#JUSTICE FOR PERCY FUCKING WEASLEY

[moonlightdancer26]

The way Percy is so hated even though he was one of the very few characters with self-respect and ambitious yet realistic goals and was willing to go to great lengths to reach it despite his family not being the slightest bit supportive of it.

[citrusses]

burn it all down (it doesn't have to be like this) drarry reclist 💣

aka the wizarding world is canonically so fucked up, what if we destroyed every system it upholds? (and then kissed?)

This list was inspired by Lots of Feelings about the midterm elections/government/systems of oppression etc. These five fics explore (in very different ways) how power corrupts, how unchecked stagnancy in social norms enables injustice, and the many forms resistance can take (mind the tags on them, most are quite heavy). I love them all. Related: VOTE IF YOU CAN, WHEN YOU CAN, EVERY YEAR.

By the Grace by @letteredlettered (T, 140k)

Once a war was won, it should stay won. Once one made progress, one should stay ahead. Instead, twenty years later, the losers were all coming back, the losses were being lost again.

A perfect fic about the refusal of systems of power to change, and the courage of individuals to change in spite of them. Both Draco and Harry force themselves to grow radically and painfully in this story. While Draco’s evolution is loud and public, Harry’s is quiet and internal, and the story sets these narratives of their personal journeys against the broader shifts of magical society to posit that if individuals can evolve, maybe the rest of the world can, too.

The Beauty of Thestrals and Other Unseen Things by @writcraft (E, 63k)

Harry stares at Hermione. “You can’t send people to Azkaban for kissing.” “I’m not sending people to Azkaban for kissing,” Hermione replies, tartly. “You are.”

One of my favorite things about fiction, and fanfiction in particular, is that authors can eradicate the prejudices of our world in fantasy. If magic can be real, why shouldn't it eliminate hate?

But fiction can also hold up a mirror to the ugliness that exists in the world in which we live. Hate and homophobia are distressingly present this fic — and because of that, it feels so grounded in the world that was Harry Potter, where any explicit references to queerness happened off page, long after the books were written. This fic is set in a world where queer people are forced to exist on the margins and invisible. But it can be cathartic to take that repressive world and insist within it on the existence and the humanity of those it tries to ignore and erase. The Beauty of Thestrals does that masterfully. I wept reading this, it's painful but it's beautiful. A Young Radical's Guide to Love by @blamebrampton (T, 66k)

“I told you she was guilty,” Weasley said. “Innocent people don’t run.” “Yes they do,” said Potter, before Draco could get his voice to move past his outrage. “They run all the time if they’re frightened, and we are frightening. She’s not a threat, Percy, she’s not even a source of information about actual threats. You know I disagree with this policy and I don’t see the benefit in it.”

Such a well-paced, thrilling and moving story about the performance of justice versus actual justice, and the easy slide into authoritarianism to which democratic institutions (and "the good guys") are susceptible. Plus, I am absolutely WEAK for Harry and Draco (and friends!) against the world. any day now by @oknowkiss (E, 17k)

“Look,” Potter begins, voice low. “I know you think I’m an idiot, but I do notice things actually, and I don’t think this whole–” he flutters his hands in the air, searching for a word, “-- experiment is benefiting anyone. At least not anyone except the Minister. Did you know his approval rating jumped fifteen points after this place opened?” 

It's got Drarry AND a condemnation of the criminal justice system AND a Feelings Puppet, need I say more? Draco has been interred in a "reform" program for Death Eaters, and, like in every panopticon before it, those surveyed are used and abused in service of those in power. Draco is forced to learn, once again, that there are no good choices, only those you can live with. Harry, once again, tries to fix everything himself. It's sexy, it's angsty, and it has the gall to be so fucking funny while it rips your chest open and stomps on your heart.

Modern Love by @tackytigerfic (E, 61k)

“There are over two thousand magical citizens of this country who have pledged to relinquish their magic in protest at the draconian and unjust policies of the magical government. But of course if Harry Potter doesn’t get it—” and here she does a cruelly accurate impression of Harry, which he thinks is a bit unnecessary “—then of course it can’t be worth doing.”

Hey it's pretty messed up that wizards can live for hundreds of years and have seemingly infinite resources but ignore non-magical people and let them, like, die en masse, huh? Draco thinks so! This fic is so soft and lovely, but it also will make you think about the power of protest, self-forgiveness, and sacrifice.

[impishtubist]

Here’s a bit of chaos: Percy raised some valid points when he didn’t believe Voldemort was back. The story sounds utterly unhinged from the outside perspective and the vast majority of the world (read: everyone but Dumbledore and maybe a couple DEs) has no clue the man has horcruxes so nobody else can think of how this is possible, why the fuck would they think this actually happened when absolutely none of them know a single way to come back from the dead 14-ish years after the fact?? There is no earthly way the Weasleys ever would’ve taught Percy about horcruxes, they probably never even heard of them until Dumbledore told Harry, so Percy has no way of knowing that Voldemort has a way of resurrecting himself, there’s no documented proof Percy has of this ever happening and it’s not like the dead are regularly coming back in Percy’s life (excluding the future event of Harry surviving the Killing Curse again). Harry is insisting he came back, but Harry just endured a horrifically traumatizing event of witnessing the death of a schoolmate and memory isn’t always reliable. Also, Dumbledore is a shady guy, we see him recruit child soldiers and seemingly do nothing to run the school despite being headmaster (meaning, what the hell is he doing all the time? It’s not taking care of student safety, that’s for sure), Percy’s right to be skeptical of the man (another shady thing Dumbledore did: only telling one person about the horcruxes, rather than the entire group of grown adults who trusted him implicitly). The entire story sounds nuts, literally who would go “of course this man, who died over a decade ago and who hasn’t been seen in person since then, has come back to life, with no explanation of how this actually occurred and the only witnesses being a man who’s been a prisoner in one way or another for almost half his life and seems to be stark raving mad and a child who just witnessed someone die and who has been in a life-threatening situation all year and is possibly having a stress or sleep-deprived hallucination, this makes total sense”? There is no solid explanation for how Voldemort came back given to most people, Dumbledore was essentially going “yes, I know exactly how he came back to life, but I won’t tell you, just trust me bro, he’s for sure back.” I’m not so sure I’d believe this story either, not until someone told me how this man managed to resurrect himself

Probably the biggest surprise to myself in my return to fandom is that I have become part of the Percy Weasley Defense Squad. Obviously not as much as I am part of the Sirius Black Defense Squad, but man, the books really did that kid dirty!

First off, he spends his life being the butt of his family's jokes for *checks notes* being studious and liking to follow rules???? Everyone is just so mean to him. Or, if they're not actively mean, they just plain don't get him, and let me tell you, that is a fucking lonely feeling in your family.

And then he goes to work for the Ministry and is once again thrown under the bus by everyone, even his boss, who is the Minister of Magic, and he's, what??? 18 years old???? Like jfc he is a CHILD!

And yeah! It really isn't all that outlandish for him to be suspicious about Voldemort actually being back! Why would he believe that without question????

Justice for Percy!

(I actually think Sirius and Percy would become quite good friends tbh. They're both outcasts in their own families. I think Sirius would be pretty fond of him actually)

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

The Sad Life of the Last McKinnon Heir: Shock

by Whymeohwhy

Harry Potter was not the child of prophecy, instead the silent baby of Marlene McKinnon and Bruce Wayne is. What will happen when a child raised in Gotham is confronted with self-righteous wizards, well who knows, but those wizards are apparently gonna fuck around and find out

Words: 1232, Chapters: 1/17, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of The Sad Life of the Last McKinnon Heir

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage

Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Marlene McKinnon, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon, Clark Kent, Harry Potter, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), James Potter, Lily Evans Potter, Severus Snape, Theodore Nott, Charlie Weasley, Percy Weasley, Bill Weasley, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass, Rolf Scamander, Tracey Davis (Harry Potter), Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Marcus Flint, Oliver Wood

Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Penelope Clearwater/Marcus Flint/Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood

Additional Tags: there are too many characters to list, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Jason Todd is a menace to society, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, there are too many things to tag, Public Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Public Oral, Porn Watching, Hogwarts First Year

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/42821484

[ao3feed-snape]

The Sad Life of the Last McKinnon Heir: Shock

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/q9uC2wS

by Whymeohwhy

Harry Potter was not the child of prophecy, instead the silent baby of Marlene McKinnon and Bruce Wayne is. What will happen when a child raised in Gotham is confronted with self-righteous wizards, well who knows, but those wizards are apparently gonna fuck around and find out

Words: 1232, Chapters: 1/17, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of The Sad Life of the Last McKinnon Heir

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage

Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Marlene McKinnon, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon, Clark Kent, Harry Potter, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), James Potter, Lily Evans Potter, Severus Snape, Theodore Nott, Charlie Weasley, Percy Weasley, Bill Weasley, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass, Rolf Scamander, Tracey Davis (Harry Potter), Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Marcus Flint, Oliver Wood

Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Penelope Clearwater/Marcus Flint/Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood

Additional Tags: there are too many characters to list, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Jason Todd is a menace to society, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, there are too many things to tag, Public Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Public Oral, Porn Watching, Hogwarts First Year

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/q9uC2wS

[darthwheezely]

sand and stone - g.w. - 1

summary: marine biologist y/n has made a major discovery - george, prince of the north reef and heir to the throne of oceanic royals. but when sinister forces threaten his very life - and the life of his family - will they be able to make it out of this alive?

pairing: merman!george weasley x marine biologist!reader

warnings: cussing, light angst (in this chapter!) possible sex in future chapters (if so: I’ll add nsfw warnings to each chapter when that occurs!), cruelty

a/n: it’s taken ages for me to update my series’ and for that i am so sorry :,) i just needed to bust out smaller projects like one shots to bring my head space back and i PROMISE i walk chapter 5 will be next as i’ve been actively tackling it for a HOT second now, it just has some intense content to write so it’s been hard for me to tackle yk?

Fred replayed the scene over and over, he knew there was nothing that could bring George back, nor heal his guilt in the process. Fred was older, he should’ve been wiser by default, he was always the protector and for the first time in his life he had chosen his own mischief over George.

“Fred!”

“George!”

And in his mind the outcome would always be the same:

George was gone.

And it was his fault.

Palace life was more stifling than it ever was, with Fred next in line as coronation as the next High Prince with a few more titles after his elder brother Percy, a marital match was next, and for some odd reason (Fred noted) that was taking a higher value than searching for his own brother.

And that didn’t really make sense to him.

Fred had asked every living merperson in the court if they had seen the ship, what it looked like, where it was going, anything to conclude that information was out there. But alas, none of them knew anything important.

King Arthur, on the other hand, didn’t seem to want to help at all.

So here was Fred, now pushing his way through the doors of the main throne room, watching with vile contempt as his father and his oldest brother Bill chatted about something making them laugh so hard they were wheezing.

“Son! How lovely a surprise,” Arthur had looked bemusedly at his fourth and bullheaded son.

“Don’t bore me with your bullshit, Father, I know nothing I have to say will probably mean anything to you anyways,” Fred snapped, prompting Bill to rise from his seat.

“Fred, what is going on with you as of late? What makes you think you can address our father, the King mind you, like this-“

“Because with all due respect, big brother” he shifted his eyes from Bill back to their father, who was looking coldly back at him with less than no remorse, “I’ve come to ask about the search party for George.”

“Then, ask, son, you know your brother and I can’t do your little tease all day,” Arthur coughed, waving his aide to bring him his handkerchief.

“How has the party been? Has anyone found anything new since the discovery that it was a boat that took him?” Fred was pacing, tapping his chin, a mannerism he always did when he was in thought.

Arthur sighed in frustration, “we would have told you if there was any other news, now get dressed for your courtship ball tonight-“

“No.” Fred said simply.

“N-no?”

“Yes, no, as in no, I will not be attending the courtship ball tonight.” He crossed his arms and looked from Bill back to his now flabbergasted father. “Is there a problem?”

It was now Bill who answered an exasperated, “yes, there’s a problem, all the eligible women for currents on end will be in attendance and you need a wife before the kelp harvest, you know this-“

“Ah, forgive me, because a wife and a mindless piece of grass is more important than my own goddamn brother,” Fred spat, “my mistake, your Majesty.”

Arthur rose from his seat and started in towards Fred. “Frederick, Prince of the North Reef, you’ve got a lot of nerve coming in here and-“

“Demanding justice for your own child?”

The room was silent for a moment, Fred looking mightily angry but also pleased in the fact that yes, he had gotten his father right where he wanted him.

“Son. I’ll strike you a deal,” he said quietly. Fred scoffed and rolled his eyes, heading towards the exit.

“Father, I know the extent of your deals and as such, I’m not going to participate in your little games,” he called from behind.

“You don’t want to find George yourself?”

Fred stopped dead in his tracks.

“Freddie...a father knows his sons better than they expect...and George is your other half and...” he swallowed, “this search isn’t going as well as it should and we all need answers,” he finished softly. Fred turned around and tears pricked at his eyes.

“If you choose to find your brother on land and you do so in one week’s time,” he closed his eyes and inhaled, “you’ll never need marry-“

“Father-!” Bill sputtered.

“-and never need settle in any of the Reef palaces I’ve created. Son, you’ll be-“

“I’ll be free of royal life if I so choose” he rubbed his jaw, taking a moment to think.

“You’re the best brother I’ve ever had, Freddie!”

“And you’re my best friend, Georgie!”

“And we’ll never be apart-“

“Not as long as we live-“

“-forever,” Fred said to himself softly, before nodding.

“If I’m not back in a week - send the search. You don’t want two dead sons on your hands,” he paced back to the door, pushing both sides open with both hands.

“...and I’ve got answers to find.”

As soon as Fred left the room, Arthur chuckled deeply.

“Bill?”

“Yes, father?”

“Keep an eye on him. We don’t need him getting out and stirring up any more trouble.” He rose from his throne, eyes still staring at the door.

“My son must learn to be quiet.”

—

George was back in the water, he knew that much. His head lolled back and forth as he slowly regained composure, seeing his tail as shiny and new as ever, but somehow unable to move it. He felt exhausted, like he’d swam to the South Reef and back like he used to do with-

“Fred...” he murmured, not really to anyone, just calling out to him somewhere. He realizes after a couple minutes that he was slowly sinking, his eyes fluttering open and shut again slowly in time before he hit the ground.

It was sand. He was in water, he knew that much, immediately jolting up swimming forward until-

“Neptune, what the fuck is this?” He rubbed his head, hitting something unbeknownst to him. He slapped and hit at the surface in front of him, making a sound of echo and reverb as he squinted his eyes and saw:

This was not home.

“Hey - hey let me out!” He shouted, banging on the clear surface, clearly seeing -

“Humans...” he mumbled, the laden horror setting in, backing up in shock and swimming for dear life before he hit the other side of this surface, repeating the same banging, desperate to be freed.

“Let me out! Let me go, I need to find my brother, please!” He cried out, swimming every way possible way, hitting the hard and translucent surface every time.

“What’s he doing?” A voice said, a younger woman for sure.

“He’s trying to break free, but unfortunately for him: that’s plexiglass.” A distinctly deeper and more even voice replied.

“He - he wants out.”

That voice. George stopped and turned around, he’d heard that voice before.

“I shouldn’t have brought him back, Dr. Lockhart-“

“No-“

“Yes, and - and now we’ve stranded him here, I mean, we don’t even know how long he’ll survive under isolation-“

“That’s enough, Miss Y/L/N!” The man shouted, stilling the voices in the laboratory. He cleared his throat and pushed up his glasses before smiling tightly at the girl.

“You forget yourself, Miss Y/L/N,” he said softly. “You may be a fantastic marine student, but you are still just that: a student. And until you reach a higher potential,” George watched with rapt eyes as the man made his way to her pressing a button.

“That is all you will be. A very. Smart. Student.” He clipped, turning a gauge.

George heard a very loud sound, looking up and seeing a large square thing coming down to the top of the encasement he was in. He scrambled to swim up, attempting to push it up and off, but it was too heavy and eventually he realized -

“I’m trapped,” he said hollowly, looking out at the people in the lab, now looking highly uncomfortable and exiting the room.

“Please - please I need to get back home,” he pleaded. “No, no, please” he banged harder on the plexiglass, “let me out! Please, let me out, I’m begging you!”

He saw her then, her face of...sadness. And remorse. And maybe something else.

“Please,” he whispered at her, before she swallowed, keeping her eyes to the floor and exiting the laboratory.

George, Prince of the North Reef was alone.

•••

taglist! check my compass for the link to be added! taglist! @4amhotchner @harrysweasleys @wandsandwheezes @valwritesx @lumosandnoxwriting @billyhxrgrove @mothermantids @cyliamarti @shakinganxiety @godricsswords @rosietoesy @jorduhnn @sinfulweasley @wand3ringr0s3 @jaywritesstuff0 @anchoeritic @amourtentiaa @miraclesoflove @lilypad-55449 @miarivic @loony-loopy-lupinn @wzrd-wheezes @writingsomewrongs

[ffangirlingsince2001]

The Great Upheaval of Percy Weasley: Mirrors

Percy Weasley x OC

Summary: Defense Against the Dark Arts takes a turn for the worst.

Warnings: angst, fluff

MASTERLIST

mirrors -n- eyes that stare back haunt me, but when you join the reflection becomes clear.

***

Professor Lupin quickly became Elle’s favorite teacher. It wasn’t difficult when the rest of her favorites had raging flaws.

Professor Sprout was incessantly bubbly. She never had anything bad to say about anyone, ever. And while many students found that to be a blessing, Elle couldn’t stand it. Nothing said lack of a challenge like a teacher who never gave bad marks. Some days she messed up purpose, begging for a snap, but one never came. She was always full of sweet, encouraging words that never seemed to do Elle’s work justice. Her sole saving grace was that she allowed Elle to wander around the greenhouse after hours if only to understand her garden’s magical properties and the way they could be combined and altered.

Professor McGonagall cared far too much for technique and not enough about creativity. The lion for example, a beautiful display of transfiguration and she was being punished for it. Didn’t matter that no one had ever been able to accomplish that as sixth year, all that mattered was that her technique was off.

And it goes without saying Professor Snape hated her. The only teacher who managed to keep her challenged while still allowing for creativity hated her for the color of her tie. It’s not to say that in the beginning she didn’t try to make him love her work, and she had certainly succeeded, but that didn’t stop him from hating her every being.

Professor Lupin was the wonder of all three. Creative, challenging, and without the obsession of technique, plus he didn’t seem to hate anyone. Her certainly tolerated her and her temper towards her partner.

It didn’t matter that Percy kept her company in empty classrooms, she still wanted nothing more than embarrass in front of everyone who dared to watch. And as she walked into class that beautiful Wednesday morning that was all she had on her mind, beating Percy Weasley into the ground while wide blue eyes asked why.

However, that didn’t seem to be the plan for this particular Wednesday.

Desks were pushed to the sides and a large shaking wardrobe sat in the center.

Clouds were covering her Wednesday morning.

Percy fell into place beside her, a single finger drawing down her arm alerting her to his presence. She would have flinched a month ago, but a month ago she didn’t have the Head Boy touching her whenever he got close enough. There was no romance to it, neither them were stupid enough to fall for that, but it certainly was edging on addiction. When she had first suggested it she had assumed it was simply an attempt to keep her mind busy and to relieve herself of the incessant drive to kiss him again.

Instead of relieving she only wanted more, and from the number of times he had dragged her into the Restricted Section of the library he had once dubbed to pure, she was sure he was suffering from the same craving.

His finger never left her arm until Lupin stepped in from his office, and then he was back to being the perfect child. It was a good thing he did too, because when Lupin announced the creature hiding in that wardrobe, she might have ended anyone who touched her.

The dreaded Boggart.

She considered refusing, storming away and hiding until class was over. But that would be defeat, and she would let Percy Weasley face the thing he feared very most if she wasn’t going to do the same. That would be cowardice and just as her tie stated, she was not a coward.

Lupin reminded that it was just for fun, one last go around before he had it destroyed. There would be no grade, it was just a bit of relaxer, he assured them.

Elle felt anything but relaxed.

She made her way as close to the end as she could manage, head held high. She thought she had gotten past the lesson of Boggarts in her third year without a hitch. Quirrell was too much of a coward to bring live creatures into the classroom so it had been nothing more than bookwork and theory. Now the shaking wardrobe was standing before her, mocking her and Percy, who had somehow ended up behind her, was going to see her fail for the first time ever.

She gnawed her black nails as she drew closer to the front, biting off the carefully grown ends. Five people, then three, and then one. It turned into a ghost, and then as she cast the spell is dropped to the floor like a forgotten bedsheet. She closed her eyes and took a step forward, breathing deeply.

The sheet rose, a body forming beneath it and then with familiar fingers, it pulled the sheet away revealing something that was almost a mirror. She looked the way she should have, the way her mother would have liked it. Classic, a beige two-piece set, nude pumps, no eyeliner. She didn’t have braids, her mother hated those too. Instead it was let loose, long curls, she could imagine a ribbon tying them back She was longer, more fluid this way. And her grey eyes, the ones that always stared back at her in the mirror, were looking at her the same way she looked at Percy Weasley. Her mirror’s wand was out before she could react, and she was flying across the classroom into the desks that had been placed against the wall.

That dreaded fear of the what-could-have-beens. A stronger, more respected witch stared down at her, mocking her as she advanced. Elle yanked her wand out.

“R-riddikulus,” she stuttered, but there was no fun idea to trade out for the fear that kept inching closer. And then, out of the corner of her eye she caught sight Percy, watching with something that fell between terror and apt fascination. She uttered the spell again, determined to beat him, but her mirror kept advancing. “Riddikulus, Riddikulus, Riddikulus,” she screamed until someone stepped in front of her.

She thought it was Lupin at first, until her mirror image turned to Percy’s. The Head Boy stared down his mirror, and with only a slight tremor to his voice raised his wand and uttered the magical words. It dashed into a thousand pieces like she wished it had done for her.

Lupin was speaking but she couldn’t hear a thing. The blood rushing through her ears made her dizzy as Percy turned, and without a hint of arrogance helped her to her feet. She stumbled a little, catching his shoulder as she tipped forwards.

He caught his hand on her waist. It slid beneath her robe and to the small of her back, a small comfort.

“Meet me.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” she gasped before pulling away and gathering her things. Lupin tried to talk to her, as did Dinah, but all she wanted to do was run, and that’s what she did. She relished in the sounds of her boots hitting the floor, grateful they weren’t heels.

How could she be so stupid?

She could already hear the rumors they would make about her. The first time she had encountered a boggart she had been eleven. She had whispered the same things to herself that they would whisper to each other. It hadn’t attacked her that first time, it hadn’t felt threatened, not when she terrified at the sight of herself climbing out of an old trunk. She thought she had been going crazy, she had cried to Madam Pomfrey for what seemed like hours, unable to articulate the sight. Eventually everything was explained, and she was excused to go to her room, but she had vowed to beat it, whatever it meant, the next she encountered a boggart it was going to be different.

It clearly wasn’t.

She ran a hand over a braid and charged into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, throwing her book bag against the wall, and staring into the mirror. That was who she wanted to see, this was her, not that preppy priss who managed to tower over her with a single raised eyebrow.

Her grey eyes were still lined with black liner and her hair was still tied in two long braids. That mirage was just that, an illusion that existed only within her mind. She punched the mirror, watching as it shattered upon impact. Carelessly, she watched her knuckles bleed before whirling around at the sound of a girlish laugh. Myrtle was peering over a stall, resting her head on her folded arms. Couldn’t she leave someone to angst in peace?

“Fuck off.”

“It’s my bathroom,” she reminded indignantly.

“Fine, I’ll leave.” She huffed and gathered the books that had spilled across the floor during her tantrum. Blood soaked onto the pages and she swore violently. Could this day really get any fucking worse? She slammed open the door again, ignoring the whispers of the girls who had watched her enter the bathroom in the first place.

“I’d be scared if I looked like that too,” one whispered and Elle rolled her eyes. Fucking fourth years. She allowed her gaze to meet the girl who had spoke and pulled out her wand.

“Want to say that to my fucking face?” The fourth year squeaked as she advanced. Elle was convinced she would have ruined those gossiping pricks entire week had Percy not walked around the corner looking for her.

“Elle!” She considered ignoring him but decided snogging in some dark corner would be better for her mood than removing femurs from insolent children. She sent them one last fiery glare before stalking towards Weasley.

If he wanted anything other than snog her, she was going to explode.

She followed him silently, itching to get her hands on that cocky ginger. The moment they turned the corner into an empty corridor, she pounced. He pulled her into a broom cupboard, locking it behind them as she attacked him with lustful ferocity. She ripped open his shirt, black nails raking along pale skin.

“Elle, you’re bleeding,” he muttered breathlessly.

“Fuck, sorry,” she swore. Truth be told, she had forgotten the moment he had stepped into view. She pulled out her wand to heal the cuts, but he had already beat her to it. With soft movements the cuts closed, and the stains disappeared until there was no evidence of the injury. She sucked in a deep breath as he watched her, already itching to kiss him again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked as she grabbed him.

“No,” she mumbled against his lips, but he pushed her away, hands pressing against her shoulders. “Percy, I said I don’t want to talk about it.” She leaped forward again, but he shoved her against the wall. A mop or two clattered to the ground at the impact and she swallowed.

“Sorry,” he muttered, loosening his grip. She wished he hadn’t apologized. “It’s just, you’re not the only one who saw yourself today.” Elle blinked as she thought back to the moments when he had stepped in front of her. He had seemed without fear then, but now he was shifting nervously, unable to meet her eyes. She reached out and took his face more tenderly than she had anticipated. Blue met grey and her stomach rolled uncomfortably.

“Thank you,” she muttered before kissing him. That was uncharacteristically tender too. When she pulled away, he was smiling softly. “And I’m sorry I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Elle, I’m not saying you have to. I just want you to know you’re not the only one who had to face yourself today.” Behind sharp eyes, Elle could feel herself welling up. From the first time she had seen herself staring back she had felt like an enigma that couldn’t be solved. She had been a solitary being, but now Percy, who couldn’t be more different was the same. Her stomach turned again, and she nodded, quickly kissing him before he noticed the tears building in her eyes.

This time he didn’t try to push her away but pulled her closer. She dug her fingers through his hair and didn’t hesitate to respond as he wrapped her legs around his waist, pushing her up against the wall. Fingers slipped beneath her skirt, denting soft skin with hunger.

“Fuck,” she growled as he wrapped a braid around his fist, tugging it until her neck was exposed to soft lips and harsh teeth. She grabbed his shoulders, holding on tightly as he almost hesitantly nipped at her pulse. He ran his mouth up her neck and along her jaw, nipping at her ear until she was moaning his name. He found her lips again to quiet her soft whispers, catching the taste of his name leaving her lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he lowered her legs, pulling him tighter against her lips.

“Good talk,” he muttered when they pulled away for air and she laughed.

“Excellent talk, best one we’ve had yet.”

“Shall we talk some more?”

“McGonagall’s going to hang us.”

“I’ve already explained it to her. You’ve ran off and I’ve gone to check on you, it’s terribly tragic really,” he whispered, and she grinned before pressing herself against him once more.

“I knew I was snogging a genius.” And then they proceeded to talk much, much more.

Taglist: @andromedasstarship​ @danadeacon​

[panda-noosh]

the missing part {George Weasley x Reader}

Words: 10.5k

Summary: The trio becomes a pair.

Genre: angst

Warnings: mentions of death - grief - this is also a platonic fic so if you’re looking for some good good romance, you might not wanna waste your time with this one. 

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - THIS IS A SAD ONE BOYOS 

----

You receive the news shortly after everything happens.

   The change to the wizarding world is a physical one. Wizards all over the globe can feel the difference, even though they weren't at the scene, even though news has yet to break of the details describing what really happened that evening in Hogwarts. People are cheering and screaming victory in the streets, because everyone just knows. Everyone is breathing normally again. Everyone is safe.

  It's excitement that claws at you first and foremost, because you're stuck in that head space where nothing feels wrong. Voldemort is dead – you know it, the world knows it, everyone is okay. You celebrate with a glass of wine, too absorbed in this massive victory to think of the sacrifices that must have happened to make it happen. For tonight, all you want is a chance to bask in a freedom you have not felt nor experienced in many, many years.

  But the euphoria can't last forever. One problem has been taken care of, and now there is room for more to trickle in.

  You receive the letter the next day. You wake up from a wine-induced sleep to the sound of the owls beak tapping against your window; you retrieve the letter with a hopeful mind and trembling fingers, because it has been so long since you've received a letter that isn't a warning of the Ministry getting closer to your home, or a newspaper reporting news you do not want to hear, news so false and manufactured it made you start buying The Quibbler just for a real taste of what was happening in the outside world.

    You open the letter at your kitchen table, and this is something you will always, always remember, a moment that will forever be locked in your brain due to the trauma – genuine trauma – it swept upon you. Over a glass of milk and a bowl of cereal, you read the words Fred is dead, scribbled in the handwriting of Molly Weasley.

  You read it over and over again, just to make sure your mind is not playing tricks on you – you would be less surprised if you suddenly found out your months of isolation had made you gone insane, because it seems most impossible that Fred Weasley is no longer alive, no longer with you, no longer laughing and smiling and brightening up a room with his twin brother at his side.

   Through your heartbreak, this thought leads you to the even more heartbreaking thought of the twin that is still doing all those things – George. How his world must have shifted, how he must be feeling. You remember sitting beside him back at Hogwarts, listening to him and Fred speak at the exact same time – back then it felt so weird, and you'd cringe and tell them to stop; now, however, you can barely stomach the idea of not hearing their synchronised sentences.

  You write back, asking Molly if there's anything you can do, sending your condolences without making it obvious you are completely and utterly crushed. She replies shortly, saying she wants you there for the funeral, George wants you there for the funeral, Fred would want you there for the funeral.

  And you don't want to go. Call it selfish,cowardly, but you don't want to. Standing beside his casket, surrounded by his family and friends, will make it real. When you're huddled in your home, away from it all, it's easy enough to pretend Fred is sat at The Burrow, celebrating the same victory as the rest of the wizarding world, the victory he played a part in.

  Nonetheless, you arrive at The Burrow the very next day.

   Molly opens the door before you've knocked, having clearly heard the faint pop of you Apparating in her front garden. A gnome runs right for your knees, but Molly shoves it away with her foot before dragging you into a bear-like hug; you can see she's been crying furiously, her eyes swollen, her face having aged a number of years in the space of a day. Her hug, though, is just as you've always remembered it, arms tight around your neck, body swaying slightly from side to side as she whispers unintelligible things in your ear.

  She pulls away and holds you at arms length; you can't imagine what she must be seeing. That young wizard she used to babysit is gone now, replaced by someone harder, someone more refined and experienced. She's not the only one who has aged a great number of years in such a short space of time.

  “How are you?” is the first thing you can manage to say.

  And already the tears are flooding her eyes again, like the question has triggered some memory she cannot fight off. Her lower lip trembles, and she humours you with a small nod before she wraps her beefy arm around your shoulders and guides you into the warmth of a home that should not be able to hold so many people but does so anyway.

  There they are – the Weasleys, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, all stood in the kitchen. They're chatting, but the conversation is hushed and it ends as soon as you make an appearance. Harry is the first to stand, offering you his hand for a handshake he is too young for; you roll your eyes and tug him into a hug. He grunts against you, but you don't even care – it has been two years since you laid eyes on the Boy Who Lived, and a handshake will simply not cut it.

    “You made it,” Hermione says, approaching you once Harry has stumbled off. She wraps her arms gently around your waist. “How was the trip?”

  “Easy enough,” you reply, lips pressed into her hair.

  “Where have you been all this time?” Bill asks.

  Still holding Hermione close, afraid of letting go lest she takes your composure with her, you say, “I've been hiding. Just a flat in Hogsmeade; a pure-blood owns it. He let a bunch of us Muggle-borns stay with him until it all died down.” You glance at Harry. “You feeling alright?”

  He nods. “Just. . . Still tired, I guess.”

  You can understand that; though you know the newspapers will never do the scene justice, you were able to gather the basic jidst of the events that took place in Hogwarts only a few days prior – the deaths, the injuries, the horrors so many young kids have seen and will now never be able to erase from their memories.

  “Well,” Molly exhales shakily. “I'll get the kettle on. Y/N, you must be starving. How does a bit of stew sound?”

  You nod, giving Molly a grateful smile before your mind zones back in on where you are, what you're here for. Instinctively you search the room for any sign of your best friend – the one that's left – and it's not exactly a surprise when you see he is not there. The rest of the Weasleys are – even Percy, who sits in the corner with his legs folded over one another, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a cup of coffee in his hands. He looks up at the feel of your eyes burning into him, surprising you by nodding towards the back door.

  You raise your brows, but follow him out nonetheless. Percy and you never truly got on – he was Fred and George's bossy older brother, and that was always what you left it as. Whenever he decided to abandon the Weasley name for the sake of his precious minister, you lost what little respect you had for him.

  Now, however, it's difficult to keep that attitude up; the other Weasleys all look exhausted, but Percy looks a little ill, stumbling over the final step the two of you descend. You grab his elbow before he can fall, and he shakes you off in his attempts to pretend he hadn't nearly fallen face first onto the concrete.

  He turns to look at you when you're a decent enough distance from the house. “I wasn't sure if you were going to be here.”

  “Of course I was going to be here,” you reply, startled by the croak in his voice, as if he hasn't spoken to anyone in weeks. “He was my best friend, Perce.”

  “I know. I know he was, but – just – with everything that happened. Mum wasn't even going to send you an owl. She was just going to let you enjoy the celebrations with everyone else. It was Dad who had to step in and tell her you had a right to know.”

  Your stomach flips. “Well I'm glad she told me. I'm – I'm glad I can be here.”

  Percy nods, looking off into the distance. “Has anyone told you what happened?”

  “No. I'm not going to make you relive it if-”

   “I was there when it happened. I watched the curse hit him.” His voice breaks, and that drives it home for you; Percy Weasley, usually so composed and professional, is struggling to form a sentence right now. He can't even bring himself to look in your direction.

  You step forward and touch his elbow, as if that will cure anything, take away his pain. His eyes close at the feel of your fingers.

  “I'm so sorry,” you mumble.

  “Yeah,” he replies shakily. “I got the bastard who did it, though.”

  You force a smile. “Good.”

     “And you know what the most fucked up part of it is?” He opens his eyes and looks at you. “My first thought wasn't even Oh God, my brothers dead. It was Oh God, George is going to be heartbroken.”

  Your lower lip trembles before you can stop it, before his words have even properly processed; it's heartbreaking to hear something like that, a blow to the gut you were not prepared for.

  Percy laughs, cold and dead. “Can you believe that?”

  “Yes,” you choke out. “Yes, I can. Where is George?”

  “In his room. He didn't want to see you yet.”

  It doesn't even hurt your feelings. You completely understand, considering you're not entirely ready to see him just yet, either.

  You glance over at the front door; everyone is beginning to gather round the kitchen table. Arthur pops his head in the window and beckons for you and Percy to hurry up; you give him a thumbs up before whirling back to Percy and grabbing his hand. He starts, eyes widening, but you hurry on before he can say anything.

  “What happened to him, Perce? What happened to Fred?”

  Percy pauses. “He was dead before he even hit the floor, Y/N. There was nothing anyone could have done.”

   You inhale shakily; you cannot cry, not right now, not whenever dinner is being served and his family has pulled themselves together. Percy pulls you into a tight hug when he sees the struggle for peace on your face; you asked for that detail to see if it would help, to see if stripping the mystery from the equation would help you heal a bit quicker, but it doesn't. Now all you can imagine as you walk back into The Burrow, tucked under Percy's arm, is that curse blasting Fred's chest cavity apart, his forever smile fading away for good.

  ---

  The next morning arrives, and you are still yet to see George.

  Molly apologises a grand number of times for his absence, but you brush it off every single time – you understand. He's healing. He's suffering, trying to process this just as much as you are. Seeing you after so long apart will only bring back fresh memories, and you don't want to be the reason behind his breakdown.

  So you keep your distance, helping Molly and Ginny with breakfast before heading out into the garden to help Ron and Charlie clean up bits of shrapnel that had been left behind from Bill and Fleur's wedding, shrapnel they weren't able to clean up with everything going on.

  Charlie keeps the conversation up, forever the chatterbox. Ron humours his older brother with little bits of laughter sprinkled in here and there, but it's obvious he wants nothing more than to just sit in silence for a little while.

    As the morning rolls into the afternoon and jobs become scarce, you find yourself walking around the garden on your own. Once upon a time, this used to be the playground for you, Fred and George – three best friends who had nowhere else to go, nothing else to do, an entire summer on their hands. Your parents never outwardly disowned you after you received your letter to Hogwarts, but they were always weary of you afterwards, as if expecting you to snap at any given moment. Their fear gave you an excuse to spend the two months of summer holidays at the Weasley's house, where you, Fred and George would play Quidditch for hours on end, hiding from Molly when you could just tell she wanted you to do a job for her.

   The memories come back to you in waves, and it hurts, but you force yourself through it, because you'd much rather remember the good times spent with Fred than sit and concentrate on the fact there will no longer be any more of those good times.

   You arrive at the tiny square of grass you used to use as a make-shift Quidditch pitch; George would haul the bins over and enchant them to float high enough in the air that you could trick yourselves into believing they really were Quidditch goal posts. You would always be Seeker, because you were good at that, and Fred and George would play against each other with the Quaffle, yelling insults that had Molly emerging from the house, threateningly waving a wooden spoon in their direction. You could never hear what she was saying from so high up, but maybe that was for the best.

  You place your hand on the fence, gazing out at the square, so unused and untouched. A gnome scatters across the centre of it and dives into a hole on the other side; you don't even try and grab it.

  The sound of footsteps makes you freeze; after months of being in hiding, any noise you cannot immediately identify has you on edge, though this is something you're trying desperately to combat; Voldemort is dead now – he doesn't have to control your life any more.

  “Mum told me you were walking about on your own, you little loner.”

  George's voice is like a song. Your favourite song. A song you haven't heard in years, but one you love no less than when you heard it every single day.

  You glance at him over your shoulder; he's still in his pyjamas, red hair stuck on end, lips chapped and cheeks sunken. His skin looks pale – paler than it usually does – but he's still smiling when his eyes meet yours. You know it's not real, but you appreciate his attempts nonetheless.

  “Yeah,” you reply. “I was just getting a bit of fresh air.”

  “Nothing fresh about the air around here.”

  “It's better than being inside.”

  George shrugs. “I didn't get the memo.”

  You hollow out your cheeks, turning back to the field. “Harry told me about your ear.”

  “Oh, did he? Did he happen to find it lying about somewhere, 'cause if so, I'd love to have it back.”

  “He said you lost it. It got blown off or something.”

  George hums. You can see his knuckles tightening on the fence, and you silently wonder if you've perhaps said too much; maybe he doesn't want to talk about that time.

  “It was Snape,” George says at last. “Knocked me out cold, so I don't remember too much. Not like I really need to – I've got all the evidence I need of it happening right here.” He turns his head, showing off the hole where his ear used to be. It looks clean, unbandaged, not very painful if his jokes and snide grin are anything to go off.

  Nonetheless, your heart skips at the sight of it; yet another moment where George needed your help and you weren't there to offer it.

  “Bloody hell, Georgie,” you whisper. “How many girls did you manage to bag with an injury like that?”

  George scoffs. “Not many, I'm afraid. Bit of a waste, I think.”

  “Definitely.”

  It's quiet for a moment. The wind whistles, and the birds chirp, and there's a gnome cursing beneath the dirt, but all you can focus on is the heavy presence of George standing beside you.

  Maybe it's not even George's presence you're focusing on. Maybe it's Fred's, because you know he's there. He's always there, making sure you and George don't step out of line or embarrass him, because now it's the job of his two closest confidants to carry on his legacy – Fred Weasley would want to keep an eye on that.

   “How are you feeling, Georgie?” you whisper, the silence suddenly too much when you think of Fred standing within it. It would never be silent if he was really here. Never. “How are you really feeling?”

  George takes a moment to answer. You glance over to see him nibbling his bottom lip, brown eyes trained on a spot in the garden where yet another gnome has just emerged and is scarping across the field to freedom. “I don't know.” He looks at you. He's taller now, so he has to look down. “What about you?”

  You shrug. “I've – I've definitely been better.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Percy hugged me.”

  “He hasn't been taking it well.”

  “I can't really blame him, poor git.”

  George chuckles; it's not a noise George usually makes, but you don't question it, knowing he isn't really himself right now.

  “The funeral's tomorrow,” he says after yet another pause. “I don't know how any of us are going to do it with dignity.”

  “Dignity isn't important at a funeral.”

  “You know full well Fred would take the mick out of us all if we showed up to his funeral sobbing our eyes out.”

  Your lips twitch, the first signs of a true smile you have worn in weeks. “I suppose so. But he's going to have to get over it, isn't he?”

  George chuckles. “You tell him, Y/N. You tell him.”

  You and George hang around the makeshift Quidditch pitch for only a few more minutes before you start back towards The Burrow; although neither of you want to acknowledge it, you have to get ready for the funeral tomorrow. Things have to be put in place for the small number of visitors who are due to arrive tomorrow morning – Fred, McGonagall, Oliver Wood, some other members of the old Quidditch team. Over the hill, you can see Molly already stressing out over everything that has to be put in place, and your heart aches for her.

  “She never slows down, your Mum,” you say before you can stop yourself.

  George hums, a fragile attempt at agreement. “Keeping busy helps take her mind off things, I think. It's when she stops that it all crashes down on her.”

  “Will she be okay tomorrow?”

  “No.”

   You're glad he isn't lying. At this moment in time, you can almost pretend it was all a dream; opening the letter, reading the news, having to come to terms with it all. None of it will truly be real until you've looked down and seen Fred's body for yourself, and maybe that's why you're dreading it so much. It's not the idea of seeing him – god, what you wouldn't give to see his smiling face one last time. It's the idea of no longer having that excuse. Once you've laid eyes on his body, any denial you have of his death will just be pitied.

  You and George head into the house and go your separate ways. You head into the bedroom you're sharing with Ginny and Hermione whilst George goes back to his own room; you don't think Molly bunked him up with anyone, considering the circumstances, and the thought of him sitting in Fred and George's room on his own makes your heart ache. You have half a mind to turn and go after him, but your plans are foiled when Ginny emerges from the bedroom and smiles warmly at you, despite the puffiness around her eyes.

  “Hey,” you say. “You alright?”

  “I was just coming to find you,” she replies. “Can we talk?”

  Anxiety prickles at your skin, but you nod and follow her into the bedroom anyway. Hermione is nowhere to be seen, though her funeral clothes have already been folded and stacked upon her camp bed, along with a packet of tissues and her wand.

  Ginny takes a seat on the end of her bed. You stand by the door, nervously biting your lip as you realise this is the first time you and Ginny have been alone since everything happened. You haven't had a proper chance to sit down with the youngest Weasley and ask her how she is truly feeling.

  Keeping her eyes on her freckled hands, she says, “Were you talking to George?”

  You tilt your head. “Y-yes. He came down to the Quidditch pitch – oh, uh – the fields, sorry, just to talk.”

  Ginny sighs, rubbing her knuckles into her eyes. She's clearly exhausted, no longer even trying to hide it. You have the urge to reach out and hug her, just as you would have done when she was younger, but Ginny has been through so much in the two years since you last seen her; she might not appreciate a hug any more, so you keep your distance.

  “And has he gone back to his room now?” she asks.

  “I think so. I think he's getting ready for. . . you know. . . tomorrow.”

  “He's not handling this well, Y/N.” She drops her hands into her lap, shaking her head grimly. “I know none of us are, but I've never seen George acting like this. The only person he's properly spoken to in three days is you.”

  Your heart lurches. “He's grieving, Ginny.”

  “We all are! We've all had to grieve before this, too.” She hollows out her cheeks, and it's only then do you spot the tears making their way to the surface of her eyes. “The Weasleys grieve together – that's how we've always done it. We're a family.”

  Something inside of you snaps. You dart forward, sitting down beside her and tugging her into your chest. It is there, wrapped tightly in your arms, that she finally lets go, sobbing into your collarbone with a ferocity you've never seen from her – not once. Not even when she used to take a tantrum every time one of her brothers got to go to Hogwarts and she didn't, not even when her cat passed away, not even when she was possessed by Lord Voldemort himself.

  She clings onto your jacket, trying to speak but being unable to do so past the sobs. You grip her tighter, stroking your hands through her red hair that hasn't been brushed in days. There are things to say, procedures to take when this kind of thing happens, but nothing you have been taught to say comes to the surface; she's heartbroken, utterly heartbroken, and you know why. Just because you're not sobbing doesn't mean you don't feel the same way.

  “Make sure George is okay,” she chokes out. “Please make sure I don't lose him, too.”

  You close your eyes, tears slipping from your eyes. “I will, mate. I'll – I'll try my best.”

  ---

  Everyone is here.

  You greet them all, because that's what is expected of you. They give you hugs and kisses on the cheek, because that's what is expected of them. Nobody wants to acknowledge the fact that nobody truly wants to be here; to the untrained eye, this gathering of black-clad wizards could very well be some kind of high school reunion.

  But it's not.

  A high school reunion would hold the air of memories, people rekindling, saying hello after a long time apart. This event holds the air of denial, sadness, saying goodbye to someone taken too soon.

  All morning you are busy taking over the jobs of Mr and Mrs Weasley; both of them are too shaky to function, though Molly tries her damned hardest to get out of her chair and do something. She ends up tipping a cup of coffee over poor Harry, and so you and the Weasley kids take over. This means you have barely any time to find George.

  He's not around. Ron told you he's still hiding in his room, not wanting to show his face until the very last minute.

  “You should go and talk to him,” says Ron, voice wobbling with the effort to keep the tears at bay. “He won't let anyone else in. Mum's tried, Dad's tried, I've given it a go.”

  You flick your wand, sending a chair across the grass where it lines up with the rest of them. “What makes you think I'll be any different?”

  “He likes talking to you. He only came out of his and Fred's-” Ron's eyes slip closed. He takes a deep breath before starting again. “He only came out of his room yesterday because he heard you arrived.”

  You bite your lip, flicking a glance back towards the house; his curtains are still shut. He might still be asleep and nobody would even know.

  You sigh, handing Ron the stack of napkins you were given. “I'll go see what I can do.”

  “Thank you, Y/N.”

  You nod and duck into the house, giving Oliver Wood a watery smile which he returns as best he can, hands trembling around a glass of pumpkin juice. You march upstairs before anyone else can see you, heading directly for the room at the end of the hallway.

  The glittering sign is still nailed to the door: Fred and George's Room. KEEP OUT!

  You wonder how long it will take for George to take that down – if he ever will.

  You knock softly and take a step back, folding your hands in front of you. For just a second, there is no answer, not even a call of Who's there? And you force yourself to step forward and knock again, a bit harder this time, lest he didn't hear you.

  Again, there is no response.

  Heart hammering, you do the last thing you can think of – you tap three times, pause, and then tap again. It's the secret knock the twins used to do on your door when they wanted you to come out with them past curfew, how you would know they were up to no good.

  There is a moments hesitation, and then, “Y/N?”

  You press your forehead against the door, relief flooding you. “Yes. It's me. Are you okay? Can I come in?”

  You pull away from the door just as it opens and George pokes his head out; his hair is still a mess, but he's wearing something other than pyjamas at least. His outfit consists of a white shirt tucked into a pair of black trousers, a black blazer hanging over one shoulder. Fred would be laughing if he could see him now.

  George gives you a tiny smile before moving out the way, offering you access. You hesitate, and George notices.

  “I know,” he mumbles. “You don't have to if you're not ready.”

  But he's been forced to sleep in this room since everything happened. He's had to endure that pain, so you will too. You brace yourself before stepping in, trying desperately to ignore the flip of your stomach, the sudden fight or flight response that is attacking your system at the sight of it all.

  The room has barely changed since the last time you stayed here nearly three summers ago. Two beds pressed against either wall, one perfectly made, the other slept in. Posters hang upon the walls of different Quidditch teams you remember they used to be mad over, and thrown in the midst of them all is a new poster you have never seen before – a poster dedicated to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

  “Mum made his bed the day we got back.” George's voice is fragile. You glance at him; he's still stood by the door, hands pushed into his pockets as he watches you wade around the room. “Fred never made his bed when he woke up, so she always used to do it for him.”

  You nod, remembering those summer mornings when all you could hear was Molly telling Fred off for – yet again – not making his bed.

  “Old habits die hard, huh?” you reply, and George hums his agreement. “Ron sent me up here to make sure you were ready.”

  George scoffs. His bed springs protest when he leaps onto his mattress. “You can go back down there and tell Ron to have a little patience. I'm fragile today.”

  “You are a little late, Georgie. Worryingly late; I thought you'd gone back to sleep.”

  George rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. You stand over his bed, arms folded over your chest. “I'd love to, but I'm afraid I have my brothers funeral to attend today.”

  You bite your lip. “You know, George...” And this is it. The sentence has started, and George's eyes have snapped to meet your own, waiting for you to finish whatever you have to say. “We're all grieving. A lot. A whole lot. But locking yourself away like this isn't going to help anything. It's not going to make anything easier. Not for you or anybody downstairs right now.”

  George stares at you, waiting for the punchline.

  “I'm serious.”

  He lifts his eyes back to the ceiling, wearing a frown you have not seen him wear in the many years you have known him. Your heart picks up, panic spiking at the idea of upsetting him; he's not going to listen to you, that much is clear. He hasn't listened to anybody else when being told the same thing, so why should you be any different?

  “Look, okay,” you hasten to add, “we'll go down there together, alright? You and me. You don't have to do this on your own.”

   “I don't want to go at all. I don't want to see him like that.”

  You sit down on the corner of his bed and grab his hand, pulling it onto your knee. The tears slip from the corners of his eyes, which he squeezes closed in an instant.

  “I know,” you mumble. “I don't, either. Nobody does. But once we've got this funeral out of the way, you're free to mourn however you want. It's over then; Fred will be peaceful, and we can . . . we can move on. We can try and move on. That's what he'd want us to do.”

  George's shoulders jerk, a silent sob. Tears of your own flood your eyes. You grab his shoulders and pull him up, pulling him into a hug that reminds you so much of last night, the exact same scene but a different Weasley sibling. You just want to comfort them all; you want to round up each and every one of them and pull them into this embrace, let them know it will all be okay and you will not leave them to suffer on their own, not like last time. You will be there for all of them through everything if they'll let you.

  George's arms wrap around your middle. He rests his head on your shoulder, stifling his sobs as best he can; he's better at it than Ginny, who all but wailed into your collarbone yesterday evening. George doesn't want to be seen like this, but it's clear he can't hold back any more.

  “It's okay,” you whisper. “It'll be fine. We'll go downstairs together.”

  He nods, pulling away slowly. He bites his lip, glances at your shoulder and says, “I got tears on your shirt.”

  You shake your head, brushing his hair out of his face with trembling hands. “Don't worry about it. Fred would say it adds flare.”

  “He would,” George chokes out. “He really would.”

  And so, the two of you stand and head towards the door, hand-in-hand. George hesitates before shutting his bedroom door behind him, and you pretend not to see the way he gently runs his fingers over Fred's name engraved in the metal sign.

  You walk downstairs slowly. Heads start turning when you appear in the doorway of the kitchen, George all-but cowering behind you, his hand still in your own. You run your thumb along his knuckles, giving his awaiting family members a smile despite their eyes all being trained on George.

  Molly is the first one to run forward. A cry escapes her lips, and you have only seconds to jump out of the way before she barrels through the doorway and into George's arms; George grunts, stumbling before he catches his balance and hugs his mother back with just as much enthusiasm as she is showing. You slowly remove yourself from the scene, letting the rest of the Weasley family file in to mimic their mothers actions.

  “So you did it,” Harry says when you find yourself standing at the back of the room with him. “You got him to come downstairs.”

  “He just needed some coaxing,” you reply, wiping your eyes. “Is Fred here?”

  “Kingsley's just brought his body back.” Harry nods out the window, but you don't follow his gesture because you know exactly what is going to be there; the back garden, chairs all lined up, Fred's casket set up at last. You can only imagine that is the reason the Weasley family is stood inside – they don't want to be around it any longer than they have to be.

  But they cannot hold off forever. Arthur and Molly head out first, Arthur with his arm around Percy's shoulders, Molly holding Ginny's hand. Together, the Weasleys take their seats at the very front of the garden, each sobbing quietly into handkerchiefs and sleeves and partners' shoulders. You, Harry and Hermione take the seats directly behind them whilst everyone else files in behind you.

  And you see him up there, eyes closed, hair styled, suit perfectly pressed. His hands have been folded on his chest, and his wand has been tucked into his fingers. Standing beside his casket is a picture of him and George – because there is not a picture in existence where the two of them are on their own, not one – and Fred is pulling a funny face whilst George looks off into the distance, oblivious to the photo being taken.

  It hurts. It hurts worse than you ever imagined it would, but you can't bring yourself to cry – not whenever his body is right there in front of you. Fred used to chastise you every time he saw you cry, swat you over the shoulder, make some wise-crack comment along the lines of, “What do you have to cry about? You have me!”

  You always did have him. You always will have him, as long as you keep his memory alive.

  Kingsley says a few words, kind words that speak of Fred's bravery and his knowledge and how he did not die in vain. They sound so official coming from him now that he's the temporary Minister of Magic, but you know for a fact Fred would have appreciated it, scripted or not. Oliver Wood says some things, and Molly and Arthur try their hardest to get some words out about their son, but it doesn't go to plan and they end up just sitting down, passing the baton onto Percy who makes a big, emotional speech about how he and Fred didn't always get along, and how he's glad they managed to find peace with each other during those last few hours of complete turmoil within the Hogwarts castle.

  George doesn't make a speech. Neither do you.

  The funeral ends with the burning of the body. Kingsley waves his wand and the white curtains fall from nowhere, closing around the casket, and soon, the only thing you can see is the smoke billowing from the top of them. The air suddenly erupts with the smell of black current – one of Fred's favourite scents – and people are standing, giving each other hugs, crying.

  You and George stay seated, him directly in front of you. You don't tap his shoulder, don't move, don't say anything at all – you just watch his shoulders rise and fall as he tries desperately to keep his breathing slow and steady. He's staring at his brothers casket like he can't quite believe it's there, and you don't blame him, because you're feeling the same way.

  How can a ten minute ceremony be enough to celebrate the life of someone like Fred Weasley? How can a few words passed between people who knew him be enough to remember the wonders he discovered, the joy and laughter he brought upon so, so many lives? It doesn't seem possible. It's ludicrous, completely unfair, and suddenly the sadness you have felt since hearing the news is morphing into anger, and you have the urge to just scream, to just let your lungs rip in half with the fury that rushes through you at a million miles per hour.

  But in real life, you're rooted to your seat, fingers curling against the back of George's chair, staring at the smoke rising high, high, higher into the air, disappearing amongst the clouds – Fred's final resting place.

  George stands up.

  It's so abrupt. It takes you a second to even comprehend what he is doing as his chair tips back against your knees, only failing to fall due to you still being seated behind it. Your head snaps up, mouth opening to call him back, but you don't get a chance to say anything before Angelina Johnson is grabbing you and pulling you to your feet, into an embrace you were not prepared for in the slightest.

  “Oh, Y/N, I knew you'd be here! I knew you'd make it! Fred would have been so happy to see you and George back together again!”  You laugh awkwardly, watching George march up to The Burrow over her shoulder.

  ----

  George doesn't make an appearance for the rest of the day.

  The guests Disapparate, giving the Weasleys some much needed time and space after the exhausting day they have just performed. You, Harry and Hermione head up to bed for the same reason, crowding in Harry and Ron's room for a few hours before you and Hermione excuse yourselves for the night.

  Hermione is asleep in minutes, and you can't really blame her. Not only has that girl gone to hell and back these past few days, she's also had to deal with the additional baggage of death. She has fought absolute monsters, seen things no person of her age should ever see, had to think quicker than anyone just to stay alive – and now that it's over, she's been given the additional task of mourning people she loves.

  You, however, struggle to close your eyes without the thoughts flooding your mind, making you restless. You keep remembering his body, the tip of his nose peaking out from the casket, the smoke that billowed, the smell of black current that was surely conjured to hide the smell of Fred's burning flesh; god, you want to throw up. You feel ill, and angry, and you want to punch something so, so desperately.

  Back in your school days, George taught you how to use Quidditch as a way to get your anger out; he and Fred had been the best Beaters the Gryffindor had ever seen, and they claim it was solely because they got themselves riled up before a game. They would make themselves so angry that the idea of volleying a heavy ball at someone was all that could calm them down again.

  That's what you need right now; a good game of Quidditch, a Bludger to just annihilate someone. But you have none of that; all you have right now is your pillow, which you shove your fist into multiple times over now with no results. Your stomach still feels tight, and tears are still threatening to reach the surface, and you're beginning to lose hope that you'll ever feel calm and collected ever again.

  The clock has struck four am when you finally give up trying to sleep. You slip your feet into a pair of carpet slippers – courtesy of Hermione – and head downstairs, pulling a dressing gown on as you do so. The kitchen is barren, the sun just starting to peak over the green hills surrounding the cosy cottage. From the window you can see a garden gnome furiously kick a wicket chair before howling in pain and bouncing back into the floor to go and huff on its own.

  You head outside. The fresh air feels nice on your skin – cold, but it's enough to bring you back to reality a little bit. You walk across the garden, and before you know why, you're sitting down in the very same chair you sat in whilst watching people talk about your dead best friend, like you want to relive that moment all over again.

  But this time you're on your own. It's just you and the chairs, and the odd garden gnome that sprints across the grass, sees you and then sprints in the other direction. You fold your legs over one another, stare at the space Fred's casket once stood, and then you start speaking.

  “Miss you, buddy.” It starts as a whisper, hoarse and fragile. “Thank you, for everything. Fighting for the sake of the world – you're braver than me. I couldn't have done it. I was – I was hiding away in my flat, pretending nothing was happening, convincing myself you two weren't stupid enough to get yourself into any danger.” You close your eyes, tilting your head back, talking directly to him now. “Nothing feels right any more, Fred. The world isn't meant to be without a Fred Weasley. George isn't meant to be without a Fred Weasley. God, I'm not meant to be without a Fred Weasley.”

  The tears start trickling, running quickly down your cheeks and disappearing within the corners of your mouth.

  “I'll make sure he's okay, Freddie,” you whisper. “George, I mean. We'll keep each other sane, I promise. You can watch over us and – and make sure w-we keep each other in ch-check. I won't let him out of my sight ever again.”

  “Y/N?”

  Your head snaps up, eyes opening. Standing in the pink light of the slowly rising sun is George Weasley, wand in hand, still dressed in the very same clothes he was wearing earlier. His tie has been pulled loose from its knot and is now cascading messily down his middle, a few of his buttons undone, his hair back to being a disgruntled mess.

  You stand up. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  “You sound like Filch.” He tilts his head to the side, just enough to let you see the bags under his eyes. “What are you doing?”

   You awkwardly kick at the ground. “Nothing.”

  “Mhm.” George walks over, examining each of the chairs as he does so. “You were talking to him, weren't you?”

  You don't reply; he knows. You don't feel a need to confirm it for him, not when he probably heard every single thing you said.

  “I can't do it,” he continues. “It feels weird not having him say the exact same thing as me. My voice isn't meant to be on its own.”

  “Yeah,” you croak out. “I noticed that, too.”

  “I'll get past it,” he mumbles. “I just. . . I just wanted everyone to leave today, you know? I didn't want all these people in my house, staring at my brothers dead body, crying over him like that. This was supposed to be a family event.”

  A tinge of guilt stamps an imprint into your heart. “Right. Should Harry, Hermione and I have left?”

  George purses his lips. “You guys are family – it's everyone else I was a bit iffy with.”

  And maybe it's the anger from earlier that boils over now. Maybe it's the reminder that George left – halfway through his brothers funeral, he got up and left his family, his grieving family, to deal with everything. You know he's upset, heartbroken, downright traumatised, but so is everyone else. Nobody is taking this lightly. Nobody was here today just for the sake of it.

  You curl your hands into fists. “George, you're being really selfish right now.”

  His head snaps up. “What?”

  “How can you sit there and say you wish those people who came today had just stayed home? Do you think they wanted to be in this situation any more than you did? God, You-Know-Who was killed a few days ago – people want to be out celebrating their freedom, not going to the funeral of one of their friends. None of this is easy on anyone, so it's really bloody ungrateful of you to say they should have just stayed home, because I'm almost positive that's what most of them wanted to be doing in the first place!”

   George's eyes cloud over. “Fred wouldn't have wanted the Ministry taking over his funeral.”

  “Kingsley knew Fred just as well as I did!”

  “No he didn't! You and Fred were best friends – Kingsley was part of the Order. That's how he knew Fred – through business! That isn't a bloody friendship!”

  “So, what? Kingsley should have just moved on, walked away whenever he looked down and saw Fred's body that day in the castle, huh? Because god forbid somebody grieve if they don't know someone for more than seven years!”

  George throws his hands in the air, face beaming red. “You're putting words in my mouth now, you are. You know that's not what I meant-”

  “Yeah? Well, maybe you should learn how to word things better, because at the minute you're sounding like an absolute arse!”

  George opens his mouth to respond, but you're crying. You're crying, and you can't stop it, and you don't want him to see you like this. You dart off before he can get the words out, cracking your shoulder against his before picking up your pace to a run, darting back towards the house. Behind you, George calls your name, but you don't listen. You shove past Charlie, who stands in the kitchen door with a mug of coffee, and head directly to your room, not wanting to talk to anyone.

  ---

  Charlie comes to visit you a few hours later.

  It's eight o'clock now; Hermione has risen, said good morning and headed off to help Mrs Weasley make breakfast. You stayed huddled under the covers, using the excuse of exhaustion as a way to get her to leave without worrying too much; as soon as she was gone, you had pulled yourself from your bed and headed to the window, where you have been for a while now, dreading the moment you will have to go downstairs and face George again.

  Charlie knocks softly on your door before letting himself in. He's wearing a pair of grey sweatpants this morning along with an oversized jacket. His skin has been paler since he came home from Romania, since his little brother died, since it felt as if his world was falling apart. This morning, he looks a bit better, as if the relief of having finally set Fred free was a weight from his shoulders.

  “Morning,” he says. “You alright?”

  “Yeah, I'm fine. You?”

  He closes the door and walks to your side, placing his head against the wall as he, too, takes to gazing out the window. “I'm good. Better than I was yesterday. Worse than I'll probably be tomorrow.”

  “What a Charlie way to answer that question.”

  He smiles before nudging your arm. “You gonna talk to me about what happened this morning?”

  You purse your lips and look away. Charlie gazes at you, waiting for you to say something, anything, but you don't really know what he wants to hear – that you're sorry? That you were tired and heartbroken and it just kind of happened all at once, a jumbled mess you couldn't quite keep track of?

  That's not what it was at all. It was the truth spilling from your lips, though you will admit you now wish you could have executed it with a little bit more sympathy. George, the man who has been your best friend for so many years, didn't deserve that kind of treatment – not after everything. Not when there's still so much more to come.

  Charlie sighs, folding his muscled arms across his chest. “You know George loves you, right?”

  “And I love him.”

  Charlie pauses, contemplative. “I just – I don't know what you two were arguing about, but I think it would be a real shame for George to lose two loved ones, which is what is going to happen if you don't talk to each other. Do you want to cut ties with him?”

  Your head snaps up. “No! No, of course not. Look, Charlie, the argument wasn't even that serious. We just-”

  “If it wasn't that serious, then why did George punch a whole in the dry wall when I tried to ask him what happened?”

  You pause, mouth running dry. Charlie raises a brow, leaning against the wall. Your voice is quiet when you say, “He did what?”

  “He punched a hole in the wall. Tried to punch me, too.” He sighs. “Obviously, a scrawny little git like him compared to me didn't get very far, but it was the intent that shocked me; George hasn't got a violent bone in his body. Not a properly violent one, anyway – a few dangerous pranks here and there, but he would never want to genuinely fight someone. I think this whole thing is getting to him – and bad. The only time he's been calm is when you've been in his bloody eyeline.”

  “He tried punching you?”

  Charlie waves a dismissive hand. “That isn't the part of that speech I wanted you to pick up on.”

 You close your eyes, pressing your head against the window. “I lost my temper, started an argument with him for no reason. I should have realised he's not in the right head space – he isn't talking right, Charlie. He isn't himself.”

  “Well, no, I wouldn't say he is.” Charlie leans forward. “But right now, the only person getting through to him is you. How I see it, you're the only person who's going to drag him through this before he hurts himself or somebody else.”

   “That's a lot of pressure, Charlie.”

  “Has it been difficult talking to him since you got here?”

  “No.”

 “Then you're fine. Just keep doing what you're doing.” Charlie stands up straight, brushing his hands down his jacket as he does so. “Mum said breakfast is gonna be ready in a few minutes if you're feeling hungry. If not, don't tell her that or she'll be up here in two seconds flat with the thermometer out; she did it to Ron a few days ago, gave him a right telling off when it turned out he just wanted to stay in bed for a bit longer.”

  You nod, giving him a warm, grateful smile as he walks out of the room.

  You give his words thorough thought; though your brain is no less exhausted, and your heart no less broken, you can see where you went wrong now better than you would have been able to at four this morning; Charlie has helped you realise that perhaps everyone needs to be a bit patient with each other right now, needs to learn how to put themselves in other people's shoes.

  You get changed and head downstairs. Sure enough, breakfast is already being served, and everyone besides George is already sitting round the table. You take a seat next to Hermione and tuck in, trying to regain some energy sapped due to your lack of sleep.

  Once breakfast is finished, you head straight to George's room. Charlie gives you an enthusiastic thumbs up when he turns away from the washing up basin and sees you heading upstairs; you give him a smile, though a nervous one.

  You have to do this now. You have to talk to him, tell him you're sorry, explain yourself a bit better than you did earlier, and if you don't do it now, you're going to back out and you won't ever do it. And so, you reach his door and do the secret knock that granted you access yesterday, and you wait.

  There's a shuffling on the other side, followed shortly by George's soft voice calling, “What?”

  “Hey, mate. Can I come in and talk to you for a minute?” You wince at how formal you sound – this is George you're speaking to, your best mate, the person you've grown up with. “Please?”

  “You're just gonna tell me off again, aren't you?”

  “No, George, don't be daft. Open the bloody door, or-”

  “Yeah, yeah, shut up.” The door opens, revealing the exhausted looking George. He isn't smiling, but instead keeps his eyes narrowed when he looks at you. “Do you wanna come in, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don't ask for much, do you?” He rolls his eyes and steps out of the way, granting you access to the room that still sends eerie chills racing along your arms, because Fred is no longer occupying it, too.

  You push these thoughts from your brain and enter, immediately spinning around with your arms folded. “Our argument was stupid.”

  George falters, one hand still secure round the doorknob. “Come again?”

  “Everything I said to you was stupid, and said in a fit of blind rage. I didn't mean it. Not really.”

  “Right...”

 “So, yeah.” You nod, glance around the room once before saying, “That's all I wanted to say.”

  “Is it now?”

  “Yes. I'll see you at lunch if you fancy coming down for a bit of food. If not, I'll – uh – see you when I-” You try to step around him, but he's quicker, blocking the door. You bite your lip. “George-”

  “Nothing you said earlier was wrong, you know.”

   You lift your eyes, and the tension in the room suddenly becomes a physical thing. He's staring down at you, that exhausted look in his eyes that he's worn for weeks pushed to the forefront. His lips are still chapped, and his knuckles are white around the handle of the door. You want to push his hair out of his face, but you're scared he'll push you away or cringe from your touch if you even try.

  “I was being a selfish little git when I walked off, and I should have been – should have been thankful to have so many people come out to send Fred off. He would have liked that, I think, having a crowd around him.”

  You laugh softly. “He always did enjoy the attention; you both did.”

 “Oi.” He nudges your shoulder. “You were part of our group, you know. You liked the attention just as much as we did.”

  And he isn't wrong. So many pranks, so many years of getting into trouble, so many years filled with laughter. When it felt like the world was falling apart, when your parents stopped talking to you, stopped asking you to come home for Christmas, stopped sending you owls – it was Fred and George who reminded you that you didn't need anyone. You were perfect on your own.

  “I agree that our argument was stupid,” he says softly. “But you were right.”

  “I shouldn't have made you feel bad-”

  “You could never make me feel bad. Not with a voice like that.”

  You roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder. He laughs, stumbling back into the door. You realise with a jolt that this is the first time you've heard him laugh since you arrived at The Burrow, and it seems as if George is realising this too. His smile fades uncertainly, as if he's not allowed to let himself laugh, not allowed to let himself smile when Fred isn't around to join in.

  You tilt your head to the side. “Well that's a step in the right direction.”

  He closes his eyes. “I haven't had the chance to tell you how happy I am that you're here.”

   “Of course I'm here. I would never miss-”

  “No, I know.” He opens his eyes and shrugs. “I'm glad you're here to – like – mourn Fred and all that, but I'm glad you're here for me. Most people would have given up on me by now. Nobody would have bothered putting me in my place.”

  You shudder, can hardly help it when you're hearing him speak like this; it's so weird, so not what you're used to, but it hits a nerve nonetheless. You have the sudden urge to throw your arms around him, to pull him in for a hug that means more than just It's going to be okay.

  “I'm a complete state when you are here, but I wouldn't even function if you weren't,” he continues, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “Everyone's told you that already, though, haven't they?”

  You bite your lip to suppress the giggle. “I've heard I've been a good helping hand.”

  George rolls his eyes. “Don't let it go to your head. No one likes an arrogant bastard.”

  Your grin breaks to the surface before you can stop it. It feels weird upon your face after spending so long believing you would never smile again, and yet with George stood in front of you, it couldn't make more sense. You're brought back to your Hogwarts days, when this very smile would never leave your face, was a permanent fixture to your expression. And it doesn't feel like you're back there – it will never feel like that again, not with Fred missing – but it's a start. It's the first step back into the normal world.

  Looking up at George's smile now makes you feel like you're walking back into it, slowly, with George by your side.

  ----

  “So what's the point of all this then?” you ask, struggling to fight your way through the crowd of screaming school kids.

  George moves with such grace, not even pausing when a group of kids nearly bowl him over in their struggle to reach the Pigmy Puff pens on the other side of the shop. He's grinning from ear to ear as he walks, his fancy, dragon skin blazer billowing out around him.

  “This, my dear Y/N, is what Fred and I have built from the ground up – and we're about to take it to the next level.”

   You raise a brow at his back. “Oh?”

  “Oh, indeed!” He hurries up a flight of winding stairs and stops at the top. He spins and smiles at you, pulling a sheet of paper from his blazer pocket with that dramatic flair you love so much. “Have a read of this and tell me how proud you are of me, right now. Quickly!”

  You roll your eyes, snatching the parchment and unrolling it. At the very top are the words Dear Mr and Mr Weasley, followed by the announcement that Weasley's Wizard Wheezes will be opening a shop in multiple areas around England and Northern Ireland.

  Your eyes widen, snapping back up to George who is staring at you fixedly, waiting for your reaction. You don't even have words. All you can do is stare at him, jaw open, hands beginning to tremble.

  George glances at your shaking hands and laughs, rushing down the steps towards you. He snatches the parchment back and bundles you in his arms, laughing brightly into your hair.

  “Don't show too much excitement, Y/N, we're in public!”

   “George Weasley, you brilliant old git!” You wrap your arms around his waist, burying your head in his chest, and together, the two of you laugh – you just laugh, unable to fully process that this tiny little business Fred and George have always dreamed about will finally be taking off, dotting itself around the globe for wizards everywhere to enjoy.

  You pull away from the celebration and yank the parchment back, giving it yet another read. “Mr and Mr Weasley – you and Fred?”

  “Of course,” George confirms. “I sent the request letter in using both of our names – it didn't feel right just signing it with my name and my name only. Fred would kill me if I did that.”

  “Aye, it's better not to take the risk. I'm still convinced he's punishing me for ordering that BBQ base pizza the other night.”

  “Yeah, definitely.”

  You reread the contract over and over again, grin getting wider every single time. It gets to the point where George groans and has to pry it from your hands, getting tired of watching you read the same sentence over and over again.

  You look at him and shake your head. “It's so cool that I'm able to say my best friend is a businessman. A real life businessman.”

  George cocks a brow. “You're gonna use me to make yourself look good, are you?”

  “You still owe me for that time I got you out of detention with Umbridge – it's the least you can do.”

  George laughs, bundling you in his arms again. “Just remember to mention Fred when you're giving us the good reviews – he'd appreciate it.”

   And you know, somewhere out there, Fred is nodding, saying, “You've done a brilliant job, Georgie.”

[adenei]

The Weasley siblings mourning their brother, there are tears and sobs and anger and hugs and in the end there is laughter because they know that’s what Fred would have wanted😢 Please 🙃

Hi anon! Thanks for the ask. I just want to preface with death really, really sucks. I hope I did Fred’s funeral justice. I tried to keep it light because I’m just not about the depressing sadness right now.

*************************************

What Fred would have wanted.

The funeral was a small affair. Well, it was meant to be just family and a few close friends, but countless people came out to pay their respects to Fred. It was overwhelming to say the least. And thank goodness for Kingsley and Professor McGonagall who helped gently move the guests along after the ceremony, so that the family and close friends could gather together without having to entertain others.

“If I have to hear one more bloody ‘I remember when’ story..” George was clearly over all the extra guests. “Do they really think it’s helping me feel better? That my mind isn’t constantly playing over my own ‘remember whens?’” It was clear to Hermione that he was still stuck very deeply in the anger phase of grief. Lee and Angelina tried to calm him, but it only made it worse as he threw his drink across the lawn. 

Ron and Ginny were staring blankly ahead, trying to be respectful and listen kindly to the remaining guests, but it was clear they weren’t really letting the words absorb. Ginny had silent tears running down her face, and Ron was clearly choking his back. It was the most emotion Hermione had seen from him since his initial dismay in the middle of the battle. Percy didn’t try and hide his tears, as Charlie was attempting to comfort him. Bill was being strong for the rest of his siblings as Fleur watched him carefully.

Hermione had to do something. She couldn’t bear to see them all like this. She knew that death was terrible, and mourning was necessary, but what Hermione really thought they needed now was some sort of hope. An idea came to her mind. She watched as the Weasley siblings all seemed to converge into their own circle, effectively shutting out the other guests. 

Harry looked over at her and Hermione motioned for him to join her. “I’ve been thinking…” she whispered her idea to Harry, who nodded.

“We’ll need a bit more help, though,” he looked over at Lee and Angelina, who were on the outskirts of the sibling circle and were watching George still.

Hermione headed into the house as Harry went over to get Lee and Angelina. Luckily, no one but Fleur seemed to notice the four of them make a quiet exit.

As the four converged in the kitchen, Hermione said, “This isn’t what Fred would want, is it?” They all shook their heads. “We need to get them laughing.” 

Lee nodded, “Fred was always one to make a joke in the most dire of situations..what are you thinking?”

“Can you get some of those fireworks and do you know how to set them off?” Hermione asked as Lee nodded.

“Be back in a jiff.” he said as he apparated on the spot.

“Now, I was also thinking some innocent muggle pranks, like a whoopie cushion or fly in a fake ice cube sort of thing.”

“I know right where to find those. There’s a muggle joke shop a few blocks from Diagon Alley. I’ll go grab that and be back soon.” Angelina left as quickly as Lee had.

“What else do you think, Harry?” Hermione said.

“I think that’ll be enough. If Angelina and Lee can get back soon, there’s one final blessing that’s going to be made in a half hour. We can plant the fake ice cubes in a few drinks and set the whoopie cushions under some of their seats when they stand for it.”

“Brilliant!” Hermione said, “And then Lee can set off the display a few minutes later. I hope he gets some good ones.”

Lee came back soon with his hands full. When Hermione and Harry filled him, he apparated to the edge of the property to get the display set up. Harry went with him to help, and Hermione waited for Angelina.

When Angelina returned, Hermione filled her in as well, and they set to work putting three set whoopie cushions in a bag, and they prepared six drinks, placing the random plastic ice cubes in two of the cups. They agreed to put the whoopie cushions under Ginny, Percy and Charlie’s chairs, and give Bill and Ron the fly ice cubes. 

It was nearly time, so they brought out the bag and drinks, handing them out carefully to each of the Weasley’s who looked appreciative. Kingsley cleared his throat and got everyone’s attention. Everyone stood for the final blessing, and Mr. Weasley thanked everyone for coming. Hermione could see Lee and Harry off in the distance. She planned to send up red sparks to let them know to start.

Angelina had stealthily set the whoopie cushions out and went back to sit next to George while Hermione stood next on edge of Ron and Ginny. When everyone went back to what they were doing before, the Weasley’s slowly began to sit as they sipped their drink. 

Ron flung his cup out in front of him when he saw the ice cube and yelped a loud, “What the fuck!” Percy and Charlie sat down and loud farting noises were heard from their chairs, only to be received by weird looks and ‘I didn’t do its’! 

Bill checked his own drink and saw the same fly in the ice cube prank, and for a moment it was mass chaos. None of them had any idea what was going on. George finally got up and picked up the fake ice cube that had ended up on the ground from Ron throwing it. “Fake fly in the ice cube?” George rolled his eyes. “Amateurs.”

“Well, that was weird,” Ginny said as she flopped down in her own chair, letting out a loud and long fart from her whoopie cushion. That did it. All of the Weasley siblings lost it in hysterics, realizing there had been an attempted prank on them. Hermione shot up the sparks as Fleur smirked knowingly and appreciatively at her and Angelina.

The Weasleys were looking around for the source of the pranks when Lee and Harry began shooting off the fireworks. In true Fred fashion, Lee had chosen all the ones that wrote out vulgar words in the sky, as well as a smattering of quidditch themed displays. The laughter continued, and even Mrs. Weasley couldn’t help but shake her head in amusement.

Harry and Lee made their way back over after the last firework was set off, and then joined Hermione and Angelina, who all swapped high fives. The sight was not lost on the Weasley siblings.

“It was you?” George cocked an eyebrow at them as he smiled his first genuine smile since the battle.

“We figured it’s what Fred would have wanted,” Hermione said as she grinned at the lot of them. 

Hugs were had all around, with a smattering of ‘thank yous’, and ‘I needed thats’. It wasn’t much, but it was a small step in the right direction for the healing family.

[sortinghatchats]

On Slytherin Primaries

Slytherins believe in the importance of taking care of their own. Everyone else is a person, but so are they, so a Slytherin’s job, before everything else, is taking care of them and theirs. This makes what Slytherin are known for, their ambition and ruthlessness, stand out strikingly even while a Slytherin’s core is not inherently selfish or cut-throat.

All of the Houses contain people with great ambitions and great desire for accomplishment and the furthering of their goals. Gryffindors will take on the world to do what they think is right, and are willing to make sacrifices and overrule those who would compromise on what needs to be done, and that’s nothing if not ambition. What makes the Slytherin ambition stand out so significantly is that it’s seen as a selfish ambition, and a guiltlessly selfish one at that. That drive is tied to personal achievement instead of idealistic achievement, and that makes it easier to point at. 

But this is key: selfish ambition is idealistic ambition for a Slytherin. A Slytherin’s first priority is to their loved ones not because they love deeper or harder than the other Houses (they don’t), but because it is wrong to betray or abandon your people and right to defend and promote them. Loyalty and defense of your own is an inherent part of the Slytherin morality.

A Slytherin does not generally feel guilty for valuing themselves, for taking time for their own mental or physical health, or for sacrificing other things for the safety and happiness of the people they love. They might feel vulnerable, or judged, or guilty for not feeling guilty, especially if they live in the kind of family or culture where humility and self sacrifice are seen as the greatest goods– but without watching eyes and the words of peers and authority figures bouncing around their skulls, a Slytherin would feel comfortable and even validated in the idea that they have both a right and duty to take care of their own selves before anything or anyone else. 

An exception to this is a Slytherin who’s managed to kick themselves out of their inner circle. For whatever reason, they don’t feel like they deserve their own help or kindnesses. Their “me and mine” priorities are still apparent but now it’s only “mine.” They fiercely and selflessly prioritize the individuals they love, value, or feel responsible for, while excluding their own self. A Slytherin like this can look somewhat like a Hufflepuff Primary, erring towards selflessness, but take a look at how they prioritize between their best friend v. a stranger in need. If they feel guilty for abandoning the stranger, they’re probably a Puff; Slytherins feel desperately like they owe things to their people, but they don’t feel like they owe people in general. (Also keep an eye out for a Burned Hufflepuff in this example, though– a Slytherin wouldn’t care strongly about not helping the stranger, except for general empathetic tickles; a Hufflepuff would be survivably eaten up inside; a Burned Puff would force themselves not to care because it’s the only practical thing). 

Not prioritizing their own would feel wrong to a Slytherin. It would feel selfish, and might feel like giving into social pressures instead of standing up for what matters to them. This can hold true emotionally even when logically, prioritizing you and yours is not the best thing to do. In The Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen, a Slytherin Primary who only wants her family to be safe, almost runs away from her place as an important political symbol on the chance that she and her loved ones could make it on their own, hiding from the capitol. She doesn’t– but she really wants to, and when things go wrong she feels guilty for not acting to put her loved ones first. 

Canonical Basis

Individual loyalty is something tied to Slytherins in the books and movies, but isn’t something that gets focused on. “Or perhaps in Slytherin you’ll make your real friends,” the Sorting Hat says in the song from Harry’s first year. It doesn’t explicitly use the loyal like it does for Hufflepuff, but that’s consistent because often, Slytherins don’t look loyal. If you’re not one of their most important people, who you can often count on one hand, they’re not particularly loyal. Loyalty doesn’t have an inherent worth for Slytherins the way it does for Hufflepuffs. Loyalty is less given and more earned.

And we have canonical examples of Slytherin loyalty, extreme and dramatic as it is. Slytherin loyalty is Narcissa Malfoy abandoning her Dark Lord for the sake of her son. Slytherin loyalty is the way Pansy Parkinson freaks out every time something injures Draco, and the way she was willing to sacrifice Harry to save herself and her friends (and the way she expected other people to agree with that judgement call). 

It’s Slughorn’s guiltless willingness to distance himself from Dumbledore’s war–until old Dumbly gave him a reason to risk his own precious skin. It’s Snape, unwilling to let go of Lily Potter even after decades have passed and her son has grown up an orphan; even when there is nothing still to gain from holding onto his loyalty to her, and even when he hates her son. 

Moving outside of canon (because there are nearly no positive descriptions of Slytherins with canon– Narcissa is a bigot, Pansy a bully, Slughorn a spineless creep, Snape a child abuser): 

Slytherin is Ender Wiggin going back to Battle School not to save the world but because his sister asked him to, and Bean going to Battle School because he could get an education there that would save himself and then staying to save Ender. Slytherin is Pepper Potts telling Tony that, to hell with the world, he needs to take care of himself first. It’s Andrea from The Walking Dead pulling a gun on the people who try to get between her and her sister’s body. It’s Toph Beifong not giving any fucks except that hey, Twinkle Toes needs her. It’s Briar Moss of Circle of Magicplunging into death itself, refusing to let Rosethorn go. 

Where Molly Weasley, in HP canon, weeps but drops her son Percy when he turns on them for the Ministry, blood purist and loyal daughter of House Black Narcissa Malfoy betrays the Dark Lord and saves Harry Potter for Draco’s sake. As the final, epic battle of good and evil culminates and commences in Hogwarts, Narcissa takes her family and she disappears. The ideals of her war were only her priority until her son was in direct danger. 

Slytherin v. Hufflepuff

Slytherin and Hufflepuff are the two Loyalist Primaries. People, and not ideals, are at the core of their judgement calls. But where Hufflepuffs tend to bond to groups, Slytherins bond with individuals.

Slytherin Primaries are horrified to see someone let down a friend. To turn on a loved one for words as insubstantial as truth or justice or the greater good feels like a very particular kind of madness. Sure that’s what you’re supposed to do, a Slytherin might say, but that’s not what you actually want, is it? Your person is right here. They are real, and they are breathing, and they need you, and they are yours. It’s an extreme Slytherin who would let the whole world burn for the sake of a friend, but every Slytherin Primary would be at the very least tempted.

We discuss in the Hufflepuff Primary post how when someone is dropped from a Hufflepuff’s group of “people,” it is a dramatic fall into becoming a dehumanized “thing.” This Hufflepuff dehumanization can take many forms– outsiders, “other”ing people, having strong beliefs in the justification behind more institutionalized types of exclusion like racism, sexism, classism. But it’s a divide where there are people who are people, and then there are people who are not-people. 

The Slytherin divide is very different. There is no mechanism inherent to the Primary that removes someone of their personhood. Rather, they are removed of their status. There is a possessive drive to Slytherin, and while that varies in intensity across different individuals, it puts the divide on the basic line of “mine” and “not mine.” We find it helpful to talk about it in terms of being in someone’s inner circle, but it’s not usually that binary. Like it is with everyone, loyalty comes in a gradient. 

But Slytherin’s loyalty is more selective than the other Houses’. Where a Hufflepuff extends some initial degree of loyalty on the basis of your being a person, with a Slytherin any loyalty you gain is earned from the bottom up; you start at 0. 

A Decided House

But when the major part of your moral system that you feel viscerally is to protect yourself and your people, there are a lot of gaps in how you interact with the world and with moral situations. What do Slytherins do when confronted with gross wrongs like slavery, like murder, like unjust war–wrongs that don’t touch their people? It depends on the Slytherin. But this is why we count a Slytherin as a Decided house along with Ravenclaw, despite the core of their moral system being very much felt. 

Some Slytherins simply don’t care–they opt out of the moral complications of the rest of the world and what touches other people and choose a contented apathy about the things that don’t intrude on their space– but other Slytherins construct ways to interact with these situations. 

Perhaps they do so by understanding that other people have connections as strong and important as their own, or by building something more complex. Sometimes Slytherins can build systems that look like Ravenclaw systems– systems based on observational data, on adopted systems, or by keeping the moral guidance that they were taught growing up. The defining difference between these constructed additional Slytherin systems and the Ravenclaw Primary system is that the Slytherins are aiming for function and don’t have the same drive for truth. It matters much less if the system they build is true than if it is functional. The system should optimize for what they care about and what makes them happy, but this moral code is not viscerally driving like a Slytherin’s desire to protect those closest to them. 

Some Slytherins latch specifically on to the morality of their most important person (or people), either because they trust them or because they value them. Samwise Gamgee, the loyal hobbit who follows Frodo through hell and back, adopts Frodo’s system. Sam does great good, bravely and well, but he does it, “For Mr. Frodo! For the Shire! And for my Gaffer!” Jeff Winger from Community also sometimes follows this pattern, absorbing the moralities of his study group and best friends. Both these characters are, to put it simplistically, wearing bracelets that read “What Would Mr. Frodo Do?” and “What Would The Study Group Do?” etc. For Jeff, it’s a bit more because Annie will pout at him if he’s doesn’t at least try. 

Aang, from Avatar the Last Airbender, builds himself a stunning replica of his beloved deceased father figure Gyatso’s ethical system and he lives in it all his life. Latching onto a parental figure or early (sometimes, in media, deceased) influence’s morality is a form of love common for young Slytherins. Train Heartnet of Black Cat (who Saya changes so completely), Kai of Korra (who takes in Jinora’s culture like it’s his own morality), and Edward Cullen of Twilight (who takes Carlisle’s pacifism to self-hating extremes), are all examples of that. 

Alternatively, a Slytherin might spend a lot of their time living in a Primary model–it might matter deeply to them to do good and right. If they have that drive for truth, they might have a Ravenclaw Primary model as opposed to just a Slytherin’s functional construction. They might also have a Gryffindor Primary or a Hufflepuff Primary model. They could even have a Slytherin Primary model– but one that is loyal and dedicated to a larger group of people, like a whole peer group, the population of a whole city, or even humanity in general. (This can look a bit like a Hufflepuff– one major visible difference is that particularly Slytherin sense of possessiveness.) They could live in that model for all conflicts and decisions that are separate from and non-threatening toward their most important people and be very functional with that. 

MCU’s Tony Stark is an example of this type. (He’s also an example of a Slytherin who has kicked himself out of his own inner circle). He is a Slytherin Primary dedicated to Pepper and Rhodey (and, as of Avengers 2, he’s likely coming to value the other Avengers this way), but he has built a driving model to allow him to interact ethically with the rest of the world. It is this model that drives Iron Man and his sustainability and charity projects. This model (we think it’s probably Gryffindor Primary) is likely also what will drive him to one side or the other in Civil War. As long as Pepper or one of his own is not in direct danger (though the danger to himself is irrelevant), Tony will act firmly in service of his model. 

But dropping that model in order to stand by someone you love, or in order to protect yourself, doesn’t feel like a failing. Sticking to that modelled morality at the expense of betraying or abandoning one of their own would make a Slytherin feel guilty and wrong. Being able to put the things and concepts you like aside for the sake of the people who need you feels more righteous than any moral posturing. It feels practical and it feels right, just as strongly as a Gryffindor Primary’s internal moral compass points them. 

It’s a people based system, but it’s still an intuitive model of right and wrong. Betraying your own is the worst kind of crime. Loyalty is precious and terrible; it makes you vulnerable. It’s given sparingly, deeply, and a Slytherin will stand by their loyalties through the same death and fire that a Gryffindor would brave for the sake of doing the right thing, or a Hufflepuff to help someone in need.

In the same vein, when a Slytherin realizes that someone else doesn’t put the same value on the people they profess loyalty to, they might react similarly to a Gryffindor realizing that morality isn’t intuitive to everyone. Some things are just wrong, a Gryffindor might protest. But they’re your child–your spouse–your friend, a Slytherin will cry, confused and unsettled. How could you?

Petrified or Burned Slytherin

While there are certainly Slytherin Primaries who don’t care about any people who aren’t theirs, many Slytherins, especially ones who enjoy being more social, have wide circles of friends and acquaintances; people they will go out of their way to help, and whose company they enjoy, whose confidence they trust (to a point). What defines a Slytherin is not a lack of these concentric circles, but rather how sharply those lines of stratification are drawn. Wanting to help someone doesn’t mean you’re loyal to them. Wanting to help them at the expense of your comforts, your values, your commitments and sometimes even your self–that does. 

You end up with Slytherin Primaries on both ends of the spectrum: ones who have decided that a huge group of people are “theirs” (to the extreme of: the world is my responsibility and I have bonded to every single individual contained in it), and ones who have decided that they themselves are not one of their most important people, but maybe a friend or lover is. 

You can also get Slytherins whose only important person is themselves. This can be done healthily, especially for short periods of times, but when it’s driven by a fear of those close attachments, it becomes a phenomenon we call the Burned or Petrified Slytherin. 

The Petrified Slytherin is a Slytherin who has no inner circle and no plans to get one. Whether through death, betrayal, abandonment (from either side), or through never having had any to begin with, the Petrified Slytherin has decided that having important people is too dangerous. Having those strong ties leaves you open to pain and weakness, and the pleasure of those connections aren’t worth the despair that comes from their seemingly inevitable loss. In this way, they close themselves off to meaningful connections out of what is ultimately fear (though from the inside, it’s far more likely to be experienced as a rational, sensible decision given the circumstances of the world), and gives them a stony exterior that seems impenetrable, resolute, and cold. 

Even when not Petrified, though, the Slytherin Primary often seems cold. This comes not from any actual inherent coldness, but because they often show their warmth only to their inner circle. This is hugely influenced by your other houses, especially when you get the warmth of the Hufflepuff Secondary involved, or have a warm model– but even then, there is a special and somewhat exclusive kind of warmth saved for those who are held the closest. 

A Slytherin Primary in our system is defined first and foremost by the intensity and priority of their loyalties to individual people, however few or many. And the way to break a Slytherin– whether you’re stopping their plans or crushing their will– is to either take away their people or to threaten to. Narcissa betrays Voldemort, fully aware of what that could mean for the safety of herself and her husband, because Draco was more important than anyone or anything. Azula of Avatar the Last Airbender, for all her coldness and lack of mercy, does what she does because she wants desperately to be loved and accepted by her father. When Annabeth, his friends, or his mother are threatened, Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson loses all other priorities– his canonical fatal flaw is that he would let the world burn to save a friend. Nothing brings out the fierceness in a Slytherin like getting in between them and their loved ones.

To a Slytherin the inner circle of close loyalties is likely to be a much smaller number than the people they care about and consider friends. A petrified Slytherin is therefore not necessarily someone who is friendless, or who has no social ties, or who lacks affection for people. It’s not even a Slytherin without some sort of a hierarchy of important people.

A petrified Slytherin is a Slytherin who has decided, either consciously or not, that letting people into that inner circle– devoting themselves to someone with that deep, thoughtless Narcissa-type or Azula-type loyalty– is too dangerous. It’s too terrifying. When someone is that close, they become a huge risk. They might die, or you they might stop loving you, or stop liking you, or something awful might happen to them and it might be your fault. Something awful might happen to you because someone might threaten your people and use them against you, and you would be helpless. If you couldn’t find a way to maneuver through the situation, you would have to do whatever was demanded of you to keep your people safe, because nothing would be worse than losing them and having it be your own fault.

Surviving a situation like that (losing someone or having their lives used as collateral against you) is one of the ways we see Petrification often happen. 

Not all Slytherins will Petrify in such a situation– Finnick from The Hunger Games, a Slytherin Primary whose only people are Mags and Annie, has resisted Petrifying even when there are good arguments that it would be a far more adaptive thing to do. The Capitol’s only way of controlling him is by threatening to hurt the people he loves, and even after Mags is killed, he stays resolutely attached to Annie. It gives him the strength to carry on, but is also the weakness that the Capitol is exploiting. If Annie died, Finnick would be very likely to Petrify.

Bean, in Ender’s Shadow, is a Petrified Slytherin for most of the book. He likes people, and sometimes idolizes people, but their main purpose in his life is the utility of them. His connections are a cold, logical thing, closer to an alliance than to a friendship, and often not mutually so. Bean is interesting because we never see the Petrification process. He’s born into a survival situation and is cold and hard and determined to live from the first page. It is only at the very end, when he grows attached to Nikolai and allows himself to consider the possibility that he, too, could have a family who he loves and who loves him, that we see that Petrification begin to melt away. 

Jeff Winger from Community is another example. A ruthless lawyer only out for his own gain and without an attachment in the world except to maybe his car, he’s the perfect example of a Petrified Slytherin. His tentative, slow-moving back and forth journey into attachment to the other characters is a character arc of un-Petrifying. He’s better at it some days than others. 

With female characters in particular, the petrified Slytherin is hugely tied to the trope of the Ice Queen. From TV Tropes: “Her signature characteristic is that she is cold; the ambiguity comes from what “cold” means. She has a cold heart, a frosty demeanor; she attracts but will never be wooed.” Characters who fit this trope are not always Petrified Slytherins, but the trope is an important parallel if not just because of the imagery they share: cold, hard, unyielding, nothing to lose. 

When a Slytherin loses their closest attachments, they are left with only their personal ambitions and with the morality system that is usually constructed around those loyalties. In the sense that the way that they now primarily frame their interactions with the world is constructed, they often appear to look like Ravenclaw Primaries here. The most visible and useful difference here, especially from the outside, is that they don’t have the Ravenclaw drive for truth. Their system doesn’t have to be true or right, but simply functional. If they have a Ravenclaw Primary model that gives them some of that drive, then they might be indistinguishable from the Ravenclaw Primary unless there are are counterexamples of Slytherin loyalty from other points in their life. 

Despite it seeming to at least be a trend, not all Petrified Slytherins look like Ravenclaw Primaries. Petrified Slytherins with models of other Primaries might happily and healthily inhabit those models as their main way of interacting with the world, and this has the potential to be entirely functional. The reason that the model would remain a model though, and not indicate an actual change in Primary, would be that first, there still remains the possibility to un-petrify, and second, even if there is nothing substantial underneath it, the model could still be dropped.

This potential for to drop that model and fall to an underlying lack of structure and direction is part of what gives desperate Slytherins their reputation of being fearsome. Azula is a great, if extreme, example of this when she loses everything at the end of season 3 of Avatar. Mental illness (in the form of at the very least hallucinations and almost definitely a lot more) and trauma also have of course a huge influence on the intensity of everything that happens, but that basic directionlessness, the way that Azula has nothing left after she loses her father, the way she’s so susceptible to being haunted by her mother’s memory, hits so hard because she had structured everything around her Slytherin morality. She had no real goals or ideals underneath that, and so she had no structure to keep her up when that crumbled.

One of the good things about Petrification, as scary and awful as it is, is that it’s a good way to survive a bad situation and it’s possible to un-petrify (see: Defrosted Ice Queen). Because fear of attachment is at the heart of petrification, instead of needing reality to prove your doubts wrong (as the other fallen Houses must), you only need one person to prove that attachment is worth the risk. 

Elementary’s Jamie Moriarty follows a common path here in that, despite her pretending to be un-petrifying for our protagonist Sherlock, the one person she ends up actually attaching to her is her daughter. She is the Slytherin woman who un-petrifies upon becoming a mother. Regina in Once Upon a Time also follows this path, becoming through that a subversion of the Evil Queen, who is often a Petrified Slytherin who does not un-petrify (see her mother, Cora, and the symbolic plot of removing her heart so that no one can use it against her). 

It’s really common in media for characters who have closed themselves off to attachments to be called psychopaths, both by the fans and the writers, when they are, in fact, not. A lot of them have empathy, or at least the capacity for it, and are instead Petrified.The definitive and intentional split between the self and meaningful attachments, due to loss, trauma, selfishness, or fear, is different from the inability to intuitively create those attachments. Calling this “petrification,” rather than inaccurately calling it “psychopathy,” gives the character flexibility to recover from it that doesn’t end up as either a contradiction of established character or as a downplaying of actual serious mental illness.

To sum: Petrification happens when a Slytherin cares about their important people so intensely that pain from their loss, or the potential for future loss, outweighs the positives of having important people. It stops being worth it. Even if it leaves the Slytherin with a directionless system and a cold center where there is an aching potential for great warmth, it feels safer and better to not attach to anyone that strongly.

tl;dr Slytherin Primary

Slytherin is a Decided House, and Internal House, and a Loyalist House. 

As a Decided House, Slytherins, unlike Hufflepuffs (our other loyalists), prioritize "their" people first. Those people are found and chosen by the Slytherin. It's not about who is in front of them,  or who needs them most, but who they have decided to love.

As a Internal House, like Gryffindor, Slytherin Primaries carry a certainty and a moral fortitude inside of themselves. When they are sure they are right, in the defense of themselves or their loved ones, they will not be swayed by outside influence or pressure.

As a Loyalist House, Slytherin puts people first. Unlike the Hufflepuff, they put their people first. They’re content with valuing some people over others without necessarily thinking some people are better than or worth more than others. In fact, putting their own people first feels right. This is something owed. Not valuing the people you profess loyalty to most would be a betrayal, a cowardice, an abandonment. The best thing you can be is there for the people you love. 

Ambitions live in all Houses but Slytherins’ is notorious because it often looks the most selfish– it often is the most selfish. Part of a Slytherin’s morality is understanding that your first duty is to yourself and the people you love– higher minded goals are all pomp and circumstance, trying to make yourself feel good. At the heart of things, this is why we are here: for ourselves.

[ao3feed-gratsu]

Not a Kinktober 2019

by IckyFinks

Hello! Due to some really rough events this month, my beta and I have missed the traditional one-a-day pattern for the Kinktober challenge. Buuut, I think you guys may appreciate the depth and care of each chapter (I’m still going to call them “Days”).

Tastes can be particular, but this collection will start tame (explicit) and will (dramatically) increase in kinkiness. Please read the chapter names to find what interests you. I’ve also done something nerdy: Days 1, 11 and 21 are solely “solos” and self-love; 2, 12 and 22 are contained to the cutest couples; 3, 13 and 23 talk only of tantalizing trios; 4, 5, 14, 15, and also 24, all use awesome foursome, fivesome and moresome themes.

Fortunately for you, I already said fuck the 31-entry limit. I already have a couple of extra… “postponed” kinks. MORE IMPORTANTLY, I will happily moderate requests to continue certain chapters or to reuse some of the kinks for a different fandom/pairing.

Sorry for how long everything is.

Words: 6135, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: 13 Reasons Why (TV), Avatar: The Last Airbender, Fairy Tail, Glee, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, iCarly, Kingsman (Movies), Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Shadowhunters (TV), Teen Wolf (TV), The Fosters (TV 2013), The Fosters (TV 2013) RPF, Twilight Series - All Media Types, Voltron: Legendary Defender, Wizards of Waverly Place, Young Justice - All Media Types, Real Person Fiction, Justin Bieber (Musician), One Direction (Band), Shawn Mendes (Musician)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M, Multi

Characters: I can't... this list...

Relationships: Jesus Adams Foster/Jude Adams Foster, Jake T Austin/Noah Centineo, Charlie Hesketh/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Jacob Black/Seth Clearwater, Seth Clearwater/Jacob Black/Emmett Cullen, Keith/Lance/Lotor/Shiro (Voltron), Luke Castellan/Percy Jackson, Ryder Lynn/Jake Puckerman, Natsu Dragneel/Gajeel Redfox, Justin Bieber/Shawn Mendes, Jordan Parrish/Theo Raeken, Freddie Benson/Spencer Shay, Corey Bryant/Mason Hewitt, Mason Greyback/Justin Russo/Max Russo, Seamus Finnigan & Neville Longbottom & Harry Potter & Dean Thomas & Ron Weasley, Magnus Bane/Simon Lewis/Alec Lightwood/Raphael Santiago/Jace Wayland, Nick Jonas/Cameron Dallas, Ethan Dolan/Grayson Dolan, Jake Puckerman/Noah Puckerman, Simon Lewis/Raphael Santiago, Jeff Atkins/Clay Jensen, Clay Jensen/Tony Padilla, Clay Jensen/Alex Standall, Montgomery de la Cruz/Clay Jensen, Zach Dempsey/Clay Jensen, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Harry Potter/Fred Weasley/George Weasley, Dick Grayson/Jaime Reyes, Jaime Reyes/Roy Harper/Kon-El | Conner Kent/Wally West, Mason Greyback/Justin Russo, Aang/Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Justin Foley/Clay Jensen, Danny Mahealani/Stiles Stilinski, Danny Mahealani/Jackson Whittemore, Liam Dunbar/Mason Hewitt, Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Nick Jonas/Shawn Mendes

Additional Tags: Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Edgeplay, Frottage, First Time, Massage, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Collars, Sexual Slavery, Gangbang, Biting, Scratching, Marking, Claiming, beach, Pool, Sauna, Scars, Nipple Piercings, Tattoos, Car Sex, Movie Theater Sex, Public Sex, Sex Pollen, Fuck Or Die, Hate Sex, primal, Leather Kink, Finger Sucking, Dirty Talk, Deepthroating, Choking, Police Uniforms, Office Sex, Caught, Sex Tapes, Hand Jobs, Gloves, Wall Sex, Clothed Sex, Peeping, Clothed male/naked male, Double Penetration, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, Incubus Dean Thomas, Orgy, Moresomes, Circle Jerk, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bukkake, Cum Bath, Creampie, Felching, hot-dogging, Twincest, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Nipple Play, Incest, Sibling Incest, Strip Tease, Strength Kink, Cock Warming, Pet Play, Licking, Begging, Teasing, Glory Hole, cum dump, Breeding, Bad Dragon, Dildos, Oviposition, ass worship, Rimming, Face-Sitting, double-sided dildo, Stomach Bulge, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Anal Fingering, Knotting, Fisting, Triple Penetration, Ritual Sex, Blood and Gore, Loss of Virginity, Docking, Sounding, Cum Inflation, Shoe Kink, Socks, Foot Fetish, Smegma, Suits, Ties & Cravats, Watersports, Shower Sex, Wetting, Armpit Kink, Scent Kink, Sweat, Gym Sex, Latex, Jock Straps, Overstimulation, Body Worship, Breathplay, Ice Play, Wax Play, Bathing/Washing, Aftercare, Sleepy Cuddles

Source:http://archiveofourown.org/works/21246686

[ao3feed-voltronlegendarydefender]

Not a Kinktober 2019

read it on the AO3 at Not a Kinktober 2019

by IckyFinks

Hello! Due to some really rough events this month, my beta and I have missed the traditional one-a-day pattern for the Kinktober challenge. Buuut, I think you guys may appreciate the depth and care of each chapter (I’m still going to call them “Days”).

Tastes can be particular, but this collection will start tame (explicit) and will (dramatically) increase in kinkiness. Please read the chapter names to find what interests you. I’ve also done something nerdy: Days 1, 11 and 21 are solely “solos” and self-love; 2, 12 and 22 are contained to the cutest couples; 3, 13 and 23 talk only of tantalizing trios; 4, 5, 14, 15, and also 24, all use awesome foursome, fivesome and moresome themes.

Fortunately for you, I already said fuck the 31-entry limit. I already have a couple of extra… “postponed” kinks. MORE IMPORTANTLY, I will happily moderate requests to continue certain chapters or to reuse some of the kinks for a different fandom/pairing.

Sorry for how long everything is.

Words: 4009, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: 13 Reasons Why (TV), Avatar: The Last Airbender, Fairy Tail, Glee, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, iCarly, Kingsman (Movies), Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Shadowhunters (TV), Teen Wolf (TV), The Fosters (TV 2013), The Fosters (TV 2013) RPF, Twilight Series - All Media Types, Voltron: Legendary Defender, Wizards of Waverly Place, Young Justice - All Media Types, Real Person Fiction, Justin Bieber (Musician), One Direction (Band), Shawn Mendes (Musician)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M, Multi

Characters: I can't... this list...

Relationships: Jesus Adams Foster/Jude Adams Foster, Jake T Austin/Noah Centineo, Charlie Hesketh/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Jacob Black/Seth Clearwater, Seth Clearwater/Jacob Black/Emmett Cullen, Keith/Lance/Lotor/Shiro (Voltron), Luke Castellan/Percy Jackson, Ryder Lynn/Jake Puckerman, Natsu Dragneel/Gajeel Redfox, Justin Bieber/Shawn Mendes, Jordan Parrish/Theo Raeken, Freddie Benson/Spencer Shay, Corey Bryant/Mason Hewitt, Mason Greyback/Justin Russo/Max Russo, Seamus Finnigan & Neville Longbottom & Harry Potter & Dean Thomas & Ron Weasley, Magnus Bane/Simon Lewis/Alec Lightwood/Raphael Santiago/Jace Wayland, Nick Jonas/Cameron Dallas, Ethan Dolan/Grayson Dolan, Jake Puckerman/Noah Puckerman, Simon Lewis/Raphael Santiago, Jeff Atkins/Clay Jensen, Clay Jensen/Tony Padilla, Clay Jensen/Alex Standall, Montgomery de la Cruz/Clay Jensen, Zach Dempsey/Clay Jensen, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Harry Potter/Fred Weasley/George Weasley, Dick Grayson/Jaime Reyes, Jaime Reyes/Roy Harper/Kon-El | Conner Kent/Wally West, Mason Greyback/Justin Russo, Aang/Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Justin Foley/Clay Jensen, Danny Mahealani/Stiles Stilinski, Danny Mahealani/Jackson Whittemore, Liam Dunbar/Mason Hewitt, Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Nick Jonas/Shawn Mendes

Additional Tags: Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Edgeplay, Frottage, First Time, Massage, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Collars, Sexual Slavery, Gangbang, Biting, Scratching, Marking, Claiming, beach, Pool, Sauna, Scars, Nipple Piercings, Tattoos, Car Sex, Movie Theater Sex, Public Sex, Sex Pollen, Fuck Or Die, Hate Sex, primal, Leather Kink, Finger Sucking, Dirty Talk, Deepthroating, Choking, Police Uniforms, Office Sex, Caught, Sex Tapes, Hand Jobs, Gloves, Wall Sex, Clothed Sex, Peeping, Clothed male/naked male, Double Penetration, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, Incubus Dean Thomas, Orgy, Moresomes, Circle Jerk, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bukkake, Cum Bath, Creampie, Felching, hot-dogging, Twincest, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Nipple Play, Incest, Sibling Incest, Strip Tease, Strength Kink, Cock Warming, Pet Play, Licking, Begging, Teasing, Glory Hole, cum dump, Breeding, Bad Dragon, Dildos, Oviposition, ass worship, Rimming, Face-Sitting, double-sided dildo, Stomach Bulge, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Anal Fingering, Knotting, Fisting, Triple Penetration, Ritual Sex, Blood and Gore, Loss of Virginity, Docking, Sounding, Cum Inflation, Shoe Kink, Socks, Foot Fetish, Smegma, Suits, Ties & Cravats, Watersports, Shower Sex, Wetting, Armpit Kink, Scent Kink, Sweat, Gym Sex, Latex, Jock Straps, Overstimulation, Body Worship, Breathplay, Ice Play, Wax Play, Bathing/Washing, Aftercare, Sleepy Cuddles

read it on the AO3 at Not a Kinktober 2019

[omg-imatotalmess]

A Life for a Life

Hey, guys! This is a pretty cool request and I hope I do it justice. Hope you enjoy!

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Requested: Yes

@innocentignorance Requested: I have a request :) if you don’t mind, could you write a fic about George having a girlfriend who’s a Seer and before the final battle she Sees Fred is going to die, and to save her boyfriend’s twin brother she dies instead? (George and her were very much in love and planned to get married.) Pretty please :)))

Warnings: Death, swearing

Distantly, you could hear things breaking and exploding, but you really weren’t sure why. Fred and Percy were fighting someone off. You weren’t sure why you knew it was Fred, but you had no doubt that it was. You watched as dirty, terrified people ran past. Why were they running? Where were they going?

Fred turned and looked at Percy, cracking a joke that you heard very dimly in the back of your mind. He then turned, backed by a stone wall, and grinned. Then everything slowed down and came into a sharper focus. You could see every move that Fred made, you could hear Percy scream something, and then there was an explosion. The only sound that wasn’t held back. Loud, destructive, and no less terrifying knowing that it couldn’t touch you. Fred’s face moved into a terrified stare as his body was shoved harshly forward by the blast.

Fred’s eyes remained open as he lay on the ground in a broken heap, bleeding from somewhere, but already gone. You knew because they were totally hollow. They stared into nothing, into you, for you were nothing and everything in that moment. You were nothing more than a cosmic third party observer. You had no power to help, nor could you harm. All you were meant to do was watch. See. Then, as though you were being thrown down a well, you saw the picture flying away from you. Maybe you away from it. Blackness surrounded you and there was truly nothing. 

You shot up out of bed, panting, sweating, and scared half to death because of the dream you had. Most of you visions happened through dreams and you knew damn well what you Saw. Fred was going to die. In the final battle for Hogwarts and the wizarding world, Fred would die. Tears slipped down your face as you got out of bed. 

“Fuck, fucking fuck, this can’t be happening,” You muttered, shaking hands running themselves through your hair. 

“What’s wrong, love,” George mumbled, picking his head up. You looked at him, wondering what to tell him. You shook your head. You couldn’t bear to see that sweet, sleepy face all twisted up in agony over something that hadn’t even happened yet. 

“N-Nothing, bad dream,” You said. He sat up, suddenly alert. 

“Did you See something?” He asked. You shook your head. As much as you hated lying to him, you just couldn’t tell him. 

“No, just a nightmare.” He held his arms out to you and you crawled into them. He rested his chin on your head, beginning to pet your hair. You cried for a little while longer before finally falling back asleep. Sleep had been so elusive lately that you’d just take what you could get. 

The entire next day, you couldn’t look at either of them without tearing up. You knew full well that George couldn’t live without Fred. Every time you saw them, you’d have to turn around and walk away. You didn’t know what to do. If you told them, sure they would be prepared, but then Fred would be careless in the battle. If you didn’t, then you’d have to carry around the guilt for the rest of your life, knowing that you could have helped them prepare. Eventually, George caught you while you were stocking things in the shop. 

“What’s wrong, (Y/N)?” He asked, cupping your cheek and forcing you to look him in the eye. 

“Nothing,” You said, pulling away. 

“It’s not nothing, love. You’ve been avoiding me since that dream of yours,” He said, gently. 

“Okay, okay, I guess I’m just worried about losing you guys,” You said. Not technically a lie. You really were worried. 

“You’re not going to,” He laughed, kissing the top of your head. If only he knew. If only you’d tell him. 

“I’m still worried.” He smiled softly at you. 

“I know. I wouldn’t know what to do if I lost you or Fred either,” He said. You winced, trying to hide it so he wouldn’t know. You’d have to find a way around Fred’s death. Sometimes the future could be manipulated. You smiled at him. 

“You won’t lose me,” You said, pecking his lips. 

“Promise?” You nodded, linking your pinkies together with a tired smile. 

“Promise.” 

Then came the battle. You knew the exact day it was going to happen and it did. Things went haywire. People were dying, going missing, and fighting for their lives. All you could think about was Fred. You knew he was going to die. You gripped George’s hand, looking up at him. 

“I have to find, Fred!” You yelled over the chaos. Sure you were fighting in the same area, but you weren’t close to him. George gave you a strange look. 

“Freddie’s going to be fine, (Y/N). Stay with me so I know you’re safe,” He yelled back. You shook your head, tears springing to your eyes. Now you had to come clean. You pulled him behind something and tried to avoid his eyes. 

“He’s going to die today,” You said. 

“You’re too worried. My brother’s a big boy, he can take care of himself,” George reassured, placing a hand on your cheek. 

“I Saw it, George.” Shock took over your boyfriend's face. 

“What?” You closed your eyes and let the tears run over your dirty cheeks. 

“I Saw it. I think if I can find him I can prevent it. I have to go, George,” You said, evenly. A curse broke off a chunk of whatever you were hiding behind. He nodded once. 

“You really suppose you can save him?” He asked. 

“Yes,” You said, standing up. “And, George, when this is all over, will you marry me?” He stared at you for a long minute before grinning. It felt odd to see him grin at a time like this. You found yourself grinning back. 

“Where’s my ring?” He joked. You laughed, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

“I love you, George.” Something felt wrong, like this was the last time you’d ever say it. You shook off the feeling as you bolted towards another redhead. 

“I love you too. Give ‘em hell, (Y/N)!” He called after you. Another round of tears poured from your eyes, but you weren’t really sure why. When Fred realized you were running at him, he gave you a huge grin. Then you knew. This was it. He was backed by the same stone wall with that wild grin on his face. 

“Fred, move!” You screamed. He furrowed his eyebrows the question ‘why?’ forming on his lips. 

George can live without me better than him, you thought, grabbing Fred’s hand turning your body to the side to throw him away. He landed on his hands and knees a safe distance away, but you kept going. You felt your back hit the wall and you squeezed your eyes shut. Time felt as though it had gone wonky. Fred stared at you like you’d lost your mind, Percy yelled something, and you could only hope, for the split second you had left, that it would be painless. 

Everything went dead silent. “I’m sorry, George.” And the wall blew. 

You felt only a split second of mind numbing pain and heat before you were gone. Your body landed exactly where Fred’s would have in the same broken heap. It was odd. You could see yourself, your body, but you knew you were dead. You looked down at your clothes to see that they were just like new. Unseen, you watched as things began to unfold. 

“(Y/N)?” Fred asked. By the quiver in his voice, you knew he was sure you were dead. Percy appeared next to him and helped him drag your body somewhere safe. 

“Merlin, (Y/N), why’d you go and do that? You’re gonna break Georgie’s heart,” Fred muttered, pushing the blood matted hair from your blank eyes. 

There was a small period where you weren’t sure what was happening, you were just shrouded in darkness and everything was quiet. When you came back, you were laid out in the Great Hall with the part of the Weasley family standing over your body. You stood behind them, watching. You wondered vaguely how much longer you’d get to stay. You could feel yourself getting tired, but you knew you had to wait. So you waited. Soon enough, George came along. 

“Where is she? How badly is she hurt?” He yelled, panic evident in his eye. 

“I’m not hurt,”  You said despite the fact that he couldn’t hear you. Somehow, it didn’t feel like a lie. You just felt sleepy. 

“She was trying to save me, mate,” Fred started. George watched him with pleading eyes. He was begging his brother not to tell him what he knew he’d hear. 

“Please.” That one word. That one simple word. It was a plea. Fred’s eyes teared up and, probably for the first time in his life, he couldn’t look at his twin. 

“She was gone the second that explosion went off,” Percy said, shaking his head.

“C-Can I see her?” They parted and let him sit next to your body. 

The shaking started in George’s hands as he ran a single finger over your cheek. Soon it escalated to his entire body. You hadn’t meant for this to happen. Hurting him was the last thing you wanted but, between your death and Fred’s, you figured he’d be able to come back from yours. You stood next to him, stroking his hair.

“Fucking hell, I’m so sorry,” You breathed. 

Fred knelt next to him and, as though a rubber band snapped, George began sobbing. Molly stooped down next to him (through you) and wrapped an arm around him. No one knew what to say. There was nothing to say. You were gone and there was no making that better. You watched as George held Fred in a death grip, like he might go next. You hoped that he wouldn’t. George couldn’t handle losing both of you. A tear fell down your cheek. 

“That should have been you,” George whispered. Fred blinked, unsure of what to do. 

“I know you loved her but...” George shook his head. 

“No. It was supposed to be you. (Y/N) Saw it,” He sobbed. Everyone looked at a loss for words. 

“My poor boy,” Molly murmured, stroking George’s hair. 

“She wanted to get married.” The words hung thick in the air. You felt terrible for leaving him after that. You hovered over your body, kneeling to meet his eyes. 

“Still want to,” You hiccuped. 

“Oh, George,” Molly whispered. He leaned forward and took your hand in his with an angry look in his eye. The expression on his face was totally wrecked, but his eye were blazing. 

“You promised. You promised me I wouldn’t lose you,” He whimpered. That hit you like a knife to the heart. 

“You need him more than me,” You said. He placed his lips delicately on the back of your hand, like he was afraid he’d wake you. The thing was, you did look like you were sleeping. 

“You promised.” 

“I know.” 

You felt an icy hand on your shoulder and you jumped. As you turned, you saw Death standing behind you. You gave the creature a smile and cast a glance back at your heartbroken boyfriend. It was time, but you had to wonder if death would do you a favor. You looked up into Death’s hood, finding that it wasn’t nearly as scary as people say. Death didn’t really look like anything, at least, nothing distinguishable. It was dark, but beautiful in a terribly morbid way. You stood and faced it. 

“Can I please just say goodbye?” You asked. Death shook its head, but you persisted. 

“Please, I have to. I need to tell him I love him one last time before I go.” Death stared at you for a long moment. It felt like looking down the barrel of a gun while playing Russian Roulette. You didn’t know what to expect. 

“Please,” You urged one last time. Finally, Death nodded once and waved a great hand over you. The family gasped, so you figured they could see you. You knelt down in front of George, placing a hand on his wet cheek. 

“(Y/N)?” He asked. You smiled. “I thought...” 

“I am. God, George, I’m so sorry,” You said. He took your hand in his. 

“What am I supposed to do without you, love?” He asked. 

“Move on.” Everyone stared at you like you’d lost your mind. Maybe you had. You were dead after all. Not much left to lose after that. 

“I can’t,” He said, voice cracking. You brushed his tears away. 

“You can. If it had been Fred you couldn’t have, but it was me. I want you to move on and find someone who makes you happy,” You said, evenly. He shook his head and you caught his face again, making him look deep into your eyes. 

“I love you,” He mumbled, brokenly. You kissed his lips one last time, attempting to imprint the feeling into your brain and his. 

“I love you too.” Death reached for you. You’d said what you needed to say. You looked at Fred.

“Take care of him, Freddie. I didn’t save your ass for nothing,” You laughed, with a light smirk. Fred nodded and you faced Death again. Something in its indistinguishable face looked apologetic and you smiled at it. It was okay. You weren’t scared. Death picked you up as though you were little more than a doll and carried you away. Your last thought was a vague hope that they knew you were at peace. One last smile came to your face before you felt yourself slip from existence entirely. 

[ao3feed-malec]

Not a Kinktober 2019

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2JzLoVR

by IckyFinks

Hello! Due to some really rough events this month, my beta and I have missed the traditional one-a-day pattern for the Kinktober challenge. Buuut, I think you guys may appreciate the depth and care of each chapter (I’m still going to call them “Days”).

Tastes can be particular, but this collection will start tame (explicit) and will (dramatically) increase in kinkiness. Please read the chapter names to find what interests you. I’ve also done something nerdy: Days 1, 11 and 21 are solely “solos” and self-love; 2, 12 and 22 are contained to the cutest couples; 3, 13 and 23 talk only of tantalizing trios; 4, 5, 14, 15, and also 24, all use awesome foursome, fivesome and moresome themes.

Fortunately for you, I already said fuck the 31-entry limit. I already have a couple of extra… “postponed” kinks. MORE IMPORTANTLY, I will happily moderate requests to continue certain chapters or to reuse some of the kinks for a different fandom/pairing.

Sorry for how long everything is.

Words: 6135, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: 13 Reasons Why (TV), Avatar: The Last Airbender, Fairy Tail, Glee, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, iCarly, Kingsman (Movies), Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Shadowhunters (TV), Teen Wolf (TV), The Fosters (TV 2013), The Fosters (TV 2013) RPF, Twilight Series - All Media Types, Voltron: Legendary Defender, Wizards of Waverly Place, Young Justice - All Media Types, Real Person Fiction, Justin Bieber (Musician), One Direction (Band), Shawn Mendes (Musician)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M, Multi

Characters: I can't... this list...

Relationships: Jesus Adams Foster/Jude Adams Foster, Jake T Austin/Noah Centineo, Charlie Hesketh/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Jacob Black/Seth Clearwater, Seth Clearwater/Jacob Black/Emmett Cullen, Keith/Lance/Lotor/Shiro (Voltron), Luke Castellan/Percy Jackson, Ryder Lynn/Jake Puckerman, Natsu Dragneel/Gajeel Redfox, Justin Bieber/Shawn Mendes, Jordan Parrish/Theo Raeken, Freddie Benson/Spencer Shay, Corey Bryant/Mason Hewitt, Mason Greyback/Justin Russo/Max Russo, Seamus Finnigan & Neville Longbottom & Harry Potter & Dean Thomas & Ron Weasley, Magnus Bane/Simon Lewis/Alec Lightwood/Raphael Santiago/Jace Wayland, Nick Jonas/Cameron Dallas, Ethan Dolan/Grayson Dolan, Jake Puckerman/Noah Puckerman, Simon Lewis/Raphael Santiago, Jeff Atkins/Clay Jensen, Clay Jensen/Tony Padilla, Clay Jensen/Alex Standall, Montgomery de la Cruz/Clay Jensen, Zach Dempsey/Clay Jensen, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Harry Potter/Fred Weasley/George Weasley, Dick Grayson/Jaime Reyes, Jaime Reyes/Roy Harper/Kon-El | Conner Kent/Wally West, Mason Greyback/Justin Russo, Aang/Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Justin Foley/Clay Jensen, Danny Mahealani/Stiles Stilinski, Danny Mahealani/Jackson Whittemore, Liam Dunbar/Mason Hewitt, Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Nick Jonas/Shawn Mendes

Additional Tags: Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Edgeplay, Frottage, First Time, Massage, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Collars, Sexual Slavery, Gangbang, Biting, Scratching, Marking, Claiming, beach, Pool, Sauna, Scars, Nipple Piercings, Tattoos, Car Sex, Movie Theater Sex, Public Sex, Sex Pollen, Fuck Or Die, Hate Sex, primal, Leather Kink, Finger Sucking, Dirty Talk, Deepthroating, Choking, Police Uniforms, Office Sex, Caught, Sex Tapes, Hand Jobs, Gloves, Wall Sex, Clothed Sex, Peeping, Clothed male/naked male, Double Penetration, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, Incubus Dean Thomas, Orgy, Moresomes, Circle Jerk, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bukkake, Cum Bath, Creampie, Felching, hot-dogging, Twincest, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Nipple Play, Incest, Sibling Incest, Strip Tease, Strength Kink, Cock Warming, Pet Play, Licking, Begging, Teasing, Glory Hole, cum dump, Breeding, Bad Dragon, Dildos, Oviposition, ass worship, Rimming, Face-Sitting, double-sided dildo, Stomach Bulge, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Anal Fingering, Knotting, Fisting, Triple Penetration, Ritual Sex, Blood and Gore, Loss of Virginity, Docking, Sounding, Cum Inflation, Shoe Kink, Socks, Foot Fetish, Smegma, Suits, Ties & Cravats, Watersports, Shower Sex, Wetting, Armpit Kink, Scent Kink, Sweat, Gym Sex, Latex, Jock Straps, Overstimulation, Body Worship, Breathplay, Ice Play, Wax Play, Bathing/Washing, Aftercare, Sleepy Cuddles

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2JzLoVR

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

The Sad Life of the Last McKinnon Heir: Shock

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/TNqgVt8

by Whymeohwhy

Harry Potter was not the child of prophecy, instead the silent baby of Marlene McKinnon and Bruce Wayne is. What will happen when a child raised in Gotham is confronted with self-righteous wizards, well who knows, but those wizards are apparently gonna fuck around and find out

Words: 1232, Chapters: 1/17, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of The Sad Life of the Last McKinnon Heir

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage

Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Marlene McKinnon, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon, Clark Kent, Harry Potter, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), James Potter, Lily Evans Potter, Severus Snape, Theodore Nott, Charlie Weasley, Percy Weasley, Bill Weasley, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass, Rolf Scamander, Tracey Davis (Harry Potter), Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Marcus Flint, Oliver Wood

Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Penelope Clearwater/Marcus Flint/Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood

Additional Tags: there are too many characters to list, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Jason Todd is a menace to society, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, there are too many things to tag, Public Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Public Oral, Porn Watching, Hogwarts First Year

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/TNqgVt8

[tomorrow-youmightbedead]

i feel like doing a rant about the movie version of the weasley family

let’s start with the oldest: bill

first of all, what the fuck is movie!bill????? he does not even remotely resemble the “cool” earring wearing ponytail book!bill that harry describes. second, it may not have been INCREDIBLY pertinent to the story, but they could have made his confrontation with fenrir WAY more dramatic than they did, i mean he was described as being totally disfigured in the books and in the movies you can like, barely see anything on his face. (not to mention that glossing over that storyline was a great loss of character development for fleur and mrs weasley but that’s a different rant)

moving on the the non-existent charlie

how hard would it have been to keep charlie in the fucking goblet of fire scene with the dragons...like, u could find any redhead to play the role and have him say a couple lines...u already cut him out of philosophers stone u couldn’t give him this one scene????? charlie seems like such a cool character that we just completely missed out on

PERCY (and i’ll touch on fred and george here who were probably done the most justice out of the weasley family)

okay guys cutting the whole falling out between percy and the rest of the family really bothers me because again with the losing out on character development but the main reason being i think it could have made fred’s death far more tragic. not only did fred not even get the dignity of having an onscreen death, but cutting the making up of percy and the other weasleys would have made it that much more heartbreaking when fred died. i know so fucking much was cut from ootp but this seemed like one of those things that would have been worth keeping in because it gave the weasley family as a whole more depth and insight into their family dynamics

ron fucking weasley!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

let me start by mentioning a few posts that say things better than me (this last one is my favourite and also discusses hermione’s movie portrayal)

honestly if you read those posts there’s not much else for me to say except the number one most frustrating thing they did to ron in the films was to remove his reactions to hermione being tortured at malfoy manor. i just don’t understand what the benefit was of cutting it??? like someone explain why they didn’t keep it in i honestly can’t think of a reasonable excuse.

and lastly but certainly not least, ginny weasley

my homegirl. my fave. my gal. here’s some more posts of why book!ginny is awesome and movie!ginny is literally awful.

movie!ginny is like a piece of wet cardboard. she has no depth, no personality outside of harry, is incredibly undeveloped, is often only used to further harry or ron’s plots or character arcs, and i know this isn’t the filmmakers faults but bonnie wright and daniel radcliffe could not have worse chemistry which makes harry and ginny’s romance (which is also extremely underdeveloped) fall incredibly flat. she is one of many severely underdeveloped female characters in the harry potter films (again, another rant for another day)

arthur and molly are pretty okay in the movies, and aside from what i said about fred above the only thing i really miss about fred and george in the books is their incredibly grand departure from hogwarts.