#abraxan

[carewyncromwell]

“Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around.”

x~x~x~x

HPHM Cardverse developed by @ariparri​​​ ❤️

x~x~x~x

When Carewyn Cromwell started her first year of university in the Kingdom of Hearts, it took a while before she made any friends. When she was young, she’d always stayed rather close to home, preferring the company of her brother and mother over just about anyone else. The few close friends Carewyn had made outside of her own family when she was young she stayed in touch with through letters, since they all lived in the Land of Clubs or the Diamond Empire. As fate would have it, however, the two closest friends Carewyn made at the university of Hearts ended up being two of her most faithful courtiers, once she became Queen of Hearts. The first of these was the future Ace of Hearts, Barnaby Lee.

By all accounts, Barnaby Lee shouldn’t have made it into such an illustrious university. His academic record was hardly promising. But what Barnaby lacked in scholarly knowledge he made up for in both physical and emotional strength -- his talent for horseback riding, as well as multiple types of combat, had managed to secure him a full scholarship from the previous Ace of Hearts, with the thought that he could excel as part of the military. Barnaby’s family all having been respected, but fearsome military men themselves didn’t hurt either.

When Barnaby made it to university, though, he found himself a bit out of place. Having been raised largely at home by his neglectful parents and grandmother, he really had very little experience making friends. Everyone seemed to expect that he’d be just like the rest of his family, and so either kept their distance out of fear or encouraged him to join all the university’s sports teams and challenge all of his fellow classmates to duels. Barnaby himself didn’t mind this too much, since truthfully he did love competing against admirable opponents and he really liked being praised when he won...but it was still kind of lonely after class and practice everyday, having to eat meals alone.

It was in mid-October that Carewyn and Barnaby first collided. Barnaby had just finished up with a duel with a much older student and was feeling pretty pleased with himself -- his lip was bleeding and his shoulder was bruised, but it’d been an invigorating duel, and just about everyone was cheering for him after the fact. Even as he walked off across the grounds by himself, there was a slight pep to his step.

Around lunchtime, Barnaby would often go to the orchard just north of the university grounds to pick some apples. He would then bring a bag of them back with him to school so he could feed the land and winged horses kept in the university’s stable.

Barnaby had just about made it to the stable when he caught sight of a familiar white shape beside the back stairs of the library. One of the horse racing team’s steeds was standing next to a young lady sitting primly on the stairs. She was dressed kind of austerely in a high-necked white shirt and a long corseted black skirt -- even the hair ribbon in her ginger ponytail was black. The lack of color was grim and strange, compared to how most people at school dressed. Similarly strange was what was at her side -- a rather beat-up looking metal box decorated with chipped green paint, out of which she’d fetched what looked like a canteen, a teabag, and some sugar cubes.

Something stirred in Barnaby’s memory. Didn’t he hear people talking about an exchange student from the Country of Spades? Cromwell, Barnaby thought they called her. He remembered some of the girls who came to watch him at the most recent Abraxan Derby meet claimed she was such a snob that she never attended any parties -- probably because her entire wardrobe was made up of ugly black dresses that made her look like a spinster.

Seems a bit mean of them to say, Barnaby couldn’t help but think as the young woman offered some sugar cubes to the white horse. She doesn’t look that snobby to me.

With a broad smile, he strode right up to her.

“It looks like Snowball likes you!”

Carewyn looked up, startled. Her eyes darted from the horse to back up at the muscled young man.

“Snowball...then he’s yours,” she surmised.

Her gaze lingered critically on his cut lip.

“Not really,” said Barnaby. “I mean, yeah, I ride him during horse races. The stable’s staff named him Champion, but I’d started calling him Snowball long before finding that out, so I’ve just kept doing it. He seems to like it a lot better than ‘Champion’ -- ”

Indeed, Snowball the horse had trotted right over to Barnaby, pressing his nose affectionately into his cheek. The muscled man laughed as he clapped the horse gently on the flank.

“Hey, buddy!” he said brightly.

The horse immediately set about sniffing at Barnaby’s shirt and pockets, shoving up against him roughly. Barnaby only proceeded to laugh harder, even as Snowball nipped at his clothes.

“Hey, hey! Don’t worry, I didn’t forget...”

He fumbled with the bag on his back, reaching into it to fetch out an apple. Snowball snatched it up in his teeth and gobbled it up eagerly. Carewyn’s expression softened noticeably as she watched.

“He’s a beautiful horse,” she said admiringly.

Barnaby grinned. “Yeah, he is. He’s actually the youngest, you know -- barely five years old. But he’s a natural on the race course, if you can convince him to let you ride him...”

He cocked his head a bit to the left like a curious dog.

“I’m...kind of surprised he let you feed him,” he admitted sheepishly. “Snowball’s always been a little wary of strangers.”

“I noticed,” said Carewyn. “It took me some time to get close to him, when I found him grazing in the garden just outside the library.”

Barnaby blinked. “Outside the library?”

“Yes -- I suppose whoever was in the stable last must’ve left the door unlatched or something and he took the chance to escape.”

Barnaby considered this, before his lips upturned in a smile. “Yeah, suppose so...it’s a good thing you knew how to handle him!”

Carewyn shook her head modestly. “It wasn’t that hard. I had to calm down a lost Abraxan once before...and all any animal really needs is some kindness.”

Her eyes flickered back down to Barnaby’s cut lip again.

“...You’re bleeding,” she said after a moment.

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Barnaby said with a smile. “I was in a duel -- swords at first, but he got a good hit on me with his fist after I disarmed him. Don’t worry, though -- I got him pretty good too, even if I lost!”

Carewyn didn’t look the least bit reassured by that. Her lips came together in a thin line. Then, after what looked like a moment of thought, her jaw set determinedly and she plunged a hand into her ugly metal lunchbox. She fetched out a knitted napkin and immediately unscrewed her canteen, pouring some of the hot water onto the white cloth.

“Here.”

Barnaby blinked in surprise as the smaller girl immediately set about cleaning the injury.

“Oh -- ah -- you really don’t have to do that!” he said. “It doesn’t hurt...”

“It may not hurt, but you are hurt,” Carewyn shut him down very firmly. “And no one should have to walk around with blood on their face. It should at least be cleaned, if not properly bandaged.”

Barnaby watched her work, faintly stunned, even as she refused to look him in the eye. Instead she kept her eyes locked on her wet napkin cleaning his chin.

“What were you even doing dueling anyone in the first place?” she muttered, sounding very disapproving. “You could’ve been hurt far worse -- that other person could’ve been hurt far worse too...”

Barnaby suddenly felt incredibly sheepish. “Well, uh...we were just dueling, you know? He challenged me after class because one of our classmates was talking to me and he didn’t want me talking to her...reckon he was just trying to impress her or something, but I like dueling with swords, so I thought it’d be fun...”

“Fun?” Carewyn recurred sharply. “How is it fun to cause others pain? How is it fun, to gamble your life away in the name of showing off? How is it fun to play at war like it’s all just some silly little game?”

Her brows were knit tightly over her eyes as she withdrew her hand at last, tucking the soiled napkin away in her lunchbox.

“You could’ve both been seriously hurt,” she said, her voice becoming much quieter and more solemn.

Barnaby tilted his head curiously as he trailed a hand along Snowball’s flank.

“You really don’t like fighting, do you, Carewyn?”

Carewyn was startled when Barnaby called her by name, since she hadn’t given it formally to him. She recovered quickly, though.

“No, I don’t,” she said lowly.

“Why?”

Carewyn looked up at him. Rather than challenging, his voice and face came across as oddly innocent -- sincerely curious.

“Well...” she said slowly, as Barnaby slowly lowered himself down onto the step next to her, “back home...in the Country of Spades...things aren’t as stable as they are here.”

“Because your king was assassinated?” asked Barnaby. He’d heard his uncle Cecil talk about it once.

Carewyn folded her hands in her lap, her gaze falling down to them rather than up at Barnaby.

“Right. Since King Coby’s death, the Country of Spades has been run by our Ace, Patricia Rakepick. She leads the army of Spades. And there are those in the army that...well...are very interested in the prospect of war. Or at least, they’re interested in the industry of it -- the financial boom the production of weapons could provide, however temporary. They’re interested in lining their own pockets and chasing glory for themselves, rather than protecting the innocent or dealing with any of the consequences.”

Her blue eyes grew darker.

“Fighting and war aren’t a game there,” she said softly. “They’re a nightmare -- one many of us pray won’t come to life.”

With a soft murr, Snowball brought his nose up beside Carewyn’s cheek -- she gently stroked his mane to soothe him. Barnaby’s face grew sadder as his gaze fell down to his feet.

“It sounds like it must’ve been scary to live there,” he murmured.

Carewyn glanced up at him out the side of her eye. After a moment, she offered him a brave smile.

“Maybe right now...but it won’t always be. Once my family joins me here in the Kingdom of Hearts and I graduate, I plan to change things. Laws might be different from land to land, but there are ordinances that apply to all of Cinderhaven. Once I’ve learned everything I can, I want to help those people back home get to safety too...do it so legally that no one can make them worry about retaliation.”

Barnaby’s eyes brightened a bit hearing this. “Really? Wow -- that’s awesome!”

Carewyn couldn’t bite back a smile despite herself. The encouragement, however boyish and uninformed, was vindicating.

“It’s the right thing to do,” she said firmly. “And well...I want to be happy -- my family to be happy. I don’t want us to look over our shoulders our whole lives, forever in fear. No one else should have to, either.”

Barnaby nodded. “Yeah! I mean, no, they shouldn’t.”

His face spread into a slightly wider, but softer smile.

“You know...it’s really wrong, what people say about you. You’re not snobby at all -- you’re nice, really nice. And smart, too.”

His green eyes sparkled as he took hold of her shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re here with us, and not back there. Now we can protect you! And if the Ace of Spades tries to take you or your family away, well...now you’re one of us! So if she wants you, she’ll have to contend with all of us first!”

Carewyn blinked, taken aback by the earnest smile on the other boy’s face. Her eyes fell down to his hand on her shoulder uncomfortably.

“Thank you,” she said with a weak smile. “But I don’t want anyone fighting for me -- I’m hardly worth that, and I don’t want anyone hurt on my account.”

Barnaby, however, looked unfazed. “Hey, captains never stand by and let innocent people get hurt! And I know I’ll be a captain one day -- everyone says so.”

He grinned at her. “So if anyone tries to take a swipe at you, it’ll be up to Future-Captain Barnaby Lee to protect you!”

Snowball gave a loud snort.

“Oh, yeah -- and Lieutenant Snowball, of course!” added Barnaby brightly.

Carewyn bit her lip to try to hold in a laugh. “Well, thank you, Captain. But I don’t intend to sit demurely to the side -- if you aim to protect me, I’m going to look after you too.”

She reached into her dress pocket and fetched out some black thread with a needle poked through the spool.

“To start with, I’m going to fix that rip in the back of your shirt. You should ice up that bruise on your shoulder too, when you get home...”

~*~

Several years later, Carewyn was appointed as the new Queen of Hearts. Not long after that, on Carewyn’s recommendation, Barnaby was appointed the new Ace of Hearts and leader of the Kingdom’s army. As Ace, Barnaby was vigilant and passionate in his protection of his King and Queen, and Diego and Carewyn in return expressed a lot of fondness and support for Barnaby. This didn’t mean that whenever Barnaby threw himself in front of Carewyn to protect her that she didn’t fuss over him like a mother duck every single time.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Carewyn murmured, her voice betraying some anxiety despite the stoicism of her face, “he could’ve hurt you -- ”

“But...but he was trying to threaten you, Carewyn ,” Barnaby said, his earnest, boyish face scrunched up in righteous anger. “He pulled a knife out of his belt -- I’m pretty sure he wanted to point it at your neck -- ”

“I’m not afraid of cowards like Shiratori,” Carewyn said coldly.

Barnaby smiled slightly. “I know, but...well, he’s gonna go crawling on back to the Queen of Spades, isn’t he? I don’t want Rakepick thinking that I’m going to let any of her people hurt the Queen of Hearts on my watch!”

“Nor do I,” said Diego with an approving nod. The King of Hearts glanced at his counterpart a bit more solemnly. “Do you think challenging the Queen of Spades’s courage in front of her ‘messenger’ might persuade her to come talk to us in person?”

“That was the goal,” conceded Carewyn, “but I’m not holding out much hope it’ll work. However proud of a person Rakepick is, she’s not hot-blooded. She’s far too calculating to just barrel in to protect her own pride.”

She sighed tiredly.

“I’ll have to continue my ‘negotiations’ through the written word,” she said begrudgingly. “If I’m able to coax Rakepick to meet with us on neutral ground, though, I’d like you to be our escort, Barnaby.”

Barnaby grinned, his hand resting over his chest as he bowed. “I’ll be right beside you, Majesties!”

[sinceileftyoublog]

Baroness, Portrayal of Guilt, & GOZU Live Show Review: 6/9, House of Blues, Chicago

From left to right: Baroness' Gina Gleason, John Dyer Baizley, Sebastian Thomson, & Nick Jost

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Even if it wasn't nearly as critically acclaimed as their first five records, Baroness' sixth album STONE (Abraxan Hymns) was a showcase for the long-running metal band's versatility. At the House of Blues on Sunday night, they played only a few songs from it, but each choice reflected that song-to-song differentiation while blending in seamlessly with the rest of the set. From the time they launched into "Last Word", lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist John Dyer Baizley and lead guitarist and backing vocalist Gina Gleason showed off their vocal harmonies, an impressive feat for a band as loud as they are. Nick Jost's limber bassline and Sebastian Thomson's slow-rolling drums buoyed the burning "Under the Wheel". And the band came together beautifully on "Beneath the Rose", whose performance exemplified a Baroness show in 2024. That is, you had Thomson introducing the song with a drum solo, Gleason beckoning the crowd to cheer him on, Thomson delving into something unexpected--a pseudo disco beat--before the rest of the band blasted along, Baizely's vocals occupying the guttural end of the spectrum. In other words, these days, the quartet is simply psyched to play, loose, but still able to turn it on, on a dime.

Gleason & Baizley

Gleason, Jost, & Baizley

Baizley & Jost

Baizley

Jost

Gleason & Baizley

Indeed, the current lineup of Baroness has been playing together for 7 years at this point, and they expertly work the crowd while still finding room for improvisation. They've penciled in "A Horse Called Golgotha" third, which feels like when a MLB manager finds their perfect leadoff hitter. On Sunday, after two new songs, the Blue Record cut's instantly recognizable introductory riff primed the crowd to ramp up the intensity and get ready for a barrage of classics. "March to the Sea" was still an absolute banger, while "Green Theme" was as brawny and beautiful as ever, its skyward riffs and muscly drums trading barbs with subtle picking that was as worthy of Crazy Horse as it was metal. On emotional Purple highlight "Chlorine & Wine", Thomson's drums cascaded like a thunderstorm, while Gleason's guitarwork during the song's breakdown twinkled with the hum of Midwest emo. Gleason, in particular, remained a thrill to watch, at one point during "Shock Me" ripping a guitar solo while making a face like even she couldn't believe the sounds coming from her axe.

Baroness

Baroness

Baroness

Baizley

Portrayal of Guilt's Matt King

Portrayal of Guilt's James Beveridge

Portrayal of Guilt's Alex Stanfield

Opening for Baroness was two bands who, fittingly, mirror the harsher and more melodic sides of Baroness: Austin black metal giants Portrayal of Guilt and Boston stoner metal outfit GOZU. Coming in, I was particularly excited to see the former; their twin 2021 records both made SILY's year-end albums list, while last year's inventive Devil Music (Run for Cover) consisted of half the usual metal and half fucked-up chamber music. Of course, there were no classical stringed instruments to be found on stage, but Portrayal of Guilt used the effects at their disposal--sampled vocals, pulsating synth bass, a pedal board--to create an atmosphere that was just as disorienting as it was cathartic. Live, they were able to stay faithful to the layered cacophony of their studio material while being dynamic enough to be captivating. Matt King's vocals alternated between icy scream and jarring growl on "When Angels Come to Die". He even treated us to a deadpan baritone on the motorik breakdown of "Burning Hand". James Beveridge's drum work was breathtaking throughout, whether imbuing "Devil Music" with blast beats or more subtly shifting into syncopated post-punk on CHRISTFUCKER'S "Fall From Grace". King's guitar tones, too, were impressive, atonally twangy when introducing "The Sixth Circle" and chirping on set closer "The Crucifixion", the latter of which could have passed for Fugazi were you to take away the vocals. There was a small portion of the crowd there to see Portrayal of Guilt--you could tell by the merch-clad mosh pit goers--so when King asked whether anyone in the crowd had ever heard of them, he was happy at the rapturous response. "Respect to Baroness," King said before the set ended. "You don't often see a band like them have a band like us on tour with them."

Portrayal of Guilt

King

GOZU's Seth Botos and Marc Gaffney

From left to right: GOZU's Doug Sherman, Joseph Grotto, Botos, & Gaffney

And then there's GOZU, who, at times, resemble the stoner metal you're used to, and other times, inject a subgenre that can be slow and stoic with humor and show. They performed mostly from last year's Remedy (Metal Blade), chugging standouts like "Tom Cruise Control", "Joe Don Baker", and "Rambo 2". (If you think those song titles are funny, check out lead vocalist and guitarist Marc Gaffney's Sleep-style baseball shirt that said "Cher".) "The Magnificent Muraco" saw epic wordless vocal harmonies from Gaffney and drummer Seth Botos, while lead guitarist Doug Sherman supplied meaty riffs. Despite how much GOZU's instrumental style is rife for drawn-out jams, they played a lean set, to the point, emphasizing the blues stylings of "Bald Bull" from The Fury of a Patient Man and the deft tempo changes of set closer "CLDZ". That's not to say Sherman didn't rip virtuosic, stadium-sized solos--he did--but GOZU, like Baroness and Portrayal of Guilt, were in control, purposeful in every move.

Grotto

Sherman

[metalomagnetic]

Missing scene from 'It runs in the blood'

It takes place after Arcturus' death, but before Helix is born.

This was not supposed to ever be published, but people on discord convinced me, so forgive me if it's a bit rough! Just a fun little scene with the kids.

***

“Father?” Orion comes barreling into the office, and the rest trail after him.

“Knock, first,” Sirius reminds him.

“Yes, Draco. Knock.” Lucius fixes Draco with a stern look.

“Alright,” both boys agree, but judging by their tone, they don’t take it seriously.

“I tried to stop them,” Harry offers, but his grin suggests otherwise.

“Father,” Orion goes on. “When you die, I’ll get all the gold and the houses, right?”

Lucius chokes on his firewhiskey.

Sirius blinks. “Where is this coming from?”

“Daddy!” Marvolo looks so upset. “Orion says I’ll be poor! That I won’t get anything, because I’m just the spare.”

Lucius is trying hard not to laugh beside Sirius.

“What is going on?”

“I’m picking a husband,” Elara explains. “And I want to marry the rich one.”

“That’s me, not Marvolo,” Orion shouts. “Tell her, Father!”

Sirius opens his mouth, closes it again, then glares at Lucius, who starts laughing. 

“That’s why Malfoys stop at one son,” he whispers.

“You didn’t even want to play with her,” Sirius reminds his sons. Just an hour earlier, they were all having tantrums that they don’t want to pay with the girls.

“Well, no, but if we are forced to play, then I’ll be the husband, obviously,” Orion says. “It’s the most important position in the game, so I’ll have it.”

“No, stupid, the bride is the most important,” Elara tells him, rolling her eyes. “It’s my big day, I’m the most important.”

"Why don’t you go ask Astrid, yeah? She’ll sort you out,” Sirius says, trying to shoo them away.

“She doesn't know about gold,” Orion dismisses the idea. “So, tell her I’m the richest one.”

“I’m the richest one,” Draco intervenes. “When Father dies, I’ll be richer than Orion.”

“That’s lovely, Draco,” Lucius says.

Draco shrugs. “And,” he adds, looking at Elara. “I’m also the oldest. And the tallest. You should marry me.”

“Just you wait, Draco! I’ll grow up taller!” Orion hisses, enraged. 

“I’m already rich,” Harry points out. “I don’t have to wait for anyone to die. I already own my vault, right, Sirius?”

“That’s right,” Sirius agrees. 

“Father, why does Harry already have a vault?” Draco whines. “That’s not fair!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Orion snaps. “I’ll be Head of house Black, that trumps everything.”

All the boys start fighting.

“I am the Head of House Black,” Sirius says, loudly. “I’m the tallest, the oldest, and the richest-”

“Actually,” Lucius says. “I’m the oldest and the richest.”

Elara glances between them. “Are you?”

“I am,” Lucius assures her, with a smile.

“Hmm.” She tilts her head, but then she shrugs. “You’re not a Black, though.”

Lucius rolls his eyes, mutters something about incest.

“So,” she adds, turning to Sirius. “You’re right, Uncle. You’re the best choice- I’ll marry you.”

“NO! ME!” Orion stomps his foot on the ground.

“I’m flattered,” Sirius says, “but I’m already married, sweetheart.”

Elara waves it away. “It’s only pretend wedding. For the day. I’m only doing it so my new husband can buy me a wedding gift. And I bet you can buy more stuff than Orion and the rest. It’s settled. I’ll marry you. Come, we’ll have the ceremony and then you can give me the gifts.”

“Wait, wait!” Lucius says. “You need to negotiate first. Make sure you get a good deal.”

“Oh,” Elara falls pensive. “But I don’t know how to do that- contracts. And Daddy is at work-”

“I’ll help you,” Lucius offers.

“Fine. Uncle Sirius, I want one Abraxan pony, three dresses, and a baby dragon. Oh and two dolls! One of those new ones we saw in Rome, that can talk!”

“How about ten dolls, and six dresses, but you drop the dragon and the pony?” Sirius suggests, lifting her into his arms.

“Alright,” she agrees.

“And that is why you should never get married without your father’s approval,” Lucius says. “Sirius is ripping you off.”

“Regina,” Orion yells, when they all reach the living room. “Regina, I’ll marry you. Father stole Elara.”

“I don’t want to get married,” Regina says. “It’s Elara’s wedding, not mine!”

“You’ll get dolls out of it,” Orion says, impatient. “Here.” He takes off his necklace and gives it to Regina. “I’m sure it’s expensive, at least it would buy you a doll.”

“Fine, then,” Regina agrees, tossing her red hair over her shoulder.

“Found a husband,” Elara announces from Sirius’ arms. “Don’t worry, Astrid, I’ll give him back after he gives me the gifts.”

“I thought the plan was to get one of the boys,” Evy says with a laugh.

“Someone,” Sirius glares at Narcissa, “taught her she has to pick the richest.”

“You picked badly, in that case,” Narcissa says, shamelessly. “Lucius is the richest, Elara.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“Sirius, language!”

“Apparently, I am worth nothing because I’m not a Black,” Lucius says, sitting beside his wife.

“Then you should have picked Draco,” Narcissa admonishes, when Sirius hands Elara over, so she can have her dress charmed. “He’s part Black and he will be very rich, indeed.”

“I’ll marry Draco next year,” Elara decides, trying to twist her hair around her finger.

Orion makes an infuriating sound.

“What?” Elara glares at him. “You picked Regina!”

“Alright,” Sirius says, loudly, when another fight is about to start. “Who is going to be my best man? Harry?”

“Yes, please!”

“Marvolo, you are mine,” Orion orders.

“No way! You told me you’ll disown me and I’ll have to live under a bridge when you’ll be Head of House.”

“You told him that?” Sirius smacks Orion over the head. “You are going to get it, boy!”

“Not now, Sirius,” Regina begs. “I want to get my dolls, so after the wedding, please.”

Eventually, after Elara gets her play wedding and she makes Sirius dance with her, and then all the boys, too, everyone calms down, though Orion is still snappy with Marvolo for a while. Harry intervenes between them often, trying to placate them both.

“You best be nice and quiet,” he tells the baby, a hand over Astrid's stomach. The baby kicks. “Please, be good. I can’t take another crazy one.”

When Regulus finally returns from the Ministry, all the children have calmed down, and Evy already took her little demons back to their home.

“I got married,” Elara says, running to Regulus. “My gifts are coming tomorrow.”

“Who did you marry?” Regulus asks, letting her climb on his lap.

“Uncle Sirius. He could buy me more dolls than the others.”

Regulus snorts. “You should have consulted me first. I’d have gotten something better than dolls.”

Elara giggles. “It’s fine, next year I’ll marry Draco. You can do the contract thing and get me more stuff, then.”

Eventually, everyone but Regulus retires to bed, and Sirius enjoys the first minutes of silence in what had been a long day, even if he can hear the faint fight Orion is having with Marvolo upstairs.

“Your daughter is a menace,” he informs Regulus.“I pity the poor soul who’ll end up with her.”

Regulus frowns. “Orion can handle her.”

Sirius blinks at him. “What?”

“Well, they are getting married, aren’t they?" Regulus looks surprised that Sirius is surprised. “It’s what grandfather wanted. Everyone knows it. I thought it was settled.”

“Merlin’s cock!” Sirius stands. “You’re all fucking crazy. Stop it with the incest already! And grandfather changed his mind before he died!”

“You’re spending too much time with Lucius; you sound like him!”

“They’re not getting married, don’t be an idiot!”

“Why not?”

“Why not? For- Regulus, they’re kids!”

“Well, not now, obviously. Eventually. Where are you going?”

“Somewhere where I can find sane people!” Sirius snarls at him. “So, a muggle bar!” 

[theostrophywife]

kiss with a fist | chapter six.

masterlist 💋 chapters 💋 playlist

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: w.i.t.c.h. - devon cole

author's note: some cute soft fluff cause i'm in a tender mood.

In all your years at Hogwarts, you could count the amount of times you’ve attended a quidditch game on one hand and you wouldn't even need to utilize all of your fingers. Needless to say, you weren’t really into the rowdiness and belligerence of sporting events, but a bargain was a bargain. You were just glad to have Luna with you. Even if it meant enduring Pansy Parkinson’s presence. 

“Be nice,” Luna warned as you approached the stands. 

“I won’t bite if she doesn’t,” you murmured back. 

Luna nodded, knowing that it was the closest thing to an agreement she was ever going to get out of you. Despite your surliness, your friend seemed to brighten the minute she spotted Pansy. In a sea of blue and gold, the dark haired witch was the only one clad in green and silver. Your housemates kept exchanging wary glances at the Slytherin in their midst, but they were wise enough to keep their mouths shut. 

You watched quietly as Pansy and Luna exchanged pleasantries. While your friend was generally a bubbly person, she seemed extra giddy as she spoke. There was something about the way that she softened that convinced you to ease up on the scowls. It must have been contagious, because Pansy actually smiled and it wasn’t a derisive sneer or a smug smirk, but a genuine smile. You didn’t even know the witch was capable of it. 

Finally, she seemed to take stock of your presence. The dark haired girl jutted her chin out proudly, her aristocratic features schooled into forced neutrality. It occurred to you that Pansy probably received a similar warning to attempt decency. 

“Y/N,” she said. 

“Pansy,” you replied. 

The two of you eyed each other. Sizing up your opponent. The eagle versus the snake, claws against teeth. The staredown was purely psychological warfare. 

You squinted. Hurt her and I’ll maim you. 

The silent warning didn’t seem to offend Pansy. Instead, she gave a subtle nod of her chin and made way for you and Luna to sit. You settled in, trying not to peer down at the drop. Heights had never really been your thing. 

Pansy observed you curiously as Luna patted your arm. “Y/N’s not a big fan of heights.” 

“Oh?” Parkinson asked. 

“I generally prefer solid ground. It reduces the chances of me falling and breaking my neck.” The corner of Pansy’s mouth quirked. “What about you, Parkinson? Are you keen on flying?” 

“A bit.” 

Luna brightened. “She’s being modest. Pansy here is a very talented flyer. She’s got an Abraxan named Circe.”

“The most powerful witch to ever live,” you noted. “She used to turn men into swine.” 

“A lost art, really.” 

You smirked. “The classic femme fatale. A personification of the dangers of femininity. They always paint powerful women in a terrible light, don’t they?” 

“Perhaps it makes the men feel better about their own inadequacies.” 

“We’re always making men feel better about their inadequacies,” you answered thoughtfully. “Convenient that the myths fail to mention that Circe was one of the first pharmakis. Modern magic would not be what it is without her extensive knowledge of herbs and plants and yet she’s rarely credited in any potions books we read.”

Pansy nodded, eyeing you in amusement. “I can see why Nott has taken a liking to you.” 

You turned to Luna who immediately shook her head. Pansy laughed. “Don’t worry, Lovegood didn’t tell me a thing. She didn’t have to. Theodore never stops talking about you, you know.” 

There was no hiding the flush that crept up to your cheeks. “We’re both vying for the top spot in Slughorn’s class. I assume he has a lot to say about his competition.” 

“It’s more than that,” Pansy said. “I’ve known Theodore since birth and I’ve never seen him put this much effort into anything. He’s always been naturally talented at potions, given his mum’s background, but you challenge him. For the first time in a long time, he’s found someone who’s actually up to par. I, for one, enjoy watching you put him in his place.” 

You smiled. “I quite enjoy it too.” 

Luna looked at you, then at Pansy before a huge grin graced her lips. It was obvious that she was pleased at the sight of her best friend and her…potential more-than-friend getting along.

The game started not long after. Your comprehension of the rules were rudimentary at best, but Luna made sure to explain as best as she could. From what you gathered, there were four positions: seeker, beater, chaser, and keeper. The chasers attempted to score as many goals as they could by throwing the quaffle through the posts, which the keepers guarded. The beaters used the bludgers to disrupt the other players. The seeker, on the other hand, needed to catch the golden snitch. All while floating on a broom hundreds of feet in the air. 

This match, Pansy explained, had been anticipated to be the most brutal of the season. The enmity between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins translated very clearly on the field. While there had always been a divide of support between the other houses, you could tell that the majority of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff stands were cheering for the Gryffindors. 

You wondered how that made the Slytherins feel. Three houses against one. After the war, Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic droned on and on about the importance of unity and reconciliation. Professor Slughorn even delivered a speech during your first potions class, but the disparity between words and actions were painfully obvious. 

The rest of the school still mistrusted the Slytherins. If any of them cared, you wouldn’t have been able to tell. Especially not as they played. The quidditch team was deadly. You watched as green and silver robes whizzed past, familiar names sprawled on the jerseys. Malfoy, Zabini, Riddle, Berkshire, Warrington, Rosier, and Nott. 

Theo winked as he flew past your portion of the stands. You rolled your eyes, but held your breath as he careened towards one of the goal posts. Ron Weasley stood guard, squinting suspiciously at Theo. The flash of the quaffle was too fast for your eyes to follow, but it sliced the air all the same, slipping through an opening above Ron’s shoulder. The redhead cursed as Theo gave him a mocking bow. 

Pansy was the lone witch in your section to cheer for the Slytherins. Luna joined her in solidarity when the crowd grew quiet. Suspicious glances were cast in your direction, which you rebuffed with a menacing glare. They all found something else to look at rather quickly. 

Displeasure rippled over the crowd as the Slytherins kept scoring. Theo was an unstoppable force. Warrington and Riddle flanked him at each side, throwing bludgers at anyone who attempted to thwart his efforts. The other two chasers, Berkshire and Zabini, circled around them in an aerial formation that confused the opposing team. The Gryffindors grew increasingly frustrated when Evangeline Rosier kept rebuffing their attempts to score. 

Both teams played well, but the Slytherins were ruthless, tactical, and efficient. They used the opposing team’s weaknesses against them. The Gryffindors tended to be over reactive and Theo used it to his advantage. He baited them into making rash plays, which left openings for him and the other chasers to exploit. 

By the end of the game, it was Berkshire who scored the winning goal. The discrepancy between the cheers and booing was insurmountable, but Pansy didn’t seem to care. She cheered for the team louder than anyone. As the win was formally announced, you heard murmurs coming from below you. 

“Stupid Death Eater bitch.” 

From the corner of your eye, you saw Pansy tense. Luna’s mouth hung agape as she wheeled around to identify the foul mouthed culprit. You were quicker. 

“What did you just say?” you asked in a deathly quiet voice.

The conversations around you stopped as you faced Romilda Vane. The smug faced witch crossed her arms, her scarlet and gold scarf billowing in the wind as she looked up at the three of you. 

“You heard me,” Romilda said in a haughty voice. “Her father was one of the Dark Lord’s staunchest supporters. As were the Malfoys and Notts. Not to mention Riddle. How he was allowed back at school is a mystery to me. They should all be in Azkaban.” 

Your ears began to ring. The crowd parted as you descended the bleachers, bringing you face to face with Romilda. “I wasn’t aware that you’d recently earned a place in the Wizengamot. For all your prattling, you’d think you were the Chief Warlock.” 

She cowered under your glare, but doubled down as she looked towards her friends. “I’m only saying what everyone else is thinking. As far as I’m concerned, the Slytherins should be punished for their crimes.” 

“I hardly think you’re speaking from any moral high ground, Romilda. Didn’t you try to dose Potter with Amortentia in sixth year?”

Romilda reddened as she sputtered nonsense. The students around you snickered, but all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears. You clenched your fists so tightly that your nails dug painfully into your palms. If you hadn’t, you might’ve punched that stupid smirk right off of her face. 

But you knew that physical violence was not the answer. There were far more strategic ways to land a blow and you were an expert in this type of warfare. 

“I suppose Harry’s lucky that your potion making is about as incompetent as your critical thinking skills. Now move before I make you.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing getting tangled up with all those snakes. They’ll sink their teeth into your back the second you turn it.” 

“One of them is worth ten of you. At least the Slytherins fought to defend the castle instead of running off like a coward. They may have teeth, but at least they know how to use them. You’re all roar and no bite.” 

“You’re a bitch, Y/N.” 

You reared back, baring your teeth. “Oh you have no idea, Vane. But I’d be glad to demonstrate.” 

Romilda held her ground. For a split second, you weighed the consequences of harming a fellow student versus the satisfaction of pummeling Romilda to the ground. Luckily for the idiotic Gryffindor, Luna gently gripped you by the elbow. 

“It’s not worth it, Y/N.” 

You looked at your friend who wore an expression of concern. Beside her, Pansy didn’t say a word. She was utterly silent, almost resigned like she encountered this treatment on a daily basis. We all pay the price, Theo had said. 

Without another word, you nodded and bulldozed through Romilda as you exited the stands. It was only when the three of you reached the ground when you finally realized that you were shaking from anger. 

“Are you alright, Pans?” Luna asked, clasping Parkinson’s hand. 

Pansy shrugged. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, Luna. If I let the opinion of an airheaded twat affect my day, I’d never have a good one again.” 

“Are you sure—” Luna fretted. 

Pansy smiled gently and squeezed her hand in assurance. “Truly, I’m alright. The only thing upsetting me at the moment is that I’ve left my scarf up there running from those hags. Would you mind getting it for me, Lu?” 

Your friend still looked worried, but she nodded and made the trek back up. You and Pansy stood in silence, watching as the last of the crowd trickled out of the stands. 

“Vane had no right to say that,” you said. It came out harsher than you expected. 

“At least she had the gall to say it to my face,” Parkinson stated with a shrug. “I don’t know if that makes her brave or stupid.” 

“Gryffindors often have trouble making the distinction.” 

The dark haired witch laughed. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. As moronic as she is, Vane is right. She was only voicing the opinion of the masses."

“But you fought in the final battle. I saw you rallying the others against the Death Eaters. Romilda wasn’t even there. She didn’t even fight.”

Pansy sighed. “A lot of good that did. I had to watch my friends duel against their own parents and yet this entire school still mistrusts us. I suppose I can’t blame them. The majority of the Dark Lord’s followers were produced by our house.”

“Not all Slytherins are bad. The world isn’t so black and white,” you said adamantly. “Most of us operate in the gray areas, whether we admit it or not. The only difference is that you lot don’t try to hide it.” 

“Yes, but a snake is a snake. Even when we shed our skin, they still see deception when they look at us.” 

“And you’re willing to just accept that?” 

Parkinson gave you a pointed look. What choice did she have? What choice did any of them have? 

After a beat of silence, you cleared your throat. “Are you sure you’re alright? Luna’s worried.” 

“I assure you, being villainized isn’t anything new to me. I suppose that’s why I named my horse after Circe," Pansy mused thoughtfully. "It’s better for them to believe that I’m some sort of evil sorceress than to realize that I am more shackled by my circumstances than I could ever be at Azkaban. My family name is a collar around my neck, waiting to choke me at any moment, but they’re so blinded by their own misconceptions that all they see are my teeth. I prefer it that way.”

“Oderint dum metuant.”

"Let them hate, as long as they fear." A faint smile bloomed on Pansy’s lips. "That’s awfully Slytherin of you to say. Are you sure you’re in the right house, Y/N?”

You chuckled. A beat of silence followed as understanding passed between you. Perhaps you had more in common with Pansy Parkinson than you thought. 

When Luna returned, the two of them tried to convince you to join them at the common room party, but you declined. You weren’t really in the mood to be around people. 

“You two go ahead. I’ll catch up later.” 

As the sun set over the school grounds, you found yourself at the Black Lake. Dusk tinged the horizon with pink and purple and the fluffy white clouds hung low enough to kiss the dark water. You settled at the end of the dock and dipped your toes into the lake, watching as the motion made ripples across the surface. Maybe it was unwise to linger here given that the lake was home to the merpeople and the giant squid, but they would be far in the depths and you were honestly too knackered to care. 

Sighing, you pulled out a silver flask from your robes. You had initially brought it for the after party, but it would’ve been a shame to let the firewhisky go to waste. 

“Illegal contraband?” A familiar voice teased just as the wood gave way beside you. Theo bumped his shoulder against yours as he sat. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Y/N.”

“Yeah, well maybe your idiotic tendencies are rubbing off on me.” 

“I’d like to rub more than just my tendencies on you.” 

You rolled your eyes and handed him the flask. “Just fucking drink, Theodore.” 

He grinned before taking a swig. You chuckled at the face he made from the burn of the Ogden’s. “That is straight up liquor," Theo remarked through his coughing fit. "You're out of control, diavolina. Should I be concerned?”

“We’re celebrating,” you said. “At least you should be. That was quite a win out there. I didn’t expect you to be so….efficient.” 

“Careful, Y/N. That was almost a compliment.” 

You shrugged. “To be fair, I haven’t been to a game in years. You could’ve been absolutely rubbish and I’d still think it was a feat that you managed to stay seated on that broom.” 

“Well, it is a pretty important component of quidditch. Did you at least attempt to enjoy yourself?” 

“It was a brutal game. There’s a lot more strategy and planning that goes into quidditch than I initially thought. It’s like chess, but you’re allowed to hit people. I had a blast.” 

Theo chuckled. “I should’ve known you’d get a kick out of all that violence.” 

Warmth spread through your body as you took another swig. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating your win at the party?” 

His fingers brushed yours as you handed the flask back to him. “I’m where I want to be.” 

This time, you weren’t sure if it was the firewhisky or Theo’s presence making you flush. The two of you kept drinking in silence as you peered up at the sky. Back home in London, you never would’ve been able to see the stars this clearly. They glittered in the night sky like tiny diamonds etched through the darkness. 

“I heard about what happened earlier,” Theo said after a moment. 

You weren’t surprised. Word traveled fast around this school. “Luna told you?” 

“No. Pansy did.” He shifted, turning over to look at you. Like a moth drawn to a flame, you did too. “You did a good thing, Y/N. You stood up for Pansy. I can’t thank you enough.” 

“I was only doing what anyone else would’ve done.” 

“No. You weren’t.” Theo set the flask down. “No one else would’ve come to her defense. Pansy, she’s the strongest one out of all of us. Draco, Mattheo, and I, we can always resort to punches when we’re insulted, but Pansy doesn’t have that option. She just has to sit there and take it. It means a lot that someone spoke up for her.”

“I did the bare minimum.”

“It still meant a lot.” 

“There’s no need to thank me for—”

Theo sighed in exasperation. “For Salazar’s sake, will you just take my gratitude without arguing?”

You bit back a smile. “Fine. I acknowledge your gratitude.” 

You downed the rest of the flask as Theo lit a cigarette. The flame from that curious Zippo flickered in the darkness as smoke filled the air.

“So,” Theo started, taking a deep inhale. “Are you ready for the slug club dinner next week? I’m not even invited to the bloody thing and yet I still know every detail thanks to McLaggen’s incessant prattling. What a twat.” 

“Cormac is kind of a twat, isn’t he?” you asked, giggling as the alcohol started taking its effect. “I heard that he kisses like a fork tongued lizard.” 

Theo’s eyes flashed. “You better not know that firsthand.” 

You wrinkled your nose. “I wouldn’t go near McLaggen’s mouth with a ten foot broom.” 

“Good. I can rest easy that you won’t be replacing me with a reptilian snogger.”

“You can rest easy either way. I’m not going to that dinner.” 

Theo paused, the cigarette hanging haphazardly from between his lips. “What do you mean you’re not going?” 

“It’s a pretty straightforward sentence, Nott. I will not be attending Professor Slughorn’s ridiculous dinner.” 

“You have to go,” he declared firmly. 

“I’m confused. Do you want me to snog the lizard or not?” 

Theo frowned. “Do not snog McLaggen unless you want me to turn him into an actual reptile.” He exhaled and smoke curled around his lips. “You can’t miss that dinner.”

“I have no interest in attending.” 

He stared at you, his gaze fixed with determination. “Is this about what Slughorn said the other day?” 

You picked at your fingers, avoiding his eyes. “It’s probably going to be boring, anyways. Just a pissing contest for us to compare our grades and achievements like we’re puppets on a string.” 

“You should still go.” 

“Why?” you asked, a bit irritated that Theo was pushing for this so hard. You would’ve thought that he of all people would understand your choice. “Why would I subject myself to be part of something that judges people based on prejudice rather than merit?”

Theo’s expression softened. “Because it’ll raise your chances of joining the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. That’s your dream, isn’t it?”

You reeled back in surprise. “How do you know about that?” 

He rolled his eyes. “You only talk about it a thousand times a day.” Theo raised his brow in challenge. “Slughorn’s one of the most influential members. If you go to the dinner, it might solidify a formal invitation.” 

Theo was right. You didn’t want him to be, but he was right. Under any other circumstance, you would’ve sabotaged and plotted and schemed for a way in. This was an opportunity to distinguish yourself from your fellow classmates, so why were you hesitating?

You knew why. You were looking right at him.

“I’ll drag you there myself if I have to,” Theo declared. 

You sighed. There was no way he was going to let this go. “Fine, I’ll think about it.” 

Theo smiled triumphantly. You kicked at the water, sending a wave across the still lake. “You know, if Slughorn knew that you were a Marchesi, he’d probably fall all over himself to recruit you. Hell, anyone would. You’re practically guaranteed a place at the Society, too.”

Theo shrugged nonchalantly. “Where would the fun be in that?” 

“I’m serious, Nott. It could open up doors for you.”

He sighed. “That’s exactly why I’ve kept the knowledge to myself. I’m tired of everyone judging me based on my family, good or bad. I want to accomplish something that’s solely mine. Not Nott, not Marchesi. Just Theo.”

“That’s uncharacteristically noble of you.”

“I told you, I’m not just a pretty face. I’m also rich, witty, intelligent, athletic, etc. Honestly, the list goes on and on.”

You snorted. “Just don’t expect humble to be part of that little myriad, Theo.”

Theo paused. The moment of silence swelled between you like an errant wave. Then, a huge smile broke out on his face. 

“What?” you asked. 

“You called me Theo.”

“Well, that is your name. Has quidditch concussed you so severely that you’ve forgotten?

He responded with an eye roll. “I’m perfectly lucid, thank you very much. Well, besides the firewhisky. I’m a little bit sloshed from that, but not sloshed enough to not notice you call me by my actual name. Not Theodore, not Nott, not twat, not oh god—”

“I get it, Theo.”

His grin grew wider. “There it is again. Theo.”

“It’s just a name, nothing special.”

“It is when you’re the one saying it.” 

“Oh, shut up.”

The satisfied smirk on his face refused to budge even as the sky grew darker. The two of you sprawled out on the dock, staring up at the sky and enjoying the comfortable silence. Theo toyed with his lighter, rubbing his thumb over the spark wheel, which caused the flame to flicker on and off.

You stared at the lighter, vision blurring from the alcohol. “Why do you have that thing?”

“I told you, Mattheo’s a little thief.” 

“No, I mean I know the reason. But I just can’t figure out why.” 

Theo scrunched his brows in confusion. “Are you sure you’re not the one concussed?” 

“Would a concussed person be able to do this?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows and slightly flipped to the side. The action made your hair come loose. 

“What in Merlin’s name am I supposed to be looking at right now?” 

“I’m obviously doing a cartwheel,” you deadpanned. “Aren’t I?” 

Theo chuckled. “You are one drunk witch, Y/N.” 

“M’not drunk.” He raised a brow. “Fine, maybe I’m a tiny bit bevved, but you’re the one avoiding my question.”

“Sorry,” Theo said rather unapologetically. “I’m a bit distracted at the moment.” 

“By what?” 

“Your hair,” he murmured softly. Theo reached out and toyed with a loose strand, twisting a long lock between his fingers. He swallowed thickly, his voice lower and huskier than it was a minute ago. “You should wear it down more often.” 

“It’s a hassle.” 

He swept it over your shoulder, knuckles brushing your cheek. “It’s beautiful.” 

Your cheeks warmed. Whether from the alcohol or his touch, you couldn’t differentiate. “Stop deflecting, Nott.” 

Theo rolled his eyes. “Relentless witch. Can’t you see I’m trying to have a moment here?” 

You gave him a pointed look. Theo sighed before handing over his lighter. Up close, you could see that the silver was worn and dented. It looked much older than you initially thought. To your surprise, Theo silently waved his wand and the lighter transformed into a heart shaped locket. 

“When my nonna gave me the grimoire, it came with this. It was Alessandra’s old locket. She treasured it more than the grimoire itself.” 

“What’s so special about it?” 

“Open it.” 

Your fingers stilled. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t get shy now, diavolina. You wanted to know and now I’m telling you.” 

You hesitated for a moment before curiosity got the best of you. The locket popped open easily. Inside was a picture of a dark haired woman standing next to a man with watercolor eyes and thick brown curls. The couple looked at each other with love and adoration in their eyes. 

“That’s Alessandra, obviously. The man was Damiano, her closest friend, the mad scientist of the village, and the cleverest muggle she’d ever met. He helped author the grimoire.” 

“I never knew that Alessandra had help with her inventions.” 

Theo nodded. “As my family intended. They didn’t approve of her relationship with Damiano, but she didn’t care. They fell madly in love and eventually married.” 

“How is it possible that no one knew about him?”

“Damiano was born with a unique illness that was incurable even with magic. Alessandra poured years of her life into finding a cure, but in the end he succumbed to it. She passed away only a year after him. My nonna said that she died of a broken heart.” Theo took the chain and traced his fingers over the picture. “They left behind two young children who were eventually raised by Alessandra’s parents. Their son and daughter grew up not knowing who their father was. The Marchesis did everything in their power to keep the knowledge to themselves. They didn’t want anyone to know that their great bloodline was tainted by a muggle.” 

Theo bowed his head in shame. He avoided your gaze, choosing to look out at the Black Lake instead. “There it is. The secret that my family has guarded for centuries. The sad part is that some of them still hold those bigoted beliefs, so when people assume the worst of me, I can’t blame them. The Marchesis, the Notts, either way you look at it, there’s bad blood coursing through my veins.” 

“That’s not true, Theo,” you said softly. “You know I don’t think that of you, right?” 

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did. Everyone else does.” 

“Well, I don’t,” you said firmly. “You said it earlier. Family isn’t all that a person amounts to. When I look at you, I don’t see a Nott or a Marchesi. I just see Theo.” 

“I don’t deserve that,” he whispered. The saddest part was that you were sure he meant it. “My great great great grandmother fell in love with a muggle and how did my family repay her for it? They blotted him out of existence.” 

The starlight caressed his forlorn expression with its silver glow, painting a heartbreaking depiction of Theo that you had never seen before. It reminded you of that day in the potions lab when he was talking about his mother. There was such an openness and vulnerability in him then that was present now as well and you realized why he looked at you the way he did that day. 

Theo hadn’t been waiting for you to give him an out. He wanted—no, he needed a friend and you had been too scared to step up then, but you weren’t now. You could be that for him. You wanted to be that for him. A friend. 

Without second guessing yourself, you reached out in the space between you and grabbed hold of his hand. Theo stared at your intertwined fingers in surprise. 

“The love between Damiano and Alessandra lives on,” you said with a small smile. “In their children and their children’s children. In…you.” 

Those watercolor eyes, the very same ones that you had grown so familiar with shone with emotion. Unlike the day in the lab, Theo didn’t put up his mask of cockiness and arrogance and you realized with a start that you didn’t want him to. 

He smiled and squeezed your hand gently. “Yes, I suppose I inherited Damiano’s affinity for cruel, brilliant witches.”

"Affinity is putting it lightly," you said teasingly. "Admit it. You're obsessed with me, Nott."

You blinked as Theo hovered over you. The weight of his body pressed against yours ignited a flame of fiendfyre in your core. He dipped his head down, his curls tickling your nose. "No, not Nott. Not Theodore. Try that again, diavolina."

You wriggled underneath him, but Theo held your hips in place. He brushed his lips against yours and smirked when you tried to kiss him. His low rumble of laughter sent shivers down your spine. "Say it. Say my name again."

"If I say it, will you stop being a tease?"

Theo kissed your neck and laughed when you pouted in response. "Only one way to find out."

"I'll knee you in the crotch if you do that again, Theo."

He grinned. "There's a good girl," Theo said rather suggestively. You fought the urge to squirm at his words. He peppered kisses along your neck, your jaw, and your cheeks while you burst into a fit of drunken giggles. "For the record, I am obsessed with you, but I think you're a little bit obsessed with me too."

"You wish, Theo."

"You're going to be the death of me," he said huskily as he unbuttoned your cardigan. Theo's eyes were full of mischief as he dipped between your breasts, sucking on your flesh and leaving marks in his wake. "But I'm willing to die a happy man, Y/N."

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[sapphiresenthiss]

Since you very much support the quite non-human/snake-like version of Voldemort, do you think he eats what normal people do, or?... It's... difficult to imagine Voldy enjoying good, old pumpkin pasties 🤔

Mmmm... Yeah. I don't think he'd enjoy a good, ol' pumpkin pasty, either, Anon 💀

Unicorn tartare, anyone? No...? And before you give me crap for not drawing a lore-accurate silver unicorn blood... Yeah, yeah, I hear you, I hear you, let's just pretend its momma was an Abraxan or something, okay? It's not a pure unicorn, it's a mutt and thus its blood is red. That's why. Not because I'm a gore-loving freak, don't you even start accusing me of that.

[oceanhcir]

𓂅 ˙ ˖ 𝐒𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐇 - INSTAGRAM PROFILE!

com: @kittybt, Abraxan, o Pegásos e Megara, a Gata!

[shootingstardraw]

Jake and Ashley Disventure Camp Hogwarts AU! (Part. 3)

JAKE (Gryffindor)

Blood status: He doesn't know exactly.

Favourite class: Potions and divination

Worst class: He could improve in defence against dark Magic.

He spends most of his time with Ashley, either helping Miriam brew potions.

Extra Facts:

Has an ExBoyfriend (didn't end well)

He witnessed when Tom almost destroyed the classroom trying to "brew a potion".

He has a BIG crush in Tom.

ASHLEY (Gryffindor)

Blood Status: "Pure"-Blood

Favourite class: Care of magical creatures, Defence against dark Magic, Flying class.

Worst class: She can improve a bit in potions.

She's the favourite candidate to be the Head girl of her generation.

She and Tom are the best at the duelling club.

Her family rears abraxans

She isn't scare to fly in a simple broom.

Gryffindor Quiditch captain! (Jake goes to her practice to support her)

Wants to take Jake and her Boyfriend Will to her farm for christmas holidays.

Extra fact:

Her boyfriend Will knitted her that hat with their house's colors as a gift to Ashley.

Part. 1 (TOM and AIDEN)

Part. 2 (JAMES)

Next part. HUNTER

[sailtomarina]

An Exchange of Pretty Faces

Hermione squealed as the Beauxbatons’ carriage appeared on the horizon, the powder blue globe led by a fleet of impressive Abraxan steeds that flew through the sky. She waited outside with a crowd of her fellow students, all of them bundled within their fur-lined red robes to stave off the winter chill.

“Hermy-own-ninny, shall I lift you on my shoulders?” Viktor teased from where he stood behind her, his large hands coming to rest on your shoulders.

“You will not!”

His chuckle caused a flush to rise along her neck and up to her cheeks. Her first and oldest friend at Durmstrang, Viktor’s teasing about her height had only increased as they got older and the difference between them widened.

“Maybe these French students vill match your stature better, kote.”

She turned to smack him on the arm, while he pretended to cower in fear at her harmless attack. Hermione ignored the glares of those around them. Jealousy and discrimination were familiar enemies at the school, something Hermione had learned from her very first year. Pureblooded ideologies ran rampant in Durmstrang’s halls, extending from students to teachers to the very foundations of the institute.  

Muggle-borns were not accepted at Durmstrang, and, normally, Hermione would have attended Hogwarts. She had been born and raised in her early years in England, but a terrible accident left her orphaned and in the care of a previously unknown magical ancestor, Hector Dagworth-Granger. The renown potioneer took to the northern territories for his research, bringing young Hermione with him.

Hermione wanted to thank whatever gods and circumstances made it so that she caught the eye of Viktor Krum, a prodigy Quidditch flier who didn’t take kindly to discrimination. It certainly wasn’t the dangerous sport that brought them together—she couldn’t stand flying and spent more time worrying about possible injuries than enjoying his games. They did share interests in Transfiguration and Ancient Runes, which was more than most of the fans who catered for Viktor’s interest could say for themselves.

“I hear some of their students count Veela in their ancestry. Isn’t that fascinating?” Hermione gushed, wondering if she’d be able to spot any of the likely suspects. Would they sprout wings, or might the Durmstrang students all be in danger of their infamous beauty?

“Perhaps, though I doubt that vill help them vin in the end.” 

Viktor referred to the entire reason for Beauxbatons journey to Durmstrang. Their month-long visit was the first of its kind in what was meant to be a friendly exchange of cultures. He had listened with amusement when Hermione likened it to Muggle exchange students. Instead of staying in a fellow student’s home, the Beauxbatons students would stay within the institute itself.

She jumped up and down trying to see over the people in front of her to catch a glimpse of the students exiting the carriage. From what she could tell, their uniforms matched the light blue hue of the carriage. She was relieved to see that someone had warned them about the time of year and made sure their cloaks were also lined with lovely white fur. Even from where she stood, she could tell they still shivered.

It wasn’t until much later after they’d followed the delegation into the castle’s banquet hall that Hermione got a chance to see one of the students far closer than she would have expected. Despite Viktor’s constant presence, she still found herself next to one of the few empty spots at their table.

“Is this seat taken?” She startled at the musical voice belonging to a boy she could easily imagine as a descendent of Veela. 

His hair, nearly white and of the finest texture she had ever seen on a boy, grew long and was tied together with a fine gold cord, allowing the ends to trail over the front of his shoulder. She might have been tempted to describe his features as too sharp, but instead felt caught by the lightness of his eyes, something else she had never before seen. They were the soft grey of her snowy owl’s wings.

“Ne. Have a seat,” answered Viktor from her other side.

The strange, beautiful boy dipped his head in gratitude and slid into place. Hermione’s face burned as she realized Viktor answered to cover her awkward staring.

“Excuse me, but are you Viktor Krum?” His eyes shone with curiosity as he looked past Hermione.

Great. Was he just another one of Viktor’s fans?

“I am.” They shook hands over her plate. Hermione had half a mind to smack hers atop theirs straight into her mashed potatoes.

“And you? What is your name?” Those pale orbs now looked curiously at her, and she was glad she hadn’t given into her impulse.

“My name’s Hermione Gr—”

“Hermione? Like in Shakespeare, or Homer?” Her name rolled off his tongue like a pleasant melody.

Her jaw dropped. This was the first time anyone had ever, ever asked about her name, and not to joke about the length, but from actual recognition.

“Shakespearean Hermione, from A Winter’s Tale. I’m surprised you knew!”

“Well, Hermione of A Winter’s Tale, I’m Draco Malfoy.”

“Draco, like the constellation?”

This time it was his turn to smile in delight at her connection. “The same! My family has a tradition of taking names from the stars.”

“Draco is a strong name,” Viktor said approvingly, causing the other boy to noticeably preen.

Hermione mustered up her courage. “I hope you don’t mind me asking…”

“Ask away.” Draco tentatively sipped at his borscht, before humming and taking several more spoonfuls.

“…but are you, by any chance, related to any Veela?”

Viktor snorted at the nonplussed look that crossed Draco’s face.

“No. Why do you ask?”

“Well, it’s just that, you’re so…” Hermione’s voice trailed off as she realized how silly what she was about to say sounded.

“What Hermy-own-ninny means to say is that you are very pretty. Vhite hair, vhite skin, sharp face,” Viktor elaborated for her, each item in his list a nail driving into her back.

“Oh! I, uh, no. As far as I know, there are no Veela in the Malfoy line.” She noticed Draco had a habit of playing with the ends of his hair. He did so now and when he’d first asked to sit next to her. “Thank you, though. I think you’re pretty, too.”

Rather than sound like the sort of automatic response one gave as a compliment for a compliment, he sounded sincere, but before Hermione could say anything in response, his next words wiped the smile right off of her face.

“What did you say your last name was, again?”

Usually, when someone asked for her family name, it wasn’t out of some passing curiosity to know her full name. It was because they cared, and cared greatly, about her lineage. They wanted to know if she came from good wizarding stock, to assess her worth in comparison to theirs.

“Granger. Hermione Granger.”

And there it was: the forehead wrinkle, the faraway gaze as the listener sifted through their knowledge to pinpoint anything that might signify importance. 

“Are you related to the Dagworth family?”

Now that did catch her by surprise. “Hector Dagworth-Granger is my great uncle.”

Draco’s eyes were piercing in their recognition. “You’re the Mudblood heir they spoke about in the newspapers.”

This wasn’t the first time Hermione had heard the derogatory phrase, but hearing it still cut her deeply now as much as it did the first time. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and reply, but Viktor beat her to the punch.

“Take that back, Malfoy,” he said, his voice shaking in fury on her behalf.

She registered surprise on Draco’s face, and saw the way his eyes flickered between the two of them in suspicion. “Are you two…dating?”

“Ve are not dating. Ve are friends, and vot you said is inexcusable. Apologize now or you can forget ever talking to us again,” Viktor insisted, his hand coming up to rest reassuringly on her back.

Draco stayed silent a bit longer as he stared at them both. He had already shifted slightly away from her, as if afraid they’d touch elbows like they already had multiple times from the start of their conversation. He opened his mouth, only to shut it once more.

That was enough of a message for Viktor.

The Bulgarian stood and held a hand out to Hermione, which she took without hesitation. Before she followed him away, however, she turned one last time.

“For what it’s worth, Draco, it was nice speaking to you. I hope you enjoy your time here.” She smiled sadly at the way he continued to look at her, his brow furrowed and lips tightly pressed together.

Perhaps, in another life, under different circumstances.

She hurried after Viktor, already intent on convincing him to finish writing his Transfiguration essay with her.

Grey eyes that shifted with his mood from pale ice to stormy clouds followed them all the way across the hall until they exited. Draco turned back to his plate, soup now cold and unappetizing in the absence of what he had hoped would be a couple of new friends. The plates in front of where they’d sat had already disappeared as if they’d never been there at all.

He was lucky Madam Maxime hadn’t heard their exchange, or she would have been livid. His own mother would have disapproved of his blatant display, one she would have deemed beneath their station despite her own husband’s use of the term. That was a large part of why he’d been sent to Beauxbatons Academy after all. As his mother would put it, it was long past time the Malfoys and Blacks put away their prejudices and looked to the future. Like a bigot, he had reverted to old insults.

He would try to find Viktor and Hermione and apologize like he should have done immediately from the start. Draco hoped they would listen. He wanted to ask Viktor to fly with him. He wanted to learn more about Hermione, no matter her last name. Did she like to read, like he did? Was her hair sentient? Its large mass was what had called him over to their part of the table in the first place.

Draco hummed as he finished the last of the pelmeni he’d scooped onto his plate. It was decided. He would look for them at breakfast the next day, and all would be well.

WC 1752

DHRMonth Prompt: Week 4 - Alternate Universe, September 25 - Beauxbatons/Durmstrang AU

Cross-posted to AO3

This prompt was super fun to imagine and write! I've said this before, I know, but I really want to read a longer story of this setting now. Why did Hector insist Hermione attend Durmstrang? Was it really out of affection or to keep her close for convenience? Or was it for another reason? Does Viktor actually harbor unrequited feelings for Hermione? And will Draco obtain their friendship like he hopes?

[mxlfoydraco]

Hii! I've had this idea for so long of what would've happened if Draco accepted Dumbledore's help in HP6 and the Death Eaters hadn't come? I need to read something that explores it and I've no idea how to look for it, so do you perhaps have any fic recs where this happens?? Could also be something similar of like Draco leaving the Dark side earlier in the story while they're still in school

Thank you in advance! 😊

Hi! I have lists for Spy Draco and War Fics, there are a lot of good fics that fit the theme in those (maybe some from the Pre War too?). I can add on some "switching sides" here,

9 ½ Days by @magpiefngrl (69k)

After the events at the Manor, Harry and Draco find themselves stranded in the countryside with a broken wand and Death Eaters on their tail. This is the story of an uneasy truce, featuring faerie forests, seaside caves, Romani camps, kind old ladies, and a shared bed in an attic.

Or how two boys fell in love in the midst of a bloody coup.

Changing Tides by @carpemermaidtales (109k)

Draco has spent half of his life spouting the things his father has taught him without much thought about how he feels about what he says. When he unexpectedly comes face to face with the Dark Lord, he grapples with the harsh realities of the world and struggles with his changing views on life. Instead of doing what’s expected of him fifth year, he joins Dumbledore’s Army and learns how to defend himself, how to make his own choices, and how he can be something greater than his father’s example as he grows into his own man rather than his father’s shadow. The choices he makes change both his and Harry’s fates, intertwining their paths until they converge.

Twist of Fate by Oakstone730 (302k)

Draco asks Harry to help him beat the Imperius curse during 4th year. The lessons turn into more than either expected. A story of redemption and forgiveness. Pairings: HP/DM (Slash) Timeframe: 1994-2002 Goblet to 4 yrs post-DH EWE Rating T for language, high angst, content.

Love Found by @peachpety (7k)

During Harry’s sixth year, Draco Malfoy joins the Order as a double-agent and continues with his task to get the Death Eaters into the castle as assigned by Voldemort.Draco succeeds with his mission the evening Harry returns from the caves with Dumbledore. The boys reunite on the Astronomy Tower and, with the Death Eater’s arrival, are forced to engage in a fight, driving Harry to come to terms with his feelings about true friendship and romantic love.

Eclipse by Mijan (287k)

“You’re dead, Potter… I’m going to make you pay…” Draco swore his revenge on Harry for Lucius’s imprisonment, and Harry all but laughed at him. But Draco is planning more than schoolyard pranks this time. The old rivalry turns deadly when Draco abducts Harry for Voldemort. It’s the perfect plan, guaranteeing revenge, power, and prestige, all in one blow. But when Draco’s world turns upside down, the fight to save himself and Harry begins, and the battle will take them both through hell and back. If they come back.

Speak (and may the world come undone) by @shealwaysreads (26k)

The war is on in earnest, and the hunt for the Horcruxes has begun. Harry receives help from the least expected person, and must decide whether he can trust the enemy he knows best. A story of grey-tinged loyalty, the silver of trust in the darkness, the agony of courage, the unexpected richness of secrets, and the vast unknown of survival.

Abraxan Wings by khalulu (14k)

AU following the confrontation in the bathroom, which in this fic takes place around the middle of year 6. When the Sectumsempra curse severs a nerve at the base of Draco’s spine, he loses some abilities he may never recover. It isn’t the end of the road, though – just the beginning of a major change of course. A mostly serious but not gloomy coming of age /romance /adventure story, featuring the Room of Parole, Mme Maxime, Rosemonde the flying horse, and Harry Potter on sax.

For Every Action orphaned (8k)

When Harry wins a second bottle of Felix Felicis from Dean Thomas, he is instructed to take it the very next morning. What happens then, and how it basically all comes down to Draco Malfoy, is up to the laws of the universe.

The Light More Beautiful by @firethesound (81k)

Thirteen years after Draco accepts Potter's help escaping the horror of his sixth year, he returns to England where he makes the unfortunate discovery that Potter is still as obnoxious as ever. And worse, more than a decade overseas hasn't been enough to dim Draco's obsession with him.

Starts with a Spin by Maxine (120k)

It started with the spin of a bottle, and now Harry and Draco have gotten themselves so far into their own game there’s almost no way out again. Except to keep playing.

Vulnera Sanentur by dreaminginfiction (164k)

Vulnera Sanentur: The counter curse to Sectumsempra. What if on that fateful day in the bathroom, Harry hesitates before casting the curse? Maybe Draco Malfoy isn't the person Harry had always thought he was and maybe Harry sometimes hates being Harry Potter and all the crap that comes with it. This is a story of Harry and Draco learning to understand each other and change their stories.

Erosmancy by astolat (11k)

Blaise was immune to whatever it was people usually felt around his mother, for which he was profoundly grateful, since no one needed an Oedipal complex on quite that spectacular a scale, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a thorough respect for her gift.

Circumpolar by @lower-east-side (8k)

After their duel in the bathroom, Draco's wounds are much worse than Harry anticipated, which prompts a turning point for both of them.

Reflection by @owlswithfins (84k)

Harry wakes up in Draco's body moments before he's supposed to take the Dark Mark. When they switch back, he assumes things will return to the way they were before. It turns out it's a lot harder to hate someone after taking a walk in their shoes.

The White Pawn by Soupy_George (80k)

When eighteen-year-old Draco Malfoy finds himself back at Hogwarts on the eve of Voldemort's infamous return, he is confronted with the most difficult decision he's ever had to make: Relive the 6th year at school he's tried so hard to forget, or do the unthinkable and ally himself with Potter's lot...

Even From Opposite Ends of the Universe by @kbrick (173k, WIP)

In sixth year, Harry begins obsessively tracking Draco Malfoy's every move, telling himself it's the only way to prevent Malfoy from carrying out his dark plans. But as the year progresses, fist fights and mutual animosity gradually give way to a swirling, complicated intimacy that neither boy expects or understands, even as they desperately try to shield it from the outside world.

The Bound Prince series by slashpervert (991k)

In HBP, there is a pivotal moment where things could have gone very differently for Harry and Draco. In the bathroom sixth year, Draco is upset that Harry has caught him crying and throws a hex. It escalates and ends in blood, with Harry nearly killing Draco by accident. But in this timeline, things go differently.

In this story, instead, unvoiced attraction to Harry motivates Draco to take a chance and kiss him. Once sparked, their mutual desire and exploration becomes the driving force in the alternative ending to the series. Over seven books, we follow them as they fight, fuck, and love, taking on the Wizarding War with the help of friends and family.

[jomiddlemarch]

The shapes a bright container can contain!

IV. “This is a carriage house?” Hermione asked after first standing silent for a good two minutes, a length of time that seemed far longer when a witch was known to hurl herself into a squid-infested loch in early winter.

“You speak as if you have an extensive experience of real estate,” Draco retorted. 

“It’s quite a bit more house than I’d imagined,” she said. To exceed Hermione Granger’s imagination was a feat and Draco decided he’d follow the Muggle adage and begin as he meant to go on.

“Did you expect it to still contain carriages? Or horses? Tack?” Draco said. “Did you want a pony? That could be arranged, though I think an Arabian or an Abraxan hybrid—"

“No. Of course not,” she said. “But this is quite lovely. So thoughtfully appointed.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“Your wife had exquisite taste,” Hermione said.

“Yes, she did,” Draco replied. “You can see it in the main house. This was my project.”

“Oh, I see. I didn’t mean to imply,” she broke off. Somehow, this was what flustered her, this bit of gauche maladroitness, though she was staying in the home of a former Death Eater, a man who still bore the brand of a genocidal maniac on his forearm. She didn’t blush however; her eyes only widened and she seemed to lose what color she had. Draco decided he’d look after her well enough blushing became an option again.

“It’s all right. Why don’t I give you a tour of the place, get you settled,” he said. He wanted to offer her his arm, to feel her hand on him and keep her steady, but he suspected she would actually be as offended as she’d imagined he might just have been. He walked closer to her than would ordinarily be considered polite and kept the pace slow.

“This is the sitting room,” he said, gesturing around them. Two large chesterfields upholstered in dark green velvet sat on either side of a coffee-table strewn with periodicals and some art books, a bowl hewn from the base of a cypress at the center, filled with green apples. Squashy silk pillows in an array of jewel tones were tucked at either end of the sofas, a cashmere throw draped in a corner. A pair of club chairs bracketed the large fireplace, and an ancient Persian rug was underfoot. Long windows were surrounded by bookshelves, the bookshelves full of neatly arranged books that appeared much-handled. 

“It’s lovely. Looks very comfortable,” Hermione said. He beckoned her to follow him as he walked across the space and miraculously, she followed, her wand-hand empty.

“This is the kitchen. The table seats six, though it’s easy enough to enlarge it if you wanted to have more people over. You should have as many people over as you like,” Draco said. The table was a generously sized oval made of beautifully patinaed mahogany and he thought she would have preferred something sturdy and practical, a scrubbed oak. She’d want to set it with mismatched plates, a potluck with dishes randomly assembled or better yet, Indian takeaway with plenty of samosas.

“Is there a Transfiguration spell that preserves the wood better?” Hermione asked. 

“There’s a leaf. Though any standard Transfiguration you’d cast would be fine. It’s not a priceless antique,” Draco said.

“It looks like a Sheraton,” Hermione remarked. “I suppose that’s not priceless to you. It’s just Muggle.”

“It’s a fake. A fake Sheraton,” Draco said, shrugging, trying not to feel flustered and failing. “I like the look of Georgian furniture, but I didn’t want anything that would feel like a museum piece. I had enough of that, growing up. Except that that furniture was also cursed half the time.”

“Half, huh?”

“Closer to three-quarters in the North Wing. Dreadful place and you can’t even burn it to the ground,” he said. 

“A pity. I guess. This is the kitchen proper?” she said, moving past him into the room with its soapstone worktops, slate floors, sage green painted cupboards fitted as neatly as a ship’s galley, though there was plenty of space. A marble slab for pastry, a great hulking Aga prepared to cook a roast and warm the whole house, and tucked behind—

“That’s a butler’s pantry,” Draco said, as she poked her head around to peer in the narrow space.

“You thought this place needed a butler’s pantry? Is there a butler?” she asked, then paused, a look of bemused horror on her face. “Good Lord, is there a butler?”

“There’s no butler and no House-elves either, before you get yourself worked into a tizzy,” Draco said. He’d have liked to have Tizzy herself serving, earning the ample wage they’d negotiated, but he’d known that no matter how comprehensive the benefits, Hermione would be distressed to be waited upon by a creature in a toweling jumpsuit, unable to convince herself she wasn’t taking advantage. “I thought butler’s pantry sounded better than glorified closet. I will now pause to allow you to make some comment along the lines of me being a posh git.”

“You’ve made that unnecessary now,” Hermione said, horror passed, smiling again.

“There’s a butler’s pantry because I needed a defined space I could configure for electricity to work. Neville said you have very strong opinions about the Panis tosti charm—”

“It’s shite,” she interrupted. “Utter bollocks. It’s a travesty to call what it does toast and everyone knows it and won’t admit it. Molly Weasley has five different toasting forks because the charm is such shite—”

“As I said, Very Strong Opinions, duly noted. Also, he said you have slightly less Strong Opinions on toasting forks, I believe they hearken too much to the Edwardian period for your taste, and so I had to make sure there was some part of the house where you could make a proper piece of toast in a toaster,” Draco explained. He opened the little hatch that concealed the toaster. “There’s also a charging station for any devices that need it.”

“Oh my goodness,” she said.

“You probably won’t short it all out if you cast a spell, but I’d try to keep it to a minimum and no wandless. When you channel magic through your hands directly, it warps the wards I put up,” he said.

“You did a lot of work,” she said. “Went to a lot of trouble.”

“What part of looking after properly was obscure to a witch of your erudition and exactitude?” Draco said. She’d think he was teasing and he was but he also meant it, especially the praise, which he’d been told to expect her to shrug off.

She shrugged.

“You didn’t have to,” she said.

“I only did what I thought I must. What I thought you would do, without a second thought, if you were the one taking care of someone,” Draco said. 

“I’ve never gotten Harry a toaster,” she said. 

“But he doesn’t ever seem to miss all the Mugglish equipment he grew up with. He was happy to leave it all behind,” Draco said. 

“He does love everything Wizarding,” Hermione said. “Even Celestina Warbeck.”

Draco could not help his grimace then, but Hermione gave him a look of the purest camaraderie and appreciation, suggesting his expression had not put her off in the slightest.

“I shan’t say a word. About his taste in music at least,” he said. “There’s a water closet just at the back, before the conservatory. We might explore there a bit or would you rather see the sleeping quarters upstairs?”

He spent a considerable amount of time mulling over how he’d mention where she would sleep to minimize any awkwardness, knowing he didn’t want to utter the word bed but that she’d immediately pick up on any verbal contortions to avoid it.

“Did you have Neville to see to the conservatory?” she asked, prescient. Longbottom had spent a week and the entire budget Draco had given him, but the results were lovely and marvelously fragrant.

“Yes,” Draco answered.

“Then I’ll have an idea of what it’s like already and I’ll enjoy finding out how I’m wrong later,” she said. “Take me upstairs.”

[carewyncromwell]

“All I want is the wind in my hair -- To face the fear, but not feel scared...”

x~x~x~x

🌹 HPHM Cardverse developed by @ariparri​​ // learn more about Abraxan Derby here! 🌹

x~x~x~x

Abraxan Derby was a sport both native to and most popular in the Land of Clubs. This didn’t mean, however, that it didn’t have its fans elsewhere. Even in the Country of Spades, where street cars were pulled by mechanical creatures rather than flesh and blood ones, there were those who loved the freedom that the white winged horses represented. One of those such Spades was the young woman who would eventually become the Queen of Hearts -- Carewyn Cromwell.

From the time she was a little girl, Carewyn had always been enamored with the idea of flight. She found peace looking out from the highest height she could whenever she most wanted to be alone, and her older brother Jacob -- who worked for the Jack of Spades, Duncan Ashe -- used to love treating Carewyn to rides in the royal zeppelin whenever he could wrangle it. The young redhead’s love of flight also extended to winged horses. Although growing up in a rather poor home had made it so she couldn’t afford to travel and thus had only ever learned how to ride mechanical horses, Carewyn loved the thought of one day riding a real horse, especially an Abraxan. She got her chance, surprisingly enough, the day that the Country of Spades’ university hosted an Abraxan Derby competition.

The Land of Clubs and the Country of Spades shared a border, and it couldn’t have been more stark. As soon as one left the perimeter of the trees of the Clubs’ northernmost forest, they would be immediately greeted by a wide-open, industrial landscape decked with high-rise buildings made of iron and glass. It was only this forest and these buildings that separated the grounds of the Land and Country’s respective universities...and it was to hopefully foster good relations between these two schools that this competition was held.

Carewyn herself wasn’t attending university yet -- she was still only a lass of fifteen, though a very capable one. She’d more than made an impression at the court of Spades, after all the times she’d gone to visit Jacob and his “boss,” the Jack of Spades. Some even suspected that the hard-to-please Ace of Spades wished to enlist Carewyn to work for her in some not-too-distant future, though Carewyn didn’t show any particular enthusiasm for the idea. Instead Carewyn chose to work as a shopgirl part-time, so as to help financially support her family. As soon as she was done with her classes, she’d immediately dash out to catch the trolley, putting on her best shoes and her nicest pair of gloves while riding to the general store, and then she’d quickly fix her short ponytail and give herself a quick look-over in the shop windows she passed on her way over. Once she’d arrived, she’d immediately get to work behind the counter, bustling about to help the store owner with his customers and setting out on foot to deliver packages of goods across town.

This day in particular, at the end of her shift, the store owner sent Carewyn southward to deliver some packages to the university dean’s house. It was an address Carewyn was used to visiting -- the dean had a wife and several daughters, all of whom he loved to spoil with gifts, so him ordering stylish new dresses, jewelry, and shoes was a regular occurrence. Carewyn tried not to feel too jealous when she saw the pretty pearl drop earrings one of the dean’s daughters took out of the smallest of the boxes: the only earrings Carewyn had been able to afford were the rusted, clumsily-carved, flower-shaped studs she was wearing now.

Once Carewyn had finished her final delivery, she set off on foot back uptown so she could take the streetcar home. Her way was halted, though, by the commotion in the streets.

During the first round of the university’s Abraxan Derby, a particularly nasty foul had resulted in one of the Land of Clubs’ horses getting badly spooked by  some firecrackers in the Spades’ side of the stands and its rider getting thrown off his horse as it took off into the air. This very same Abraxan ended up just as spooked, however, when it flew right into the path of a zeppelin, weaved down right into the path of a very loud construction site, and then finally zipped right into the very loud incoming traffic of several dozen streetcars.

Alarmed by the sight of the poor, panicking creature, Carewyn pushed her way through the bewildered, wary bystanders, fearlessly rushing up toward the winged horse. Although truthfully she hadn’t known how to calm a real, living horse any better than anyone else around did, Carewyn tried her best, speaking to the white steed as calmly as she could.

“Easy now,” she whispered, taking off her black lace gloves as she approached, “easy...”

The horse flapped its wide wings as if to ward her and everyone else off, but Carewyn nonetheless stood her ground. Several law enforcement officers tried to intervene, whether by urging Carewyn “out of harm’s way” or to grab the horse’s reins, but their loud voices only served to make the Abraxan more nervous.

“Stay back!” Carewyn hissed at them under her breath.

She turned back to the Abraxan, keeping eye contact with him as she kept a respectful distance. The creature was not going to let any of them get any closer, even if they did want to help -- that much was obvious.

Carewyn racked her brain, trying to think of what to do. She had to calm the poor thing down...

The red-haired shopgirl took a very careful step forward. The Abraxan padded the ground anxiously, its eyes locked on her. Not entirely sure what made her do it, Carewyn offered the horse as brave of a smile as she could and started to sing to him.

“The pale moon was rising above the green mountain...

The sun was declining beneath the blue sea

When I strayed with my love to the pure crystal fountain

That stands in the beautiful Vale of Tralee...

She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer,

Yet ‘twas not her beauty alone that won me --

Oh no, ‘twas the truth in her eyes ever dawning

That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee...”

It was a modest, old-fashioned melody -- a folk song, full of admiration. And perhaps because of the sweetness of Carewyn’s voice and the smile that made her voice and eyes sparkle, it held the Abraxan’s attention, making it focus on her enough that it slowly settled down. Finally Carewyn was able to get close enough to touch it, but she moved slowly, holding her hand out in mid-air a foot or so away from its nose for the horse to smell. At last the Abraxan blustered softly through its teeth and bridged the gap between them, bringing its soft, velvety nose up to her hand. Carewyn’s eyes shone like stars as she brought both of her hands gently along its snout and stroked its neck.

“Oh, you are beautiful, aren’t you?” she whispered. Trailing a hand along its back and wing made her wistful in a way she could hardly explain. “You poor, sweet creature...it must be so much louder here than you’re used to. It’s no wonder you’re so frightened...”

“Indeed.”

Carewyn looked up.

The crowd parted for a young dark-haired man only about a year so older than Carewyn to pass through. He was dressed all in loose-fitting, breezy green, and something similarly bright white walked alongside him. The young man’s Abraxan’s wings were folded up at its side as he led it through the crowd toward Carewyn.

“I’m afraid the stables and woods back home are remarkably quiet, in comparison to your city,” he said calmly.

His black eyes ran over Carewyn’s hands up onto the horse’s face and then back onto her with interest.

“...I must thank you for restoring some peace to her spirit.”

Carewyn blinked at the young man in surprise.

“...She’s yours, then,” she surmised.

“My teammate’s, yes,” said the green-dressed man.

Before he could say anything else, however, the traffic in the street seemed to reawaken. It seemed that now that the Abraxan wasn’t flying around like crazy, all of those people who’d been on their commute home or to work had lost their patience.

“Oi, can you take it outta here?!”

“Get outta the way, will ya?!”

“Move it already!”

The Abraxan started to neigh restlessly at the blaring horns and clanging bells, and Carewyn hurriedly tried to calm it by stroking its mane.

“You horrid people!” she scolded them. “Don’t you see you’re making it worse?”

“Clearly they don’t,” the man said very coolly.

Bringing a tanned hand through his own horse’s mane, he quickly leapt up onto its back and took hold of the reins.

“Can you ride, miss?”

Carewyn was taken aback. “...I know how to ride a horse, yes.”

A mechanical one, at least.

“Well, then,” the man said, undaunted, “best be off.”

With this, he took off into the air.

Carewyn glanced at the white Abraxan at her side and then up at the green-dressed man flying just over her.

Well, it really was the best way to get this poor thing back where she belonged, Carewyn supposed.

Despite her slight misgivings, she climbed up onto the winged horse’s back. Taking hold of its reins, she then took a deep breath.

“Let’s go, girl,” she whispered in the Abraxan’s ear.

She flicked the reins. The Abraxan reared back, its wings fully extended, making Carewyn’s heart slam against her ribcage as she clutched its neck harness for support -- and then, just as abruptly, the horse had taken off, soaring up into the air.

It was stunning. Oh, Heavens above, was it a thrill! To be so weightless and so above it all -- it was like pure, exhilarating freedom was coursing through her veins with the heat of hot iron!

Carewyn felt her face flushing with joy -- she felt like a child, uncaring that her hair had come loose of its usual ribbon or that it was flapping loose in her face. She didn’t care how she looked in that moment, or what anyone might say. In this moment, here -- she’d never been happier, in her memory.

The green-dressed man flew up alongside her, his soft black eyes and large white smile rather bright as he considered her.

“Your course is worth several rubies,” he said.

Carewyn glanced up at him questioningly.

“You are a very skilled rider,” he clarified himself. “You’d be an admirable opponent, or ally, were you to fly in the derby.”

Carewyn shook her head modestly. “Thank you...but I’ve only ever ridden mechanical horses, prior to today. I’m hardly experienced enough.”

“But does your inexperience not make your talent all the more remarkable?” the young man challenged her. “You bonded with your steed with nothing but heart and instinct, rather than tried-and-true knowledge or experience.”

“Yes, but if people were relying on me to help them succeed, I wouldn’t want them to choose me just with their hearts,” Carewyn said very firmly. “I’d want them to know I was the best choice, that I’d be the best I could be -- be everything they need me to be, and then some -- and that I’d do the best I could for them, too.”

The green-dressed man cocked his eyebrows. “It seems your standards for yourself are even higher than your flight trajectory.”

He soared around her in several graceful loops, his hands not even touching the reins. Carewyn watched him with admiration despite herself -- he was a very, very talented rider.

“Urge her up with a light tug to the reins,” the green-dressed man encouraged her. “Then lean to one side, pressing your foot up against her flank.”

Carewyn did so, and soon she was soaring up and over him. Her face brightened with a smile, and the green-dressed man grinned at her as they weaved back and forth.

“What’s your name?” he asked her.

“Carewyn!” she cried over the wind. “Cromwell!”

He swept right up alongside her, their horses’ wings brushing up against each other’s.

“I am Orion!” he answered as he passed.

Orion came up and over Carewyn, completely upside down, before charging ahead.

“Are you a performer, Carewyn Cromwell?” he called back over his shoulder.

Carewyn flicked her reins, determined to catch up.

“No! I’m a shopgirl at Pique’s General Store. And a student -- though I hope to work in law someday -- ”

She came right up alongside him, so close that their shoulders touched.

“And what of you, Orion?” she asked him. “Are you a professional Abraxan Derby player? Or do you hope to be?”

Orion beamed. “I wish to fly free. That is all I dream and wish.”

Carewyn felt her smile widen, both empathetic and charmed despite herself.

“And to win your matches, I would think,” she said a bit more coolly.

“That wouldn’t hurt,” Orion said amusedly.

For the next half-hour, Carewyn rode alongside Orion, perfectly matching his speed even as he weaved up over and around her. At several points she even overtook him, dodging and soaring like a shooting star around him. Orion’s black eyes sparkled brightly as they flew together -- as brightly as Carewyn’s own blue eyes were, if any outside observer were to have taken notice.

At last, the two made it to the university, to where the rest of the Derby players were waiting. The next match was set to begin, and the Land of Clubs had been a little tense about how long their captain had been gone. Orion, however, soothed their concerns with relative ease, his smile and aura remarkably calm.

“A rider without his steed is akin to a shooting star pinned to the earth. Although yes, one could shine brightly while stationary, that star would lament being so locked in place, unable to fly across the sky.”

His eyes flitted over to Carewyn brushing her loose hair out of her face as she disembarked. As she did, she reacted with surprise as her hands ran over her ears and a flash of faint resignation rippled over her face.

Orion approached her, and Carewyn immediately put on a smile as she faced him.

“Well...” she said slowly, “I suppose I’d best be getting on. I hope your match goes well...with how good of a flier you are, I’m sure you’ll be brilliant...”

“You’re welcome to stay and watch,” Orion invited her.

Carewyn’s smile softened. “Thank you...but my brother will be getting off work soon -- he’ll be worried, if I’m not home when he gets there...”

She curled her loose hair behind her ears. Orion noted immediately that she was only wearing one flowery earring made out of crudely-shaped steel.

“Did you lose your earring?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Carewyn said offhandedly. “I suppose it must’ve come off, while I was riding. But it’s all right -- I’ll save up for a new pair.”

She extended a hand to Orion. He looked down at it, before gently taking and shaking it.

“My team and I owe you a debt, Carewyn Cromwell,” said Orion. “Thank you.”

“Nonsense!” huffed Carewyn. “Why, I only did what anyone would’ve done, in my place...”

She brought a gentle hand along the back of the Abraxan she’d ridden, and the winged mare brought her nose up to Carewyn’s cheek with an affectionate murr.

“Perhaps,” said Orion, “but you were ultimately the only one who did it.”

He inclined his head to her, his black eyes glinting with a touch of mischief as he smiled.

“I lament that we probably won’t meet again, unless by chance. But perhaps if you were to become a performer, as I supposed you might be, you might have more reason to travel to the Land of Clubs.”

Carewyn beamed. “Or maybe once I graduate university and have made my own way in the world, I’ll have more chance to go where I want. Then I can visit you, just as well as you can visit me.”

Orion’s eyes sparkled. “May we both chase that freedom.”

~*~

By the following night, Orion had already departed back to the Land of Clubs. That next week, though, Carewyn was startled to receive a tiny package in the mail, addressed from the Land of Clubs. Inside was a pair of sparkling emerald green earrings shaped like clubs and a very short note --

I hope these are a suitable replacement for the one you lost. As much as your talent in flying is worthy of rubies, I thought the stone of intuition better suited your aura. If nothing else, a green clover seems good company for the Rose of Tralee.

I sincerely hope our paths will cross again.

Fairfarren,

Orion Amari

Carewyn wore those earrings nearly every day from then on, taking exquisite care of them all the while. She even wore them after she moved to the Kingdom of Hearts and -- not long later -- became their Queen. By that point, Orion had likewise become King of Clubs: a role that Carewyn knew very well Orion would’ve likely never chosen for himself, however much he felt an obligation to his people, country, and allies to care and provide for them.

As much as the two royals had to perform on protocol, though, they still always enjoyed whenever they had the chance to collide again. At least then, for part of that time, they could chat, banter, and confide like ordinary people...as friends would...free of their duty and obligations, if only for just a little while.

[metalomagnetic]

Snippet

This is from the unpublished Orion/Walburga that I wrote and shared from a couple of weeks ago. A small interaction between Walburga and Tom.

It happens in It Runs in the blood universe.

---

Wanting to feel in control, to humiliate someone the way her own family humiliates her, she goes to Borgin and Burkes; her favourite past time. She’ll never tire of mocking Riddle, shop boy extraordinaire.

He always takes whatever she throws at him, because he has no choice, not with the way Burke fawns over her as soon as she’s through the doors, offering her coffee, tea, ‘anything you would like, Miss, as you look around. Tom, make Miss Black a cup of tea!’.

Walburga likes to stay there for at least half an hour, making Riddle show her all sorts of things, sending him to the back room for special items, and then refusing them. She always buys something, however, only so she can have the oportunity to tip Riddle. It’s the only time his pleasant facade cracks, a murderous look in his eyes, as she throws him an extra galleon.

It never really gets old, no matter how many times she does it.

“I must say, Riddle, you certainly made it in life; I didn’t expect you to get so far,” she says, as he packs her latest purchase that she’ll throw in the trash as soon as she’s out of the crappy shop. “This is a wonderful use of your fourteen N.E.W.Ts.” She smirks. “If you keep pleasing me, I might be persuaded to talk to Father, make a favoruable recomendation for you- we have some abraxans at our country manor, and we are in need of a stable boy, you see.”

A muscle twitches in that annoyingly handsome face of his; a mudblood has no right to bear those aristocratic features.

However, this time, when she tips him, he smiles.

That’s wrong, she thinks. He should get upset. He always does.

Instead, he reaches under the counter and pulls out a small, wrapped box.

“Since you are always so generous,” he says. “Please, allow me to congratulate you for your bethrotal. What a wonderful use for your seven N.W.T.S. I’m sure they will prove of much use in bringing new Black children into the world. I seem to remember Orion saying he wants five sons, when we were in school. May Morgana bless you with twice as many.”

She spits on him. How dare he, the stupid mudblood!?

“You honour me,” he says, wiping the spit off with a perfectly ironed handkerchief, as freakishly neat as he is. “But you should keep your bodily fluids only for your future husband. Rumour goes he is quite jealous; he wouldn’t want to hear you shared that with a lowly shop boy. Merlin forbid, he might have to reprimand you for it.”

She curses him, but he doges it, quick as a kneazle. She knows he can best her in a duel, but he wouldn’t dare, of course. He never retaliated back at school when she threw curses at him, because he must have known her family would have his head on a spike if he disturbed one hair on her head.

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

Numbers 1, 13, 17, and 18 sound very interesting! Are there any snippets that you can share?

oh my 🥹 a lot to get through! hold on tight 💀

unnamed fic number one also known as spy, has a lot going on 😭

it’s very much inspired by the Alex Rider series (specifically the book: Point Blanc) - for those who don’t know what that is, it’s about a young boy whose uncle dies, and he becomes deeply entangled in a world of espionage while trying to find out who killed him. it’s really good, and they have a tv series out for which season 3 is airing in April - give it a watch! i take this concept and sort of run with it - so Harry is an in-coming seventh-year Hogwarts student who finds out his Godfather, Sirius, has died during an auror mission gone wrong. he knows someone isn’t being honest with him - and he doesn't plan on resting until he has answers. here’s a cut:

Harry takes a look around. What was it that Sirius’s mind healer used to say? Five things you can see?

He sees rows and rows of conjured chairs, a raised platform, delicately floating candles - unlit, and the billowing peak of the tent. More than ever Harry can hear Sirius’s dismay at the lack of clowns in attendance.

It’s safer here, so Harry cracks a smile and finally settles his eyes on the dark, gleaming black coffin in the very centre.

He walks carefully through the rows of chairs all circled around it and stops just before the platform raises. Harry feels the telltale sign of overwhelm brew like a potion just behind his eyes, but he shakes it off, tries to delay it. Harry is aware now that he stands there for a long, long while.

Taking a deep breath, Harry places both hands on the edge of the coffin lid and pushes up.

It doesn’t open.

————

mockumentary, also known as fic number thirteen: triwizard tournament, was discussed a bit here! but it never fails to make me laugh, so i’ll share another little cut 🤣

-

Olympe rises from her chair and towers over them. The camera tilts up until it can’t anymore and still cuts off the top of her head. She walks over to the balcony, ducking to pass through the doorway, and crosses her arms behind her back.

She gazes down at the fury of elegant chaos, a smirk creeping up her mouth. The seventh-year students are gliding to and fro, preparing to leave in abraxan-drawn carriages while the younger years watch on with wide, awe-filled eyes.

She continues, “Zhis year will not be une répétition of seventeen-ninety-two.”

————

unnamed fic number seventeen, also known as assassins, is vague one 💀

when I originally wrote down this idea, it was this: spy fic concept - Tom is an assassin, and Harry is a spy; they keep running into each other on various missions and have developed an unlikely friendship. NON-LINEAR - back and forth between past and present narrative — here’s a cut!

When Tom arrived on location, it was to a mess.

Harry Potter never held any qualms or hesitations. If there was a job that needed doing, and the justifications were moral enough, he would do whatever it took to complete it successfully. Unfortunately for Tom (and the meaningless lives that tended to be involved), Harry Potter’s modus operandi typically included wide-scale destructive explosions or the occasional all-out brawl.

This particular scenario happened to showcase the latter.

Potter was panting over an unconscious body. Possibly unknowing to the splatter of blood dotting across his chin, cheeks and nose like crimson freckles. It seemed that he’d been here much longer than Tom - deep cover, likely for months now judging by his scruffier than usual appearance. That hair in particular.

Tom exhaled softly, and thought, He looks good in red.

————

interview with a dark lord, also known as fic number eighteen, is pure nonsense 🤪 here's a cut:

-

Harry glanced over his notes, shuffling them around once, then twice. His eyes fell on one of the many, many questions he and the other Gryffindors had compiled over the night.

“Would you say your field is expanding or decreasing?” Harry asked.

“Decreasing,” Voldemort replied without hesitation. Harry’s scar prickled with something vast and telling - something that felt a lot like immense satisfaction.

A morbid curiosity reared its ugly head. “Really?” he asked and squinted his eyes a bit at Voldemort, looking him up and down. “You don’t seem to be taking that very hard?”

“Yes, and why would I, Potter?” Voldemort leaned back and crossed his legs, definitely looking smug. “It is not Dark Lords; it is Dark Lord. If my field is narrowing, and I remain the only one, all’s the better.”

————

if you'd like to send me a wip, please do! my ask box is open 🥹

[hisunshiine]

—tri-wizard trials | myg

→ posted: dec 26, 2022 → pairing: slytherin!yoongi x gryffindor!reader → au/genre: hogwarts au, brother’s best friend, smallest of angst, fluff, smut → chapter rating: +18 / M for Mature → wc: 7,251 → warnings: everyone involved in smut is OF AGE. events of harry potter’s stories did not happen. Dumbledore is retired from being headmaster, but all of the other professors we know and love are not dead, everyone’s ages are different in this story, some members are not seen but are mentioned, some house banter and teasing, use of wizarding world phrases, oral (m & f receiving), loss of virginity, penetrative unprotected sex, overstimulation, second hand embarrassment → credits: story written for Toci as part of the @bangtanwritershq holiday event “Christmas Love”, thank you to my beta readers, whippedbywonho, @noonastoand @peachiilovesot7​ for all of your help! → summary: As a seventh year, this is your final year to spend with your friends. It’s also a triwizard tournament year—the tournament is known as being dangerous—and it's common for some injuries to be fatal. When your brother’s best friend and fellow seventh year, Yoongi, is chosen as the school champion at the feast, you lay out your feelings and give him a prize worth much more than the cup. → an: as a gryfferin/slythindor, i approve of the slander in the story lol! i included a key terms to help muggles, and i’m very excited to have a hogwarts au story! 

Key Terms for Muggles:

Abraxans - a breed of winged horses, gigantic and extremely powerful with an appearance akin to that of a palomino horse Common Room - “living room” for students; each house has their own  The Entrance Hall - entryway of the castle that has access to the great hall, staircase to the higher floors, and dungeons Fiendfyre - enchanted fire from an advanced dark magic curse that creates flames of immense size and heat that are capable of destroying nearly anything in its path The Great Hall - “cafeteria” of sorts, where all students and professors eat meals Hippogriff - a magical beast that has the front legs, wings, and head of a giant eagle and the body, hind legs and tail of a horse Room of Requirement - also known as the Come and Go Room is a secret room that only appears if you are in great need of it Veela - semi-human magical beings; beautiful women with white-gold hair and skin that appears to shine moon-bright

OCT 30th — 11:47 PM

Seven years ago you were eleven turning twelve, and just starting your life here within these castle walls. Dragging your fingers along the cold stone bricks, you smile softly as you pass a coat of arms hanging from an archway. Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry has been your home for so long, and now, in your final year, you can’t believe that you have less than eight months until you’d be graduating and moving off into the world. 

Since returning back in September, you’d sometimes get this overwhelming bittersweet feeling about leaving this place next June. You’re supposed to be in bed, as it wasn’t your night to patrol the halls, but instead your feet have led you down the many flights of stairs to the entrance hall on the main floor. The soft glow of the lowered flames lit the corridor just enough for you to not trip over the trick step on your way down from the Gryffindor common room, but as you enter the entrance hall, the light changes briefly.

Your eyes flicker up, taking note of Min Yoongi standing within the age line that Professor Bang Si-hyuk had charmed around the glowing goblet in the middle of the hall. Blue flames return the corridor to a somber mood as Yoongi’s arm drops back to his side, hands tucking a sheet of folded parchment and a quill back into his robe pocket as he turns to exit.

“Hey.” 

His cool demeanor as his eyes avoid contact with yours is something you aren’t used to anymore; as your twin brother Jimin’s best friend, you’ve grown close to the blond over the years despite being in different houses, but having you as a prefect and now Head Girl has saved them from losing several house points along the way.

“Hey. I didn’t know you were going to enter?” you question as an attempt to warm his attitude, but he just grunts, moving to walk past you and back towards the hall that leads to the dungeon common room. 

Turning his direction, your hand shoots out to grasp his wrist, but upon looking at his face, you drop his arm.

“Yoongi?”

“I’m really tired YN, I’ll talk to you later.”

Yoongi’s robes billow around him as he disappears into the shadows of the castle walls, descending into the dungeons and leaving you to the chill of the midnight hour. 

OCT 31st — 2:11 AM

Back in your dorm room on the seventh floor in Gryffindor tower, sleep continues to flit from you like the golden snitch: teasing you to your face, just to disappear out of sight in a blink of an eye. 

Min Yoongi entered the Triwizard Tournament—one of the most dangerous tournaments for students that exists, with fatal injuries a common thing. Sure, the previous headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, had seen to it that students had to be of age to enter, but did age really matter in the end? 

You roll over onto your side, flipping your pillow to the cool side and think about the chances of Yoongi being selected. There are several other seventh years that you know will be entering, and you attempt to quell your growing fears. Why would a Slytherin be chosen over a Gryffindor? Could hissing, prong-tongued, dungeon dwellers really be more worthy as the school’s champion over a fierce, courageous and proud lion? 

You aren’t normally one to believe the propaganda spewed about each house, but the thought surprisingly aids in calming you down enough to allow sleep to overtake you, and you dream of dark eyes, light hair, and a gummy smile that refused to show itself to you tonight, and you have a sinking feeling it has everything to do with the conversation he must’ve overheard. 

OCT 30th — 5 - 8 PM the Welcoming Feast, several hours earlier 

You stand in the front of the castle with the other students, awaiting the arrival of the two other magical schools in the region, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Of the three magical schools, you were at the one led by Professor Bang Si-hyuk, and in your opinion, it was the best school to attend. Beauxbatons was headed by Professor Park Jae-sang, a lively man who enjoyed working with his students. Professor Park Jin-young, the Durmstrang headmaster, was less concerned with his students, and more concerned with his own vanity. 

Watching as the Great Lake ripples with life, a large boat pushes through the water to sit atop the waves. A large ramp lowers itself to the shore, and a small group of young men disembark behind a toadly looking man and make their way toward you all.

You notice a grinning man leading the group of students and he’s quite striking in a tall, dark, and handsome way. His smile has dimples and is easily given, and exactly what you’re used to if you look at your ex. Shaking the thought away, you hear the whispers of the other female students who can’t believe how tall and cute the men arriving are. 

Soon after Park Jin-young greets Headmaster Bang, the group of men retire inside to wait for the welcoming feast. It’s not more than five minutes before a large carriage arrives, flown by magnificent winged beasts, Abraxans by the look of it.

Park Jae-sang appears to dance across the grass once he’s out of the carriage, a small group of students following him as Hagrid leads the Abraxans to the grassy paddock. You’ve heard that his school is quite small, and by the looks of it, he may have brought every ‘of-age’ student with him. You can’t help but notice only one blonde girl in the group of young men, spritely but proud as she walks with her head held high.

Once the Beauxbatons students are in, Headmaster Bang leads the rest of you into the Great Hall, where the decorations for tomorrow have come to life. Bats and orange streamers line the corridors and you hope that the visitors will enjoy their time here. Seeing your twin brother, you grab his sleeve to keep up with him amongst the crowd. Jimin sees you and smiles, eyes half moon as he wraps his arm around your shoulders in a side hug.

“YN, this year is gonna be fantastic, innit?”

“I mean, so far it already has been, Gryffindor is in the lead for the house cup thanks to that win against Slytherin last week,” you tease.

Jimin pouts; as Slytherin seeker, they lost by only ten points when your best friend caught the snitch before he could. 

“Jeon got lucky, that’s all.”

You giggle, linking arms with him as he shuffles down the hall towards his best friend. Not to say you and your brother weren’t also best friends—you shared a womb with him—but outside of your twin bond, you each had a best friend in your respective houses.

Yoongi stood along the wall next to a suit of arms, well out of the way of the crowd. As you approached, he gave you one of his rare smiles. 

“Well, if it isn’t Park-squared.”

“Ohh, Yoongi, I didn’t know you could do math.”

“Ha-ha. Anyways, what do you think of the potential champions from the other schools?” he asks, looking at your brother. Jimin answers as you turn your back to the wall, eyes on the crowd to help direct the younger students. Head Girl duties and what not.

“Well, Durmstrang looks pretty fit, I think any of them could be champions. Beauxbatons had that girl…she was quite stunning. I felt like I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.”

“Oooh, I felt that way too,” you chime in, “you don’t think she’s part Veela, do you? You know near Beauxbatons, it is more common for magical creatures like Veela to mix with wizards.”

“She could be. I didn’t quite care for her, though.” Yoongi shared, staring at you while you looked away from him across the crowd of students still lingering in the hall.

“Mmm, do you ever care for anyone though, Min? I’ve never even seen you look twice at a girl our whole time at Hogwarts,” you taunt back.

“I just have impeccable taste, and maybe the people who meet it haven’t noticed me yet.”

Giggling, you turn back to look at him.

“Min Yoongi, have you seen yourself? Even I went through the ‘I’ve got a crush on Min Yoongi but he’ll never notice me’ phase when we were in fourth year, along with half the school. I highly doubt there’s anyone left in the school who hasn’t noticed you.”

Yoongi opens his mouth, ready to question you more about this phase he had no idea you went through, but Jimin speaks first, pulling you along with him towards the now clear doors. You reach for Yoongi, who allows you to loop your arm through his own, eyes burning into your skull.

“Anyways, thank God you aren’t still drooling over my best friend, god that was such an annoying time of my life, hearing you talk on and on about him. So, who from Hogwarts do you think will enter?”

“I don’t know…” you think, “I guess I expect most of the seventh year boys will enter. Probably quidditch players, like yourself, twin. Maybe some of the other Head Boys and Girls, like Jung Hoseok in Hufflepuff. Not me, though.”

“No, no, I’m not going to enter either. Can’t mar this beautiful face of mine. One Park twin has to be beautiful.”

You shoulder him lightly at his joke, jostling Yoongi into your side more, as your group abruptly stops by the Slytherin table.

“What do you think about someone who would enter the tournament?” Yoongi quietly asks you as another person begins talking to your brother. 

“I guess…I don’t know what I think. I think they would be brave. Or maybe foolhardy. Definitely would make them hot in my eyes. Imagine seeing them take on dragons or rescue a family of unicorns in the Forbidden Forest?” you practically swoon as you imagine that one tall Durmstrang boy shirtless, lifting a baby unicorn out of harm’s way. “Why? Do you plan to enter Yoongi?”

“Yoongi? Enter? There’s no way this brooding hunk would ever be chosen as the Hogwarts Champion in the first place, even if he did enter.”

Choi Sung-ho, the Slytherin you hated the most, has the audacity to cut into your conversation with Yoongi.

“And you think you’ve got a chance, Choi? Fuck off.” You flip him the bird, turning back to Yoongi, whose features have schooled themselves into a look of indifference.

“Park, I’d gladly fuck off if you fuck off with me. I hear you can ride me like a hippogriff.”

“You’re disgusting Choi.”

“Hey, I heard you like to do nasty things in between classes, Park. The Kim brothers sure do talk a lot.”

You reach for your wand, ready to Bat Bogey Hex the fucker for bringing up your ex-boyfriend, but Jimin beats you to the punch. Literally. 

“Choi. Keep my sister’s name out of your mouth, if you know what’s good for you. I recommend you head up to the infirmary and let Madame Pomfrey fix that broken nose.” 

You glance around, looking for a teacher to appear and reprimand you for the scuffle, but you see Yoongi lower his hand, and the silently cast spell fades, allowing your small group to be seen once again. Sung-ho hastens from the Great Hall, his green and silver scarf bunched up to stop the bleeding.

“You and Jimin must beat up people a lot, you cast that charm without any warning!” you glare at the two, not sure you want to know how they became so good at timing that. “God, I can’t stand Sung-ho. He’s only sour because he asked me out in fifth year, but I turned him down.”

“He did?” Yoongi inquires quietly as Jimin inspects his hand for damage.

“Yeah, but I told him no because I liked someone else…” you turned your eyes down away from Yoongi’s searing stare, choosing instead to pick at an invisible thread on your school robes. 

“That’s why he was such a bitch to you during fifth year, Yoongi. ‘Cause she turned him down because of you.”

“What? That’s why he hexed me in Charms class?”

Headmaster Bang stood and motioned for everyone to sit before anyone else could answer. Jimin pulled Yoongi away from you to take a seat at their table, parting from you with a small wave and you were left to walk over to Gryffindor table alone, mulling over the way Yoongi eyes had bore into yours as revelations came to light of your crush from several years ago—had it ever gone away?

Sitting down, you blink several times as two people you haven't seen in ages appear. Kim Seokjin and Kim Namjoon, recent Hogwarts grads who now work at the Ministry. Seated among the professors, the reason for their appearance back at the school is revealed as Headmaster Bang introduces them to announce the Triwizard Tournament. 

“Hello everyone! Many of you might remember me, Kim Seokjin, Gryffindor house alumni and the youngest ever Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I am here with Kim Namjoon, former Head Boy and Ravenclaw alumni, AND also the youngest in his role as the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. We would love to announce the start of the Triwizard Tournament! The two of us have worked with our teams to bring back this legendary tournament, and we look forward to experiencing this with you all!”

“Yes, my brother is right!” Kim Namjoon, your ex, approaches the podium to speak next to Seokjin, and when his eyes meet yours, he smiles at you lovingly. You don’t know how to feel at the moment, with feelings you thought had been buried resurfacing randomly. “This tournament helps to bring wizards and witches across the globe together, and we are so excited for this act of cooperation at the secondary level. We believe cooperation starts at a young age.”

“Professor Bang has graciously agreed to host the event this year, and now, we will allow him to present to you the artifact that will set this whole event off!” The two brothers make their way back to their seats as the headmaster returns to the podium.

“Before we eat, our guests will be able to submit their names, since they will reside outside of the castle, and Hogwarts students can submit once the feast is over…”

Your eyes drift towards the far side of the hall, searching for those dark and brooding eyes. When you find them, it’s like you’re locked into his gaze by a spell, and you don’t hear a word of what the headmaster says of the rest of his speech, unable to take in anything but the pouting face of Min Yoongi until applause surrounds you.

The Goblet of Fire has been revealed, the age line drawn around the stand, and members from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons rise to enter their names. The feast commences, and around you people are eating and talking, but all you can think about is what those eyes are trying to tell you. 

You barely remember eating, but you take your spot to make sure all of the students clear out from the Great Hall once the feast is over. Seeing the last of the stragglers heading to the entry hall, you move to follow them out, stopping when you feel a large, warm hand wrap around your wrist gently. 

“YN, it’s so good to see you.” Namjoon’s dimples light up the space as he smiles down at you and you can’t help but to smile back.

“Hi, Namjoon. I didn’t know you would be here for this.”

He scratches the back of his neck bashfully.

“Yeah, I told Taehyung not to tell you, in case you tried to hide from me.” 

“Oh really? And why would I hide from you,” you challenge.

“Well, I know that we didn’t break up on the best of terms…”

“Yeah, hearing all of my business across the castle grounds was not the greatest thing to experience.”

“It wasn’t me—this is one of the reasons I’m glad I came. It didn’t feel right sending it via owl, and well… yeah. I figured I owed you the truth in person. I found out afterwards that Peeves was snooping on us that night. He was singing some vulgar song about it in the halls—”

“Yes, I vividly remember that Ravenclaw with the crush on you enjoyed singing it.”

“I just wanted you to know that it wasn’t meaningless to me. I just, I was leaving school and you would still be here another year and I’m the youngest to be in this position. I didn’t know Peeves was there that night, watching everything. I didn’t think anyone would know about the breakup.” 

You look up to the bewitched night sky, not really wanting to relive that night. 

“I’ve forgiven you. Peeves does what he does best, and I know it wasn’t anything personal. It just sucked because…well, I thought we were in love back then.”

“I really did love you, YN.” Namjoon steps closer to you, reaching for your hands. “I think I still do.”

“Oh.”

You feel weird having your ex confess he still has feelings for you, especially when feelings for a certain Slytherin have just made themselves known to you once again. You remain silent, staring at your joined hands. 

“Look, I know you weren’t expecting to hear this, but just think about it. I’ll be here quite a lot over the tournament…” Namjoon blushes, eyes looking behind you. “Hey, Min. What's up?”

“Jimin was looking for YN, and Taehyung said he thought she was still in the Great Hall.”

You turn to face Yoongi, noticing the way he and Namjoon are having a staredown that doesn’t seem all that friendly despite the way their voices sound.

“Yeah, I just wanted to talk to her real quick.” Namjoon turns back to you, leaning down to kiss your cheek softly.

“Just think about it, YN.”

You nod, unable to answer him as he releases you and turns, disappearing into the side door the rest of the professors had retired to for after dinner chatting.

Finally feeling your body able to move again, you turn to tell Yoongi about the weird conversation, but he’s gone, leaving you alone in the Great Hall.

OCT 31st — 6 - 8 PM

The second feast in two days commences right as the sun begins to set on Halloween. The castle is decorated to your heart’s content; next to Christmas at the castle, Halloween is your favorite time of the year. The knights' armor lining the hall is shined and sparkling and the candles floating above the house tables send a warm, yet haunting glow throughout the Great Hall. 

Walking side by side with your brother, you watch as he easily melds into his green and silver crew, the lot of them side-eying you in your maroon and gold as they welcome your brother into their folds. 

“Over here!”

You look farther along where your table is positioned at the opposite end of the hall from your brother’s, seeing your best friend, sixth year Gryffindor seeker Jeon Jungkook waving you down to sit. He pats an open spot as you climb over the wooden bench and plop down next to him. 

“Sorry, I had to run as soon as I was released from Herbology, Professor Sprout kept us a bit late, and Nabi called a last minute practice, you know how she gets when players are late.” Jungkook greets with a sly grin on his face.

“Nabi wouldn’t dare punish her honey, Jeon. You could arrive late to a game and she would still shower you with praise.” You retort, leaning past Jungkook to smile at the girl seated on his other side. Nabi, captain of the quidditch team and a fellow seventh year student, has been your best friend's girlfriend for several years now. “Hey Nabi!”

“Hey good twin! Is everything okay?” she asks, and Jungkook shoots her a puzzling look.

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“Well, it wasn’t your night to patrol and you weren’t in bed last night when I got in—” she says, Jungkook elbowing her in the rib lightly with a cough.

“I mean, I had gotten up to go to the bathroom, and you weren’t there when I left or returned, I was worried about you.”

“Oh!” you laugh to yourself, ruffling Jungkook’s hair as his ears turn pink, confirming that Nabi made a slip up about their whereabouts the previous evening. “I couldn’t sleep, you know how I get. I was just wandering the halls until I felt tired enough to fall asleep.”

She nods, leaning into Jungkook to plant a loud kiss to his reddenning cheek, but the words she says to him go unheard as a loud roar rips through the hall. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students stream through the massive double doors to a loud applause, and you turn your head to watch as they wait patiently in two lines as Argus Filch, the caretaker, pulls a wheeled platform with the Goblet of Fire onto it towards the front of the teacher’s platform. 

Headmaster Bang stands, asking the students to be seated wherever there is space at the house tables, and in moments the hall is quiet as he finally approaches the podium. 

“Tonight, we will learn the names of the three school champions to take on the three tasks of the Triwizard Tournament. Before the Goblet announces the champions, are there any last minute students who would like to enter?”

The Great Hall is quiet as everyone looks around, the air suddenly tense. All eyes turn to the Goblet of Fire, which begins to spark as the flames shift, dancing in wild delight. Headmaster Bang steps towards it, where the first bit of parchment flies out from the flames. 

“The first champion, from Durmstrang, is Ok Taecyeon!”

The hall breaks out into noise as the tall man you saw the previous day leading the Durmstrang students stands and walks up to the podium. He shakes hands with all three headmasters, as well as both Seokjin and Namjoon, and then disappears through the side door you saw Namjoon go through last night. 

As the cheers die down, the goblet once again begins to cast sparks as it flares up, another charred bit of paper floating down slowly after being spit out.

“Next, from Beauxbatons—Jang Da-hye!”

You applaud with the others as the blonde, Veela-like girl rises from the Ravenclaw table and approaches the podium to copy Taecyeon, shaking the three headmasters hands before heading into the other room.

A hush grows over the students as you all wait for the goblet to announce the final champion—the Hogwarts champion. You can feel the palpable silence, sitting tensely until it gives way to the sounds of the fire beginning to vacillate, and the flames seem to shift between the brightest shades it could burn. The last piece of parchment paper shoots out of the now white hot fire, and as the headmaster reads the last name he’s just snatched out of the air, you feel your heart drop.

“Hogwarts champion, Min Yoongi of Slytherin House!”

The table at the far end erupts with proud exclamations, chants of his name as he clambers over the wooden bench to take his rightful place with the other champions. 

“YN, you’re kind of hurting me.”

Jungkook’s arm is gripped in your hand, and you release him once you realize. 

“Sorry, I’m just shocked is all.”

“Are you sure?” He leans towards you so only you can hear him. “Is this fourth year all over again?”

You look at him, scandalized that he so easily read you. From across the Great Hall, Jimin also takes note of your reaction. 

OCT 31st — 10:13 PM

It’s that very reason that Jimin summons you to meet him outside of your common room after most of the students had all turned in for the night. You’d just taken a bath, and your hair was still pulled up out of your face from where you’d scrubbed it clean. You swing open the portrait to step over the ledge, tugging your night robes around you to keep the chill out as you shuffle over to where Jimin is and away from the warmth of the common room.

“Jimin, where’s the Fiendfyre?” you ask, confused at the urgency of the message.

“I saw your reaction tonight. You should talk to him.”

“This is what you’ve called me out of bed for?”

“Yes, because Yoongi has been weird all day and he won’t say, which means it has something to do with you.” Jimin glares at you as if you’ve done something wrong.

“What in Merlin’s beard? I didn’t do anything to Yoongi!”

“Yoongi doesn’t hide anything from me unless it has to do with you. I’m not stupid. I saw the way he was looking at you yesterday after you let slip about your past crush, and I saw the way you reacted to hearing his name being called.”

“Okay? I still didn’t do anything! If anyone bothered him, it was Namjoon.”

Jimin’s eyebrows rise into his bangs. 

“Namjoon? What’s that smartass got to do with anything?”

“He wanted to talk to me about the breakup…and he might have mentioned that he’s still in love with me. While we were talking, Yoongi appeared, looking for me. The two of them had a staredown, but I didn’t get to talk to Yoongi afterwards.” You think back to last night. “I even saw him entering his name, but when I tried to talk to him, he basically dismissed me.”

Jimin rolls his head back with a heaving sigh.

“Well then, I feel a lot better about what I’m about to do.”

With a firm grip, Jimin takes your wrist and all but drags you down the left corridor and away from Gryffindor landing where The Fat Lady snores in her golden frame. You twist your arm in his hold, trying to free yourself, but Jimin is quite strong.

“Jimin, what the fuck?”

He reaches the weird tapestry with Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls ballet and walks back and forth past the opposite wall three times, face deep in thought, still never releasing you.

You quiet down your complaints and curses as a large door appears, feet unmoving as Jimin releases you to step forward and open the door. You can hear loud pounding from the other side, a muffled voice unclearly shouting words. Flinching as the door opens, you prepare for an attack.

“Park, I swear I’m gonna kill you—”

Yoongi appears in the doorway, chest heaving as if he was out of breath and his face contorted in anger that dissipates as soon as you two lock eyes. Both of you are so caught off guard and confused that when your brother shoves you into the doorway, you stumble into Yoongi’s arms as he catches you from an impending faceplant.

“Listen, this is for your own good. The door won’t unlock until you talk and figure it out. I love you both, so don’t hate me.” Jimin grimaces as he looks at the two of you before expressly shutting you in.

Shocked, you remain in Yoongi’s arms for several minutes as his breathing slows down and you take in what just happened. He seems to come to his senses, releasing you with a step back and you’re able to observe the walls around you in an attempt to ignore the other person in the room.

It’s a simple space, much like a stay at the Leaky Cauldron except it looks as if Madam Puddifoot decorated. Did Jimin lock you into a sweetheart suite? 

“Your brother is the worst. Slimy git deserves to be boiled in frog spawn.” Yoongi sits on the bed, his head in his hands.

“Hey! That’s my brother, and your best friend, need I remind you.”

Yoongi’s head snaps up to face yours, and you see a flash of remorse as he attempts a deep breath. 

“I know. He’s still a slimy git for this.” Clutching your night robe around your body, you’re inclined to agree. You also have no idea how long Yoongi was being held captive in here before you arrived, so you ask as much.

“Since I was finished being briefed. He literally came and grabbed me and said it was urgent that we come to the seventh floor because—” Yoongi stops speaking as his alabaster skin turns pink. 

“Because what?”

“Nothing.”

“According to Jimin, it isn’t nothing, and we won’t get out of here until we talk about ‘nothing’.”

Yoongi stands, walking towards a door you hadn’t noticed earlier. 

“We’ll talk later.”

The door slams, and you hear the tell tale sounds of water running. With a sigh, you take off your robe and plop down onto the other side of the mattress, spending the next 30 minutes gathering your thoughts. The same thoughts you were viciously pulled from as Yoongi stomps back into the room, blond hair wet and sticking to his forehead as steam billows out of the room behind him.

He’s dressed in pajamas, a black t-shirt and dark green plaid pants with silver and black crisscrossing. He’s a lot more covered up than you had been under your robe; not having expected to be seen by anyone but your dorm mates, you had dressed in tiny shorts and a tight tank top. Thankfully you had enough sense to pull on a robe before running out to meet Jimin. 

Yoongi shuffles around, slippers dragging along the plush carpet as he ignores the fact that he’s locked in the room with you.

“Yoongi?”

“YN?”

“Are we really going to do this?”

Yoongi steps closer to where you’ve just sat up, “YN, I really don’t want to—”

“I don’t care what you do or don’t want to do.” You stand from the bed, walking closer to Yoongi. “We can’t get out of this room until we talk about it, so we’re gonna talk about it.”

Yoongi lets out a huff, running a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. He seems to waver between having the conversation you’re pushing for, and you see when he makes the decision to go for it, preparing to give you the honest truth.  

“What is there to say, YN? I saw the way Namjoon was looking at you, I heard him declare his love for you. He’s the youngest in his department in the ministry, what have I got to compete with that?!”

“None of those things matter! Why do you even need to compete with him?” He was confusing you. No, he was getting your hopes up, but you weren’t sure he was talking about what you were thinking he was talking about.

“Why? Because what can I do to prove that I’m the better choice? Shit, even me getting chosen as Champion doesn’t mean I’ll be able to prove anything.” 

His words continue to raise your hopes, but you play dumb, wanting him to spell it out for you. You close the space between you and him, just a hair’s breadth apart now.

“Yoongi, I don’t get it. Better choice for what?” 

“For you! I think I’m in love with you, stupid!” His hands reach for you, cupping your face firm but gentle. “I think I love you. I think I have for a while.”

Instead of a reply, you press onto your tiptoes, lips meeting his in a soft kiss to show your affection for him as well. Surprised, it takes him a few seconds to kiss you back, responding once you swipe your tongue across his bottom lip. One hand moves to the small of your back to pull you closer, and you place your hands against his chest to clutch at his shirt and hold him to you.

“Why would you join this stupid tournament if you think you love me? You could die!” Your voice is a harsh whisper, half breathless from the kiss and half choked up from holding back your emotions. He presses his forehead to yours, his deep almond eyes burning into you, now lined with tears.

“Because I wanted to prove myself to you. I want to prove to everyone that I deserve you.”

“Yoongi, you don’t have to prove anything.”

“Please, you’re Head Girl of Gryffindor. Your ex was Head Boy of Ravenclaw, youngest in the ministry or whatever slug shit they were spewing earlier at the feast. People don’t expect us to be—you know—an us.” 

“I don’t care what people expect. I want to be with you. I have wanted to be with you since we were stupid fourth years sneaking around the castle to skip class and daring each other to skinny dip with the Giant Squid.”

He laughs, a bright sound straight from his stomach. It warmed you up, made you want to hear it more. 

“Don’t be the Triwizard Champion. Be with me instead,” you whisper, your fear palpable as reality settles back in. A single tear escapes your eye and you sniffle. Yoongi can’t bear to see you like this, but there’s nothing he can do.

“I..I can’t. Didn’t you hear what Bang said? Once your name is drawn from the goblet, it’s a binding contract. I have to compete.” Yoongi brushes his lips to yours, attempting to cheer you up with kisses. His voice is almost a raspy whisper as he continues. “But I’ll do whatever I need to in order to come back to you after every task.” Another kiss, longer this time. “I’ll fucking win the whole thing, too. Use the winnings to get you whatever you want.”

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he holds you close, large palms gliding up and down your skin as he kisses you again, deepening it so that you can’t help but release a moan that he swallows down. Stepping you backwards, he lowers you onto the bed once he feels you reach the edge, his hand protecting your head as he maneuvers you to the pillow. 

You can feel his hardened length against your thigh, pressing against his pajama pants and you squirm, desire coursing through your veins to have all of this man. Your hands move to pull off his shirt and he follows your lead, removing the counterpart to every article you remove from him off of you until the two of you are naked under the sheets.

“Promise me, Yoongi,” you say lightly, brushing your lips across his. Nudging his nose against yours in the most sensual way, he captures your lips in a brief kiss before answering.

“I promise, I’ll come back to you. After every task, you’ll be in my arms like this.”

Kissing down your neck, you sigh out as his hands knead at your breasts, lithe fingers pinching your nipples into peaks. Tongue swirling around each nipple, one at a time, you can feel yourself growing wet as he slots a thigh between yours. Pressing his leg into you, you grind for friction, light moans as your clit begins to slide easily from how drenched you are. 

“Can you cum for me, baby? My perfect Head Girl, you sound so pretty under me like this.”

You rock your hips harder, faster, building the coil in your lower pelvis as he continues tonguing at your chest and neck, sucking marks into your skin as proof that he was there.

“I need more, Yoongi,” you plead, and when he removes his thigh, you whine at the loss of touch. He just chuckles, a mocking sound that has you wanting to take ten points from Slytherin until you’re letting out a hiss as his warm tongue delves into your dripping center. He wastes no time, sucking and flicking his tongue on your clit, fingers circling your opening as he teases your folds. 

“Fuck, Yoongi, you feel so good, just like that!” A hand buries itself deep into his hair, gripping to keep him where you want him and he is happy to oblige. Wrapping one arm around your thigh, he splays his fingers wide to keep you open and in place for him. The feel of his hand spreading you wider as his tongue swipes back and forth quickly has your body shaking as an orgasm rips through you. He continues to eat you through it, lips and tongue sloppily kissing you until your hands are pushing at him from overstimulation. 

As the aftershocks run its course through your body, Yoongi kisses his way back up your heated skin, his hands soothing as they follow the same path. You taste yourself once he reaches your lips again, and he pulls your body on top of his as he continues to kiss you lazily, enjoying the happiness of knowing he made you feel good.

Heartbeat no longer racing, you relax in his hold, mind still blown over the orgasm he gave you. Wanting to return the favor, you sit up to move down his body trailing little kisses on all of the spots that stand out, like scars from fights and cute moles usually hidden under his robes, until your hand finally grasps him. He hisses, sucking in air through his teeth wetly as you stroke him lightly. Taking your thumb, you spread the precum around the tip, teasing him with kisses in the divots around his pelvis. 

Yoongi’s hand strokes your hair, a gentle touch that is in juxtaposition for the lewd things you want to do to him, but it warms your heart anyways, fluttering butterflies filling your tummy at the cute gesture. Opening your mouth, you take him into it fully, enjoying the low groan as his hips buck up in response. You slide your lips back, tongue providing extra friction as you begin to bob up and down along his shaft. You balance yourself on his thighs, eyes focused on his reactions to the things that you do to see what he likes and doesn’t like. 

The intake of breath every time your tongue runs along the frenulum, the way his stomach sinks in when your lips tighten around him, the hip thrusts whenever you deep throat him, nose to his pelvis as you swallow around him…Min Yoongi is falling apart because of you and you’ve never felt so powerful. 

You take him fully again, holding yourself firmly to his pelvis as you swallow repeatedly and his hands grip your face, holding you there as he lets out little moans of pleasure when you take one hand to fondle his balls, spit leaking around them making it easy to massage him. 

“Not yet baby, I want to..can I feel you?” he asks, popping you off of his cock with a lewd smack of your lips. 

“I’ve never, I mean, I haven’t ever gone that far before,” you hesitate, wanting to fuck him but also nervous about it. 

“Me either, I’ve been waiting for the right moment,” he admits, and his eyes tell you what he’s not saying: he’s been waiting for you. 

His admission calms any fears you have, and you nod fervently, allowing him to manipulate your bodies into something more comfortable. Lying on your back, he hikes one of your legs up at the knee, widening your hips so he can align himself to your entrance. You watch, wide-eyed, as his hardened length breaches you, slipping in inch by inch as he braces his weight above you. You’ve never felt so full, and he peppers your lips with kisses until you tell him you’re ready for more.

Rocking his hips, your bodies move in a push and pull that allows the friction of your bodies to intensify the pleasure until you’re clutching onto his shoulders, meeting him thrust for thrust as you chase the high. Teetering on the edge, your lips seek his skin, anything that you can lick, bite, or suck as you mount closer to your peak. It’s these actions that cause Yoongi to make the sounds you needed to send you into climax, legs shaking as they wrap around him to keep him close. 

“I can…I can feel you, so tight baby, I can’t—” Yoongi releases in you, unable to hold back from the tight grip your walls have on him.

Laying on his chest, you bask in the post-sex glow of your first time, his hands playing in your hair as he talks to you about when he first realized he thought you were pretty, when he first realized he had feelings, and how oblivious he was in fourth and fifth year. 

“Honestly, I could die happy right now.”

“Hey! No dying on my watch. You promised.”

“Maybe I can convince Professor Bang to let me forfeit, I think you gave me a prize much better than the Triwizard Cup.” Yoongi can’t help but to joke during such a serious conversation to try and calm your fears. 

“What about the thousand galleon prize the winner gets?” you tease back, “was this a much better prize still?”

Yoongi strokes his chin playfully as he pretends to think about it, and you stare at him in mock upset at his hesitation. Laughing, he wraps you in a hug, pulling your naked body more level to his.

“You know, I think I need a second time to make sure…”

You playfully swat at his chest as he brings his lips to yours once more. 

“Of course you are. You will always be better than all of the prizes and the ‘eternal glory’ promised to the winner.” 

Luckily the two of you are covered by the sheets when the lock to the room clicks and the door swings open to reveal your brother with his hand over his eyes. 

“I said talk it through! Imagine the Head Girl getting caught in such a compromising position.”

“I mean, you locked us in the Come and Go room, we just wanted to follow the directions.”

You bury your face in Yoongi’s neck, hiding your awkwardness at having been caught as your brother groans and shuts the door as he leaves.

“Is my girlfriend embarrassed?” Yoongi asks playfully, his hand soothing your hair down. 

“Yes, mortified.”

“At least he approves.” He continues to joke as he pulls you up from the bed to get dressed once again.

“He better! He’s the reason you’re mine now.”

Yoongi wraps his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder as you gaze into the small mirror in the corner of the room.

“Don’t give him so much credit, baby. I put in a lot of hard work tonight.”

“Yes, you did, Triwizard Champion. It was all the proof I needed.”

His eyes soften at your reference to his feelings of inferiority, and he loves you that much more for reassuring him.

“I love you, YN.”

“I know.”

“Brat.”

“Let’s go, before we get caught.” You grasp his hand and pull him along back into the seventh floor corridor. “I love you too, Yoongi.”

He walks you back to the Fat Lady, kissing you goodbye sweetly before he descends to the dungeon, in hopes of getting a couple hours of sleep before he takes on his new roles as the Triwizard Champion, boyfriend to the Gryffindor Head Girl, YN.

thank you for reading! feedback is greatly appreciated! i hope all of my magical people enjoyed this one!

© hisunshiine 2022. All rights reserved.

[shootingstardraw]

JAKE Y ASHLEY CAMPAMENTO DESVENTURA HOGWARTS AU (PART.3)

JAKE (Gryffindor)

Estatus de sangre: No lo conoce con exactitud.

Mejor clase: Pociones y Adivinación

Peor clase: Podría mejorar en defensa contra las artes oscuras.

Pasa la mayor parte de su tiempo con Ashley o con Miriam preparando pociones.

Dato extra:

Fue testigo de cómo Tom casi explota a todos mientras intentaba preparar una poción.

Tiene un GRANDÍSIMO crush en Tom.

Tiene un ex novio (salió mal)

ASHLEY (Gryffindor)

Estatus de sangre: Sangre "pura"

Mejor clase: Cuidado de criaturas mágicas, defensa contra las artes oscuras y excelente en vuelo.

Peor clase: Podría mejor en pociones.

Es la candidata más prometedora para ser el premio anual de su generación.

Ella y Tom son los mejores del club de duelos.

En su granja crían abraxans.

No le tiene miedo a volar en una simple escoba.

Capitana del equipo de quidditch de Gryffindor.

Quiere llevar a Jake y a Will a su granja para pasar la navidad.

Dato extra:

Will tejió ese gorro con los colores de sus casas. Ashley lo ama.

Parte 1. (TOM Y AIDEN)

Parte 2. (JAMES)

Próxima parte 4: HUNTER

[motherfuckingmaneater]

I love that you headcanon Bella is Cygnus’ favourite and Narcissa is Druella’s! How do you headcanon their relationships specifically? (Not including Andy I don’t like her 😅)

Its ok, no one likes Andy (jk - not jk).

I guess I see the most similarities between Cyg/Bella and Dru/Cissa and that was why I veered to the daddy's girl Bella and mummy's girl Cissa buckets. As for their actual relationships I definitely see the Blacks and Rosiers as very different (which is why maybe Pollux wasn't keen on Dru but Cygnus married her out of love anyway and what difference did it make ultimately? She was still a well-bred pureblood). I also see Bellatrix and Narcissa embodying those differences but still both being very much Black.

Cygnus / Bella - black hair, grey eyes, confident (almost cruel) laughs, haughty in views expressions and beliefs, tall, slim women and tall, broad men, well defined muscle naturally, extremely good looking in unconventional ways, darker (in very dark lashes, high cheekbones, thick black wavy/curly shining hair), expensive in general, rich naturally more earthy scented skin.

Druella / Narcissa - thin, blonde long straight hair, blue eyed, pretty, dainty in aesthetic, pointed noses, fine elegance, quieter, haughty in views but not as arrogant, expensive taste, decadent, scents of flowers and fine silks.

Cygnus and Bellatrix I can see going hunting together on thestral-back or atop their Abraxans, rather being alone than out in society but being ever so charming when they are, reading ancient tomes by firelight, practicing dark traditions by moonlight.

Druella and Narcissa I can see being the most beautiful and well-attended ladies in society, being the centre of attention and jealousy amongst witches, enjoying their herbology and potionmaking, tending beautiful magical gardens.