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licorice-and-rum · 3 months

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To Decadent Poets - Chapter 3

Summary - find more chapters, read the synopsis, and trigger warnings here!

“Inside the night that covers me Black as the pit, from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.” — William E. Henley, Invictus

Christian didn’t want to talk but it seemed no one in this house knew how to understand the concepts of privacy and personal space. Maybe that was the reason why his father was almost knocking the door of his room down, demanding he open it, his voice grave and powerful.

And he would. Sometime after getting out of the shower and dressing up.

But he knew his mom would end up having to endure it if he didn’t open it soon, so Chris hurried up to change and opened up the damn door, facing Maxwell with stony eyes.

“What do you want?” he asked, hissing in anger while his father stared at him with a furious expression, the deep brown eyes they shared shining bright with his bad humor. Chris couldn’t care less about all of his drama.

“Why are you not having dinner?” asked Maxwell, clenching his teeth and Chris looked at him, incredulous.

“Oh... because I’m not hungry?” he asked in a sarcastic tone that made his father frown deeply, wrinkles appearing all across his forehead. It made him look old.

“You’re leaving tomorrow and you won’t even have dinner with your family?”

The question was loaded with accusations and it made Christian feel rage downing in his veins like lava flowing from a volcano. He passed through the door’s threshold, closing the door behind him to stand on the dark corridor of his house as Maxwell watched him.

“I already spent the day with my family,” Christian said, using the same tone Maxwell had, wishing more than ever that he could hurt him, wishing his father cared as much as Christ tried not to. “Mom and Nana had me the whole day, I don’t need to worry about me being an insensitive prat like you are.”

“Be careful of how you speak to me,” Maxwell stuck his finger in Chris’ face with a severe expression that would never intimidate him. “I’m your father”

Those words made everything inside Christian freeze. He looked Maxwell in the eyes, feeling nothing more than cold and ice cascading down his veins like a snowstorm. He had no will to get angry at that because as Much as it was true, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter at all.

“A father is one of the things you never were to me,” was all Chris said before leaving, going downstairs silently, not wanting to be noticed by anyone.

Miraculously, Maxwell didn’t follow him to continue their argument, and at least that made Chris relax as he walked slowly to the living room, where he knew he’d find what he needed to push away the knot in his throat and the tightness in his chest from what would happen tomorrow and in the nearest future.

Chris couldn't help but ask his mother during breakfast that day who was his godfather whose property he’d be staying indefinitely and Jeane was helpful in giving him all the information she could remember about his godfather, Elijah, the owner of Taigh Hill, and Elliot Wood, his younger brother. As it was, they both seemed happy to accept him just like two other boys his age, children of his staff who had solicited the favor.

Chris couldn’t deny he was curious to know more about the other boys but he also couldn’t push away the feeling he was abandoning his mom, which made him reluctant to think about such matters and get even a bit excited with the prospect.

Chris sighed as he looked at the shelves beside the fireplace, the countless books bound by leather whispering their stories, dropping their honey to those who were thirsty for them. Filled with life and too attractive for Chris not to let his fingers dance over their spines, reading the familiar titles, books his hand had passed through thousands of times, that made him feel like he wasn’t so alone. He knew it was cliche to say that but books had saved him from so Much unnecessary suffering.

They had saved him.

Finally, his fingers stopped at the book he was looking for and he pulled it from the shelf, leafing through the pages until he found the one he’d already read thousands of other times, running his finger over the ink and the letters, murmuring the words he knew by heart:

Out of the Night that covers me Black as the pit, from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. [...] It matters not how strait the gate How charged with punishments the scroll I am the master of my fate I am the captain of my soul.

Chris looked at those words of blurred ink, internalizing them with an involuntary shiver. They were so powerful he could almost feel them physically, caressing his cheeks, warming his heart, loosening the knot in his throat as he knew they would do.

“Chris, is everything okay?” the sweet voice of his mom entered his ears, taking him from the world of the words with a sudden push, making him raise his eyes to her, blinking away his surprise at seeing her there with Nana, both of them knitting.

Jeane seemed better with the afternoon while Nana still had that serious, sour expression on her face, no doubt remembering the Great War time when she lost her husband. He forced himself to smile at his mom, walking towards them calmly, not allowing himself to hesitate.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he answered while sitting on the armchair beside hers and watching the two most important women in his life. Chris waited for a while until he took a deep breath to gather the courage to ask Jeane: “You’re really not going?”

He didn’t know what he looked like then but Chris could hear the tremble in his voice, the vulnerability in it. And maybe Jeane had seen something in her child’s eyes because he put aside her knitting needles and turned completely to him, her baby blue eyes shining with all the worry she was fighting to hide from him.

When her fingers touched Chris’ face, he felt the same as when he’d read the poem. It was like the words were penetrating his soul as if his mother’s touch was something sacred and revered. He let his head roll down, closing his eyes to enjoy the caress. When Jeane spoke, her voice was melodious, a murmur full of emotion:

“Believe me, cariad, I wish I could go with you or that I had a way to keep you close to me but I can’t...” Her voice was taken by emotion, making Chris open his eyes to look at his mom’s baby blues. “I can’t abandon your dad because this will be Hell for him and it’s my duty as his wife and life partner to stay by his side. I couldn’t bear, though, if you were in danger.”

“While you’re free to choose the risk,” Chris shot back resignedly, leaving the armchair to sit on the wooden floor, by his mother’s leg as he embraced them like he did when he was a child and felt sad his dad wasn’t present to some special date or event.

He let his head rest on her lap and Jeane didn’t hesitate to run her fingers through his hair soothingly.

“We’re all free to do so, mi hijo,” said Nana with her Spanish accent getting thicker because of the emotion she was trying so hard to hide. “But you know your parents would never know peace if you stayed. Or even me, to be honest. War is hard and it takes a lot of people, but more importantly, it takes a lot from people. The young ones especially.

“I’m realizing that,” was all Chris said in a murmur, his eyes closed as his mom kept running her fingers through his hair.

He didn’t leave when Maxwell entered, although it wasn’t the same relaxed feeling he felt as he talked to both women before, but Chris tried to pretend he didn’t exist as his father did the same. Chris found out pretty quickly it wasn’t so relieving as he thought it would be.

——— ◘ ———

On the following morning, Chris and his family arrived early at the train station, which was already filled with people coming and going from their jobs, all of them carrying tired expressions but with arrogant, optimistic feelings on their straightened backs. He could hear his father’s assistant commenting that they already had won the war and that the Germans wouldn’t have a chance. Chris almost laughed at the poor fool.

As a diligent reader, Chris had begun to understand the world they lived in too early and he had always cared about the news, especially When it was about external affairs. He knew well that England was broke, as were many countries because of the Wall Street Crash of 1929 and the Great War at the beginning of the century; he knew it’d be a difficult war that would drag on for years before it was over.

Chris also knew about what Hitler had been doing to the Jews in Germany and to think of that kind of cruelty gave him shivers even if he tried not to think about it, as his mother had requested some time ago. It was hard to have hope when one knew everything there was to know around the world and something they quite needed was hope.

Chris took a deep breath, trying to ignore the push and shove of people around him as he tried to also protect Jeane from it. They were in front of the train, impatient because they knew they had no time left. Maxwell seemed as cold and distant as always, and he didn’t even look at his son or Jeane as they said their goodbyes, preferring to speak to his assistant instead.

When the final moment arrived, mother and son looked at each other with pain filling their eyes. Chris didn’t even try to resist the impulse of pulling his mom in to hug her with all the strength he had, holding on to her as if she was all that he had. For a long time, it had been true.

Jeane hugged him back, always armed with her infinite softness and didn’t let go of him until the train whistled, warning the passengers to get in soon. As they let go, Chris touched their foreheads together for a couple of seconds, his eyes still closed. Then he let go of her, looking at Jeane, then at Maxwell.

They exchanged an uncomfortable look, neither of them knowing what to do. At last, Chris turned with his back straightened. As he walked away from his parents, he had this latent sensation that he was losing a part of himself and the shadow of his dad’s goodbyes was tormenting him. It was like the phantoms of Maxwell’s arms were around him as he walked, pushing him back to them so that their place was finally occupied. The words he could’ve said also brushed his brain, circling his thoughts he couldn’t get in order.

Chris knew if he’d stayed even one second more in Maxwell’s company, he’d end up saying something he would regret and they’d end up fighting just like they had done yesterday and the day before. And the weeks prior. And the months.

And all those years since Chris had grown tired of waiting for him at his birthday parties. He was thirteen when he cried for the last time because of his father’s absence and he remembered that night very well. It was the night of the accident. The night he’d lost part of the movement on his hand and what made it impossible for him to join the Army.

A sigh escaped his lungs before he could suppress it and Chris ignored the bad look of the old lady in front of him because of it. It wasn’t like he cared what she thought of him — the woman meant nothing to him anyway.

While passing through the cabins, Chris saw some interesting people and others that seemed as boring as attending a trigonometry class. He kept himself far away from the latter until he found an almost empty cabin: the only passenger was alone in it. The blond boy seemed unhappy and uncomfortable as he stared at the window, lost in his thoughts.

“Excuse me,” Chris said, catching the boy’s attention. “Is there someone seated here?”

“No,” said the boy in response, clearly apprehensive and the reason was obvious: Christian could easily identify the German accent.

This is the reason, he thought as he stared at the boy for a couple of seconds, why the cabin was empty. The boy was German. In the minds of ridiculous people, he might have been an enemy, although Christian could hardly conceive that logic.

“Right, I’m gonna sit with you then,” he said as he got over his moment of shameful hesitation. Christian pulled his suitcase along, putting it on the luggage rack above with some hardship, and sat in front of the boy, looking at him in open curiosity. “I’m Christian. You?

“Oliver,” the boy said, looking back at him with equal curiosity. “You know you can sit anywhere on the train, don’t you?

“Here seems like as good of a place as any,” Christian responded as he felt his stubbornness grow. He smiled, raising his hand to the boy in front of him. “It’s nice to meet you, Oliver.”

There was only a second of hesitation before Oliver smiled back and shook his hand.

“I can say the same, Christian.”

“Call me Chris.”

Go to Chapter 4

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could-have-beens · 4 years

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If By Happenstance

Because you could have loved me forever. And maybe in another universe, I let you.

One of the unfinished WIPs I unearthed recently is what was supposed to be a collection of standalone one-shot AUs, each with a different theme and centered around Tom and Ginny. I never got around to writing the whole series, but I did finish some of it, so I thought I would post it while editing TLoCC.

Fair warning, I haven’t proofread this in two years. Enjoy at your own risk!

"Coward," hissed Ginny. "I can't believe you! After all that talk about being polite and honouring your promises —"

"I stand by what I said," said Harry, with an unrepentant grin.

She glowered. "You're hiding."

"I'm not. You just happen to be in a room full of adoring fans."

Ginny rolled her eyes. She thought her days of humouring Slughorn and attending his get-togethers were over after graduation, but he hadn't stopped badgering her since she started playing for the Harpies. If she had known she was going to be accosted by wide-eyed teenagers and stammering old men, she wouldn't have bothered coming to the party at all.

"You should be the one being pestered by Slughorn," Ginny groused. She plopped herself down gracelessly on the empty chair next to Harry. "I'm just the plus one. You're the one with the bloody invitation."

Harry shrugged, but his eyes were dancing. "I guess Quidditch stars have more clout than us lowly, underpaid Aurors."

"What about the Minister's son?" she teased.

He grimaced, casting a shifty, alarmed look around the room to check if anyone had heard her. "Don't even go there. I'm not supposed to get into fights with old men over politics."

"You could not fight and turn the other cheek," suggested Ginny.

Harry snorted. "I'll do it when you do."

"Well, I don't think Slughorn's noticed you yet, so you're safe for the time being."

"As long as he keeps fawning over Riddle, I'm good."

"Who?"

"My boss." Harry leaned back and discreetly inclined his head toward the center of the room. "The pretty boy with dark hair."

Ginny followed his line of sight and found the man in question, and thought pretty was a massive understatement. Riddle was caught in what looked like a heated discussion with a flustered-looking Slughorn, a stout, bespectacled man, and a tall, stern-looking woman — politicians, the same people Harry had been avoiding since he and Ginny arrived. They were too far for Ginny to hear what they were saying, but she could see that the older man and woman were red with anger, talking a mile a minute, and Slughorn was trying to placate them, only to be cut off at every turn. Riddle, though, looked relaxed and even faintly amused, and he carried himself with all the grace and arrogance of a typical Slytherin. He didn't seem to falter as he spoke, calm and composed even as the man and woman grew more and more irate and Slughorn grew increasingly bemused.

"That's the Head Auror?" said Ginny, incredulous. Riddle couldn't be that much older than her, maybe around Percy's age at most. "He's a bit young, isn't he?"

"No, not the Head Auror," muttered Harry. "Head of the Department."

Her eyes widened. No wonder Slughorn wouldn't leave the guy's side.

She tried to remember if Percy had ever mentioned him. The way her brother rambled on about his job at the Ministry, she didn't doubt that he knew — or, at least, knew of — the other man, being so close in age and a Department Head himself. It wasn't exactly common, having such a high-ranking job in the Ministry at their age.

"I think I've seen him before," mused Ginny. "What did you say his name was?"

"Tom Riddle," said Harry, in a tone that reminded her of how he used to say Malfoy when they were kids — not quite sneering, but heavy with exasperation.

"Tom Riddle? The guy the Prophet keeps calling the next Minister of Magic?"

"That's the one," he grumbled. "The next Minister . . . my mum just got elected and they're already calling him the next Minister. . . ."

"Well, he is cute," she said offhandedly. "Bet that's why. You don't get a lot of handsome men in politics."

Harry stared, brows pulled together as he frowned.

"What?" Ginny raised her hands in mock defense. "I'm just saying. I do have eyes."

"He's a bit of a prat though."

"Is he? I think he seems nice."

His eyes narrowed. "Seems nice or looks nice?"

She nudged his leg with her foot. "They don't have to be mutually exclusive."

"You don't work with the guy."

"Why? What's wrong with him?"

"Well," he said, considering the matter. "He just always seems — I don't know, a bit fake, I guess? Maybe that's just me."

Ginny tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Wasn't he Head Boy? The one before — no, after Percy."

"I think so. Can't say I remember much of him from Hogwarts."

She scoffed. "I don't think you remember much of anything that doesn't involve Ron and Hermione."

"Hey, I remember plenty," Harry protested.

"Like what?"

As if on cue, a Celestina Warbeck song started playing, and there were excited murmurs and sudden exclamations as the guests recognized the music.

"Like how much you love this song," said Harry cheekily. He held out his hand. "Dance with me?"

"Of course," Ginny said, putting her hand in his.

They stood and, without caring whether anyone else was dancing or not, they swayed along to the music slowly, careful to stay along the edges of the dance floor. When the song was over, they returned to their table, off in a nice secluded corner of Slughorn's party. Unfortunately, no more than a minute after, Ginny was swept up into a dance by another guest, and for the next hour, she was approached for pictures, autographs, and more dancing.

To Harry's credit, he didn't leave their table and kept her company throughout it all. Of course, he found the whole thing amusing, and took every chance he got to rib her mercilessly.

"Oh, the price of being famous," said Harry, snickering.

Ginny threw him a withering glare. She was just able to tell him to bugger off before she heard another set of footsteps approaching. Stamping on a smile, she turned around to greet the fan, but was stunned to find herself facing Tom Riddle instead.

At once, Harry straightened. "Good evening, sir."

"Potter," Riddle said, smiling amiably. "Shouldn't you be enjoying the party?"

"I'm enjoying it just fine, sir," said Harry glancing at Ginny for a beat too long. Harry turned back to Riddle, as if suddenly remembering he was there. "Er — Gin, this is Tom Riddle, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Sir, this is —"

"Ginny Weasley," Riddle cut in smoothly, extending his hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

Ginny blinked, a bit thrown by the sudden weight of his attention, and shook his hand.

"What gave it away?" she said with a wry smile.

Riddle gestured to her hair, chuckling lightly. "You must get that a lot."

"Unfortunately, yeah."

The first notes of the next song began to play, and Ginny realized that Riddle was still holding her hand.

"Would you care to dance?" said Riddle. His dark eyes seemed to glitter in the light.

Ginny cast a questioning look at Harry, who had a pinched expression on his face. For a moment, it looked like he was going to say no, but then he gave a little shrug, his mouth set in a grim line.

"If you want, Gin," he said tightly.

"All right," she said, hesitant, and suddenly Riddle was leading her to the dance floor.

A kind of ripple crossed the room as a few heads turned in their direction, but whether it was because they were looking at Ginny or at Riddle, she wasn't sure. There were more couples dancing now, blocking her view of Harry, and though she tried to look for him, her eyes were drawn to her dancing partner.

Riddle really was quite beautiful up close. Dark hair artfully coiffed, high cheekbones and a strong jaw, lips curled in a crooked smile. It almost hurt to look at him — it was like looking at the sun bouncing off snow.

And yet Ginny found that she couldn't turn away. There was something about his eyes, dark and intense, that seemed almost challenging, as though he was daring her to look away, as though waiting to see if she would bristle under the intensity of his gaze.

His eyes never left hers, even as he bowed low and lifted her hand to his lips.

"A bit forward, isn't it?" said Ginny, raising an eyebrow.

His smile didn't falter. "Is it? I thought it would be romantic."

She snorted. "Romance already? You barely know me."

"But I would like to," he said, lowering his gaze to the floor. "I admit, I've heard all about you, Miss Weasley."

Riddle couldn't quite meet her eyes, and if it had been anyone else, Ginny would have thought he was nervous.

Being coy more like, she thought, as Harry's words rose unbidden. Even if he was shy — but no, he didn't seem the type, and there was something . . . Ginny didn't know what it was, but something about him seemed off. Maybe not fake, like Harry had said, but Riddle had that indefinable air of someone wearing a facade.

Ginny would know — she too had worn her fair share. Or maybe it was just the politician in Riddle shining through, underneath all the charisma and pretty smiles.

He was a good dancer, if nothing else. He was all grace as they glided across the room, his movements effortless and elegant.

"Have you?" she said dully. "Big Quidditch fan, then?"

"Can't stand it, actually. No offense."

She couldn't help but laugh at that. "Points for honesty. Why are you dancing with me then?"

Riddle arched an eyebrow. "Do I need a reason?"

"Generally, yeah. Otherwise I'm gonna think you're out to get me or something. Haven't ruled that out yet, mind you."

He chuckled. "I think I've already told you why."

She grimaced. "Yes . . . romance."

"Is there something wrong with that?"

Well.

There wasn't. Not really. It wasn't like Ginny was seeing anyone, but . . .

She thought of Harry, who had cajoled her into coming to this bloody party, with his too messy hair and his kind eyes. The thought of coming tonight hadn't even crossed her mind until he asked her, and a little part of her had always thought —

Ginny shook her head. No sense in thinking about what-ifs and could-have-beens.

"You said you've heard of me," she said coolly. "Should I be worried?"

"You probably don't remember," said Riddle, "but we were in Horace's club at the same time, back in school."

"Were we?" It was possible. Riddle seemed old enough that they must have been in Hogwarts together at some point, though Ginny would have been too young to attend Slughorn's parties then.

Riddle nodded. "Horace kept inviting me back after I graduated, and I couldn't turn down the chance to see Hogwarts again." He smiled, and again she was taken aback by how unfairly charming he was. "He talked about you a great deal, but we were never formally introduced."

"What a loss for you," said Ginny.

Riddle met her gaze daringly. "I agree."

#ginny weasley #tom riddle #gin n tonic #tom x ginny #fanfic #my fic #fic: if by happenstance #I never published this until now because I thought there wasn't enough tom in the fic #but I'm a little bit in love with this AU #because there's no war and everyone lives!!#and lily evans potter is minister of magic #which means the political landscape of this AU is different #and purebloods don't have as much sway and influence in the government #which means tom has to adjust his strategy #being the power hungry prat that he is #he recognizes that he can't use blood purity to get power #so he probably plays up his background as a muggleborn orphan for sympathy points from the public #yes he's slytherin's heir but it's useless to him politically #so he emphasizes his muggle heritage #talk about his hardship adjusting in the wizarding world #the racism he experienced in slytherin #and the media eats it up #they see him as lily's natural successor because of their backgrounds #so all tom has to do is maintain that image #and come next election he's probably minister #eyyyy this can be its own multichap fic but I'm way too lazy

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falsegoodnight · 3 years

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what are your blff prompts? 😅

#82 and #224!! will put them below the cut along with some explanations of what route i'm going!!

Prompt 82: Rivals/enemies to lovers AU where they’re at a house party or something and Louis is talking shit about harry and he says “I can’t stand Harry Styles.” Harry overheard and he’s drunk, so with a smirk he says “kneel then” and that got Louis’s back to straighten and he turns beet red and starts cursing at Harry for being an insufferable prat. Fast forward three months, Louis is kneeling for Harry and preens every time Harry calls him sweetheart.

okay so this one is going to be an abo college au because those will always be my brand lol (+ frat boy harry!!) and the idea is very much thanks to my friend jas!! basically harry is the president of the biggest alpha frat on campus and louis is the president of the biggest omega sorority on campus and they can't stand each other <3 they start this unspoken competition to see whose organization can raise more money for community service, constantly argue during monthly meetings, and take “friendly” frat vs sorority activities way too seriously. but they're forced to work together on creating a rut/heat partnership program after harry’s vp comes up with the idea and then maybe they’re so caught up working out the details and bickering about every small thing that they both forget to sign up themselves until last minute... i think you can guess what happens next :)

Prompt 224: ABO AU in which alpha Harry is meant to become king. Unfortunately, he disappears mysteriously and when he’s found again years later, he’s gone completely feral. Princess Louis who he was meant to marry is the one in charge to try to bring back the human in him–it doesn’t seem like a great idea at first because seeing Louis seems to bring out the more animalistic part of the Alpha (with a lot of scenting, growling, licking and just Harry being a bit rough but protective over Louis). It’s a bit difficult but with time, Harry is brought back to his normal self and he just has to adapt to acting normally again. It all works out in the end.

okay this one. this is my first actual royal au since my swan lake au and it’s probably going to end up being a regency era fic just because i, like everyone, am obsessed with those aus right now!! basically, louis is betrothed to prince harry against his knowledge thanks to his power hungry aunt but he did ends up falling for harry nonetheless — they take it super slow because harry wants louis to want to marry him. so they court for a long time but then harry’s father starts getting sick and then one day, harry goes for a ride and never comes back. louis, who has slowly fallen deeply in love with the alpha, is heartbroken. the king’s condition gets worse and worse and eventually he passes away and the kingdom is left without an heir. the next in line for throne is harry’s cousin (currently unnamed) who has never given louis the right vibes and the thing about his betrothal is that due to its specific wording, it automatically transfers to this cousin. BUT then harry reappears. however, he’s obviously not himself. aforementioned cousin and his father (harry’s rotten uncle) maintain that harry is no longer fit for the throne. long story short, louis pleads his case to the court and is granted two months (till the solstice or some other significant date) to bring back harry’s human side or else Cousin will become king and louis will have to marry him... i can’t explain how excited i am for this one sjdjd

also want to share that louis has a cat in this fic: a fluffy, regal angora kitty named matilda :’)

#asks #wips #blff2021 #feral au #rivals au #ris rambling unprovoked; a never ending saga

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alakema · 4 years

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ds Dreammare: Burn

Previous chapter: https://alakema.tumblr.com/post/645649623479943168/ds-dreammare-calm

Dreamswap belongs to onebizarrekai

Trans male Nightmare. Some years after Dream’s betrayal. Have yet to meet Error. And yes, I’m aware conceptionelized isn’t a word, but this is Nightmare okay?

Nightmare’s point of view:

It’s been two years. Two entire years since I met Cross, and I’ve yet to tell him anything important about me : my transsexuality, my gayness, my past with… ‘Today’, I decided ‘I will tell him everything.’ Well, after I escape JR’s prison anyway. Yeah, trying to paint ‘Nightmare was here’ with a doodle of me looking over a wall, when all of JR was on high alert because of a traitor, might not have been my best idea. I regret nothing.

I hear footsteps coming this way. For a moment, I fear this is Dre-… Him, but all I see is a friendly Cross getting dragged along by the arms, thrown and chained into the same jail as me. Convenient. I wait until I’m sure the guards won’t hear us, then I move a little closer to him (as far as the chains are letting me).

“ Hey man, you’re alive?” I ask jokingly.

He doesn’t respond, unmoving. He isn’t dead, I can still feel his emotions; so he is either ignoring me or asleep. Meh, I’ll kick him anyway (to wake him up or to punish him, for me it’s a win-win). The Oreo yelps as he flinches in a straight position. The glare is more of a reward than an intimidation. I only snicker as I question him on why the fuck is he here. To save me? Well fat luck doing that now, inside a prison. He defends himself, and mutters about ungrateful little brat.

“ I’m not little damnit. I’m a full grown man!! - You’re as short as a girl! - Well excuse me, you dimwit, for being born one! - What? - W h a t?”

Oh. My. Fucking. Dog. I D I D N O T. No way, nopity nope. Nuh huh. The way he looks at me right now. As if I was never really in front of him all this time. Tripping over his word in front of this revelation, revelation he should have already known. It’s not that I think he isn’t worthy of it, I was just- worried, I guess. I didn’t think I would reveal it under that kind of circumstance. I look around to see if anyone else heard us. But the guards are at the entrance, far away from our sail. And yet, I’m not reassured in the slightest. Fuck. Damnit, this isn’t how I wanted to tell him. He shouldn’t have known over a throw-away line said in an argument. Not like this, not now. Not here, of all places.

“ Sooo… I’m lost. - No, you’re Cross.” I try, in an attempt to derail his train of thoughts. It doesn’t work, since this asshole ignores me entirely. “ Are you a girl or a boy? Cause, the first time we met, you told me you were a boy, but now, you’re saying you’re not. - God damnit, Oreo. I’m a fucking trans masc! - Trans what?”

‘Don’t you dare make the puppy face-… He’s making the puppy face.-_- ’

Explaining to my friend what transsexuality means is like explaining a toddler the conception of the stars… When you don’t know how the stars are conceptionelized. Needless to say, I regretted telling him. But when he finally, finally understood the meaning, he only told me:

“ No matter what, you’re still my bro, bro.”

Well shit if that didn’t make me cry. (This is the only time I’m ever crying in front of him. I swear on my chicken’s honor, never again.). We talked a bit more after that. Meaningless shits, mostly. But hey! They’re funny meaningless shits, so I don’t care. I can almost forget I’m behind bars, in JR’s prison. But I’m hungry, and I know it’s time for supper; the guards are late, I wonder why. When footsteps come our way, this time I can feel it. Powerful, certain, determined. Familiar.

It’s him.

I let a shaky breath. His aura burns me to the core, and I’m sure he knows it. But I don’t give a flying fuck. I’m strong, I can handle it. Just as I finally put myself together, a bright glow enters and bathes the flimsy place in an unnatural, otherworldly atmosphere.

“ We finally caught you.”

I don’t answer him even as I stare defiantly at his silhouette. In truth I’m at lost for words. Oh, god it hurts. His voice, his eyes. So different and yet so achingly familiar. Unwelcoming and yet so addicting.

“ Tell me, where did you find your…accomplice, all this time away from me?”

‘Why do you care, you feathered asshole?’ I want to snarl, my voice still lost in the past. Instead, I can barely whisper :

“ Non’yer fucking business, you prat. - Humph. As impolite as ever, sister. But it doe- - Brother.”

Cross, buddy, my dude, my bro. What the fuck are you doing? One: just because I didn’t tell you to keep it a secret, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have kept it a secret. And two: even I know you just don’t interrupt him if you don’t want to be in more trouble than you already are! And yeah, I know I’m one to talk, but it doesn’t matter in the end, since he wants me dead. Drea- HE is shocked as well, if I can still read him correctly.

(I can. And it burns. I can still read a familiar stranger, and it burns!)

His magnificent feathered prick starts, slowly:

“ What… Is the meaning of… This, sister? - Are you deaf, you shitty tosser? He said ‘brother’. - I am quite aware of what he said, and what the word means. My question is why did he tell me, affirm me even, that you are my brother? - ‘Cause I am.”

The leader of Justice Reigns frowns deeply in disapprobation (and why does my heart tightens still?). He demands that I “do not lie to me again. I am not here to mingle with your absurdity”. Fed up with his bullshit, my voice rises to a deeper, steadier tone, even though my body weakens.

“ We’re not lyin’, your stupid birdbrain! I’m a man, always have been. Would have told you if I had had the time, you know, back when we were still together.”

Bitterly, I notice he doesn’t even flinch at the accusation, unperturbed.

“ Duly noted. However, this has nothing to do as to why I am here currently. Take her…him to your laboratory.”

Wait, what? True enough, people behind that bastard, in white coat, are advancing toward. Like hell I’m being a guinea pig! I trash around, hoping for some kind of miracle, and Cross kicks and screams, in vain. He expands and reenforce his power on me, knowing full well the effect he has on me.

The last thing I see before I’m taken away for good is my Cross, scared and small, and a Dream I wish I could forget.

I don’t remember what happened at the laboratory. All I know is that my whole body is burning in new, unfamiliar flames. My limbs are singed ruins (my heart is ashes). Breathing is hard (Crying is harder). My friend is worried about me, but I can’t even summon the force to care anymore. I let him scream and plea for a response, but it’s too late for me. I’m burned, hurt and broken.

And I hate myself for it.

Next chapter: https://alakema.tumblr.com/post/646082387364790272/ds-dreammare-depart

#dreamswap #ds nightmare #dreamswap nightmare #ds cross #dreamswap cross #ds dream #dreamswap dream #ds dreammare #dreamswap dreammare #dreammare #sweammare #trans male nightmare #coming out #...sort of #implied violence #this is not good #hurt nightmare

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dewitty1 · 4 years

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Fic Recs Wrap Up - October 2020 (੭ˊ͈ ꒵ˋ͈)･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆

Mental by sara_holmes @captn-sara-holmes

Harry has had quite enough of sharing his mind with someone else, thankyouverymuch. A miscast Legilimency spell says otherwise. Rec Post

Changing of the Guard by Lomonaaeren

Need a perfect stranger? Ask Metamorphosis. Harry Potter runs the business secretly and becomes whoever’s needed for each occasion. He’s not sure whether he should be more surprised, worried, or amused when Draco Malfoy comes to Metamorphosis and requests an actor who can play his boyfriend so that his parents will disown him. Yet Harry has even more dangerous choices after he creates Brian, Draco’s “perfect” boyfriend. Draco doesn’t know who Brian is, but he’s trying to find out—and now so is Harry. Rec Post

Going Once, Going Twice by VivacissimoVoce

Draco Malfoy has been missing for two years. Now the Malfoy estate is going up for auction, and Harry decides it’s time to find out what happened to his former school rival. Rec Post

Oath Breaker by GoblinCatKC @kc-anathema

At the start of seventh year, the Malfoys perform a dramatic double-cross against the dark lord and Draco educates Harry in an old school of magic. With a wild dragon chase, narrow escapes and an unlikely romance as Draco is forced to reveal to a hostile wizarding world that the Malfoy family is dark. Rec Post.

Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop

It's Potter's fault, of course, that Draco finds himself trapped in the same twenty-four-hour period, repeating itself over and over again. It's been nearly a year since the unpleasant business at Hogwarts, and Draco's getting on with his life quite nicely, thank you, until Harry sodding Potter steps in and ruins it all, just like always. At first, though, the time loop seems liberating. For the first time in his life, he can do anything, say anything, be anything, without consequence. But the more Draco repeats the day, the more he realises the uncomfortable truth: he's falling head over heels for the speccy git. And suddenly, the time loop feels like a trap. For how can he ever get Harry to love him back when time is, quite literally, against him? Rec Post

Never the Same Again by frances potter

The war is over ... in fact it never really got started because the Dark Lord proved to be the more powerful. Now five years after Dumbledore's death, Draco Malfoy has something else to worry about besides being a spy. Rec Post

Starts With a Spin by Maxine @serasarahhhh

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. Rec Post

Saving Draco Malfoy by Dayspring

While the Wizarding world waits for Harry Potter to save them, Draco Malfoy decides to save himself. Rec Post

We Are Young (I'll Carry You Home Tonight) by Femme (femmequixotic) @femmequixotic

Harry and Draco have been falling into bed on and off again since the last election five years ago, much to the amusement--and financial gain--of their circle of friends. But when Harry agrees to work with Draco to put Kingsley Shacklebolt into the Minister's office, they can't work side-by-side again every day and sleep together; that would be courting disaster. Wouldn't it? Rec Post

₍՞◌′ᵕ‵ू◌₎♡ Here are some other fics you might enjoy-

On the Last Day by trishjames @thusspoketrish

Draco is still mourning the recent loss of his mother when the Wizarding World is struck with the tragic news of Harry Potter’s untimely death. It’s just his luck that Potter not only comes back as a ghost, but seems intent on haunting Draco as he’s the only one that can see him. It’s a race against time to retrace the last few days of Potter’s life in order to find his body before he’s lost to the living or spiritual realm forever. On their journey, they’ll uncover secrets, betrayals, and a horrific truth that will disrupt both the living and the dead. Fic Claim Post, Art Post 1, 2, 3 ( art by @eromnid )

Scenes of Surrender by Rasborealis

Draco just wants to keep his head down and finish his last year at Hogwarts. He's not supposed to let his mask slip, and Harry isn't supposed to care. Art post

You Don't Know Me (Like You Used To) by Anonymous for @hd-fan-fair

"Buy me a drink as compensation for maiming me?" he asks.

"And why the hell would I do that?" It’s a perfectly valid question. A drink invitation from Harry Potter is about as likely of a scenario as me streaking down Piccadilly in broad daylight. Consider me completely thrown off.

Sometimes it only takes a week to change everything. The story of how twenty-five-year-old Draco Malfoy hit one Harry Potter with a door and knocked both of their lives into somewhere entirely new. Rec post

True Children Still by Anonymous for @hd-fan-fair

After years of dancing around each other, Draco and Harry have finally begun to date, though they're taking things slow. They've got enough to figure out as it is, and the last thing Harry needs is an unexpected introduction to desires he's not quite ready to face. (please heed the tags!) Rec post

Asking For A Friend? by Anonymous for @hd-fan-fair

Asking for a friend? Don't be shy! I'm Genna Russ with advice!

Draco Malfoy, drag queen and agony aunt for the Daily Prophet, is very happy with his life. He loves his job. He loves his drag queen persona. And he loves the fact that the wider Wizarding world doesn't know who is offering them sassy advice with their morning news.

When he starts receiving letters from one Harry Potter – letters that are too racy to publish – he does the only thing he can do: he replies. His carefully constructed secret life is at risk of being blown wide open, but he just can't help himself. Draco never did have any self-control where the Prat Who Lived was concerned. Rec Post

Take My Wonder by Anonymous for @hd-fan-fair

Harry Potter is the author of very well-written children's text books. Joshua Starkweather is the author of not-so-well-written erotic fiction. Only one person knows that they are one and the same. Rec post

Starkissed by Anonymous for @hd-fan-fair

“Your tattoos!” The intruder says, boldly stepping over Ron’s chaise and crossing in front of Hermione to get to Harry, eyes wide and hungry. Harry immediately sits up, pulling the towel draped across the back of his chair down over his shoulders.

“No! Don’t cover them. They’re beautiful.”

Harry hopes an indulgent trip abroad will help shake him out of the doldrums of his life. What he finds once he gets to Venice is more than he ever expected. Rec Post

If an Injury Is to Be Inflicted by shealwaysreads (onereader) @shealwaysreads

If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.

Harry Potter disappeared a year after the Battle of Hogwarts, and with him went all hope for true change in magical Britain.

Three years later, Draco indulges himself and attends his first Dog Fight—the infamous underground fights with no rules, no referee, and no points system bar blood on the floor. The game was simple: you win, or you die.

A glint of green amidst the blood-red changes everything. Fic Claim/RecPost

♡✧( ु•⌄• ) I hope you enjoy these as much as I have!

As always, thank you so much for following, reading, and reblogging! Your support means so much to me!

xoxo Carey ₍՞◌′ᵕ‵ू◌₎♡💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖

#Fic Rec Wrap up October 2020 #Fic rec wrap ups #Drarry fic recs #fic recs #Drarry #Drarry fanfiction #My recs #Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy #Drarry Smut #Drarry Squad #Carey's Bookmark Fic Recs #Carey's Personal Bookmarks

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latinasmoak · 3 years

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the sweetest life (and the loving is easy when you’re with me)

tumblr version:

rating: mature

tags: no warnings, mutual pining, idiots in love, jealousy, colin my dramatic king, penelope is confused

Chapter Two: Strawberry Crème Brûlée p. 1

For the first time in his life, Colin Bridgerton wasn’t hungry.

Nevermind that he had invited himself over to Eloise’s and Penelope’s flat with the singular intent of sneaking in some sweets made by his favorite homebaker. All of that was swept aside, his gigantic appetite becoming non-existent at the sight displayed in front of him.

The easy upturn of his lips, a smile famous for charming all the women in his life, quickly vanished. The glimmer of mischievousness in his eyes dimmed, the words he had prepared to announce his arrival got caught in his throat; because who the hell was that man towering over Penelope in the kitchen? Why was this stranger whispering so close to her? And why was she giggling? At the sweet sound of her laughter Colin inexplicably felt a mad rush of... frustration. The urge to go and physically separate the two was overwhelming and he almost took another step inside the tiny kitchen when what happened next made his stomach drop.

The prat, after taking a spoonful of whatever it was in front of them, moaned and smiled brightly at Penelope before leaning down for a hug. Worse still, Penelope with her eyes alight with joy, happily reciprocated the embrace and wrapped her arms around him.

Colin couldn’t even begin to understand all the tumultuous feelings inside him at the sight. All he had were questions upon questions running through his mind. Who was he? How long has this been going on? Since when did she bake for someone else? Colin shook his head as if the simple act would brush away all the unanswered questions cluttering his mind.

When he had decided on his last minute trip to Greece over two months ago, he never imagined he’d be coming home to this. Since his friendship with Penelope deepened, he found that his attention to his phone increased dramatically. What simply started off as links for recipes, became chats where they talked about anything and everything. That's when he knew that Penelope Featherington wasn’t just his family friend. She was his best friend. So why, during all the countless chats they shared while he was away, did she never mention the fact that she was dating?

As much as he wanted to get to the bottom of all his queries, the thought of walking in and having to witness the apparently happy couple up close, made him physically ill. He just knew he couldn’t act as if all was well. Colin was struggling to come up with reasons as to why this new information didn’t bring him happiness for his friend. If anyone deserved to be in a loving relationship it was Penelope. He knew that. So why did the mere thought of her being in one make his jaw clench?

It was a small comfort that his arrival wasn’t expected. To the entirety of his family he was still in Iceland, he had made the last minute decision to cut his trip two weeks short, and instead of alerting them, Colin had been giddy at the thought of surprising them all. It had been a spur of the moment decision to drop by Eloise and Penelope’s first, before settling in the room set up for him at his mum’s place. Next time however, he’d be sure to give a heads up. He couldn’t bear to go through this again. To come unannounced and heaven forbid, see them in a more compromising position. Just the thought of it felt like someone suckerpunched him in the gut. Colin simply and quietly turned around and walked away.

“Penelope you are a genius!”

Phillip Crane moaned as the blackberry cream melted on his tongue. He finished his spoonful of the delicious filling the lovely redhead was making before continuing his praise.

“Eloise is going to love this. I can’t even begin to thank you enough for helping me out.”

Though he was never one to initiate grand displays of physical affection, Phillip couldn’t help but reach out and hug Penelope with the utmost gratitude. Her help in his grand plan to convince Eloise that it was time to declare their relationship to their respective families was invaluable. He wanted her to meet his older brother and he wanted to finally get to know the alphabet personally. He knew that without Penelope’s support, his ideas would have never manifested as grandly as they did. That, and she had already agreed to watch his twins overnight while he wooed Eloise on a weekend getaway. If anyone needed proof that Penelope was on her way to sainthood, they only needed to learn that she volunteered to take care of his little hellions. Thank god for angels on earth.

“All you have to do is make sure my best friend is happy,”

Penelope disengages from the hug and takes a step back, making sure to look up into his eyes. The seriousness of her following words could not be ignored. She may be tiny, but the protective love she held for Eloise shrouded Penelope with unmistakable power. She could be a threat if the need arose.

“Because if she’s miserable, or heaven forbid hurt, I will personally ensure that you will be too.”

Penelope’s voice maintained its sweet inflection, while her blue eyes turned into an icy glare. Phillip gulped before nodding solemnly.

“She’s the most magnificent woman I've ever met. If I'm the fool who makes her miserable, I deserve whatever torment you deem appropriate.”

The ice in her demeanor melted as Penelope swooned on behalf of her friend. She patted Phillip on the chest in approval before focusing on the various ingredients before her. She had planned to make Eloise’s favorite fruit tarts but with a twist.

“I’m glad we are in agreement! Now back to the sweets. I can recreate this cream for the tarts, all I need is more berries and those edible flowers you were talking about earlier! You will have to be in charge of dinner, I can bake but cooking still eludes me.”

Penelope herself was more than happy to help Phillip in his quest of making his relationship with her best friend public knowledge. He had been smart enough to realize early on in his relationship with Eloise that Penelope’s opinion was of the utmost importance. So he tried to be friendly, even when his stoic demeanor could often be misconstrued as snobbish elitism. Penelope was keen enough to know there had to be something about him that held Eloise’s attention. In the end, they ended up bonding over literature, -though Eloise loved to tease that it was a miracle he read anything outside of his botanical interests- and gardening. Phillip soon began to gift Penelope with the excess fruit and herbs he grew in his own little greenhouse so she could turn them into magical bites of perfection.

Sworn to secrecy, Penelope never hinted or uttered a word of his existence to the other Bridgertons and in the end, the only beings who knew of this relationship were his twins and herself. Penelope was excited for the secret to be out! It was alarming how often she found herself wanting to share the news. She wanted to join in on the inevitable teasing, she was eager to brag about the fact that she knew this secret before any of Bridgertons, and she was ready for someone to complain alongside her about how sickenly sweet they were with one another. She often imagined Colin being quick to tease or annoy Eloise about it... and just like that, Penelope felt her heart ache. As thoughts of Colin were known to do.

She missed him. It was alarming how much she missed him. He's been gone before so she really had no excuse to act as if this were new, but then again, before the eclair incident she had never spent so much uninterrupted time with him. He had spoiled her with his singular attention. They still texted each other almost every day but it wasn’t the same. She had gotten used to his physical presence. The way he towered over her, often helping her get things off the top shelf. The way he would sing her a song as he cleaned the dirty dishes and she would try and harmonize with him as she dried them. She also missed his chaotic energy in her kitchen, even when it could annoy her at times. The way she would need to slap his hands away to prevent him from dipping his finger in the raw batter or when she would have to take away the bag of chocolate chips to ensure there were enough for the cookies she planned to bake. He could never stay still but it was always such fun and there was always a delicious snack at the end of the night as a reward for all their hard work. He might never love her the way she loves him, but she had gotten greedy, soaking up all the moments he freely gave her and now she was going through withdrawals. Oh Colin, how am I ever going to get over you? Do I even want to?

After ensuring everything was going as planned, and shaking thoughts of Colin out of her mind, Penelope shooed Phillip out. Eloise was soon to return and she didn’t want the surprise to be spoiled. Penelope baking alone is no longer an odd sight, but if Eloise came home to her boyfriend being there unexpectedly, she would stop at nothing to get the whole truth.

A single beep from her phone alerted Penelope to an incoming message. Her heart picked up in pace as her anticipation rose. It's been a few days since she’s heard from Colin. The longest bout of silence since he left two months ago. Penelope took a deep breath before swiping the lockscreen away. Immediately her shoulders drooped, and she tried to temper her disappointment when she noticed that the message was from her baby sister.

Felicity: hey pen, the love of your life came back early!

Felicity: it was a shock to the whole fam, hyacinth even canceled our movie night! something about blue gifts or whatever.

Felicity: anyways, just thought you should know 😇

The initial joy at the news of his early return was quickly marred with the confusion over the total silence on his end. Did she do something to upset him? Or maybe she was making a big deal out of nothing. She really needed to stop expecting him to update her on his personal matters as if she was his girlfriend. It wasn’t fair to put those expectations on him, and it wasn’t fair that she kept disappointing herself because of her daydreams.

Penelope ignored her phone, not giving Felicity the satisfaction of adamantly protesting her feelings when they both knew she was not off the mark. Instead she pulled out a recipe she had been eyeing for weeks now. She had been waiting for Colin to come back before attempting to make it. Only she would spice it up and make it with strawberries. She knew that he had a fondness for them and she wanted this treat to be special, to be more than the usual standard.

Strawberry Crème Brûléé

She was tempted to reach out to him and ask him if he wanted to join her while she baked it, but she thought better of it. Surely the trip back home must have been exhausting and whatever energy he did have, must have been depleted after a dinner with his family, a boisterous lot that they were.

Looking over the recipe, Penelope noticed that it called for the creme brulee to chill overnight. She smiled as this offered the perfect solution, tonight she would bake the night away and keep her mind busy, and tomorrow she would invite him over and hope that she was simply imagining any weirdness she felt over the sudden silence. Grinning to herself, Penelope nodded decisively and set out to make a delicious strawberry compote.

Colin woke up moody, frustrated and tired.

Sleep evaded him all night; he had been plagued with nightmarish situations, each one of him of losing his best friend, of losing Pen. The more he thought about it, the more it terrified him. Penelope having a boyfriend meant that those late night baking sessions would come to an end, the constant trips to other bakeries would not be as frequent, and while Colin was sure that Penelope wasn’t the type to shun her friends in favor of her relationship, Colin wasn’t sure he could stomach the thought of being around her while she was kissing someone else. When she should be kissing me.

Colin paled as the thought crossed his mind, a thought that should not exist when Penelope was only a friend. Just a friend, friends don’t think about kissing their beautiful friends.

Although now he couldn’t stop thinking about how plump her lips were, especially after nervously biting them while she waited for his verdict on her sweets. He wondered if they were as soft as they looked? He would have to lean down to reach them but he could already imagine himself holding her closer, pressing himself against her soft plump curves and cupping her face. Lightly biting her bottom lip before using his own tongue to soothe the sting. He wondered if she would simply gasp and let him use that to his advantage, or if she would bite him back, Penelope was unpredictable afterall, he would never know what to expect from her...

Colin groaned as pure lust slammed into him the more he thought about Penelope. He laid back in shock over how quick his mind was, to turn against him like that, but it was like a pandora’s box. Now that it was open, things would never be the same. Colin couldn’t help but look back and notice all the little things about her that made her shine. The way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, and how when she blushed it was obvious for the world to see on her normally milky skin. The way she would be the first to share her food and would always offer encouraging words when needed. Colin thought of her laugh, and how loud and contagious it was, or how her bottom lip would tremble as she tried not to cry when she accidentally burnt or cut herself. All these moments rushed through his head and it killed him that someone else was learning these things about her right this very second.

Yes, her voluptuous figure, tiny stature and dark red curls were attractive on their own, but paired with her intelligent blue eyes, witty humor and overall sweetness, it was no wonder she was taken. It was a miracle it hadn’t happened sooner! How could he have been so blind? If he had never gone on his most recent trip, would he have been able to stop it from happening?

A subtle buzzing on the bedside table alerted him to his incoming messages. He blindly reached out, not even bothering to use any excess energy when all he wanted to do was waste away in bed. It’s what he was good at apparently, wasting time.

His heart began to accelerate when he noticed that it was Penelope.

Pen: a little birdy told me that you are back home.

Pen: welcome back 🥳

Pen: i was going to text you later in the day but I have something exciting to share with you!

Pen: knowing you, you’ve probably already had breakfast by now, or you're about to! come to my place right after! see you soon.

Colin could feel the cold brittle fingers of dread latch on to him. Weighing him down and chilling him to the bone. He had just come to the startling realization that he kind of, sort of liked his friend as more than just a friend and she was going to tell him all about her new relationship. Any fleeting hunger he might have felt was chased away by the churning in his stomach. And even though a large part of him wanted to make up an excuse, any excuse to get out of this sure to be painful encounter, avoiding Penelope Featherington after having spent so much time integrating his life with hers, would be like wishing it never rained in London, absolutely impossible. Taking a deep breath, Colin finally got up out of bed and went about preparing for what he was sure to be, the worst day of his life.

As soon as Penelope received a text from Colin, letting her know that he was on his way, Penelope pulled out two of the chilled ramekins from her fridge. She also pulled out the homemade whipped cream she had made last night, a couple of fresh strawberries and the turbinado sugar. She was quick with the knife and sliced up all the strawberries, ridding herself of the green tops and setting the rest aside once finished. She had gone all out and gotten herself a kitchen torch for the sole purpose of making that crunchy top layer that made creme brulees so fun to eat.

She was excited to have Colin try it. She had originally intended to call him over later in the day but then remembered she’d be taking care of the twins. Seeing as she didn’t want to have to explain that, Penelope figured it was best to call him now, she was just glad that he hadn’t made any morning plans already.

When Colin finally walked into her kitchen making use of the spare key, it only took a split-second to realize that something was off with him. Penelope used a kitchen towel to pat her hands dry before walking towards him. She tried to catch his gaze, but it seemed as if he was looking around for someone. Her head tilted slightly in confusion, Penelope wondered who he could possibly be looking for, surely he was aware that on Saturday mornings Eloise had brunch with his mum and sisters?

There was something downtrodden about him and the urge to comfort him came at her so fast, she was unable to resist. She didn’t really want to resist anyways. Opening her arms wide she pulled him into a hug, pleasantly surprised when he returned her embrace with gusto.

“It’s so good to see you! Am I being silly if I admit that I missed you?”

Penelope murmured into his chest. He was so damn tall, she wondered if he even caught what she was saying.

“Well I missed you too, so we can just be silly together.”

Colin had meant for that to come out in an upbeat, charming reply, but his body had a mind of its own, and instead he simply squeezed her tighter, he dipped his head close to hers and he softly admitted that she was no more silly than he. In fact he could have gone on to admit that he was more than silly, he was a damn fool for letting her get away, for not realizing that the feelings he had for her were more than just platonic. He wasn’t sure if it was love, but he knew that it could grow to be, it was all a moot point now, he wouldn’t even get the chance. So he held on, he breathed in her sugary sweet scent and wished that he could stay like this forever. Colin didn’t want to let go. How was he supposed to let go? In the end, he didn’t have to force himself to, she had pulled herself away.

As much as she would have loved to stay in his arms forever, the knowledge that something was wrong made her want to help him in whatever way she could. The way he clung to her let her know that whatever was ailing him was really serious. And she wanted to enjoy it, she wanted to close her eyes and melt in his embrace. But she felt guilty, deriving pleasure from his pain felt wrong. Knowing that food could at least partially help, Penelope withdrew from the hug and looked up at him, smiling at him softly as she tugged him closer to her counter.

“I made you something! When I found out you were back I just knew I needed to welcome you back home with style.”

“Pen, you didn’t have to do that.”

Colin rubbed the back of his neck, and Penelope wondered if the slight flush on his cheeks was him blushing or if she was just imagining things.

Penelope let go of Colin to make her way to her ramekins. She quickly and with minimal mess, poured two spoonfuls of the brown sugar on the top of the strawberry custard before spreading it around, covering the light pink creme from view.

“I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to,”

She grabbed the kitchen torch and turned it on, giggling at Colin’s alarmed reaction and wary eyes.

“Plus, I really really really wanted to use this today.”

She directed the open flame on the sugar and giddily watched as the sugar melted and browned, turning itself into the perfect crust to crack. She felt the moment Colin stepped into her bubble, the way he was looking over her shoulder was a move he’d done in the past and she’s proud she no longer jumped or startled when he invaded her space. Her heart still races, but at least her body no longer expresses her shock at him being so close. In fact, Penelope was proud her hand was still steady. No accidental burnings yet. When the first creme brulee was finished she breathed a sigh of relief before swiftly moving to the second, finishing that one too. Once both were done, she turned off the torch and grabbed the whipped cream, adding a generous spoonful on each, before finishing with the strawberries as a garnish.

“Ta da! A strawberry creme brulee. This is an experimental recipe so please be honest in your feedback. I think you’ll like it. I promise, no artificially flavored strawberries are found in this creme brulee!”

Penelope pushed his dessert closer to him as he had moved himself to the left of her during her explanation. She offered him a spoon and then grabbed hers. She wasn’t going to bite into it just yet, she was dying to see his reaction.

She watched as he cracked the top layer with his spoon, a satisfying snap resounding in the kitchen. He gave her a brief smile before dipping his spoon further in to capture some of the creme. Penelope flushed when she noticed his tongue lick around the spoon, not willing to miss a single bite. She just stood there, a little dazed as he dug in after that initial spoonful. She finally got ahold of herself and beamed at the way he devoured it. She managed to bite into her own and softly moaned when the velvety smooth creme melted on her tongue, the caramelized top adding the perfect crunchy texture to every bite. She had truly outdone herself.

So caught up in her own taste testing, Penelope never realized that Colin had turned stiff at the sound of her moans. She couldn’t have known that such a little innocent sound had triggered a tsunami of misconceptions and angst. No, she didn’t know anything about the regrets swirling around Colin’s brain at the moment. She did, however, notice that he was leaning heavily on the counter, gripping the edges so tightly his knuckles appeared ghostly white.

“Colin what’s wrong? Are you feeling sick? You look a little pale…”

Penelope set her own dish down and quickly closed the small distance between them. She stood on her tiptoes so she could reach his forehead, he felt a little warm but nothing out of the ordinary. She cupped his face, wanting to get to the bottom of what was wrong.

“Colin look at me, please tell me. What happened? Did my food make you sick? Do you need to lie down?.”

Penelope lets go of his face to reach for his hands, she gently pulls his hands away from the counter, clasping them with her own. She holds them and squeezes softly, quietly letting him know that he can depend on her. She looks up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something, anything.

How could he begin to explain everything that was wrong?

It was a small comfort that he didn’t have to meet her significant other, but just knowing that moments like these, where he can stand over her shoulder and just see her doing something she loves would be an activity she would share with someone else. Someone else would get to hear her make those little moans, someone else would get to make them happen in a different setting. How does he tell her that it's killing something inside him to know that it won’t be him? How does he begin to explain that he feels this possessive urge to steal her away and never let her out of his sight? He doesn’t even know where to start. He’s not even really sure that he should.

Before he can wave her worries away, before he can reassure her that her food would never make him sick, before he could pretend like he was just feeling off. Something in him takes over and all that comes out is the most important question that will guide him in regards to how he should treat Penelope Featherington.

“Are you happy?” is all that comes out, ragged in its intensity. Colin’s eyes burning with the need to know exactly how she felt.

Whatever Penelope was expecting, it was obvious from her reaction that this was not it.

“What?!”

Colin closed his eyes briefly, gritting his teeth as he gathered the bravery necessary for this inquisition. He opened them and this time he used her grip on his hands to his advantage, bringing them up to rest against his chest. He wondered if she could feel how fast his heart was beating for her.

“Are you happy? With him?”

|| CHAPTER THREE || || AO3 ||

#Polin Fics #Polin #Penelope Featherington #Colin Bridgerton #Colin x Penelope #Bridgerton Fics #Bridgerton #fic: the sweetest life #ale's fics

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unfortunatelysirius · 4 years

Text

Once Upon a Star | Sirius Black, Marauders’ Era

「 ❁ 」PROMPT 「 ❁ 」

Sirius finds Y/N at the Astronomy Tower and she teaches him the muggle tradition of wishing on a shooting star.

「 ❁ 」AUTHOR’S NOTE 「 ❁ 」

anyone who doesn’t believe in me doesn’t deserve to know me and I've accepted that

SIRIUS USUALLY didn’t trail Hogwarts past curfew unless it was one of two things: one, he and his mates were looking to fulfill a prank; or two, he intended to sneak out through one of the secret passages. On this late and dreary occasion Sirius was sent to infiltrate the Ravenclaw common-room (the door’s riddle a trifle he’d probably turn red in the face tackling) to charm the boys’ stairs to solely turn to a slide when Ernie Mackett came down. Sirius had been personally spurred to enact vengeance by the asshat when he made that comment in Transfiguration earlier in the day— calling him a Pureblood reject that would, sooner or later, turn to the Dark Arts when being a runaway misfit didn’t feel fun anymore. Stupid Ravenclaw prat, who did he think he was? Sirius could still hear his annoying, weaselly voice…

No one found him funny and James charmed spitballs to projectile-launch at the back of his weasel head. Appreciated. Ernie deserved worse but in the moment, spitballs sticking to his military cut really took the edge off. Like was said… momentarily. Key word: momentarily. He was getting his reckoning in the morning when he’d go squealing down the slide like a toddler.

Not his greatest prank. Sirius could do better, much better, but he didn’t have many options without immediate expulsion. He was running it thin with Minnie; one step out of line and she’d probably send him packing the next day. The little things were good enough… for now.

Sirius had James’s Invisibility Cloak to be safe, though he did believe strongly in his stealth abilities. He walked up the stairs of the Astronomy Tower, slower than his long legs were plenty capable of. He’d passed Peeves a while ago, kind of got nervous (pssh, not that he’d admit it) until Peeves was well away and not close enough to muck his motion-going plan up. Then he got here, so close to the prize. The Astronomy Tower was well-abandoned. It was almost… too easy to just walk right up the stairs, spend long enough to grow a gray hair on some dumb riddle, and waltz through the door.

Then he heard it. Humming. A soft voice, throat thrumming to a tune Sirius could hear but not recognize—pretty in an enticing way. It was well past curfew and Sirius didn’t expect to meet anyone on his way; why was anyone here? Truly, sincerely, this had to be a trick… Minnie could be the culprit and she’d be at the next window, pretending to pet a cat. Don’t be ridiculous, Minnie’s not a psychic…

It was a girl at the next window, just not one ashen with age.

She was sitting and staring out of the Tower’s open gap, touching her palm to the stone beside it. Instead of cutting off at the uvula and paranoia inciting a suspicious survey of the area, she continued her humming, the hum transitioning into an open mouth melody. Interesting. Weird, but interesting. Sirius raised his eyebrows and put a hand to his mouth, jerking the cough pounding at his gullet back in.

She brought her knees up and perched her chin on them, her back still turned to Sirius. Sirius closed his eyes and jerked them open, taking her backside in just one more time. Okay, fun was over—Sirius reluctantly tore his gaze away. He moved to be on his merry way to avenge his reputation against the slimy Ernie.

The humming cut abruptly off. He got a few steps in before a voice stopped him. “I know someone’s there… who is it?”

Sirius almost groaned. He snuck a peek over his shoulder through the cloak.

The girl wasn’t even a stranger or some power-hungry prefect who’d be deducting points from the idiot out after curfew. It was Y/N bloody L/N.

Sirius tore the cloak off himself without thinking it completely through. “Y/N, what are you doing here?” he whispered (for the sake of fact, whisper-shouted) and shuffled closer, mindful of the noise his feet made.

Y/N, shards of a moonbeam illuminating her face, turned away from staring out of the tower. She was dressed in what constituted as pajamas, a rumpled outfit more for lounging around in a dorm than being in direct fire from crisp December air. She smiled toothlessly when she caught Sirius’s hard gaze. “I come here to think and look at the stars. What are you doing here?”

Getting revenge, Sirius thought. Y/N wasn’t the violent type and the unlikeliest of people to ever hold a grudge; she wouldn’t take kindly to him proclaiming his intentions, dishonorable as they were. He tightened his grip on James’s Invisibly Cloak. “Would you believe me if I said I was taking a leisurely stroll?”

Y/N giggled, Sirius perking up at the sound; did that mean she believed him?

“Do you take me for an idiot?” she said incredulously, still giggling.

Sirius’s shoulders drooped. He bit back a groan. “Can we pretend you never saw me and go on as we were?”

Y/N blinked at him. She patted the empty spot where she previously had her legs, right in vantage of the sky and its children. “I have a better idea, Sirius. Come join me!”

Sirius’s eyes found the stone her bottom was plopped on, then where she was continuing to drum her fingers against. Sirius found her proposition odd and a little perplexing. “Are you serious?” he asked, raising his eyebrows—not that she could really see it.

Y/N nodded eagerly.

Sirius’s forehead cinched and he debated his options. Getting revenge on the arse that defamed him or sitting with a pretty girl and looking at the stars… he could go on and on about what was pro et contra. Ernie deserved humiliation at the highest setting, but Sirius was opportunistic; he knew he could think of a better prank tomorrow. Something that was bigger, better, smarter, and more mortifying. He could humble Ernie for the rest of their bloody time at Hogwarts, if he brewed on what would ruin him the most a little longer.

Y/N was nice to talk to. In the dark and feeling exhausted by his ire that had ran his ragged and thin over the last few hours, Sirius didn’t think deviating from his plans and sitting and staring at the stares was necessarily a bad thing.

Sirius shrugged and thought, What the hell?

Y/N’s smile was ear-to-ear when he sat down beside her.

“You know anything about constellations?” Y/N asked him.

Sirius shrugged again, bringing his thumb up to nibble on the edge of his fingernail. He was nervous, but that mostly came from having to sit still. It was a tough objective for someone with the mind motor of a motorcycle. “Not much.”

“You’re named after a star, though,” Y/N said. She touched his arm and guided him closer, using her free hand to point at a cluster of stars dotting the sky. Sirius squinted. “Tonight’s sky is just covered in stars. So many constellations. See that? That’s the Canis Major. There’s Sirius.”

The brightest star in the sky. Sirius didn’t know whether she was telling the truth or pulling a flirtatious fib.

He barked out a laugh. “Really?”

Y/N bobbed her head and flashed him a giant grin. “Really. I forget the rest of the names and where they’re located… I think one of them’s called Orion.”

Sirius was uninterested in his namesake and that of his prat father. “What’s so great about stars? They’re just stars.” He let his partner do all the work in fifth-year Astronomy for a reason.

“What? How can you say that?” Y/N gasped, like Sirius spoke blasphemy instead of an opinion. She shook her head and looped her arm around his, dragging him closer to the Tower gap. “The sky’s like a blanket of all these different colors. Even when there aren’t any stars you can keep making new discoveries. The sky’s blue, but not just blue; you can distinguish the navy from the little slivers of obsidian. It’s all just—”

“Alright, love, I get it,” Sirius said, defensively pulling his arm out of her loop. Her hopeful expression penetrated his defenses, though, and he cracked under the pressure. He exhaled a deep, frustrated sigh. “I’m not sentimental, okay? I don’t care about any of this.”

“I know, but I care,” Y/N said, something defiant in her stare.

Y/N turned to look back out, apparently in a bit of a tizzy, and Sirius bit back a retort. He didn’t have to be here; he could retreat back to his dorm under fire from his mates who expected Ernie’s comical wrath in the morning, aiming for a decent night’s sleep. Instead he let himself get roped into star-gazing, an activity he never envisioned himself participating in. This was just too… quiet. A serene atmosphere meant for patient souls, not misfits itching at the folds.

“I never said you couldn’t—” Sirius started before a loud gasp echoed in the Tower. Y/N’s hand reached out and swatted clumsily, hitting Sirius in the nose and the chest. Forgetting it was past curfew Sirius cried, “Ow! What the bloody hell?!”

“Look, Sirius, it’s a shooting star!” Y/N gasped, pointing excitedly out at a glimmer of light soaring through the sky. It was ethereal and dainty, faster than anything Sirius had ever seen. Y/N hit him again, lightly this time. “Quick, make a wish!”

“What—why would I do that?”

“Shooting stars have a magic of their own,” Y/N said to him in a haste. She closed her eyes then opened them again. A goofy smile went on her face. “You just think of something you want most in the world, and maybe the star will listen.”

Huh.

Sirius breathed a sigh as the star was nearly out of sight. He closed his eyes and let caution be thrown to the wind; whatever popped into his head first, he’d let that be his wish. As long as it satisfied Y/N. Regardless of how weird this was. It had to be a Muggle belief—he never heard of such a thing.

Acceptance. I want acceptance.

Sirius flinched. His eyes popped open and Y/N was already staring, breath hitched in anticipation. He rolled his shoulders and said, “I guess I did it.”

The shooting star had rocketed past their tiny hole in the Tower, leaving the sky a painting of asterisms.

Y/N giddily enveloped him in a hug. “See? Wasn’t that exciting?”

Sirius gazed down at her, feeling something new and abnormal in his stomach. A feeling he didn’t know the best word for, but a feeling that he accepted—like it was a welcome guest in what he claimed as his, just his territory. “Sure,” he said noncommittally.

Y/N buried her head in his chest.

Sirius thought back to his wish. Acceptance was the first word that popped into his head and one of the many things he found himself yearning for time and time again. He indeed got love and appreciation with James and his family, with most of his mates actually, but there was a lingering category of “acceptance” he failed to acknowledge through the years. He had refused to sit on it, thinking the very occupation as someone who could find and reciprocate love would forever be an impossibility. Unimaginable for someone like him that went years thinking he didn’t deserve anything at all.

Strangely, it felt different with Y/N.

Strangely, he felt accepted with her in his arms.

#sirius black x reader #sirius black #sirius black fanfiction #young!sirius black #marauders' era #marauders era #marauders map #shooting star #astronomy #padfoot #sirius black fanfic #sirius black oneshot #sirius black imagine #Harry Potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter tumblr #Harry Potter x reader #I was listening to emotional music while I wrote this oops #sirius orion black

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velvetthunder1999 · 4 years

Text

All the time on Earth

Part 21 - Promises and Christmas Jumpers

Summary: Tension between you and George is rising until a point where you can’t handle it anymore. You just hope he’ll be able to forgive you

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Word count: 3.3K

George Weasley x Reader

Masterlist

You left the Knight Bus feeling sick, it was likely you were going to throw up on that exact spot. Hermione patiently waited for you to catch your breath, before you two headed towards Grimmauld Place, pulling your trunks behind you in the snow.

“Feeling better?” she asked, her hand reaching for the bell.

“Yeah,” you panted. “Just let’s get inside, I’m freezing.”

Yesterday you woke up to Hermione violently shaking you, telling you what had happened to Mr Weasley and that now he was in St Mungo’s. George and the other Weasley kids had already left the school by then, but you and Hermione had to wait until term ended. You had had your last detention with Umbridge yesterday evening; you’d never seen her so angry like this before. She was fuming, probably because of how Dumbledore took things into his own hands. Either way, you were glad Christmas break had started. You could really use a few weeks without seeing ugly toad-face.

“Hermione!” Mrs Weasley welcomed you inside with a hug. “Y/N! It’s so good to see you!”

“How’s Mr Weasley?” you asked nervously.

“He’s quite all right. He’s resting now, we were just visiting him yesterday… But don’t just stand there, come in, come in! Are you hungry? We’re about to have dinner.”

You got rid off your clothes and followed Mrs Weasley to the kitchen.

“Ron, please tell the boys dinner’s ready,” she sent her son upstairs. A minute later everyone except Harry came down the stairs, taking their seats at the table.

“Hermione, Y/N, finally!” said Fred with a grin and sat down next to you. George followed, saying a low ‘hey’ as he sat down to your other side. Sirius was handing plates out while Mrs Weasley placed a big bowl of soup in the minddle of the table.

“Bread, Y/N?” asked Ginny and you reached for a slice. Mrs Weasley’s sharp eyes shot a concerned look at you.

“Did you injure your hand, Y/N? Would you like me to have a look at it?”

The whole table fell silent. George casted down his eyes and was now heavily concentrating on his soup.

“Er — ” you said, immediately hiding your hand under the table. “No, thanks, it’s okay…”

“It seemed pretty serious,” said Mrs Weasley, now coming towards you. “Are you sure it’s all right, dear?”

“Yes, it’s fine, no need to worry — ”

“Show her, Y/N,” said George in a low voice, eyeing the table. “It’s what you wanted.”

You looked at George, feeling hurt, but you felt even worse when Mrs Weasley took your hand and gasped.

“Y/N! How… What… How is this…” she couldn’t find the words. Her face went pale and she found it quite difficult to breather properly. You turned your head away only to lock eyes with Sirius. He was staring at the words on your hand with a stern face.

‘I musn’t mix with purebloods’.

“Umbridge,” you said in a low voice to him. You couldn’t look at anyone else. “She…”

A chair creaked loudly on the floor next to you as George stood up and left the table without saying another word. His footsteps on the stairs made your heart sink even more.

“I’m… I’m sorry. Excuse me,” stood up and hurried out of the kitchen, too. You had no idea what you wanted to say, but you just knew you couldn’t handle this anymore. George’s silent outbursts, Fred’s suggesting looks, the guilt in your stomach… You just wanted to make things right. You wanted to talk it over. You wanted to be ony speaking terms with your boyfriend again.

You ran up to the first floor, slipping on some nasty liquid as you turned to the next set of stairs. You checked your room first but it was empty… Hurried to the next one, finding no one there either. You almost passed the drawing room, thinking there was no chance he was in there, but a small gleam of red hair made you come to a halt.

You peaked your head in quietly. He was sitting on the very end of the couch, his face buried into his hands. First you thought he was crying; but then you realised that his shoulders were rising and falling very slowly, almost as if he was breathing while asleep — or as if he was trying to calm himself down.

Your heart broke at the scene; even more as you remembered you had caused him to feel this way. It was not until you took a few very slow steps towards the counch, that you spoke in a low voice:

“Can I sit down?”

He could clearly hear you coming in, cause he did not wince to the sound of your voice. He nodded as an answer, without raising his head from his hands. He looked extremely distressed. You felt horrible and ashamed. You sat down, unable to look away from him. You didn’t know where to start. You wanted forgiveness, but you also wanted him to know how sorry you were.

“Georgie, I… I know I messsed up.”

He didn’t answer. Your throat felt dry.

“And I know you wanted me to stop.”

No answer. Your stomach felt really uncomfortable.

“And I know that I haven’t listened to you.

He still didn’t look at you.

“And I… I understand if you hate me.”

Hearing that, he jerked his head up. His face was stuck in a grimace, in an expression of anger and disbelief.

“I don’t… Y/N, I…” he rubbed his eyes in frustration. “Agh! You know what bugs me? I don’t know what to do! I could never hate you, but I can’t sit around and watch what you’re doing to yourself anymore.”

“I know,” you whispered, and your eyes started to sting. You were staring at your hands in your lap now. You couldn’t look George in the eye anymore. “I know that.”

“And you wouldn’t listen to me. What do you suggest I do? I’ve asked you to stop nicely, I’ve asked you to stop angrily. I’ve done everything in my power to persuade you…” he shook his head in pain. “What else, Y/N? Cause I’ve run out of ideas.”

“I know,” you whimpered. You didn’t want to cry but you couldn’t help it. It was to happen at any second now. “I —”

“Look at your hand,” he said in a shaking voice. You had never seen him so furius. Not with you, anyway. He was fuming. “Look at it and tell me it’s worth it. Look at it and tell me that you like what you see. Look at it and —”

“Stop!” you cried. A small sob sqeezed itself through your lips and you felt tears running down your cheek. “I know! I know you’ve told me, I… I shouldn’t have pushed her, she… she payed me back for it, I…”

“Payed you back, what d’you mean she payed you back?”

You needed a few try before you could answer properly.

“She… s-she… she k-killed Peanut!”

“What?!” his anger was replaced by mere shock. You nodded, still crying.

“I’m… I’m an idiot, George…I am such an idiot, a stupid, stupid prat, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

You sobbed into your hand.

“Please, d-don’t hate me. Please, I’m sorry, you were right, just d-dont… I don’t want this anymore, I can’t, I can’t do this — ”

George moved directly next to you on the couch so that your knees were touching. He put one hand on your back. His face was pale and his eyes were full of worry.

“Shh, hey, hey…” after a bit of hesitation he pulled you into his arms and brushed your hair out of your face. “Don’t cry, please, it’s all right now…”

You buried your face into his neck. You saw your tears leaving wet marks on his shirt. He was tenderly soothing your hair. You could barely breath. You couldn’t calm down.

“Please, don’t… d-don’t shout at me, please don’t b-be angry with me, I am so sorry, George…”

“I won’t shout, I promise, I’d never — Y/N, please breathe, okay? — I’m not angry with you, I promise, please just try to calm down — ”

You shook your head. Your voice was muffled by his shirt.

“No, you should be an-angry, I deserve i-it…”

“I’m not following you love, do you want me to be angry or not?”

“I d-don’t want you but you should be, I’m a horrible person!”

“You’re not a horrible person,” he said sharply. “Please, try to breathe, okay?”

“I’m s-sorry… for everything…”

“It’s all right… Please don’t cry, everything’s okay, I promise…”

“Y-you mean it?”

“Of course, I mean it.”

“I w-was horrible t-to you.”

“I know, baby. It’s okay…”

“It’s n-not okay.”

“You said you’re sorry, it’s okay now…”

“You f-forgive me?”

“Of course, love… Come — come here, breathe with me okay?”

He cupped your cheeks and forced you to look into his eyes. He took a deep breath and you followed; when he exhaled you did the same. After six rounds you felt yourself calming down, breathing properly again, tears stopped.

“All right…” said George, wiping your wet face with his fingers. “You scared me there for a bit.”

“I’m really sorry… for how I behaved,” you said again, this time more clearly. “I mean it. I should’ve listened to you… She… She… Peanut…”

You felt your lip tremble again. George squeezed your shoulder firmly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes… It was him…”

You told him the story of the feather. You managed without crying this time, but George’s face went even paler.

“We have to tell Dumbledore.”

“Come on, there is no evidence…”

“But she told you!”

“She could’ve told me anything, that’s not proof.”

You took George’s hand into your scarred one. The letters were showing in bright red. For the first time in many weeks you realized what the words meant. What a disgusting meaning they bore. And you actually felt disgusted and regretted being so stupid to let things go this far.

“I promise I won’t step out of the line,” you said sadly. “I keep my head down.”

“Okay.”

“But I won’t pretend that we’re just friends,” you said firmly. “I won’t talk back, but I want to walk with you to class, I want to sit with you in the Great Hall… She can’t punish me for that… I wanna be with you… I really miss you, George.”

“I really miss you, too,” his voice cracked. “It’s been so dreadful.”

He closed his eyes rested his forehead on your shoulder. You looked at his face, his beautiful, freckled face and you just didn’t understand how could you have been so stupid before. And how could he… be like this? He… He forgave you, just like that. Even though you knew you will never forgive yourself, he did. He had the nicest soul you’d ever had the chance to know.

And suddenly a strange feeling came over you, almost like unfulfillment… And in that moment you just knew that you’ll never be able to get enough of him. You knew that there won’t be a single day when you won’t be wanting more of him… And you could not help but wonder, how was it possible to love someone as much as you loved George.

“You’re quiet,” he said and leaned back to be able to look into your eyes. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I can’t,” you said after a bit of hesitation. “It’s quite complicated.”

“You think I won’t understand?” he said with a half smile, but his eyes looked concerned.

“No, I…” you struggled, now regretting that you’d spoken at all. “Come here — come.”

You thought it was going to be easier to lie down; then you cupped George’s cheek and pulled him gently over your chest so that he’ll be on top of you, resting his head on your breast.

“You hear it?” you asked.

“Your heart? Of course, I hear it,” he said uncertainly.

“Good. It’s yours.”

He jerked his head up. You brushed his cheek with your thumb, a shy smile on your lips.

“Sappy?”

He chuckled.

“Yeah. But it’s all right if you mean it.”

“I mean it. I really mean it. I… I can’t find the words to tell you how much I love you. I just hope you feel it.”

“You’re making me so soft,” he said, shaking his head. Then he climbed closer so that his face would be in front of yours. Then he nodded seriously. “I do feel it. Please, believe me. And believe me when I say the same. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He pressed a soft kis onto your cheek, then your mouth, then he lowered himself carefully to lie on top of you again on the narrow couch.

Snow was falling heavily now, and the strong wind outside was making sure to rattle the old windows of the house. You thought about Hogwarts, then Umbridge, then Mr Weasley who was still lying in a hospital bed somewhere in London. Then you thought about Harry and the Third Task, then the dementors that had attacked him during the summer. And as you buried your fingers into George’s hair, caressing it gently, you couldn’t help but think about your love and that how long will it last before evil interferes.

——

On the day of Christmas you woke up with a start, squinting at once at the bright sunlight that was filling in the room. You blinked for a few times, then you realized what had caused you to jerk awake so suddenly — George was leaning close, barely an inch away from your face.

“What the hell?” you exclaimed.

“Merry Christmas!” he started pushing you to scoot over and sat down to your bed. “I’ve got your present!”

“Oh, no, but I haven’t got you anything,” you teased.

“Witty,” he rolled his eyes and put a box in your hand. “Just open it.”

You sat down and brushed your hair out of your sleepy face, then looked at the package curiously. George was watching excitedly as you lifted the top of the tiny box, pulling out a thin chain that seemed to belong to a neat little necklace. It had a tiny golden locket on it, which if opened, showed a picture of the two of you. The photograph was taken in the Room of Requirement after a DA meeting. The picture-George was laughing at something while picture-you was shaking her head with a smile.

“Oh, I love it,” you said softly, your heart melting. “Thank you, George.”

“Can I…?”

You gave him the necklace and he put it around your neck, pressing a small kiss on your cheek after. You bemaed at him, then reached into your trunk to look for his package. From the huge mess of clothes and books you pulled out a green little box.

“Here. Merry Christmas.”

He opened his gift with great anticipation. When he lifted the top of the box, his eyes went wide.

“What is this?”

“It’s called a dreamcatcher,” you said. “You should hang it above your bed. Muggles think it’s good against bad dreams and everything. But I made this one on my own… It took a while, actually.”

“Did you really?”

“Yeah. There’s something else to it, too. Smell it.”

He raised the dreamcatcher to his nose.

“It smells like vanilla.”

You smiled.

“Well… I put some Amortentia on it, charmed it so it would never fade away. I wanted to give you something that’d remind you of me even if I’m not there.”

“Witty… it’s beautiful.”

“You really like it?” you asked shyly.

“Yes, it’s brilliant, really,” he looked at the dreamcatcher again. His eyes went misty. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you kissed him on the cheek. “Breakfast?”

“You want to be careful,” said Fred, stepping through the door. “Mum’s been crying all morning.”

“What?” you asked, nervously remembering Mr Weasley. “What happened?”

“Oh, yeah, I didn’t tell you — Percy sent back the Christmas jumper,” said George in a low voice. Git.

“Ungrateful little weasel,” added Fred.

You waited ten minutes before you went down to have breakfast, and even then turned away politely as Mrs Weasley occasionally sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. You helped her do the dishes as a lame way to make her feel better, but then you and the twins joined Harry, Ron and Hermione to play Wizard’s Chess and Exploding Snap all day. In the meantime Mrs Weasley left with some people from the Order to get Mr Weasley and bring him home. You had not recieved your presents yet as she wanted to wait for him and celebrate together.

“Daddy’s back,” she said with a wide grin once you all surrounded the kitchen table, ready to have lunch. Everyone applauded Mr Weasley who seemed a bit tormented but happy to be home at last. Mrs Weasley took one of the many packages and handed it to her son. “Big box for Ron!”

Ron took his present with a reluctant smile, but you were watching George and Fred receiving identical scarves and wrapping them around their neck. George caught your eye as you were smiling to yourself and winked.

“Y/N, dear,” said Mrs Weasley, handing you a package. “Hope you’ll like it.”

You were uncertainly staring at the package in your hand, not sure what to say. You looked back at Mrs Weasley, taken aback.

“Is this for me?”

“Of course, dear! Merry Christmas!

“I didn’t think I’d get —”

“Don’t be stupid, Y/N, it’s yours!” scolded Fred, grinning.

“Fred!” said Mrs Weasley, annoyed.

“Open it, Y/N,” said George keenly.

You looked around; all the Weasleys were watching you with anticipation. You took the package again and carefully loosened the thin string around it. The paper fell off, and your eyes fell on a red fabric. You realised with great shock that it was a knitted jumper.

“I… Oh, my God,” you said, your throat dry, as you touched the soft fabric. You didn’t know what to say.

“There’s a little something there as well,” said Mrs Weasley, beaming. You folded out the jumper and found a soft, maroon knitted hat inside it.

You looked at George who was now grinning madly.

“I told you I’ll get one for you, didn’t I?”

“Is it the right color, dear?” asked Mrs Weasley anxiously. “I wasn’t sure if you — ”

You stood up from the table and pulled her into a tight hug.

“Thank you so much, Mrs Weasley.”

Her face was flushed by the sudden surprise. She patted your head gently.

“You’re welcome, dear. Do you like it?”

You were speechless. You remembered clear as day to the Hogsmeade trip when George and you, just as friends, spent a day together in the small village. He told you about his mum making jumpers and hats for Christmas. You had felt a bit jealous and sad at that time. You had felt bad, for he had had the perfect family and you didn’t. And you felt sad, thinking how nice would it be to be a part of a family like his. You had never told him this… But apparently you needn’t have done. He had known it. He had known it very well.

“I love it, Mrs Weasley,” you said, still a bit emotional as you pulled your first ever Christmas hat on your head. You sent a loving smile towards George who just didn’t seem to take his eyes off you. You beamed and in that moment you felt that you are truly a part of his wonderful family.

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arewelonely · 4 years

Note

hiya laurel!! i would love to make a request if you're up for it? how about some jily but this time lily sneaks in to visit james at his house? i'll leave the rest up to you xx

helloo! i couldn’t have lily sneaking into james’ house with them fully together, bc i like the idea of the potters just being so welcoming she can come in through the front door :) so, instead, we’ve got the following:

jily summer after fifth year, Lily appears in James’ room one dusty afternoon

---

“Oi, Potter, I should’ve known your room would look like a five year old’s.”

She thought this was a pretty good opener, and she had planned it, sitting on his bed after having pulled a few of his books off of the shelves and thumbing through them–biographies of famous Quidditch players, some children’s books that were so clearly wizard Lily couldn’t help but smirk as picked them up (The Tales of Beedle the Bard, seriously?).

She got to watch as James’ mouth opened and shut a few times, the door still halfway opened and his hand still on the knob.

“I mean, Quidditch posters, children’s books, mess everywhere, all we’re missing are some stuffed animals, huh?”

James seemed to come back to himself and he nudged his glasses up on the bridge of his nose (Lily rolled her eyes) and stepped fully into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Evans, what in Merlin’s name are you doing here?”

Lily leaned back on the bed (his bed) and spread out her fingers. “Ooh, the blankets are comfy. Any stuffies hiding underneath?”

“Evans, what?” Potter seemed unsure of whether he should step forward and stop her from lifting up the covers–

“Ah, yes! A... hm,” Lily held up the dragon and pretended to think, thrilling herself at the look of utter confusion on James’ face, “a Norwegian Ridgeback?”

James crossed his arms and rolled his eyes upwards, staring at the ceiling. His cheeks tinged a slight pink. Lily held back her smirk. She knew what was coming.

“No, it’s a Hungarian Horntail. Norwegian Ridgebacks are more brown colored, less shiny black, here, see–” He made as if to move forward and take the dragon from her and then shook his head and stood back again. “No, Evans, what? How did you get in here?”

“You’ve got a window,” Lily pointed. “And a tree outside.”

“You flew here?” James’ eyebrows skyrocketed.

“No,” Lily rolled her eyes. “There are other ways of getting around, you know.”

James frowned.

“I took the train.”

“Oh.” His face flashed with some emotion that Lily couldn’t read (she wasn’t acutely familiar with any of his emotions other than irritation, smugness, or puppy-dog love, and this was none of those). James then swallowed, staring again at her lounging on his bed. “You’ve been reading?”

“Yeah. Gotta learn all I can about our friend Beedle, huh?”

James bit his lip and smiled around it. “You’ve never heard of Beedle the Bard.”

“I’m not a posh prick, huh?” Lily was aware her comeback didn’t have the usual bite it might have earlier this year, or in years past, but, of course, she hadn’t come to James Potter’s room to truly fight...

“Nah, you’re just a nerd. Surprised you haven’t heard of it.” James moved to sit on his bed with her (a massive bed, it was, so they could both sit with maybe a foot between them–oh, no, James was shifting closer now) and took the book out of Lily’s hands. “Hm.”

Lily watched as he flipped through the pages, eyes serious and scanning each page. It was a beautiful book, she couldn’t deny it... wizard kids were spoiled with books that glimmered and moved to illustrate the fairytales, instead of just stoic Muggle ones.

“Here, this is my favorite.”

Lily coughed as she tried to restrain a laugh, and her eyes narrowed when James’ eager ones met hers. “Excuse me.”

“What, Evans?”

“Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump? No wonder you turned out the way you did, that’s the stupidest title–”

“No, Evans, it is a work of art.” James turned on his back, holding the book above his head, “A long time ago, in a far-off land–”

“Potter.”

“There lived a foolish–” he turned to shoot her a glance at this word, “–king who decided–”

“Oi, Potter.”

He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, “that he alone should have the power of magic.”

Lily reached forward to grab the book from him and, when his grip was too tight, snatched his glasses from his face.

“Hey, Evans, now that’s just malicious.”

She held the glasses over her head and resisted the urge to place them on her own face, leaning back and keeping the glasses up high when James shut the book and scrambled to reach up for them.

“Pot calling the kettle.”

James seemed to pull back at this, first the expression on his face and then his body, so Lily was left waving his glasses over her head with him sitting in front of her. The look on his face... he was just about to open his mouth and Lily wasn’t sure what was going to come out of it so she quickly scooted off his bed, folding the glasses to hang from the center of her shirt collar, and tiptoed around the t-shirts and, oh, yes, that was underwear, that littered the floor. She headed to the desk.

“What laws are you about to break, here?”

“Ehm, only a few.”

His desk was scattered with paper and markings, diagrams of... a car? Lily raised her eyebrows at James, shooting him a glance over her shoulder, then moved to examine the scratchings more clearly. James’ glasses swung forward from her shirt. “A motorbike, really?”

“It was Sirius’ idea, but yeah, we’ve been working on it.”

Oh, right. Sirius was here. Hm. She had somehow forgotten about that.

Lily snorted and picked up one of the pieces of parchment.

“What?”

His glasses were warm against her skin.

She turned and leaned against the desk, confirming her findings before retorting back, a smug smile working its way around her mouth, “this is wrong.”

“What?” James’ eyebrows were up so high on his forehead again, and he stepped forward. “Evans, you can’t just come barging into my room and just–I mean, why are you even here, you never–”

Yes. Yes. His cheeks were turning red, she held back her smile.

“I mean, Potter, these spells are gonna cancel each other out.” Lily pointed to the enchantments listed out by the wheels.

Gloriously, James shut up. Ungloriously, he grabbed the glasses from her shirt (she had to consciously keep her breathing steady... his hands were so close, too close to her... er). He leaned forward to stare at the page in her hands.

Lily watched as his throat worked around a swallow, his eyes darting back and forth between what must have been Sirius’ scratchings (there was no way James wrote so neatly) and the model they were scribbling on top of.

She cleared her throat. “This one’s gonna overpower any Disillusionment charm you try to add, you’re gonna need something–”

“Stronger, okay,” James snatched the paper from her and stared at it again. Prat.

“No, I was gonna say something Muggle.”

James looked up at her.

“If you make the motorbike faster using Muggle methods, gears and whatnot, you can add the Disillusionment charms without it interacting with any speed charms you’ve got.”

James stared at her, his mouth parted.

“What? I’m right.”

He bit his lip.

Lily stared at him, her heart racing. She was right.

“Where would I get something like that?”

Lily ran a hand through her hair, letting it fall forward and cover a bit of her face. “Any Muggle hardware store should have you covered.”

James was still looking at her.

“Look it up. A phonebook, or–or wait, no, you lot don’t have phonebooks, do you?”

James ran his hand through his hair.

“Go to a library or–”

“What are you doing here?”

“What’s your dragon’s name?” Lily walked towards his bed and picked up the dragon. Squishy, more shiny black scales than dull brown, a few threads falling out of the seams, clearly well loved. “Ridgie?”

“No, it’s a Hungarian Horntail,” James looked exasperated and Lily swallowed her smile.

“Ah. So. Hungry? Ehm, horny?” Lily really was pleased with herself at these nicknames.

“No. And honestly, not the type of humor I’d expect from you, seems more like what the boys and I–”

Oh, shite, he might be right. Lily interrupted quickly. “What’s it’s name?”

“His.”

“Right. What’s his name?”

“Er. Bubbles.”

Lily frowned and let an incredulous look take over her face, staring at the dragon. “Bubbles?”

“Gimme.” James sighed and looked upwards, holding his hand out.

“What?”

“Evans, give it.” He didn’t wait any longer, just took it, and squeezed in the middle–

Oh. “Oh my.”

Apparently, when one squeezed this dragon, bubbles in the shape of shimmering fire and little star-like sparks came out of its mouth.

"And,” Lily said, feeling a bit distracted, honestly quite mesmerized at these beautiful bubbles, she couldn’t even find something snarky to say about wizard children, “you still sleep with... ahem, Bubbles?”

“Alright, Evans.” James tossed the dragon–er, he tossed Bubbles– back on to his bed. “What are you doing here?”

Lily racked her brain for another question but, Merlin, nothing was coming to her. She tried, she really did, “typical of wizards, huh, having flashy toys because you don’t have the imagination–”

“Why did you come to my house, why sneak into my room?”

James was walking closer and Lily felt her breath begin to tighten, his eyes on hers, his hair flopping back down to his face.

“–to come up with anything creative on your own, you need it–”

“Evans, why are you here?”

“–just handed to you, in a shiny gift-wrapped box–”

“Evans, what is going on?”

They were standing too close at this point. James’ eyes, through his glasses, appeared too piercing and too much as if they could see through her own. Lily’s chin quivered and her nose flared. If James moved a few centimeters the longest strands of his hair would brush her forehead.

Lily swallowed. She hadn’t thought this far, had just wanted the... ugh, the fucking banter, had just wanted the back and forth and, honestly, had wanted to know what the prat’s room was like... wanted to escape her own... escape her own room, her own house, the people in her house...

“Hey, Evans, are you okay?”

What would she even say, how much of her home life did she want the prick–or, agh, no, the boy standing tall in front of her– to know?

James’ arm twitched by their side, as if he was about to touch her, and Lily backed up abruptly, a few steps until oof, ouch, the back of her head banged into the wall. Her blinks came quickly as she rubbed her head and Lily broke their eye contact and instead stared at the window. Alright, it was time to go, hm?

"Hey, you don’t have to–”

James’ arm was reaching out towards her now, but he didn’t touch, just waited as she turned around, her jaw working out something to say, or restraining something, she honestly didn’t know which.

“I mean, you can stay if you–”

“No, I can’t.” Her voice came from the back of her throat. “I don’t belong here, with all the wizard things, in your private space, hm?” She pressed a smile to her face, her voice light.

James tilted his head and shot her a look, his eyes so dark. You are wrong, the look said.

Lily swallowed.

James cleared his throat, hand through the hair, broke eye contact for a second. “You know where I live, anytime–ehm, how?”

“Sirius.” The word came out scratchy, and she coughed. “He, er, had your address written in one of his books one time, we were paired up, I noticed it...” Lily shook her head at herself and moved towards the window again, hoisted herself up.

“Evans.”

She stopped, one leg out of the window, holding on to the frame.

“Anytime. I’m here.”

Her nose flared again.

“Alright, Evans?”

James seemed small in his room now that she was watching from the outside. The air felt different here, maybe just because Bubbles wasn’t spewing magical bubble vomit, but Lily felt so deeply that she was leaving this room.

“See you at school, Potter.”

Lily jumped down from the tree higher up than maybe she should have, but she enjoyed the sharp exhale as her feet touched the ground and her limbs bent harshly, then set off towards the edge of the Potter property. She had a bit of a walk back to the center of town to get to the train, then a train ride back to... yeah, back to her home.

A month and a half left until school. She could last that long.

#jily #the potters' home #jily fic #jlly fluff #lily x james #james x lily #hp #harry potter #writing #jily fanfic #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fic #gn mes amours

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missjosie27 · 5 years

Text

Year 1 Part 1: Arrival at Hogwarts

A boy of average build, bright hazel eyes, dark brown hair, and a naturally illuminated face took in the scene around him.

David Grant couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer grandiosity of the institution he would be calling ‘home’ for the next seven years of his young life.

Jacob had been right. You really had to see Hogwarts to believe it.

So overwhelmed was the young wizard, he almost forgot to pay attention to a rather stern looking late middle aged witch dressed in light green robes and a tall pointed hat. Though not frightening, she certainly gave off the impression of being ‘no nonsense.’

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” she said in a short, brisk tone. “I am Professor McGonagall. Before you take your seats, we must sort you into your houses. There are four houses of which you may be selected- Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin, each one representing a characteristic or trait. Be aware that these houses will be something of a second family to each of you. Faithful deeds and achievements will earn points, while dissidence and failure to act accordingly will result in the loss of said points.”

She paused for a brief moment, as if entertaining the notion any of the bright eyed first years in front of her might be brave enough to ask a question.

“Now, I will call each of you by name and when prompted will come up to the stool to be sorted.”

David, young and inexperienced as he was, knew this much. Jacob had told him about that part when he was a little kid…before he had disappeared that was.

Jacob was the teasing sort of older brother, not a bully, but also the type that never withheld a chance to remind his sibling just how ‘little’ he was. Therefore, whenever he had questions about Hogwarts, he wouldn’t get very many specific answers. Practically a hero in his eyes, David’s ignorance of his brother’s true machinations while at Hogwarts remained unknown to him until the Daily Prophet ran its headline one fateful morning. Only then did big questions about what he had been up to form in his mind.

Even so, David knew enough about Hogwarts that the place was HUGE and from the looks of things that wasn’t the only impressive aspect of it. A nighttime sky hung over like a vast sparkling canopy of stars and constellations, candles hung in the air, suspended in place by some spell he did not yet know (his parents had been rather strict on no magic outside of school). But he was also aware of the prying eyes of the older students, even ones not even a year older than him. The brother of Jacob Grant wasn’t stupid. He knew the moment his name was called, the whispers and pointing would commence. Fortunately, he knew how to deflect such gossip- be quick with a joke and a smile.

Disarm them before they even get a chance, he thought to himself, easing out a breath he had been holding for a little longer than previously realized.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud, raspy voice that seemed to originate from a dusty, brown looking hat.

Come on and see

You were meant to be

And my job quite key

To peer inside

Look and find

Which house you will reside

The lion’s den

Or Slytherin?

Either one will do

Perhaps Ravenclaw?

A badger’s crawl?

Which one is for you?

So don’t be shy

The time is nigh

To begin your schooling days

Let’s have a chat

About all that

And send you on your way

The song was quite short, but the rest of the students began clapping loudly as if it were the greatest hymn in the world. He could hear a red headed boy next to him mutter, “So that’s what Bill meant by a song.”

In any case, the sorting began without another moment as Professor McGonagall began reading out the names.

‘Badeea Ali’

A girl wearing a kind of strange scarf covering over her head David had never seen before walked towards the stool where McGonagall placed the hat on her head. It only took a matter of seconds before it called out ‘RAVENCLAW’

The third table from the right erupted in cheers as the girl gave a bright smile and headed towards her seat.

‘Charles Billingsley’

An awkward looking blonde boy with shoulder length hair shuffled on over and did the same as Badeea Ali. The hat took longer this time, but only just slightly.

‘HUFFLEPUFF’

The fourth table to the left erupted in cheers.

‘Ben Copper’

If the previous boy had appeared awkward, this one was downright terrified. He was sandy haired, with brown eyes, and a body language that practically reeked he didn’t want to be here in the slightest. Nevertheless, he took his place on the stool.

This time, the hat wasn’t so decisive. It took its time and the longer it stood on the boy’s head the more frightened he became. After what seemed like close to two minutes it finally belted out loud.

‘GRYFFINDOR’

The third table to the left immediately stood and hollered, notably much louder than the other two tables had. David knew that was the house Jacob belonged to and it had a reputation for bravery and boldness- that or obnoxiousness depending on who you asked. Jacob, ever the daredevil was a perfect fit, until the day he was expelled of course, in which he became vilified forever. He idlely wondered if he was destined for the same house as his brother.

After a tall black boy named Andre Egwu was sorted into Ravenclaw it was his turn to be sorted.

‘David Grant’

On cue, the whisperings and gossip began.

“Did McGonagall just say ‘Grant’?”

“Is that the brother of the guy who went missing?”

“I heard he went crazy trying to break some curse.”

He gave no outward sign the chatter bothered him, instead casually hopping the steps towards the stool. It may have been his imagination but he swore he saw some of the Professors at the head table give some whisperings as well. Professor McGonagall, however, gave the smallest of smiles, a gesture that David appreciated. He could do this. He’d made it this far hadn’t he? He wasn’t about to back down.

Feeling the hat being placed on his head, a quieter version of the noisy rasp entered his mind as though it were coming from his own conscious.

Well THIS is interesting. You are David Grant, the brother of Jacob.

‘That’s my name last time I checked.’

He hoped the attempt at levity wouldn’t be missed by that hat. Indeed, the old piece of topwear seemed to be amused in its tone.

Apple didn’t fall far from the tree did it? And not just in terms of humor. He too, was difficult to sort.

‘We’re not entirely alike. For example, I happen to know I’m much better looking.’

You are quite the young wizard, aren’t you Mr. Grant? I see great things in your future, indeed. The only question is where to place you.

David thought for a moment, briefly unsure himself. Though not averse to any house in particular (except Slytherin), he could remember the crimson and gold colors that adorned Jacob’s room when they played together. Being a Gryffindor was a sense of pride for both brothers, but the question was, would they have him if the hat chose as such?

You worry what they’ll think of you? The hat probed.

‘Who wouldn’t? Doesn’t mean I’m going to act like a bloody prat am I?’

Indeed, you have quite the determination, Mr. Grant. The mind is keen and you certainly don’t lack ambition despite your dislike of Slytherin.

David’s heart skipped a beat. The hat really wouldn’t put him there, would it?

But I think your intentions are quite clear. Best of luck in GRYFFINDOR!

The third table from the right, rather than shunning him, hollered and whooped as loud as ever as Professor McGonagall lifted the hat, allowing him to join his newfound companions. Several shook his hand, and although a few were a bit apprehensive, the response was by and large a positive one as a great relief fell from his shoulders.

The rest of the sorting seemed to go by quicker after that. Various first years, most of whom he didn’t recognize, were assigned to their respective houses. The good news was that Rowan, the only friend he had made thus far, was also sorted into Gryffindor and he happily plopped down beside him. The last to go was an olive skinned boy named Talbott Winger, who went to Ravenclaw.

Soon afterwards the murmur of the crowd hushed into nothingness as tall man with a long white beard and royal purple robes stepped to the podium. David didn’t need anyone to tell him who this was- Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the most powerful wizard of his time.

“Welcome all, to another fantastic year at Hogwarts!” he said in a clear but calming tone that indicated a great deal of warmth yet also wisdom. “To our returning students I say ‘welcome back’, to our newest students I say, we are all quite pleased to see you here. Now, I could continue with an old man’s babble but for now the only statement I wish to say is this- enjoy.”

Food practically sprouted from the plates themselves as an array of dishes were eagerly fed upon by the hungry teens and preteens in their midst.

For his part, David was quite thrilled. Nothing could beat his mum’s cooking back home but this definitely appeared to be a close second. Without wasting any time, he dug into some chicken and mashed potatoes.

“I can’t believe this, Dave!” Rowan nudged him excitedly. “We’re both in Gryffindor. And from what I’ve read, mealtimes happen exactly like these three times a day!”

“At least someone’s excited,” moaned the boy across from them, whom David recognized as Ben Copper from the sorting. “I’m not even sure I belong here.”

“You belong here,” cut across another voice near them and they turned to see a tall, lanky red headed boy with shoulder length hair giving them an encouraging smile. “Anyone sorted into this house is here for a reason. My name is Bill, Bill Weasley.”

He extended his hand which all three boys took, even Ben.

“Thanks, Bill,” Dave thanked. “I take it you’re no first year.”

“Third,” he laughed. “So I’m not that far off from where you are. But if you have any questions let me know. Hogwarts can be a little bit intimidating at first.”

David could tell Rowan was already awestruck and it wasn’t hard to see why. Anyone observing Bill could tell he embodied a very laid back, cool personality, one that was bound to attract other students, especially impressionable ones like Rowan.

“By the way, this is my little brother, Charlie,” Bill said indicating another red haired boy, one who was much shorter and stouter and had a mouth full of chicken leg. Nevertheless, he smiled and shook everyone’s hand as well.

“Yu dun haf to ca me iffle ah no,” he said through his stuffed face.

“Easy does it there, Charlie. Mum will have my head if you choke on your first day.”

The younger Weasley gave an enormous swallow and replied more clearly.

“I said, you don’t have to call me little, you know. I’m only two years younger. And what was that rubbish about a song?”

“What do you mean, rubbish? It was true wasn’t it?”

“Yeah but you made it seem like a weird test or something.”

“Didn’t want to spoil the surprise,” Bill winked. “Anyway, you’ll be glad it’s just two Weasleys at Hogwarts for now. Believe me when I say our family is quite the crowd.”

David laughed as he nudged Rowan.

“Told ya it wasn’t going to be so bad.”

“We got sorted into the best house too!” he replied enthusiastically. “I can’t wait to dig into the entire extensive history of Godric Gryffindor!”

“How bout saving the books until tomorrow?” David teased. “Have a leg.”

“Don’t mind if I do!”

The meal continued for another hour or so while the students stuffed themselves to their hearts content. By the time it was over, David had more than his fill and was feeling a tad lethargic.

The leftovers vanished and this time Dumbledore reappeared at the podium.

“Another excellent feast if I do say so myself,” he said cheerfully. “However, before I send you off to bed, I must make a few annual announcements. The first, to our first years, the Forbidden Forest is strictly out of bounds to any student of any age here. The second, is Mr. Filch, our caretaker has updated his list of banned items to one hundred and twelve at last count. Anyone desiring to know the specifics can see the posting on his door. Be on the lookout for Quidditch tryouts which Madam Hooch will be post to the board in a couple weeks’ time.

“Lastly, I would like to extend a personal word to all of you. It has been three years since Voldemort’s defeat, and we are currently living in a time of extraordinary peace. But even peacetime can bring its own challenges. I implore you all to take the opportunity that many did not receive for many years and take advantage of what this place can offer you, both as a student and as a person.”

With that, he clapped his hands twice.

“Off to bed you go. Prefects, please escort the first years to their dormitories.”

And with that the crowd of students made for the Great Hall exit, the first years hanging back to find their respective prefects.

“Gryffindor first-years!” a female voice called out. “Over here!”

The ten combined male and female students rushed around a teenage black girl of average height and build, her prefect badge glistening with authority.

“I’m Angelica Cole,” she said kindly. “I’ll be your prefect this year and as such it’s my job to make sure you know your way around while simultaneously preparing you for life here at Hogwarts. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask. Follow me.”

She proceeded to give them a grand tour, purposefully lagging behind the other students, whose knowledge of the castle was no doubt sufficient to find their respective dormitories.

“Be aware that the staircases change constantly,” she explained to them as they made their way to Gryffindor Tower. “Some of them have trick steps, while others move during certain times in the day. Once you get your class schedule, memorizing it will be helpful in navigating them.”

“That sounds scary,” Ben spoke aloud softly.

“It’s no big deal once you get used to it and find your way around,” Angelica smiled.

David for his part, wasn’t overly concerned as he peered over the railing.

“Wonder what would happen if you dropped a rotten apple from this far up,” he cracked while Rowan, Charlie, and another Gryffindor boy snickered.

“Moving on,” Angelica said clearing her throat. “You’ll find that there is a unique way of entering Gryffindor Tower. I cannot stress enough that no one is allowed to bring a member of another house into our common room.”

Soon enough they came across a portrait of a rather plump lady in a pink dress who seemed to be expecting them.

“Password?”

“Carpe Vinum.”

The portrait swung open, revealing an entrance way to a much larger room. Inside was a sight not quite as grandiose as the one in the Great Hall but no less intriguing- the common area consisted of an assortment of comfy armchairs, pillows, couches, and fireplaces, complete with desks and a bulletin board. Upon the mantle sat the portrait of a lion, surrounded by many large windows that had a view of the grounds down below.

All in all, it was better than David ever could have hoped.

“This is the common room, where you are free to study, play games, or relax as you see fit,” Angelica told them. “Upstairs are your dormitories with boys being on the left and girls on the right. Speaking of which, it is late, and you all have classes tomorrow. Please come to me if you have any other questions. Good night!”

They did as instructed and were almost to their respective rooms when the first test of Hogwarts confronted David Grant. A third year, returning from brushing his teeth took a sour look in his direction and remarked.

“I can’t believe they let you in here. Especially after your mad brother almost single handedly ruined us.”

David, for his part, was not one to be offended easily, even when it came to snide remarks about his brother. He had heard it his whole life, but Rowan of course did not know this.

“Back off!” he shouted at the third year. “David’s going to be one of the best Gryffindors there ever was.”

Touched by the display, he knew Rowan getting beat up on the first night at Hogwarts wasn’t in anyone’s best interests. Best to laugh it off in the best way he knew how.

“It’s okay, Rowan. Look at the bright side, I could be in this house and look like freckles here at the same time.”

That brought another round of laughter, including some from inside the third year dormitory.

The boy flushed red and muttered something that sounded like ‘first years’ before slamming the door shut.

“That’s the way to handle a bloke like that,” David said to Rowan. “Humor is a great tool to have at your disposal.”

“Can you teach me?”

“It’s more of a natural skill if you ask me.”

Truth be told, however, that kind of deflection was years in the making, a constant practice of hiding his true feelings on the subject. Because reality was, despite being able to laugh off most things that came his way, there was still a longing within the recesses of his heart. He loved his brother and would give anything to see him again. Hogwarts wasn’t just the start of a second home, it seemed as though it gave new life and possibility to find out what happened to Jacob.

His mother’s words echoed to stymie that notion.

‘David John Grant, listen to me. Your father and I do not want you going on some ludicrous adventure to find your brother or these cursed vaults he was supposedly after. Do you understand me?’

‘Mom…’

‘Do you understand me?’

In the end he acquiesced to mum’s demands because one did not tell a witch like Heather Grant ‘no’. When she meant business, you had best adhere her words.

That didn’t make them any easier to follow, however.

“Hey, Dave.”

He saw Charlie nod towards him as he put up a poster.

“Don’t pay any of these people any kind of attention. If they’re going to blame you for what happened with your brother, they’re dumber than a sack of dragon dung.”

David nodded in appreciation.

“Thanks, Charlie. Speaking of dragons, that’s quite a poster you got there.”

“Isn’t it amazing?” the red head said proudly, as the photo of the Hungarian Horntail moved about menacingly, occasionally breathing fire. “Someday I’d like to train one of those beauties.”

“I’ll stick with safer jobs,” another voice interjected. “Namely things people actually want.”

An Asian preteen extended his arm out as David took it.

“Jae Kim at your service. I’ve already taken a brief glance at Filch’s list and I sense an opportunity. You know what they say when something’s been banned.”

“What’s that?”

“A market develops for it. And I’ve got my eye on items I suspect the student body will be keen to get their hands on.”

Charlie chuckled, while Ben pulled the blankets over his head, not wanting to hear about anything that was possibly illegal.

“Good night, Dave.”

“Good night, everyone.”

Soon, the light was extinguished and the boys on their way to sleep. For his part, David couldn’t help but think back to Dumbledore’s speech. Was he warning them in some way? Or merely issuing a challenge? Either way he didn’t feel up to it, even with the hoopla surrounding him and his brother.

Achieving some measure of content, aided by the still large amount of food in his belly, the eleven year old drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

#hogwarts mystery #david grant #story #charlie weasley #bill weasley #rowan khanna #ben copper #jae kim

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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 years

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#5yrsago A conversation with Terry Pratchett, author of The Carpet People

Deep among the Carpet fronds, where the wild snargs prowl, the Munrung tribe has known peace for decades. But now the old order is unraveling, and a new story is in the making. A story of Fray, sweeping a trail of destruction; of villainous mouls, hungry for power; and of two noble brothers on the adventure of a lifetime.

It’s a story that will come to a terrible end—if someone doesn’t do something about it. If everyone doesn’t do something about it . . .

This special edition of Sir Terry Pratchett’s hilarious and wise first novel The Carpet People features his own illustrations, including never-before- published art, and revised text. Also included is an exclusive short story written by Terry at age seventeen, before he went on to create the phenomenally popular Discworld series and become one of the world’s most beloved storytellers.

Cory Doctorow and the famed author discuss building worlds, the legitimacy of authority, and the future:

Cory: You took a bunch of runs at building a world where a million stories could unfold—The Carpet People, Truckers, and, finally, Discworld. Is Discworld’s near-total untethering from our world the secret of its staying power?

Terry: It isn’t our world, but on the other hand it is very much like our world. Discworld takes something from this world all the time, shows you bits of the familiar world in new light by putting them into Discworld. Is that staying power? You tell me.

Cory: What’s the secret to Discworld’s unplumbable depths, and is there something a big world lacks when compared to one that’s smaller (in more than one way), like the Carpet?

Terry: We know about Earth; we know an awful lot about the solar system. When you do Discworld, you, the writer, can more or less change anything if you want to, if you can make it fit. It means you’re god, and that’s a great responsibility. As a writer, you can take bits of the universe and put it in your own new universe. Working in Discworld, you use the word sandwich, and you think: Can I do this? Now I’ve got to have a reason why a sandwich is a sandwich—in our world, it was named after the man associated with its invention, the Earl of Sandwich. Can you have your own universe and still have sandwiches? You have to do it all yourself and decide if you need to open the door into our reality at the same time.

Once Discworld started moving, as it were, it started moving almost of its own volition, because I would write a Discworld novel, and that novel required that such and such should be available, or whatever, and that means that the next time, that’s real in Discworld and the thing grows. And I must say it grows to be rather bigger than a carpet—but with care, it can have just about anything in it.

I’m finishing up Raising Steam, in which the railroad comes to Ankh-Morpork, and an awful lot of things have to be made and discovered until you get to the top of that pyramid. You can’t have Vaseline until someone’s invented something else. You have to create and understand a lot of things before you can move on. And so, since I work on Discworld almost all the time, it grows because I need it to.

Cory: Do you think that there’s any way you could have kept us in the Carpet for anything like the number of books that we’ve gotten from Discworld?

Terry: I was about to say “No,” but right now I wonder. . . . If the idea had taken, I don’t know. I really don’t. But how would it be? It would be almost a kind of . . . People in the Carpet are more or less tribal. What would happen if I . . . You’ve got me thinking!

Cory: So much of your work is about the legitimacy of authority. You write a lot of feudal scenarios, but you also seem like a fellow with a lot of sympathy for (and suspicion of!) majority rule. The witches gain authority through cunning and compassion (Nanny Ogg), through knowledge and force of will (Granny Weatherwax). Kings rule by divine right and compassion for the land; Vetenari, out of the practical fact of his ability to control the city’s factions. The Carpet People is shot through with themes of who should rule and why. Where does legitimate authority spring from?

Terry: The people! The only trouble is the people can be a bit stupid—I know that; I’m one of the people, and I’m quite stupid.

Lord Vetinari is that wonderful thing: a sensible ruler—that’s why he’s so popular. Everyone grumbles about him, but no one wants to chance what it would be like if he wasn’t there. I like Vetinari. I don’t mind authority, but not authoritarian authority. After all, the bus driver is allowed to be the boss of the bus. But if he’s bad at driving, he’s not going to be a bus driver anymore. Now, an interesting sideline on this is the question of the writer’s position is vis-à-vis authority.

A journalist looks at authority as a target as a matter of course. You don’t actually have to fire, but you see it as a target. Since I am tainted as a journalist, I can’t separate that out from being a novelist, and my personal view is that you look askance (at the least) at authority. Authority must be challenged at every step. You challenge authority all the time to keep it on its toes. Vetinari works because there aren’t enough people who think he’s doing a bad job; they’re all factions, in any case. So he balances the world. It’s not everyone being happy, but rather not too many of them being unhappy.

Read the entire interview here.

The Carpet People is now available wherever books are sold. Read an excerpt and learn more here.

https://boingboing.net/2013/12/03/a-conversation-with-terry-prat-2.html

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obsidianarchives · 6 years

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Dean's Journey Home

Dean slipped his hand into the hidden pocket inside his windbreaker, checking for his wand. It was the fifth time he’d reached for it since leaving King’s Cross Station, an old nervous tick made that much more intense by the shocking events of the past few days. Dumbledore was dead, and Voldemort was creeping back into power. The last thing Dean needed was to drop his wand on the tube.

That wand was one of the first things his mother had purchased for him when they’d entered Diagon Alley six summers ago. Marjorie Thomas, who was rarely at a loss for words, was stunned into silence when she saw little silver sparks shoot from the end of the third wand her son tried.

“The wand chooses the wizard,” Ollivander had said with a smile. He explained that Dean’s wand was 11 inches, made of beech and with a single unicorn hair at its core.

“This is a wand for a wizard with promise. A kind wizard who will go on to do good things,” he said. Dean remembered his mother’s sigh of relief, the way the tension seemed to drain from her body if only just a bit. Just a few short weeks before, they’d both thought magic was the stuff of fairy tales, and now here they were standing in a wand shop, on a street hidden from non-magical eyes, preparing for Dean’s first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She could at least take solace in the idea that her oldest son was still the sweet boy she’d always known, regardless of his new-found abilities.

Dean smiled at the memory and gave his wand a grateful squeeze before his thoughts drifted back to the troubles that lay ahead of him. How would he explain any of this to his mother? Voldemort, the Death Eaters, Dumbledore’s murder? For the past few years – since Harry returned from the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament carrying Cedric Diggory’s lifeless body – he’d kept her in the dark about the troubles brewing in the Wizarding World, afraid that she would withdraw him from Hogwarts. Although he loved his family and understood the danger of Voldemort’s return, he couldn’t imagine attending a Muggle school when he knew a place like Hogwarts existed. How could he, when he’d spent years learning to cast spells and make potions? When he’d seen unicorns, hippogriffs, and dragons? How could he leave the place where he’d learned to fly?

Before Cedric’s death, the Wizarding World had felt like a dream. Paintings moved and ghosts existed. He could literally brew liquid luck if he wished. Returning to the Muggle world at the end of each term was bittersweet. He missed his family desperately when he was away, but he still found himself longing to wake up in his four-poster bed in the Gryffindor Tower, Seamus, Neville, Ron, and Harry snoring softly around him.

His mother was the only person from his non-magical life who knew the truth about Dean’s school. She’d told his family and friends, including his step-father and half-siblings, that Dean had been granted a scholarship at an impressive boarding school in Switzerland. His brothers and sisters spent a great deal of each school break teasing him about becoming posh. Dean pretended to be annoyed, when all he really wanted was to tell them the truth, Statute of Secrecy be damned.

Things would never be the same, he thought. For one, Dumbledore was dead, and although Dean had always known that he was quite old, Dean hadn’t imagined a time without him there to protect and guide Hogwarts. The first time Dean had seen Dumbledore with his long, sweeping hair and his colorful robes, he’d thought, “Now, that is what a proper wizard is supposed to look like.” Dumbledore, Hogwarts, the Hogwarts Express, all of it had made it clear: magic was real, and Dean was someone who could wield it. Dean Thomas was a wizard.

The safety that Dumbledore provided was also gone. It was common knowledge that Dumbledore was the only wizard Voldemort ever feared, and Dean could imagine why. He hadn’t had many interactions with the late headmaster, but he’d often felt that Albus Dumbledore could see right through him. If it weren’t for the kind twinkle in the elderly wizard’s eyes (or, the fact that Dean didn’t have much to hide, in general), Dean supposed he would have feared Dumbledore, as well.

What was to stop Voldemort from his mission to bring the Muggle world to its knees, now that Dumbledore was gone? Voldemort’s hatred of both Muggles and Muggle-borns was a known fact, and Dean was fairly certain that he came from a completely non-magical family. What would become of people like him? People whose blood was considered “dirty” by pureblood wizards who had been inbreeding since the time of Merlin?

Of course, he could never truly be certain of his family lineage. His father, Samuel Thomas, had disappeared when he was just a baby and had no other family to speak of. His mother always said that she was never sure she got to know the “real” Samuel, anyway.

“I supposed he showed me what I wanted, and I wanted to believe it was all true,” Marjorie Thomas would say, whenever Dean asked for her to talk about his dad. He did that less and less over the years, not wanting to drum up any painful memories. But to him, it sounded as if they’d had a perfect relationship before his dad disappeared. Marjorie often said that strange happenings tended to take place when Samuel was around. There was that time when Dean had almost fallen down the stairs, and somehow, had landed safely in his father’s waiting arms. Marjorie raved about Samuel’s cooking, but she always said that he seemed to make these amazing meals in no time at all. Then, there was the timing of his father’s disappearance.

For years, Dean had just believed that his father got tired of having a family and decided to skip out on them. Or, if he was feeling more generous, he spun himself wild stories about his father slipping on a patch of ice, banging his head, and waking up in a hospital with no memory of his life or his wife and child. But the more he learned about Wizarding history, the more he started to wonder. His father’s disappearance lined up almost perfectly with the first rise of the Death Eaters. Was it possible that he’d run afoul of them somehow? Or, worse, that he’d died while in their service?

When he’d tried to look up his father in the Wizarding family records Madam Pince kept in a dusty corner of the Hogwarts library, he’d come up empty. If his father was a wizard, there was no way to prove it. At one point, he had started to doubt whether or not “Samuel Thomas” was even his dad’s real name.

Dean shook his head, startling the older white woman who had sat down next to him on the tube. He’d been so deep inside his thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed her presence. He gave her an apologetic smile, but she frowned at him and moved her handbag to her other arm. Dean felt his anger flare. At Hogwarts, he’d had to worry about Slytherins stage-whispering “Mudblood” whenever they caught him alone. Out in the Muggle world, he was a Black teenager, growing into a Black man. He supposed both forms of hatred came from a place of fear, and he honestly wasn’t sure which one was more dangerous.

“Excuse me,” he muttered bitterly and moved to another seat on the other end of the train car. He had five more stops to go, and he wasn’t going to spend that time watching her clutch her handbag for dear life. He wanted so badly to be home already, to be back around people who loved him. It had been a rough few weeks, after all, he thought, as his mind drifted toward what felt like the most frustrating problem of all: Ginny.

He hated himself for thinking about a girl at a time like this – even if it was Ginny Weasley – when the entire Wizarding World seemed to be falling apart, and yet, he couldn’t help himself. Everything seemed to remind him of her. The red-headed woman who’d boarded the train a few stops ago. The Firebolt pin she’d given him to fasten to his school bag (it could hover a few feet off the ground if you unpinned it and said “Up”). Another teen couple who he’d seen cuddling on a bench at the train station, seemingly oblivious to the fact that a whole world existed outside of their embrace.

Ginny hadn’t been a perfect girlfriend, by any means. She had a habit of getting annoyed at all of his attempts at chivalry. He supposed that she was right. Some of the “polite” things he’d assumed she would find charming could be a bit much, but he hadn’t been trying to help her through the portrait hole the day they broke up. It wouldn’t have made sense, as she’d been climbing into the Gryffindor Common Room since long before they’d become an item. Then, there was the way she had looked at Harry, when she didn’t think Dean could see. At first, he just thought that she was intrigued by him like all of the Gryffindors seemed to be when Harry wasn’t being accused of being the Heir of Slytherin or being made out to be an attention-hungry prat in The Daily Prophet. But then, her brother, George, had made a joke about Ginny swooning over Harry every time he turned up at the Burrow, and Dean had felt a strong urge to punch Harry in the face.

Ginny was the first witch who seemed to notice that he existed, and he’d fallen for her harder than he’d expected. Occasionally, Muggle girls’ heads turned when he was back in his old neighborhood while on holiday, but at Hogwarts, he had often felt invisible. He wasn’t really sure if it was because he, like the rest of his roommates, so often fell into the shadow of the Famous Harry Potter, whose own popularity (or, more often, infamy) seemed to be a near-constant source of personal turmoil for him.

Other times, Dean wondered if it was simply because he was one of only about ten Black students in the entire school. It was something he’d wanted to talk about with the other boys in the Hogwarts’ Black Student Union, but it never felt as important as their talks about white European wizards’ disdain for African wizards and their wandless magic, or the discomfort that Blaise felt whenever his fellow Slytherins expected him to join in on their bigotry towards Muggle-borns. Frustrated and unsure, Dean had ruled out dating altogether, until Ginny.

And now, she had taken up with Harry Potter, of all people. Harry, who she’d told him not to worry about. Harry, who he’d caught shooting envious glances at he and Ginny whenever they were around. Harry, who he’d defended when Seamus accused him of lying about Voldemort’s return. Harry, who he’d remained loyal to, even when he had been suspected of being capable of pure evil.

Dean had tried and failed to hate Harry over the past couple of weeks. But now, in light of all that was happening, Dean knew that he would have to let it go. Harry was rumored to be the Chosen One, the one who would finally defeat He Who Must Not Be Named. Deep down, past the jealousy and betrayal he felt whenever he thought about Harry and Ginny kissing for the first time that day in the common room, Dean knew that it was his duty to support Harry. When the time came, he must be prepared to fight. Even as the train arrived at his stop, and he began to make the walk to his mother’s home, where he was sure there would be a delicious meal and several crushing hugs from his brothers awaiting him, he began to plan his escape back into the Wizarding World and into the war.

#Dean Thomas #Harry Potter #HogwartsBSU

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s69jin · 4 years

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drarry recs- #1

i’ve always wanted to make a reclist of the fics i enjoy, so here they are, in no particular order :)

Running On Air by @tinyhistory

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.

Berlin, In the Year of Our Lord by Are

n/a

Powerful Men by Frayach (warning: main character death)

They say the price of power is a sound night's sleep.

And Save Me From Bloody Men by blamebrampton

Draco Malfoy once watched others fighting to stop the world falling apart. This time, he's not just watching.

Aletheia by lazywonderland

Draco finds out Daphne's been shagging Potter and it turns out it's really not that difficult to get a piece of her hair.

All The Ashes Like Leaves by firethesound

Nothing about being the Chosen One had prepared Harry for this. With most of the population blinded and man-eating plants running amok, he can only stay close to his friends as they make their way to safety. Not that he’d call Malfoy a friend, but the end of the world does rather make their ongoing feud seem trivial. And it just figures that it took nothing short of an apocalypse to make Malfoy seem like less of a git.

Are You There God? It’s Me, Draco by floweringjudas

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are straight Aurors. Then they're gay teachers. It makes sense, in context.

The Mirror Crack’d by Femme , noeon

A Cumbrian manor house full of paying guests, a dead Ministry official, and an active murder investigation interrupt the quiet of Draco and Harry's life together. Rather fatally. Written for our beloved Bubba for Glompfest 2010.

warmest part of the winter by warmfoothills

It’s not even a balcony, it’s just a window with a bit of a ledge, and Draco’s read Shakespeare anyway, he knows how this one ends.

Turn From Stone by harryromper

Harry knows there’s nothing he can do to stop Hermione (war hero, historian, author of the reissued “Hogwarts: A History”) once she sets her mind to something. Even an extremely risky last-ditch effort to restore the ancient castle and lay its newest ghosts to rest. What he wasn’t counting on was her insistence that Draco Malfoy be part of the plan.

Time and Again by lauren3210

Draco has an important research assignment, and he needs Auror protection. Harry’s a little concerned, not only because he can’t even pronounce the places Draco’s dragging him off to, but because there’s the slightest chance he might do something stupid, like tell Draco all about that little crush he’s been harbouring for a while now...

Crossing Lines by Ren

While investigating a ring of smugglers, the Aurors receive a tip saying that the European Express is being used to move contraband across state lines. To solve the case, Harry has to unmask the smugglers and find the hidden contraband before the luxury train reaches Bulgaria. Draco Malfoy is also on board… but that's just coincidence, isn't it?

A Lick and a Promise by tackytiger

Something sinister stirs in Hogwarts!

When magical creatures and students at the school are hit with a debilitating blood curse, Minerva McGonagall approaches the Ministry for help.

Star Auror Harry Potter seems to be the obvious choice to go undercover—as DADA Professor, naturally. He’s going to need the help of the Ministry’s foremost expert in blood magic to get to the bottom of the mystery, though, and he’s not entirely convinced that going back to Hogwarts with Draco Malfoy is a good idea.

Things are complicated between them—what’s new?—but they know they have to learn to work together (and keep their hands off each other in the corridors) in order to solve this case. Luckily for them, Hogwarts itself wants to lend a hand.

A tale of love, lessons, and learning to really live.

Exactly How it Happened by dracogotgame

Harry and Draco. Not fooling anyone.

The Consolations of a Summer’s Day by blamebrampton

Harry Potter is absolutely certain Draco Malfoy did not murder Pansy Parkinson. He’s almost absolutely certain he can prove this without sacrificing his career and having them both hauled up before the Wizengamot.

Magic Man by dracogotgame

Draco has been exiled to live in the Muggle World, where he's actually doing alright as an amateur stage magician. Harry has been tasked to determine if he's using real magic to enhance his performances.

The Venice Job by nishizono

Harry Potter was one of the youngest Aurors in history. He was the Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Who Lived Again. He loved Guinness and Quidditch, and hated pineapple. He wrote letters to Hagrid every Thursday, and on Sundays, he visited Hermione and Ron. Harry Potter was also not gay.

Midnight in the City of a Hundred Spires by shiftylinguini

Harry Potter is a missing person. Draco Malfoy is a vampire. They are the last two people one would expect to bump into each other in a Creature Bar in Prague, yet to Draco’s absolute shock that is definitely Harry fucking Potter sitting across from him.

Even more surprising is that Potter may have a case for him.

Level Two: Series One by various authors (there are a LOT i dont have the mental capacity to link them all individually im so sorry)

Witches and wizards are disappearing in a seemingly random fashion. Coincidence? Abductions? But no one is claiming ransom. The Aurors are not even sure the disappearances are connected, then one of the missing turns up dead. Meanwhile, Auror Harry Potter is thrown into the infamous Sirius Black Muggle murder case from 25 years ago. Given a chance to clear his godfather's name for good, Harry is not above accepting even the help of magical specialist Draco Malfoy.

The Jabberwock by blithelybonny

It’s out there, and it’s hungry. And the students have a choice to make.

Wolfish by Femme, noeon

With wolves surrounding him, Draco seeks safe haven. But as his godfather warns him, wolves come in many forms.

Gone to Take the Air by @tinyhistory (warning: main character death)

Draco never recovered afterwards and nor did Harry.

The Rabbit and the God by who_la_hoop

When Draco Malfoy goes missing, in the most peculiar of ways, frustrated Auror-in-training Harry Potter goes on a search for his absentee enemy that leads him to Muggle Japan – and to a mystery that will take more than magic to solve.

i demand to dig my own grave by MostlyVoid

Draco finds himself in hot water with the Aurors, and in a burst of panicked inspiration manages to wiggle out of it by claiming to be a Seer. There's just one little problem– Senior Auror Harry Potter, the Prat Who Lived, who's known him for a decade, knows full well Draco doesn't have a single psychic bone in his body and seems determined to pull him up for it. Now, the Department is demanding he help them solve cases, Potter's looming over his shoulder at every turn, and worst of all, he hasn't had a shag in weeks because of all this bother. What's a pseudo-Seer to do?

I, Ferret by curiouslyfic

Draco's embraced his inner Ferret. Now it's Harry's turn. Starring Veela!Draco, mpreg, an old wives' tale, and a Weddiwizard.

there’s a trick with a dragon i’m learning to do by curiouslyfic

Harry’s live-in’s a workaholic being courted — harassed — by an array of weeping minions and an assortment of overprivileged pricks. Harry’s bloody portraits are being harassed — courted — by, well, an assortment of things Harry doesn’t even want to think about. Harry’s had a long week already and so far, his weekend’s not looking much better. At least he can say with certainty there's no place like home...

there’s definitely gonna be a part two but these are all for now !! please give the authors some love!

#drarry #harry potter #drarry fic #fic rec #draco malfoy #case fic #mystery #angst #drarry recs

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seriouslyblacklikemysoul · 7 years

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Grumpy Beginnings - Sirius Black x Reader

Requests: 1. Can I request a young Sirius Black where you both hate each other but run into each other late at night when everyone else is in bed and u end up kissing or something and the next day try to ignore him but he confronts you??? Love your writing thank you 2. Can I request a Sirius black imagine where Sirius black and the reader hate each other because they can’t face the fact that they love each other secretly and too stubborn to face the truth? They continuously argue on silly things but they both get jealous when the other is getting close to someone else and argue on that too. One day James make Sirius realize that he’s in love with the reader and all the fluff! Please? Warnings: Sarcasm, swearing, my English? Gif/Image are not mine/Credits to their original owners Word Count~ 2.2k MASTERLIST You hated him. Simple as that. You hated him. You hated his personality, his cocky smirk, his attitude. You hated the fact that every girl seemed to be smitten with him, that he slept around that much. You hated his ‘bad boy’ act. You hated his pranks and you hated his guts. You loathed him. Him, his stupid tactics and his cheesy pickup lines. You despised that stupid grin of his when he had made a witty remark. You were repulsed by his gray eyes and his dark locks. You were revolted by his wide shoulders and his toned torso that he would show off whenever he got the chance. Luckily for you, he hated you too and never failed to list all the reasons. You were currently in the middle of another fight. A stupid one. “Just stop being an egotistical, narcissistic, self-centered prat for a second. Give me the damn muffin” you said for the fourth time rolling your eyes. He was driving you crazy. “Get yours” he said with apathy. You felt the urge to bang his head against the table. “That was mine! You stole it!” you answered exasperatedly. “Get another, woman!” he whispered-yelled at you, infuriating you even worse. “Tell me… Is being stupid a profession or are you just gifted?”, you couldn’t help it. If you had held that remark you would have exploded. He looked shocked and then he smirked. Merlin, you wanted to kill him. “I am busy right now, can I ignore you some other time?” he fired back with a sweet sickening voice. “Screw you, Black”. “I intend to ”. You left the Great Hall and if looks could kill, he would have dropped dead.

How thick could he get? Flashing that charismatic smile of his wouldn’t get him out of trouble. He had ruined your date. He had manipulated everything in order to ruin your date. And he enjoyed it. “What’s wrong with you?” you screamed at the top of your lungs. How disturbed could he be? Why did he ruin the first date you had been on in ages? He looked so amused that for a moment you felt like strangling him. “I’ll try being nicer if you try being smarter” he retorted nonchalantly. You had used all your anger on the thoughts of what the hell was his problem, so, naturally, now all that you had left was disappointment and sadness. You took a deep breath, pierced his eyes with your glance and tried not to cry. “What have I done to you to hate me that much?” you asked him softly. He was taken aback, his eyes widened and his face fell. He was about to say something when Marlene sat right next to him, glaring daggers at you. “Are you surprised?” she spat at you. You saw the look on her eyes, fixed on him. You lightly shook your head, looking at him too. “No, just disappointed” you admitted and sat down next to Remus. You were really great friends with him. He was always kind and sweet and so understanding. He smiled warmly at you while you rested your head on his shoulder, reading the book he was reading as well. He had a thing for Muggle books and this was no exception. He also knew about your feelings, even when you didn’t. ‘Stop worrying about people that aren’t worried about you’ you kept repeating to yourself over and over again. Because the truth was… you didn’t hate him. Far from it, actually. You just hated the fact that he will never look at you the way you wanted him to. You were in love with him and his crazy ways, his reckless behavior and his depth. But of course, it was easier to make yourself believe that you hated him when you understood that he didn’t particularly like you. It hurt too much. “Stop acting so coy. You’re in love with him, you always do those stupid things; You read over his shoulder, you hug each other like he had gone to war. Just tell him, already. He is smitten too” Sirius spat at you two after a while. You were shocked for a moment. When you dared to look at Remus, you two broke into identical grins, trying to contain your laughter. “We are friends Padfoot. Friends” Remus told him while a strange thought crossed your mind. Why did he care? Was that… jealousy? “You must be thrilled by Marl’s perfume. It’s not like you are attached to her hip. Oh, wait.” you fired back. However, when she tried to talk, you shush her, sending her a death glare. He was angry and you could tell. Everyone could tell. “Why are you so annoying?” he rhetorically questioned. You stood up abruptly, standing across each other, anger bottling up inside of you. “I hate you” you both screamed as you marched out of the Great Hall. Great.

You had missed dinner and now you were too hungry to care about being seen as you crept inside the kitchens. Remus had shown you how to tickle the pear and find the knob. The kitchens were silent. Only two house elves were there, making sure that breakfast would be excellent as every day. You greeted them kindly and after a moment or two, they left, leaving you alone. You started making hot cocoa to smooth your headache. If you had learned anything from hanging around with a werewolf that had to be chocolate. Chocolate was always the answer. Chocolate understood and didn’t ask stupid questions. You went through the cupboards and found a chocolate cake. Smiling to yourself, you served a slice and sat down to the nearest table. It felt nice. You always like the warm feeling that the kitchens were offering and the serenity that silence provided. Until someone interrupted your daydream, that is. And it had to be him. Once you locked eyes with each other, everything else became a blur. Nothing really existed but you two. He broke the eye contact first, scratching the back of his neck, awkwardly. “Um, I didn’t know you were here. I can leave” he spoke softly. You just shook your head, trying to find the courage to use your words. “It’s alright”. You really wanted to roll your eyes at yourself. Well played. He furrowed his eyebrows but didn’t question it, as he started making himself… something disgusting. Like, how could it possibly taste? It had fruits and chocolate and cheese and, it was repealing. You almost laughed at that. As you sat together in silence, each lost in your own minds, you could see that you were two sides of the same problem. And to think, you both thought that love was for fools. How foolish of you, not to realize what fools you were. He came and sat down next to you. You were eyeing him curiously; mainly because you wanted to see if he was about to eat…that. You knew he was aware of your staring. He took a bite. It was then that you chuckled lightly. The expression on his face was one of terror. He looked utterly frightened. He swallowed that thing and looked at you, almost pleadingly. “I know you hate me, but could you please, make me something… eatable?” he asked you politely. You had never had a civilized conversation before. You grinned, trying to fight the urge to laugh as you stood up, complying to his wishes. You placed before him a cup of hot cocoa and some cake as well. He looked at you with one eyebrow raised as you threw whatever he had made to the garbage. You plopped beside him and gave him a shy smile, taking another sip from your cup. He hadn’t removed his gaze from you and you felt kind of uncomfortable. “I swear, I haven’t poisoned anything” you playfully told him, prompting him to eat. He gave you an equally playful smile but took a sip from his cup. “Don’t get me wrong, I love risking my life. But I am kind of running out of life to risk. I am not a cat after all” he said lightheartedly. You knew that he wasn’t a cat. In fact, you knew he was an illegal dog Animagus but you hadn’t told him. That was about to change. “Oh, I am very well aware that you are no cat, deer. In fact, you must be barking mad to think I wouldn’t know” you told him, wiggling your eyebrows at your own puns. His eyebrows though, shot to the skies and his eyes widened so much that you thought they were going to pop out. You laughed at his expression; a true, rare laugh. A genuine one. “You-you know?” he asked you, still bewildered. You just nodded your head in agreement. You sat there, staring into space while he went silent for a moment. “What’s that?” he asked you, pointing your wrist. Damn, you had forgotten to cover it. “A tattoo” you answered sheepishly. It was a muggle tattoo and it was a star. Your bones had always cried for the stars. He was amazed and… he was sitting way too close. You could smell his perfume along with his natural scent. You felt dizzy. “You are distracting me” you admitted looking him in the eyes. Oh, his eyes. Those gray galaxies were holding so many unraveled secret universes. So many things you wanted to know about him. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked you with a cocky smile. You bit your bottom lip. “I didn’t say that” you whispered, feeling electrified by his presence. He had that much power over you. You lowered your head, trying to prevent your eyes from meeting his. He placed his hand on your face, gently forcing you to do exactly that. Look at him. “Why do you hate me?” he questioned tenderly. There were no masks or facades. It was him. Just him. His eyes stripped of everything arrogant. “I don’t hate you, Sirius. I wish I did” you said in small voice. He held your everything and he didn’t even know it. “What do you mean?” he continued, a bit more concerned this time. You looked away from his face. Okay, it was now or never. “I liked you”. Oh Merlin, you were really doing it. You had admitted that- “Liked?” he asked. Was that sadness in his voice? “Past tense” you simply agreed. You didn’t want him to know you would never get over him. “Maybe, if you were looking at me when you were saying that, maybe, just maybe I would have believed you” he commented and you knew he was right. You weren’t - He kissed you. His luscious lips felt like heaven against yours. You instantly brought your hands around his neck, playing with his raven locks. You had imagined this too many times and yet… it felt even better. Maybe because it was real. He tasted like chocolate, mint and smoke. You were too lost to be found. But you didn’t want to be found if being lost felt like that. When you parted, because you kind of needed the oxygen, you didn’t really know what to say. You knew, however, that you had been blushing like crazy. “It was actually James that made me realize that I like you. I always liked you and hating you was the only way I thought off to catch your attention and prevent myself from falling at the same time” he spoke gently. You had to blink a couple of times to actually be sure that it wasn’t a dream. “Maybe you are so afraid to fall in love because you are terrified by the idea that someone will treat you the way you tend to treat yourself” you found yourself responding. You didn’t know that he could ever like you. In fact, you believed that he wouldn’t. Ever. He looked at you and you forgot to breathe because that was the way you had dreamt of being looked at. That was the very same glance you wished to experience. “Can I kiss you? I want to kiss you” he said awkwardly. You would have laughed if it wasn’t for his lips, muffling every sound, making your head spin. He bit your lip, asking you permission. Never in your life would you have imagined that he would ask for permission. But you gave it to him. Anything. Fireworks were going off in every cell of your body. He slid his tongue, slightly fighting with yours but you didn’t care; you just surrendered to him. You melted under his touch. You were too drunk off him to stay away or deny him. “I have to go” you mumbled against his mouth, as you pulled away. He was about to ask you why, but your yawning made him smile and kiss your forehead. You wanted to spend the eternity like that.

You hadn’t realized you were avoiding him until Remus mentioned it. You were eating dinner and you had sat as far away as possible without being rude. You were playing with your food. “You know, you don’t kiss someone and then never talk to them again” he said knowingly. Of course he knew. He was a freaking Marauder. They knew everything about each other. You knew it was wrong but what if he never meant it? What if you were one his many? You didn’t want him to break your heart. You were about to answer but a firm arm was wrapped around your waist, pulling you up from your seat and enveloping you in a bone-crushing hug. Chocolate, mint and smoke. You were in the middle of the Great Hall but it didn’t matter because he and his intoxicating self, made you feel like you were alone in the world. “Why are you avoiding me?” he whispered near your ear but his breath fell hot on to your neck, making your pulse accelerate a bit too sudden. “Don’t break my heart, Sirius. Please” you murmured in a small voice, frightened that if you said it any louder you would realize that it was a dream. He made you look at him. “I would never, love. Ever” he said sincerely. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Hold me. Just for a bit, okay?” you asked him almost pleadingly. You had it bad. Very, very, very bad. He squeezed you tighter to his body and spun you around. You wanted to laugh and to cry out of happiness. And then he kissed you. And you felt as light as a feather.

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