identify as closest to guilt seeps up into Oliver's chest from his stomach. "She thinks I kissed her just cause I was drunk?"

Archie's hand finds Oliver's shoulder. "You should probably talk to her, mate."

He sighs, eyes drifting over the silhouette of the castle in the distance. He shakes his head like it'll rattle the plaguing thoughts loose. "We're gonna be late for Transfig."

"I mean, Archie is his best friend." Cherry is trying to rationalise the whole story. "I don't see why he'd lie about it?"

You shake your head, knocking shoulders with a Ravenclaw girl trying to pass through the corridor. "I'm not entertaining it, Cherry."

"Come on," she sighs, practically skipping to keep up with the furious pace you've set. "Would it be so terrible if he likes you?"

"Yes." You don't look at her.

The redhead's eye-roll is practically audible, "Let me rephrase, would it be so terrible if he likes you back?"

You meet her eyes for the first time since you'd entered the corridor.

She sighs, "we're gonna see him in Muggle Studies in five minutes. I think you should say something."

"Forget I said anything, Cherry." Heat flares at your neck again, prompted by the embarrassment of even imagining how such a conversation might go.

The rest of the walk is quiet, but you feel Cherry's gaze warming the side of your face.

Burbage's classroom is over-populated with Gryffindors by the time you drop your bag against the marbled floor beside your desk. In the corner of your eye, your brain has already fixated on Oliver's silhouette leaned against the edge of his own desk. You flush hot all over again, as if your thoughts were transcribing into subtitles and floating above your head for the whole class to read.

The click of Burbage's heels prompt the lingering students to find their seats, "Please take out your copies of Muggle Wars: Cause and Effect. We left off on page eighty-seven--"

You suddenly regret snapping at Cherry. Wishing for the comfort of her presence, your eyes glazing over where she's perched in the first row of desks closest to the chalkboard.

Unusually, the class trickles on without disruption. There's a few glances over at your direction, like everyone is waiting for another outburst from the grade's most volatile duo. They're sure to be let down, you're adamant to not even breathe in the direction of Wood.

Burbage comments on it, too, nearly ten minutes from the bell.

"It's suspiciously quiet in your corner today, captains." she looks down through her fingerprint-smudged frames, brushing over you and then Wood three seats away. "Something the matter?"

You shrug, refusing to acknowledge the boy. He seems to be doing the same: completely unfairly, the thought that he wouldn't look at you made the hair on your arms stand straight. "We can start up if you'd like, professor?"

Her face contorts into that irritated look that you'd grown accustomed to when Professor Burbage addresses you. "You're flirting dangerously with another session of detention, miss."

"She's just answering your question, professor."

Nobody in the class seemed more surprised than Burbage, although that in itself was a feat. The two Gryffindor boys in the row ahead of you swivel all the way around in their seats to look at Oliver, who'd just spoken.

You fight the twitching urge to look at him.

"Detention for two, it seems. I'll be seeing you both Friday afternoon."

A calm air settles again over the class, as if order had been restored. You and Wood had lost the interest of the room and students shift back to the board where WHAT IS A PRIME MINISTER? is sprawled across it in chicken-scratch handwriting.

Sighing, your eyes find the clock against the wall. Eight minutes left.

You pick at the end of your quill irritably: electing to dip it into the ink at the edge of the desk and entertain yourself quietly by drawing a miniature snowman at the corner of your page, trying not to think about another Friday afternoon in too close of a proximity to Oliver Wood. There's a soft whir, barely audible if you weren't so focused on outlining pebble eyes, and a tiny paper-airplane whizzes quietly from under your desk: landing squarely on the nose-less head of your snowman.

Fear prickles at you. You don't look up for the source, lest a suspicious sideways glance earns you another weekend with the party-animal Charity Burbage.

Instead, you carefully undo the intricately folded wings of the plane. It's barely big enough to fit into your palm once open, the top of the little note marked in black ink.

It was the same handwriting that marked the sign-out sheet for equipment in the Quidditch storage rooms down at the pitch.

'Thanks for that one, smart-mouth.'

Your eyes flicker up to Burbage, who's back is turned, before you dip your quill into the ink and scribble out a response. In your peripheral, Oliver is leaned back in his stool: biceps folded over each other. There's an unexplainably airy-fairy, fuzzy feeling warming your rib cavity.

'Believe this one was your fault, dickhead.'

You quietly refold the creased edges, before tapping it lightly with the end of your wand: then watch how it takes off the airstrip of your page and zips quietly under the cover of desks to land back in front of the sender.

There's a long pause - enough for Burbage to draw out a whole flow diagram of something called "parliament" - before the edge of the paper wing grazes at your calf again. It lands quietly again.

'Maybe.

We good?'

There's a gentleness to the sentence. Like you can hear it from Oliver's mouth, like he's avoiding your gaze when he whispers it.

You hunch over the note again.

Oliver's knuckles are turning white, twisting his wand in his hands under the table. He shouldn't have said anything. He's regretting the whole fucking idea of the stupid paper-plane now.

He's trying not to watch you write, not to notice how long you stared at his writing before you picked up your own quill. He does anyways.

When the airplane flutters down into his palm, Burbage is already excusing the class. Stools are scraping against cold tile, the clutter of textbooks being crammed back into bags.

'Never :)'

His eyes run over the word once, twice, three times over. A smile is tugging at the edge of his lip, he forces it taut - but his eyes are still shining unusually brightly when Archie knocks his shoulder to his.

"What you looking so damn happy about?"

Oliver tucks the note into the pocket of his robes. "Don’t know what yer talking about."

"But professor, why can't Hufflepuff take Saturday?"

"Well, Hufflepuff already gave up our practice days for Gryff--!"

Hooch sighed so deeply she almost melted back into her armchair. "The decision is made, Oliver. The pitch is being cleaned out on Wednesday, your team can take Saturday for any extra training."

He could practically hear the smile creeping onto your face, the smug crossed-arm look he'll no doubt find when he turns to you.

Irritation bubbles up in his throat, a familiar companion in your presence, and just as he prophesied: you are grinning.

In the weeks that followed that day in Burbage's class, it seemed that both parties decided that the topic of their shared kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room was best left undiscussed.

The arrangement is working. At least Oliver thinks so.

You still bait him and he still snaps, rising to your taunts. He still finds himself in detention more Fridays than he spends free, and his body ripples with anger when you roll your eyes at him.

But it was in moments, like this now, where your little self-satisfied grin doesn't quite vex him to the degree it once did. It's now harder to find a retort, to snap at you with a sharp-edged comment. Not when amusement crinkles at the corners of your eyes where your black lashes kiss so prettily.

Hooch swivels in her chair to find a document between one of her cluttered drawers, you take the opportunity to stick the tip of your tongue out childishly at him.

Oliver draws a tight breath, he hopes his face is still taut in annoyance, because his heart has slipped like a stone down into his stomach. That's the other issue, the tiny little obstacle in these recent weeks: he can't stop looking at your mouth. It's distracting, disarming - paralysing at the best of times.

He strips his gaze away, before he can be outed by anyone in the room. "Whatever." He mumbles.

You seem disappointed in his lack of a real response, but it passes quickly - like a shadow - over your face.

"Thanks professor." You grab up your roster from her desk and turn to the door, practically skipping out into the corridor.

He huffs.

Somehow, you and Archie have become fast friends. Mornings around Fire-Seed Bushes and Venomous Tentaculas in the heat of Greenhouse Three seems to do wonders for a friendship.

It prickles at Oliver's nerves when you pass in the corridors, when you perk up with a high "hey Arch!" and he grins down from his towering height right back at you: "hey Y/n!"

You don't look at Oliver. He's notably sour the rest of the walk.

Alright, maybe the whole arrangement wasn't really working. You were a distraction to him before, no doubt, but somehow your powers of beguilement had tripled. Especially since you seem to be behaving perfectly normal: like you hadn't given Oliver the best snog of his life outside the Ravenclaw common room that night.

Maybe it was just alcohol, maybe he is the only one plagued by the knowledge of the other's taste.

The castle has turned impossibly colder, the bitter bite of winter stinging at the loose cuffs of his robes on walkthroughs of the corridors. He can't imagine how cold the air above the pitch is going to be on Sunday when Hufflepuff faces off Slytherin for a spot in the finals.

It's all Hooch has been going on about for the last two weeks.

Oliver's had to shift around at least four practices - Roger almost twice as much, he's a pushover - to allow for you and Marcus to have more time on the pitch. His complaints fell on deaf ears, Hooch dismissed him with a wave of her bony hand and a "your time is coming, Wood."

You prance into dinner late most evenings, hair in every direction and face flush with sweat: sticking it out like a bumblebee in those awful yellow quidditch robes.

Oliver only notices because, annoyingly, he's found that he is frequenting the bench at the Gryffindor table that faces over to the Hufflepuff's. His eyes drift over the yellow-tied heads to where you clump up with Enzo and Cherry, watches you talk around mouthfuls of toast lazily, giggle behind your napkin: head rolling back to showcase that smooth neck, how it runs down to the soft slopes of your shoulders: disappearing down into your button-up.

Archie has noticed, he's sure, but hasn't done more but allude to it with teasing glances or suggestive comments.

"The Hufflepuffs up to something particularly interesting over there, Ollie?"

The speed with which Oliver's eyes snap to his peas is almost comical. He shrugs and mumbles like a child. "Don't know."

On Sunday morning, you don't go to breakfast.

There's an uncomfortable gurgling in your midriff, like a snake is slithering between your organs and you're sure even just the smell of eggs on toast would bring up your dinner.

Instead you find yourself at the pitch a whole hour before the game is set to start. Marcus is running laps around the grass, something he's done since you've known him.

He offers a curt wave, face set like cold stone.

It reminds you of Oliver a little bit, the distraction in his eyes.

Oliver is never all the way there, wherever he is, you think. His eyes mist over like he's halfway between this world and another. You know it's Quidditch: he dreams it, eats it, sleeps it.

But lately he's foggier than usual.

You think it's your imagination, brush off the idea as you have all the millions of others you'd had in the preceding weeks about the surly brute that was Oliver Wood. He plagues you.

Just the vibrato of his unimpressed huff when you get your way, when you quip something purposely annoying at him. It's addictive, the feel of his sugar-brown eyes glaring a hole through you.

Lately, his reactions have been closer to underwhelming. Allowing for only a moment of eye contact: gone are the quick-witted retorts, the Scottish-laced "princess" usually attached. The thought makes you wince in embarrassment, knowing that you've been pressing him harder lately: like a seven-year old jabbing at a claw machine, outwardly desperate for that brown plushy on the top of the pile.

Maybe he's over it. So deathly mortified of your shared kiss that he doesn't want to know you anymore, much less take the effort to hate you. Your chest pinches tightly.

You dress into your match robes slowly, taking your time with the loops of your shoelaces and the buttons down the sweater you're wearing underneath everything. Oliver Wood should be at the bottom of your list of priorities, normally, but now more than ever.

The team filters into the change-room, exhibiting varying degrees of nervousness. Cedric is practically green, but Herbert looks like he's about to go down a water-slide he's waited over an hour in line for. Beyond the swinging doors, you can hear the crowd shuffling loudly into their seats.

Before your wits are completely about you, Hooch is rapping on those same doors. "Onto the pitch, Hufflepuffs!"

You muster up your best excuse for a captain's speech for what might be the last match you ever play as one. The team seem satisfied, you figure it's easy to find solace before a game when you know it's not your last. As the only seventh year, comfort doesn't come so easily to you.

The crowd is deafening when yellow robes take to the sky: Marcus looks over, offering another nod, not unlike the one he'd given you earlier. You can tell he's feeling the dread of finality too.

There's a whistle blow and the quaffle flies past your face with a speed that nearly evacuates your nose from your face. Lee is announcing in the distance and the rumble of adrenaline forces your fingers over the handle. It tilts and you dip, disappearing into the sky of players.

The winter air at Hogwarts was biting enough roaming the corridors, but thirty metres off the ground is something wholly unnatural. Your face was burning crisp from the icy wind, the feeling in your cheeks and nose lost to the Scottish cold.

Foggy white clouds puff out with each heavy breath. Cedric zooms past and Jane loops around his moving figure to knock a stray bludger in the opposite direction.

Your eyes flash between them and the fast approaching Malcolm, he tosses the quaffle at you with a grunt and you catch it at the tips of slippery, ice-frozen fingertips.

Shooting forward again, you duck under Marcus who is hurtling through the sky at you: gone is the look of friendly fondness from his eyes, replaced with a hunger for the leather-bound ball in your grasp.

Just missing the grasp of his meaty hand, the ball passes onto Heidi.

"Another ten points to Hufflepuff," Lee's voice echoes as if from heaven. "That brings the score to ninety for Hufflepuff and eighty for Slytherin!"

It's been nearly ninety-five minutes of sitting on your broom growing colder, and you're not alone.

Around you, the team is descending into frost-induced exhaustion: Jane's nose is as bright red as a Christmas ornament and Cedric has been peeping over the top of his thick woollen-scarf for at least the last half - barely enough to catch a glance of the whizzing canary and emerald robes, much less of a tiny golden snitch.

You sigh out another white breath, letting your eyes drift over the stands. It's saturated with moving heads of faces you can't make out and yellow and green swaying banners. Your gaze lingers on the top left, in the corner facing the castle. It's where Cherry and Enzo park themselves during every match, where you know they're screaming in support, clenching their teeth at every quaffle handover. You can feel them, even when their faces blur into the crowd.

Unintentionally, you think about how Oliver's mixed in there too. Somewhere between your peers. If you had been granted another moment, if the quaffle wasn't mid-air between two Slytherins just under your nose and you'd not taken the opportunity to snatch it from them, you would have meandered into the trap of hoping that deep down in his chest - even if it was core of the earth deep - he was rooting for you, too. That he seethed at a missed goal or clenched a tight fist at his side in celebration when a Hufflepuff makes a beautiful play.

Meanwhile in the stands, Oliver has decided that the desire to play his allegiances in secret has since disappeared from his heart.

He'd played it light in the first few minutes. Mumbling under his breath at a fumbled pass or a slimy move from the Slytherins, but by the forty-fifth minute he'd found himself on his feet.

"Diggory!" His hands waved in front of him, "it was right there you fucking git--"

A Hufflepuff third year a row ahead looked at him askew, but he paid her no mind.

Archie had taken the hint early. As soon as Oliver was out of his seat, so was he. Despite being Oliver Wood's best friend, Archie had somewhat limited knowledge of the game himself and eyed Oliver's reactions to find the appropriate moments to whoop and cheer. Oliver didn't say anything, but he appreciated it more than he could verbalise.

His eyes tracked you more than anything, when you were flying between players or just floating in place: eyes like a hawk, watching over the game. His heart swelled and his pride fell to the wayside.

Just short of the two hour mark, there was a rise in the crowd.

"The seekers have caught sight of the snitch!"

Oliver's stomach rose into his throat.

"They're diving for it, Malfoy and Diggory head to head-- and Slytherin grabs the snitch, winning by 140 points!"

It sank back into place, like a stone to the bottom of the river. He watched how you froze, how you twisted over your shoulder to find Diggory's figure lingering at the bottom of the field. You shoulders sagged, hanging in the air as the others dropped to the ground.

"Slytherin have made it into the finals against Gryffindor for the quidditch cup, back here at the pitch next month!"

After a long moment, the last in the sky, you followed them down.

The raucous cheers from the Slytherins were hard to drown out, he wasn't even sure Archie heard him toss a "i'll find you at the castle" before he found himself pushing through the masses of people.

He fought against the wave moving to find the stairs, eager to return to the warmth of their dormitories, but Oliver was markedly more motivated than the majority. He stomped on some toes and nearly tossed a first year off the stands to race down the stairs.

Only once his feet had found the mushy grass of the pitch, did he pause to consider that he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. What was the rush for? To comfort you, tease you for your loss?

The latter option was definitely what he could do, what he could say. What was expected of him, if he was being honest. Recently, however, he's found it harder and harder to come up with remarks to hurt your feelings. Found that he quite prefers that little smile that tucks into the corner of your mouth when he says something unexpectedly fond. How your eyes practically gleam.

There's shoving from all sides of him -- get out the way, bloody hell -- and the teams pass ahead of him. Leading the march, despite it being nothing more than a slow trudge, is your figure: squashed between those of who he recognises to be Cherry Stretton and Enzo Musa's.

Their arms wrapped over your shoulders, talking animatedly into your ear on each side. Enzo tips his head to meet yours, a small touch of comfort.

Oliver sighs. He has nothing to say and no comfort to offer, wondering for a moment what he could possibly bare to hear in his own final moments as captain. He thinks that anything from your mouth would work.

So he waits, parks himself beside the stairs and waits for Archie: watching the six-legged figure disappear up over the hill.

You're not at dinner.

He knows because he's been watching the door for the better half of an hour. Archie pushes his plate at him, "Eat something there, Ollie."

Begrudgingly, Oliver brings his drumstick up to his mouth. "She's not eaten a thing since breakfast, it's almost eight."

Archie passes a sympathetic look over him. "Her friends are here, I'm sure she'll be by soon. There's no use you joining her on a hunger-strike."

He's right. Cherry and Enzo and some others that frequent your circle are talking around the table, around the spot that you usually fill. But dinner goes on and students leak steadily out towards bed without your return.

Eventually Oliver huffs, like an irritated bulldog, and grabs for the nearest napkin: unfolding it out in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Archie asks thickly, spitting bits of rice at him.

Oliver reaches for two chicken skewers, placing them neatly on the white square: alongside a dinner roll and a pumpkin pasty.

He wraps them over, double wraps it with another napkin too.

"What does it look like, Arch."

Placing it carefully into the deep pocket of his robe, Oliver goes to stand - lacking the patience it takes for Archie to answer, or for his inevitable teasing. "I'll find you back in our room."

He's halfway out the hall when Archie's voice calls out to him, "You don't even know where she is!"

Oliver shakes his head, brandishing a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "I know where she is." He mumbles for only himself to hear.

You’d watched close to twenty-one quidditch matches from the stands at the pitch on Hogwarts grounds: played in almost half of them.

The seat is still slightly too small, just uncomfortable enough to make a person shuffle. Beyond the rim over the other end of the pitch you can see the orange sun dipping behind the horizon, drawing to darkness over your moment alone.

By now you're sure the party in the common room has long since found momentum. The one you'd been promised by the team, "it's your last game, cap, we need to celebrate!". You're sure someone somewhere is looking for you, bracing a plastic cup of Firewhisky with your name on it, but you can't find it within yourself to face it all just yet.

The silence of the evening is enough, you only wish you'd been fast enough to retrieve your broomstick that's somewhere off with Enzo. Just for one last lap.

The serenity of your loneliness doesn't persevere, however. You can hear shuffling up the steps, you're tempted to look but the sunset is slipping so quickly out of your hands that it's not worth the time wasted.

It's only when the footfalls draw closer, stopping when a body slumps into the seat beside you. The seats are so cramped that his knee brushes yours, the figure long since identified from the corner of your eye.

"Come to gloat?" You ask, eyes never leaving the sky.

He shrugs. "Not today."

You nod. His smell drifts on the breeze under your nose, like peppermint and soap and Oliver.

There's a long silence. Your robes crease against the fist sitting in your lap, you've yet to change out of your quidditch uniform, you know it will be the last time.

"You missed dinner."

"Does it matter?"

Despite your avoidant gaze, Oliver's is warming the side of your face. The evening air cools the same spot.

There's a shuffling that finally draws your eyes. Oliver is still in his robes too, and his hand emerges from a deep pocket with a folded napkin square. "Figured you'd be hungry."

He places it onto your lap with a gentleness you're coming to find more of in him. Something frighteningly warm erupts in your chest and your hands come up to it, pulling apart the napkin to find picky bits inside.

You're fighting between smiling and starting to cry. You do neither.

"You carried this in your pocket the whole way from the hall?"

His eyes flicker between the food and your face before he shrugs. "Yeah."

By now, you were fighting a losing battle and the smile pulled up at the ends of your mouth so tightly that your cheeks started to hurt. "Gross."

You pick up a chicken skewer regardless, biting into it and facing the sky again. You offer him the other one and he looks for a moment like he's going to argue but takes it quietly in the end.

The chicken is tender and only after you'd swallowed the first bit did you realise how hungry you'd actually been. You finish it without a word, going to tear the pasty in half and offering a piece to your companion.

You're picking at the roll now, tearing tiny bits off and feeding it piece by piece to yourself like a bird. "Last game."

He nods. "I know."

"What could someone say to you after your last game, Wood?" You pick at him, eyes flittering between him and the now nearly black sky. "You know, to make you feel better?"

Oliver shakes his head, leaning back and rolling his shoulders: as if the thought itself unsettled him.

"Nothing, probably. I'd probably just walk into the Black Lake and drown myself."

You think he's joking, but with Oliver Wood that was hardly a sure thing.

"You wouldn't."

"What's there left to live for?" He says it with an airy chuckle.

Shrugging, your head falls against your shoulder. "You'd have to figure it out, because I'd go marching in right after you. Carry you out if I had to."

Oliver stills, eyes wide and blinking at you. Your chest goes tight, the ghost of a smile pressing at your face.

"Bridal style and everything ..." You add quietly, stifling your chuckle.

He seems to come back to himself, nodding. "We should get back. Been a long day."

The napkin crumples in your hand, shoved down into the depths of your own pocket. You walk ahead, the pathway to the steps is only narrow enough for one person at a time, and he trails behind.

By the time you've hit the steps, Oliver moving down beside you, you're brewing around an apology. A way to thin the air, to ease where your chest is tight: swirling around well done, now you've made things awkward you git. It's halfway up to your tongue when skin brushes against the back of your hand.

Warm fingers explore your knuckles to find your cool ones, slipping to knot between them.

You work not to look down, because Oliver's skittish like that. From the corner of your eye, you can see he's concentrating his gaze ahead.

His hand tightens against yours, palm callous from years wrapped around the wooden handle of his broomstick. It's a little sweaty and sticky but you're smiling so hard you're about to be sick.

You dare to look at him, Oliver's smiling too.

Oliver hasn't been sleeping.

His last few days of seventh year are slipping like water through his calloused hands and he can feel it. Every hour that passes, shadowy and fleeting.

Classes feel shorter than before, the terrible jokes Archie bombards him with over dinner sound funnier than he ever remembers them being and the glimpses he catches of you in the corridor never feel long enough. The ceiling of his poster bed flashes with moments of the day that's passed, feeling like a dream you'll be jolted out of as soon as it gets good.

Even over all his hours of broody contemplation, none of it makes the final whistle any easier to swallow. It hits him like he's been smacked with a bludger in the chest.

"Gryffindor has won the quidditch cup, two-hundred and thirty points to twenty!"

He can hear the crowd's roar, the whoops of the twins floating somewhere below him. Harry's standing on the grass of the pitch holding up his tiny golden trophy. The pitch is red all over: Oliver won.

He won.

Every moment building up over the last seven years culminated into the final blow of the whistle. The wind is whipping at the hair over his forehead: Oliver thinks this might be the happiest moment of his life, but he's not entirely sure.

He never realised that it would all be so fucking soaked in sadness.

It's over. He's leaving the castle empty handed. His engraving will live on the Quidditch Cup in a dusty cupboard for years to come, yes, and he might have a frame up in his future apartment somewhere, reminiscing on the old days. That's all.

He's struck with the devastating fear that in a few short years, nobody will remember him. More than anything, he can't believe he hadn't come to this overwhelming conclusion before right now. Before Angelina is yelling to him, waving a frantic hand and sporting the biggest grin in all of Scotland, before he was seconds from taking the prize he's held in his mind for so many years into his very hands.

Will you forget him?

It nearly knocks him off his broom. He finds that it scares him the most, more than the thought of the dust-caked trophy or the lonely corner at the back of his cupboard where his Hogwarts robes will no doubt live until eternity.

He won't forget you, he thinks. He knows.

You're just so damn annoying. And beautiful, fucking whip-clever and hilarious sometimes--

The handle of his broom is tilting down to the earth now, the crowd zooming into a blur on either side of him. He hits a shaky landing, broomstick abandoned on the grass behind him as he's pulled into the arms of his team and well-wishers.

A golden trophy passes over the heads of the twins and it's shoved into his sweating hands. It's cool to the touch and so much heavier than he thought it ever could be, but he can't seem to keep his mind on the situation long enough to realise any of that. His mind is racing around the castle wondering where you might be and what's the fastest way to get there.

His eyes are racing over the heads of the roving crowd. "Wood, Wood! Speech!"

Shadowing over everyone is Archie's tall figure standing at the back, grinning down at him. The team watches expectantly.

This is it. The moment for the speech he's been practicing in his bathroom mirror since he was seven.

"I--" he looks down at the cup for the first time, his face reflecting up at him in glimmering gold. He finds he can't remember any of the words. "I need to go find someone."

There's a buzz of confusion, but Oliver doesn't linger: shoving the Quidditch Cup into Harry's arms.

"That's the shortest speech Wood has ever given." He hears Angelina quip, but he can't be arsed to turn. He's already flying, moving through the crowd at such a pace he might just have been on his broom.

The sea of students had long since started moving up to the castle, particularly the non-gryffindors: trying to beat the stampede of scarlet that is no doubt to come. Oliver's legs carry him over the smooth green hill up towards Hogwarts, head craning over students to find your side profile somewhere in the mass.

He catches few oy, watch it!'s and congrats, Wood!'s but he doesn't turn, doesn't stop running. Students bespeckle the grass like ants lining up for crumbs, and he's all the way up into the stone corridor leading to the Great Hall when he spots Cherry's velvet red curls over the crowd, and sure enough, he finds you're knocking her shoulder with your own.

It only takes one shout of your name and you turn to peek curiously back, by which time he's taken both your shoulders into his hands and steered you to the wall of the corridor.

"Wood! What are you do--"

His hands squeeze around the plush at your upper arms. "Oliver. My name is Oliver."

Your eyes are wide in surprise, the window behind you showcases the gardens and the pitch in the distance. Sunlight forms a halo over the crown of your head.

With a head tilted in confusion, you nod slowly. "Alright ... what are you doing, Oliver?"

He can feel the eyes of Cherry and Enzo burning a hole through the side of his head, but doesn't bother with it. You're blinking up at him, gentle and benign in your features. He wonders when it became like this, when you'd lost the tight brow and the frown every time you looked at him.

"I won the Quidditch Cup." He says blankly.

You nod, a small smile tucked into the corner of your lip. "I saw. Congratulations."

Oliver only nods back at you. "I wanted to tell you. I wanted to come shove it in your face."

He's shuffling closer to your figure, and he's more than pleased to discover that you aren't cowering from it.

"Of course you did, because you're a prat." But you're smiling so hard now that it's impossible to take your jab to heart. "Is that all, Oliver?"

A warm sensation is spilling into his rib cavity and his fingertips are buzzing with electricity when they come to find either side of your face.

"No." His forehead is nearly touching yours and your hands have wrapped around his wrists. "I came to ask you out on a date. A sappy, disgustingly romantic date where I bring you flowers and pay for your hot chocolate. You'd hate it."

"That truly sounds horrible." Your smile is so wide he can barely see the whites of your eyes and it pumps more adrenaline through Oliver than any argument you'd ever shared over the last seven years.

"So, is that a yes?"

You're bouncing on your toes a little bit, bumping your nose against Oliver's clumsily. The babble of passing students and gawking onlookers has practically fallen mute to him.

"Depends, are you going to kiss me goodnight after?" You whisper it, like it's a secret between just you and him.

He nods slowly, "pretty desperate to kiss you right now, if I'm being honest princess--"

You don't wait for him to finish, thank Merlin you don't wait for him to finish, and push up onto your toes: crashing against his mouth. You're kiss is as dizzying as he remembers, but softer this time. You kiss like you know he's not running away, hands pressing softly over his neck.

It's nothing like your kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room: where that one was desperate and hot and angry, this time it's born from longing and tenderness and acceptance.

It leaves him just as fucking breathless as the first time.

Somewhere behind him, he hears wolf-whistling (he's sure it's Cherry) and when you pull your lips off his, your face is flush with embarrassment.

"I will go on a date with you, Oliver."

He takes your hand into his, curling his fingers between your own. You lean up to peck him softly and bat your eyelashes at him, grinning innocuously when you whisper: "If you treat me like you did with Delilah, I'm throwing your broomstick into the fireplace."

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kmt123whatsthetea · 2 months

Text

The wonders of ink

Fred Weasley x reader x George Weasley

‘Fred and George prank you by getting your clothes dirty, only to take you to the bathrooms to help you clean off’

A/N: I decided to repost (so nobody thought I was dead). I’ve been gone for so long and I feel guilty so I decided to deliver smut upon you all haha. My dear sister helped me to write this (Her Wattpad account is @Darkness_Donut. Feel free to give her a look if you’re in the Wattpad area)

T/W: Unprotected sex, The twins being kinda pervy, Groping, Double penetration

Fred and George put a lot of work into every prank.

Whether it was as simple as a ‘Hex Me’ note on Ron’s back or as sophisticated as creating a new type of chocolate that caused facial warts.

Not only did they put work into their pranks, but they also put pride into them. Each one was like their child, born and sent into the world to cause mischief. The prank they planned for you, however, was less like a prank and more like a plot for something even better than the typical annoyed scowl the pranks were usually met with.

While other students prepared for various classes and homework projects, Fred and George would stay locked in their dorm, perfecting the key catalyst for their interaction with you.

The twins were head over heels in love with you. While most people would approach you with a normal greeting and a proposition for a date, the twins needed to do more. Go big or go home was practically their motto. So when their newest creation was ready, all they had to do was wait for the perfect moment.

____________________________________________

You had been in the courtyard. Your nose stuck in the book that was cradled in your hands. So unsuspecting and sweet. The way the wind blew your hair, how your eyes were glued to the words.

George approached you, not too close that you’d notice but close enough that he could start phase one of the plan. He pulled out a small vial, the liquid inside a dark blue that stained the glass. He took a deep breath before uncorking the bottle and taking a step closer, ‘tripping’ over the tree branch and spilling the liquid over your uniform.

You squealed and moved the book aside, looking between the fresh stain and the redhead who threw it on you.

“George! What in Merlin's beard have you done?!”

George just shrugged his shoulders, putting on an apologetic look. The same look he gave his mum when she scolded him for putting a spell on Percy’s breakfast which caused the sausages to spout legs.

“I didn’t mean too, honest. I just kinda…tripped”

You did not look pleased, understandably so. George almost felt guilty but then he remembered the plan. It was all going smoothly, even if you might disagree.

“I feel awful. How about we go to the Prefects bathroom and get you cleaned up before it dries?”

With a sigh, you followed George.

The walk to the prefect's bathroom was filled with you grumbling about the stain and scolding George for not being careful. The bathroom was empty (all thanks to a little spell that temporarily made the door disappear). The baths were filled to the brim with hot water and bubbles, steam dampening the air.

Fred emerged from around one of the pillars, smirking as he looked you up and down.

“Good job, George. I knew you could get our girl here. You know, love, you should really clean up that stain. Wouldn’t want Snape taking away our hard earned points, now would you?”

George moved closer to you, his chest barely touching your back. Fred leaned against the pillar, staring at the black spot on your shirt. You crossed your arms, letting out a huff. You could practically see the burning desire in Fred’s eyes from across the room, the heat from George sneaking through the back of your shirt and warming your skin.

“You’d both like that, huh? Why don’t I just have a bath while I'm at it?”

George ignored your sarcastic tone and leaned closer, his breath tickling your ear.

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea, sweetheart. We’ll get you nice and clean”.

Something about George’s soft tone caused your hands to rise to your top button, both sets of eyes glued to your fingers as they popped open the first button of many. One by one, your shirt slowly opened. The shirt had luckily (or unluckily) caught the liquid and stopped it from seeping through to your bra and skin underneath.

George helped you to slip the fabric from off your body before Fred stepped closer and took it from him. He held it up with a smirk.

“There’s nothing here, love. Maybe you just wanted to get naked for us”.

The white shirt was clean. Not a spot or stain in sight. The sight of your wide eyes and confused look made Fred chuckle. George rubbed your arms.

“Our newest prank, disappearing ink. We heard Harry talking about how his idiot muggle cousin had some so we wanted to make our own. We made it especially for you”.

Your hand darted out to snatch the fabric from Fred, smoothing your fingers over the fabric that was once stained to see if it was really gone. Both boys watched as your expression turned from confusion to shock to a mix of desire and anger. You were angry that the twins had tricked you and pulled you away from your book but you couldn’t help but feel hot at the thought that they made an ink just to get you in your bra. Maybe a reward for all their hard work wouldn’t be so bad.

George tugged on the bra clasp, his lips ghosting down your neck before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. A shiver ran up your spine at the feeling, but you didn't push him away. Fred toyed with the hem of your skirt, watching as your eyes glazed over with desperation.

“I need you both. Please make me feel good”

Fred tugged your skirt up, using his other hand to trace his fingers over the elastic of your underwear. He slowly trails your underwear down your smooth legs and helps you step out of them so your dripping folds are on display to him. As you look upon their faces, both of them lick their bottom lips in unison. George finally pulls your bra off, tossing it with your discarded shirt.

How could you look so innocent in just your skirt with your tits out? To the twins, you were like a graceful doe who wandered into the hunters' den. George practically growled as his hands groped your tits, squeezing the sensitive flesh. Your eyes closed and you let out a whimper that was sweeter than any sugary treat from Honeydukes.

Fred took the opportunity to unzip his trousers, shimmying them down enough to pull his cock out. Every noise that escaped your lips made it jerk in his hand. He stepped closer, his tip pressing snugly against your clit and leaving a splodge of precum. His hand wrapped around your thigh, tugging it up and over his hip while George held you upright. His head speared through your folds, your slick coating his shaft.

“Do you want this, love? You want me inside of you? Maybe we should see if that tight little hole can handle Georgie and I at the same time. I can feel how wet that makes you, Sweetheart. The thought of taking two cocks, we’d break that sweet pussy open”

George tugged at your earlobe with your teeth, only pulling back when a whine bubbled up from your throat.

“I think you want us to ruin you for other men”

Your voice couldn't have been more than a whisper, but it was filled with every dirty promise and beg that would only be privy to the twins’ ears.

“I want you two. I want other guys to look at me and know that I belong to you”

“Sweetheart, you already belong to us”

George moved his hand down to push his trousers down and pull his cock out, pressing it at your entrance before pulling you against him. His cock slid inside of you, your warm cunt hugging his shaft.

Fred brushed his fingertips against your clit, taking in the sight of your hole stretched around his brother's cock. It was gonna be a tight fit. He nudged at your entrance, his tip trying to find a space big enough to squeeze into. With a bit more persistence, he was pushing forward, the desperation to be buried inside of you fueling him.

You tried to stay still, trying not to squirm or clench. The stretch was so intense that you swore you could even feel the blood pumping through the veins decorating their shafts. Every pulse, every nudge felt like it would rip you in two.

When Fred’s tip finally pushed through the small opening, the squealed moan that left your lips was enough for George to press his hand to your lips to muffle any sound. As much as they loved the noises you were making, they couldn’t get suspended so close to graduating. There would always be other occasions to hear your pretty moans.

The sight was one to behold. The twins wished they could photograph your pussy stuffed with both of their cocks and frame it, only to watch the replay over and over.

An obscene squelching filled the room as they repeatedly stuffed their cocks into you. The stretch brings you closer to the edge than ever before. Your walls clenched, trying to both push their cocks out and pull them deeper. It didn't take long before you were cumming, clenching around them in a desperate need to be full of their cum.

George's hand stayed over your mouth, his lips whispering sweet praises in your ear. Fred lips were pressed against your forehead, giving chaste kisses here and there. Their groans echoed throughout the room when they felt you cum around them. You felt too good to be true. It took them 3 months to make that ink.

It was worth every single minute.

A mix of their cum flooded your insides, but there was so much that it started spilling out. But they didn't pull out just yet. With how much effort went into getting you between them, they were gonna make this last for as long as possible. It was only after they came down from their high that they noticed just how much of a mess you all made. Cum spots stained your skirt and their trousers. Fred’s chuckle caught your attention.

“Maybe we should clean you up for real this time”

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p3ach3snplums · 2 years

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Si bien las consecuencias de la guerra lo había hecho querer estar más cerca de su familia, aun existían ciertos rencores con uno de sus hermanos y eso era evidente con la tensión que se sentía en el ambiente cada que se encontraban en la casa —¿Qué no se supone que estas trabajando a estas horas?— expresó una vez que se encontró al mayor en la cocina de la madriguera.( @afftcrglow )

#♪the joker king |george weasley |interaction #♪interaction george and percy #QUE LE DE CON LA SILLA digo que

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dream-with-a-fever · 16 days

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harry potter movies and how accurately they portrayed the character of ginevra molly weasley

philosopher’s stone: 8/10 book accuracy bc my girl is barely in this movie but she nailed that 2 seconds of screen time in her cute little pastel coloured outfit! but lost points bc we didn’t get to see her again at the end nor did we see the twins promising to send her a hogwarts toilet seat (comedy GOLD i tell you)

chamber of secrets: 7/10 because yes we got to see a few cute moments where ginny got to shine (like ‘leave him alone!’ ate that) but would’ve loved to see her trying to tell harry about the diary and the running joke about percy and his new girlfriend, and where was the singing valentine???? c’mon??? everyone sing it with me ‘his eyes are as green-’ ALSO when she’s sobbing at the end about how she’ll having to leave hogwarts and she’s just this tiny scared little girl and i just want to hug her like we deserved those scenes!!:!:! and harry not telling anyone the details of what happened to protect her (bc he worries she’ll be blamed entirely for the incident like he’s too pure i swear????)

prisoner of azkaban: 8/10 as ginny is not really featured much in this book at All but was still bummed we didn’t get that scene on the train when she accidentally sits on harry’s lap and we see that she is the only other person as badly affected by the dementors as harry

goblet of fire: 11/10 book ginny energy is STRONGGG in this film even tho she’s barely present in the book! her snarky comments and attitude was Perfect but still bummed we didn’t see the scene where ron almost gets her to go with harry to the yule ball and she refuses (like the angel she is) and sticks w neville

order of the phoenix: 1.5/10 honestly that might even be too high bc literally WHERE WAS SHE??? she gets a couple points for the reducto curse moment but that’s about it. no hint of personality, still openly crushing on harry (even tho she has a boyfriend and is able to be herself around harry now HELLO this was major character development) no ‘lucky you’ scene, no library scene, no ginny stepping in to play seeker for harry and WINNING, no bickering at the DoM, no impressions of umbridge, no joking around with her brothers and harry, like we were ROBBED

half-blood prince: -100/10 because what the FUCK? shoelaces? hidden random kiss in the RoR? zero interactions and suddenly harry is In Love? ginny saying about 5 words in the entire film? ginny is the LIFE of this book, harry spends page after page obsessing over her, where’s them playing quiddich at the burrow, joking around after practise, ginny crashing into the commentator’s booth, ginny defending harry about the potions book, harry KISSING her in front of the entire common room after SHE won the quidditch cup playing his position because his dumbass got detention like?,!:?! harry wanting to save his liquid luck to have a chance with ginny?? ginny and ron’s big argument? harry and ginny’s break up after dumbledore’s funeral?? instead we got ginny being a mute with zero personality, who feeds harry christmas pies, wouldn’t know a joke if it hit her in the face and initiates everything despite harry being the one making the moves in the book?!??!??! just abhorrent. ginny weasley i am so sorry for what they did for her.

deathly hallows part 1: -45/10 okay ginny was done so dirty, ginny kissing harry as a birthday present, like a GOODBYE kiss??? as a i-don’t-know-if-i’ll-ever-see-you-again-but-please-know-that-i-love-you kiss???? harry calling ginny the most real thing in the world? ron snapping at harry for leading ginny on? harry almost accidentally telling ginny his plans for hunting voldemort bc he always lets his guard down around her? harry getting jealous when krum shows interest in ginny at the wedding? harry staring at her dot on the marauders map and making sure she’s safe????? instead we got.. an awkward kitchen kiss with george present (um?), zero interaction at the wedding, neville standing up to deatheaters on the train but ginny sitting pretty next to him and saying nothing when SHE WAS LEADING THE DAMN RESISTANCE???????:?:?:?: give me a fuckin break

deathly hallows part 2: -75/100 so! much! wrong! with her portrayal in this film. not to mention she’s barely in it, but when harry comes back to hogwarts, they have that one moment where they stare at each other and that’s it???? that’s all we get?? the rushed kiss on the staircase was lowkey cute but without all the build up from previous films it was just like..? ok? in the book we get ginny pushing to stay and fight and no one can convince her to do it, except harry. he’s the only one she listens to. we get harry saying ginny has somehow gotten more beautiful since he’s last seen her? we get jealous ginny when cho offers to show harry the diadem? we get harry walking to his death and seeing ginny crouched over an injured child, trying to calm the girl down despite her own world having fallen apart and one of her brothers already being dead, we get harry nearly changing course and going for bellatrix instead of voldemort when he sees ginny in trouble? also the entire epilogue??? basically cut… like that scene was so wholesome and funny, and getting to see harry and ginny as this family unit was so nice?? a ROBBERY i’m telling you.

#ginny weasley #harry x ginny #hp #hinny #book ginny #ginevra molly weasley #harry potter #chamber of secrets #prisoner or azkaban #goblet of fire #order of the phoenix #half-blood prince #deathly hallows #harry potter books vs movies

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anxiousnerdwritings · 4 months

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Percy is lowkey the only one that really understands Weasley!Reader’s complicated relationship with their parents and money so the two of them are closer then any of the other siblings

Percy doesn’t approve of the things that his little brother is doing but climbs the political ladder at the Ministry just to use his connections to keep the smoke off of his brother and his criminal activities

I love this so much🥰💕. I was honestly so conflicted how I thought Percy would be about the whole situation but I love how you put it. I already headcanoned in my own mind that Percy would be the first (and probably only one) in the family to find out about what the Reader was doing and that’s merely because he happened across the Reader during a dealing they were doing in one of the back allies of Hogsmead during school or at Diagon Alley before the school year started.

I imagine Percy being pretty upset and disappointed with the Reader at first but when they give their reasoning he calms down and is understanding of it. He even hunts his younger sibling felling terrible that they feel the need to resort to illegal means as to provide for their family. I think this would even cause Percy to resent their parents a little more than normal. If they only made better decisions or tried to strive a little harder in life then his younger sibling wouldn’t feel such a need to go down the path they’re going, and at such a young age too, all just to help out the family cause they’re parents can’t.

Percy would definitely involve himself in the Reader’s ‘business’, more so to ensure his sibling is safe and protected throughout it. But he doesn’t start out too thoroughly involved, just some behind the scenes stuff and covering for the Reader whether at home or school, until eventually he finds himself calculating the business’ overall earnings or looking into new ways to branch out the business as a whole in its’ dealings and who all it deals with.

When it comes to Lestrange!Daughter!Oc, Percy is skeptical. He doesn’t trust her at all, whatsoever, especially regarding his sibling. Hell, he probably believes early on that she’s the one who got the Reader into doing this type of stuff to begin with. Even after quite awhile of having her around and being involved in everything Percy would still be very skeptical of Lestrange!Daughter. He just can’t bring himself to trust her with his sibling. He’s seen first hand what she’s capable of when it comes to the Reader and that only worries him so much more.

Also, Percy coming across the Reader really hurt after a dealing gone wrong. Probably an incident that occurred earlier on when the Reader’s business was still in the early stages. I imagine things like this still happen every so often but the Reader is much better at handling the situation and putting whoever in their place by whatever means necessary, not to mention Lestrange!Daughter is there to take out whoever she sees fit (especially if they dare to cause any harm to her beloved darling). But no matter how many times it happens, Percy never gets use to it. No matter how far he’s involved it still hurts him to see his younger sibling getting so badly hurt because of everything. Especially when the Reader is at home after a particularly rough interaction; cuts, bruises, and broken bones, but they’re just so happy to be back with everyone, acting like nothing ever happened.

#anxious answers #yandere percy weasley #yandere lestrange!daughter!oc #yandere harry potter #yandere harry potter concept #yandere concept

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we-do-be-writing · 3 months

Text

Talkative People

Percy Weasley x Reader

It was the first official day of your first year at Hogwarts and the sheer amount of school work you’ve received already is astonishing. So, you made your way to the library for some silence. It was surprisingly busy as you pushed open the heavy doors, mostly upperclassmen occupying the tables.

Scanning over the room, you see a fellow first year student with bright red hair. He’s sitting a few chairs down from his brother, who’s studying in a group of upperclassmen.

Of course you know the boy, it was hard not to when his older brothers basically screeched as he was sorted into Gryffindor. He had a wide smile on his face at the time, but now he’s almost frowning as his eyes run over the book on the table. Glancing around, you can’t see the third Weasley boy, Charlie. Before you can look further, your attention is drawn back to the task of finding a seat when someone clears their throat behind you.

“Sorry” you murmur, taking a couple steps towards Percy Weasley.

You almost feel bad breaking his concentration, but you’re not at Hogwarts to play games. You came to learn, and it seems like this Weasley boy would be a good study partner.

His obvious desire to consume as much information from the book as possible speaks to you. It’s not that you need help necessarily, just someone to hold you accountable so you remember to study. That’s where Percy comes in, sitting in silence on his own, glaring at anyone who raises their voice.

You realize this is a delicate situation, one wrong move and he will disown you from his presence. You’ve seen it at the dinner table in the Great Hall, he strays away from everyone but his brothers. This doesn’t deter you though, finding a reliable study partner at the beginning of school is crucial to a successful education.

So, you stand up as straight as you can and walk towards the boy this red hair. Before he even has a chance to look up at your shadow, you slide into the seat across his. You silently pull out your books, ignoring the way his eyebrow tips up in question.

Giving him a quick smile, you introduce yourself, “I’m Y/n L/n, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Is it?” He questions, “what makes you think I’m interested in meeting you?”

Oof, well that stung a little, but nothing you weren’t semi prepared for.

Folding your hands together on top of your books, you respond, “it’s simple really: you’re not a talkative person, I’m not a talkative person… if we don’t sit together people may think we’re lonely and talk to us.”

Clearly, Percy was not expecting you to talk back, as both his eyebrows raise now.

“It’s psychology,” you continue, “people see someone with a furrowed brow and frown on their lips, like you, and they think the person is struggling, interrupting their concentration to offer help.”

Percy’s eyes lock with yours at the subtle dig you took at him, but you don’t let him reply,

“If we’re both sitting at the same table, with a couple well-placed interactions, people will be more likely to leave us alone as we are here to help each other. Thus, we can focus on studying, as that is the common goal we share.”

He waits a couple seconds, seeing if you have more to say. When you stay silent, he speaks up,

“… I suppose that is sound enough logic, but don’t plan on this being a regular thing.”

You raise your hands in surrender, knowing that you’ve already made plenty of progress for the day.

You quietly open your book and begin to study, not noticing the way Percy’s gaze lingers on you before he goes back to studying.

~~~~~

After a while, Bill comes over, bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hi Percy, who’s this?” He asks, gesturing to you.

Percy releases a sigh at the distraction, so you take the initiative to respond to Bill yourself,

“Y/n L/n, a pleasure to meet you…?”

“Bill, Bill Weasley, and this is Percy, though I’m sure he told you.” Bill raises an eyebrow at his younger brother, who chooses to ignore it.

You just hum in response, causing Bill to shake his head with a smile at his brother’s cold shoulder.

“Well, I hate to interrupt, but dinner has started.”

Percy snaps his book shut and carefully places all his items into his bag. He looks at you as you stand from your seat.

“It has been an honor studying with the great Percy Weasley,” you tease, bowing towards him. Lifting your head, you see him roll his eyes, but his cheeks tinge with red.

Before he can come up with a response, you wave goodbye, walking away from the table and out of the library.

Percy huffs in frustration that he wasn’t able to quip back. Bill snorts a little before covering his mouth, but Percy still gives him a little shove, speedily walking from his brother’s knowing eyes.

~~~~~

It’s been a couple days since you last saw Percy in the library. Surprisingly enough, you’ve actually been seeing him more often following his roommate Oliver Wood, who’s following his brother Charlie Weasley. You didn’t take Percy as the type to follow Quidditch, though based on the way he continues to have his nose buried in a book while he trails along, it doesn’t seem like he’s all that interested.

Nonetheless, it’s not like you’ve been waiting with baited breath till the day you study with him again. You have other things to do, like getting to know your own roommates. You’ve decided that talking with them about classes, specifically the material each of you remember, is a good way to study as well.

But now, you are back in the library, sitting at the edge of a table with the hopes of deterring too many people from crowding around. So far, so good, as you flip through pages and make notes in the margins.

Suddenly, a shadow looms from the person standing on the other side of the table. Looking up, you see a somewhat red Percy Weasley looking down at you. You pretend not to notice the tight grip he has on his bag, or the way he wrings it with nerves.

“Hello” you greet him, raising your eyebrows expectantly.

He clears his throat, “May I sit?”

Now this is unexpected and you have to decide if it’s worth the risk of teasing him or just let him do as he wishes. After minimal thought, you can’t help but slide a little tease in…

“I was under the impression that you were only interested in a one-time fling.”

Percy’s eyes widen and his cheeks flush, but he quickly regains his composure and sends a glare your way.

“I would not call it a fling of any means,” he scorns, “if I am not welcome, then I will leave.”

You reach out a hand, grabbing the strap of his bag, your fingers just barely missing his.

“You’re always welcome, no need to ask, Merlin knows I didn’t when I joined you”

You let go of his bag, gesturing for him to sit across from you. He huffs a little, but settles into the seat and pulls out his books.

“No, you didn’t ask.” He remarks before zeroing in on his own notes.

You fight down a smile and try to go back to studying. Although he can be a little brash, you must admit that seeing him lock in helps you find your concentration. This lasts a good half an hour or so before Bill comes in with his upperclassman friends.

“Percy, Y/n, how nice to see you both here together again.” He pats Percy on the shoulder as he passes by, giving him a not so subtle wink.

You pretend that you didn’t see it, flipping to the next page in your book for effect. However, when Percy rolls his eyes at his brother, you decide it’s a good time for a break.

“Have you studied much since the other day?”

Percy looks to you, “yes I have,” he replies curtly.

Not an unexpected response, but you’re feeling reckless, so you keep your eyes locked, waiting for him to continue.

He sighs, “Unfortunately, not as much as I would have liked. My brother Charlie has been trying to pique my interest with Quidditch.”

“Any luck?”

“None if he wants me to play, but I suppose I don’t mind watching.” He shrugs, breaking eye contact as he rubs his fingers against the quill in his hand.

“Personally, I enjoy hearing about the mechanics of the game.” You mention, which Percy hums in what you assume is agreement.

Once again, you are presented with an opportunity to push the limits of your… relationship with Percy. You could ask him to accompany you to a game, as the first one of the year is coming soon.

Before you can think about it further, Percy’s gaze snaps back up to you. The intensity of his eyes sends a shock through you and your eyebrows furrow in silent question.

“Charlie… he is especially excited about the first game of the year, wants me to come watch.”

Your eyes narrow just the tiniest bit, “well it is an important game.”

Deciding to treat the situation as you would with a nervous animal, you let the boy come to you. He seems to have other plans though, losing the intense energy and snapping his book shut.

“I- uh, suppose I should get going…” he doesn’t offer any further explanation and you try not to swoon at his suddenly shy nature.

“Alright,” you reply, “I’ve got a little more to do, but it was nice to study with you, Percy.”

He pauses at the way his name sounds on your voice and you have to rest your chin in your hand to hide your smile. He nods stiffly, going to walk by the edge of the table.

You once again reach out and stop him before he can fully pass you. He looks down at you from the side of his eye, biting his lip a little.

“I’ll see you at the game,” you say, finally letting your smile show.

He blinks a couple times, heat rising to his face. You bring your hand back to the table, turning to the books in front of you.

Percy releases an audible breath before continuing on his way, looking down to hide the smile breaking across his lips.

Little does he know, you couldn’t concentrate the rest of your time at the library, daydreaming about when you’ll see him next.

#Percy Weasley #Percy Weasley x Reader #Percy Weasley Imagine #x Reader #Reader Insert #Gender Neutral Reader #Harry Potter Imagine #Harry Potter x Reader #HP x Reader #HP Imagine #x Gender Neutral Reader #Weasley Family

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sophsicle · 4 months

Note

oliver wood?????? soph youve just stolen my heart hes my baby hes my best friend hes That Guy!!! pls what are your thoughts and hcs about himmm

Here are my scribbled oliver wood notes from my notes app for your viewing pleasure:

ive played around with it being Percy who starts to check up on Oliver but like, tbh they're too similar, i think one of the twins makes more sense, especially cause they're on the team and i am always obsessed with the interaction in chamber of secrets where fred and george are like "oliver don't you fucking send harry back out there with that bludger" and oliver does it anyway, like i just love protective older brother weasley twins and i wanna see them lay into him about that after Harry gets hurt

and i just see oliver as being so stuck in his head, like his brain latches on to quidditch cause it's like routine, it's skill, it's strategy, it's something he can control, but i see hims struggling in school and social situations for those reasons (like on the outside i think he appears kind of confident but on the inside i see him just like continuously picking himself apart, obsessing, obsessing, obsessing)

#soph rambles #i love him #oliver wood

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writing-in-the-impala · 1 year

Text

Secret Smokes (Part 2)

Pairing: Teacher! Remus Lupin x Reader

Series Summary: When the reader bumps into the new DADA professor on the bridge in Hogwarts she begins to build a friendship with him all thanks to their shared feeling of not belonging and love for muggle cigarettes. Their friendship blooms while they both fight internal battles deciding what is wrong and what is right leading to a lot of fluff, angst, flirting and a rollercoaster of emotions.

Warnings: Swearing, Drinking, teacher-student relationship (but like it’s all legal chill), SLOWburn we’re in for a long ride

Word Count: 2267

A/N: Thank you for all the love on part 1, every nice comment gives me the motivation to keep posting!

This story takes place in a AU where Harry's parents are still alive so Remus Lupin still has all his friends and there is no war however that doesn't make him any less angsty. Everything else is pretty much the same as the canon universe! Enjoy!

| SERIES MASTER LIST | Previous Chapter, Part 2, Next Chapter

GIF by stephanieromanoff

The next day in class it felt like you and Lupin had your own little secret, when you walked in you could feel his eyes on you immediately, he smiled gently when your eyes met. After that there were no other abnormal interactions between the two of you, which in a way you felt great full for as you didn't want to feel uncomfortably in his lessons like you had something to hide. That evening you went back to the bridge to find Professor Lupin standing in the exact same place. "I didn't know you were such a creature of habit profesor." You said as a greeting.

"You obviously don't know me." He smiled gently at you. "When I was at Hogwarts I used to come to this very spot when I wanted some alone time. I had some of the best cigarettes of my youth in this very spot." He explained.

"Now that's not fair because this is where I've always gone to smoke. I think you need to leave Hogwarts profesor this bridge is not big enough for the two of us."

"Shame, I bought Camel Gold today." He pulled out the packet to show you.

"What I've only tried Camel Blue, can I have one." You asked on excitedly.

"I know as your teacher I should be worried by how much you just got excited over a cigarette packet but as a human I think it's funny." He said honestly.

"So can I try one?" You asked and he passed you one. "How come you've got muggle smokes?" You asked him.

"I prefer them, they have a camel on them." He shot a wink your way and you laughed.

"No but seriously, I thought wizards didn't think muggle ones were good enough." You asked.

"People just say that to sound better than muggles, I like to be honest. For example the people who refuse to read muggle books... they're missing out on some of the best literature they'll ever read because they're elitist." You liked this side of your Professor.

"Professor Lupin, I think you just became my favourite teacher." You said.

"You became my favourite student when you gave me a smoke." He shot another wink at you as he stood leaning back on the wood, with hands in his pockets looking at you.

"You're not supposed to have favourites you know." You teased him. He raised his eyebrows in shock and shot back. "You're not supposed to smoke on school grounds, you know." You laughed and he took another drag while smiling. Not much else was said, he finished his cigarette checked his watch like the night before and said he should get back, then echoing once again that you should make your way back to your dorm so you don't get in trouble for wandering the halls.

You watched him walk away, he had one hand in his pocket, never looking back at you as he walked into the darkness. You followed after he left your site and walked back to the common room. When you entered Percy was sitting reading a book near the door almost as if he was waiting for you. "What time do you call this L/N?" He said mockingly.

"Shut it Weasley." You replied sitting down beside him.

"Has Y/N gotten a new boyfriend already?" He asked lifting his eyebrow.

"No nothing like that Percy, my dear boy, you have nothing to worry about." You said resting a head on his shoulder.

"I know you attract trouble Y/N, both in boys and just how you like to spend your time." Percy began to gently lecture you.

"Are you my dad Percy?" You asked poking him.

"Y/N, I know you want a muggle job but please don't spend all your messing around with some boy and pulling pranks." He continued.

"Okay Percy this is not becoming a fun conversation, I was just having a smoke." You said.

"That's another thing you need to-" Percy began as you stood up and walked away.

"Is Percy lecturing you?" Fred said as he entered the room.

"Yup, telling me no to pranks and boys." You pouted and Percy rolled his eyes.

"He's just jealous, but we all know if you went for a Wesley you'd be choosing me or George not Percy." He said with a wink.

"You all disgust me, I'm going to bed." You said before leaving the room. You knew Percy was right and cared but you just wanted a pain free last year. The Weasley boys all cared for you a lot, they were like you wizard family, you even joined them on holidays sometimes. They were a welcoming family and whoever the children befriend would always be welcome in their home. Over summer you went camping with the Weasley family, Harry Potter joined and so did Hermione Granger. You got along with Hermione quite a lot as you shared many similarities, however she happily immersed herself in the wizarding world unlike you. Even though she was younger than you she always felt like someone you could have real conversations with. You considered yourself a friendly person but apart from the Weasley twins and Hermione you didn't have anyone else you could have truly deep conversations with, not even Percy as he worries too much.

You fell asleep thinking about Percy's words, however in the morning against his wishes you decided to skip most of your lessons. After breakfast you went outside to sit by the lake with a book, missing your first two lessons of the day. You decided to attend potions as you enjoyed it and found it a useful skill, when you entered the class Percy gave you a sad smile of disappointment. "Are you okay?" He simply asked instead of grilling you about skipping all the previous classes. "My mind was foggy when I woke up, I needed some air." You said and he gave you a nod.

"You can borrow my notes." He said and you thanked him. "You know Y/N, if you need to talk I'm here. If your brain is being difficult this year again we can help you through it." He continued sounding a bit too much like a teacher.

"It's fine it's just that feeling of being out of place again now that I'm back-" you began before Snape interrupted with "L/N. Weasley. Is your conversation more important than my class?"

"Sorry profesor." Percy and you quickly replied cutting your conversation short. Snape decided to keep you back after class to take away 5 points each and to tell you how important it is for you to focus this year words that made you want to roll your eyes. When you left you were already late for DADA. "Are you coming?" Percy asked and you shook your head no, he didn't ask any questions and just nodded his head. You walked back to the common room where you bumped into Fred and George who where also skipping, the three of you spent the time chatting and playing games and showing off trick to each other and didn't attend a single lesson for the rest of the day. You even had time to plan out a new minor prank and make plans to go to the three broomsticks soon as you need to go shopping for supplies for your prank anyway. In the evening you were in the common room mentally debating if you should head to the bridge today to meet Lupin as you did in fact miss his lesson, and if he sees you, you can't lie about being ill. You opened the Marauders map to check his location and noticed he was walking towards the bridge, you knew you can explain your way out of not being in his lesson today and that you wanted not only to smoke but also to talk to him so you headed to join him. As you approached he was in his usual spot leaning looking out as always, but today he wasn't smoking as you approached, he was waiting for you. You walked down the bridge towards him and he stood up straight and smiled taking out the cigarette out his pocket and offering you one as soon as you were an arms length away. "I feel bad taking yours." You said with a smile as you took one of your own out.

"I don't mind." He said gently. "Besides I like the company when I smoke, so it's in my interest for you not to smoke your whole stash before Christmas." He said knowingly.

"I can tell you've been through the pain of being a student that's addicted to nicotine." You said as you both lit your cigarette, he did it wand free you did it with a physically lighter.

"Weeks seem extremely long when you've run out and you know you're leaving Hogwarts in a week but it means a week with not a single smoke."

"Asking other to bump theirs." You added

"But they're all out too." He finished.

"You're a pro." You said with a smile making him laugh. Silence fell upon you before he spoke first.

"Did I do something to offend you Y/N?" He asked shocking you.

"What? No? Why?" You asked in confusion.

"You didn't attend class today." He simply stated turning to face you.

"Oh. That's nothing personal towards you profesor, I only attended one class today." You simply stated.

"Were you feeling ill? I'm sure Madame Pomfrey-" He began, giving you a perfect opportunity to lie.

"No." You simply said resulting in a surprised look from Lupin. "I just simply don't see the point in attending classes." You explained and he gave you a puzzled look encouraging you to explain, you looked away from him into the distance before speaking. "I'm getting a muggle job. So these exams mean nothing for my future."

"How can you be sure you'll never want a job in the wizarding world?" He questioned.

"Because I don't feel welcome by it. I'm an outsider, and I've always felt like wizards are afraid of me because I grew up as a muggle." You explained.

"You know there's many great witches and wizards who are muggle born. My mother was a muggle and I was raised in a mostly non-magic household."

"And do you feel welcome? Do you feel like they don't have prejudice against you and fear you?" You questioned and you could see you had gone too far as he looked taken aback and had a sad look on his face. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that." You added.

"No, it's okay. Yes I do feel those feeling sometimes, more than you would imagine... for many reasons not just because of my parents. But I don't think that can control what you do. If you don't learn magic to your best abilities they win. They don't want you to know things like potions and defence against the dark arts because they're scared you and many other great wizards will stand up for the underdog. However if we don't learn this stuff, we let them win. Who will protect muggles during dark times, if not great witches like you?" He became very emotional and was the one to nearly say sorry this time but you responded before he could.

"You know professor, you make a good point." You said looking down in embarrassment as he was correct and you felt guilty for all the lessons you missed and the knowledge you could've gained. "No one ever put it like that... I've always been told but what if you want to work in magic, but I never thought about who is protecting the people who can't fight magic with magic." You continued.

"Since I was a child I hated magical beings, they scared me." Lupin began, opening up. "But i realised we can do amazing things, cure diseases, protect innocent lives all through magic, to completely block it out of your life because some horrible kids don't treat muggle born wizards kindly would be a mistake, instead spite them and learn more than them so you can protect people against them." He said, everything felt very personal and you appreciated his words even if he was saying it all just because he's your teacher.

"Thank you for that professor, that's probably the best advice I've heard from any teacher in this school." You admitted.

"I'd like to see our conversations as more than just a teacher talking to his student but as a friendly discussion, as I think sometimes bright young women like yourself need someone to talk to them honestly. I know I wish someone had a conversation like that with me when I was in your place." He said with a kind smile at the end. "Anyway, I must get back and so must you as I've talked for a bit too long and it's quite a bit past your curfew." He said checking his watch. "Would you like me to escort you back so you don't get in trouble for wandering the halls at night?" He offered.

"It's okay professor, I know how to sneak out after dark and not get caught." You said with a smile and he laughed softly.

"I'm sure you do." He shook his head as if to say that he knows it's wrong he's allowing you to smoke and sneak around at night but he finds it humorous. "Good night Y/N." He said before walking away. "Goodnight Professor Lupin."

NEXT CHAPTER!

#student x teacher #harry potter #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #professor lupin x reader #remus love you #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #teacher! remus lupin #the maruaders #secret smokes

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