#glumbumble

[jlhynde-insanitybrilliance]

UDLTTOM WORLDBUILDING RAMBBLE: MAGICAL CREATURES & THEIR GROUP NAMES

(pt. 1, pt. 2. pt.3, pt. 4)

This is a random thought, but you know how there are different words for different groups of animals. Like horses are called herds, whales have pods, wolves have packs, crows have murders, etc.

I think it would be interesting if the same could be said for magical creatures in the Harry Potter lore:

Like a group Thestrals I think should be called a Procession (as in funeral procession) because they’re associated with death and loss and watching someone die.

And a group of Phoenixes should be a Kindling because they’re constantly bursting into flames. 😂

Hippogriffs would be called a Pride because they would accept nothing less.

Thunderbirds should be called Derecho (fast moving wind/thunderstorm that occur often in the Great Plains of North America).

Unicorns should be called a Joust because the singular horn looks like jousting stick and males charge each other during mating season. 😂

Dragons would obviously have to be a Hoard.

A Demiguise would have to be called a Hide because they’re so good at disappearing.

And a Niffler has to be called a Robbery 😂 😂

And Trolls would be called a Cesspool because of their smell (which is rude, but very on brand for Wizards)

Boggarts would be a Terror.

Fwoopers (the bird thats song drives people insane) would be called a Babble. And non-stop babbling drives people crazy!

Crups would be a Scrounge because their scavengers and basically just little hyenas that look like Jack Russell terriers and are just as vicious. (Which puts a horrible spin on the Muggle-hunting with Crups if you know anything about how violent hyenas are.)

Basilisks I don’t think can exist in groups because I feel like the second they’d make eye contact they’d just kill each other. So a group of them would be a Boneyard because of the decomposed skeletons.

Runespoors would be called a Fork because of the 3 heads (i.e. 3 prongs) and how they can predict the future and see where there is a Fork in the road of someone’s life.

A Doxy would be part of a Massacre because they swarm like insects and their venom is deadly to any witch or wizard who gets bitten. And a group of Doxies settling in an area would lead to an entire village being wiped out in a mass killing.

And I know in canon a group of Bowtruckles is called a branch. But I propose that Briar would be a better word because if you mess with their tree, they attack you and try to gouge out your eyes just like briars have thorns that cut anyone who gets too close to the plant.

And Dugbogs would be called a Snare because they are ambush hunters & wizards who get to close will have them clamp around their ankle like a bear trap.

Also, I’m going to add that Ghouls would be a Ruckus because they bang on pipes when things are too quiet a group of them would make so much noise it’d sound like your house was being remodeled.

A Glumbumble is a bee-like insect that produces a honey-like substance which causes people who eat it to be lethargic and low-energy so they would be a Gloom.

A Kneazle would be part of a Jury because of their ability to detect and identify suspicious people.

And Grindylows would be a Gallow because they strangle their prey.

These are the only ones I can come up with on the spot. But I want to think about this and come up with a crazy long list. If anyone has any suggestions feel free to reblog this with them! I’ll probably keep adding to this list as I come up with more.

[jagwis]

Down the Undercroft

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x GN!Reader 

word count: 4,103

summary: You decide to learn the Unforgivable Curses. You're lucky that Sebastian agrees to teach you. You're unlucky that he has special teaching methods. Seems like a bad idea to voluntarily climb into a snake's lair after all.

warnings: slight dubcon (completely con later), manipulation, unresolved sexual tension, spicy things (e.g. biting, kissing, pinning against the wall), mature language + canon divergence in using crucio, because i had to joke about microbes guys. 

a/n: Reader is Ravenclaw, because i had a certain prompt in my head and it didn’t work for badgers, snakes and lions. although apart from one phrase in the fic, where it is mentioned that the Reader is a Ravenclaw, you will not find faculty mentioned anywhere else. no use of Y/N, no description of reader. also Sebastian and Reader are in their seventh year and over 18, i am NOT dealing with underage. 

okay, burning question now: once again falling for Slytherin boys are we? 

"I never said I didn't want to learn the Unforgivable Curses." It comes off your tongue a little rougher and sharper than you'd like. Anger at Sebastian and frightened Ominis’ voice still press on your thoughts from the inside, entangling them in a furious fog and coloring intonation in displeased tones.

Sebastian freezes as he almost reaches the exit of the undercroft. When he slightly turns his head in your direction, his eyes glow with triumph.

"Is that so?" Sallow's honey-sweet words cut your ear with your favorite and hated smug intonation.

When you don't reply to his remark, Sebastian turns away from the door completely and, judging by his undisguised smirk, you realize that it's too late to back out now. You are trapped between a Slytherin whose self-satisfaction ripples around like incense in the Divination class, and between a cold dark undercroft. Oh, about that. You are in the undercroft where no one can find you, just asked Sebastian Sallow to teach you the Unforgivable Curses. Great. 

While gloomy thoughts swarm like glumbumbles around your mind, Sebastian pulles out his wand and slowly approaches.

"Wipe your trademark grin off your face." You wince in displeasure when your words only make Sallow's lips stretch further. "I've always said it's wrong for professors to forbid us from learning any spells. Besides, I learned Confringo with you, didn’t I?"

"That you did." Sebastian's left hand rests on his hip, while the fingers of his right twirl the wand lazily. "However, Blasting Curse is nothing compared to the spells that torture, command and kill on the spot. Blowing up an opponent is slightly more humane than torture to death, don’t you think?"

Sallow takes another step forward, his voice becoming a conspiratorial whisper. You feel your body stiffen in response to his closeness. He never missed an opportunity to play with you a little, but never did he violate your personal space before. 

"And certainly far more merciful than forcing someone to kill themselves... No?" Sebastian's breath tickles your forehead as he tilts his head to whisper in your ear. "With their own hands preferably." Sallow straightens up, putting back a saving distance between you. He's still annoyingly close, but at least not in his I-have-no-idea-what-we're-doing-standing-so-close-but-you-will-think-about-this-at-three-am position anymore. 

"Very funny." From the narrowed laughing eyes opposite, you understand that your confusion from his actions cannot be hidden by faked confidence. The step back that you take to maintain this very confidence only amuses him more.

"You are well informed that Rookwood and Ranrok are looking for me. Runs in the name, I guess." You comment as you roll your eyes, causing Sebastian to chuckle. "I need these curses for self-defense."

Sallow raises his hands in mock surrender. "It's not for me to judge, love. But what should I say to Ominis? Poor thing thinks you're the voice of reason in our trio, you know."

"We have already discussed the use of pet names." You cast a disapproving look at highly pleased Slytherin. "And I won't lie to Ominis or hide anything from him. I just don't want you to make him do something against his will."

"Fair enough. He didn’t complain much before you joined our humble company, though."

"I do not want to know." You cut off, shaking your head. "Now, would you be so kind as to teach me curses already? Unlike some, I have a lot to do."

"Oh, don't I know it. I have to do half of these doings of yours, love." Sebastian tosses his wand to his other hand, moving behind you. Some strange inner voice is screaming at you that losing sight of Sallow is a bad idea. You tense up, already turning, when two hands are being firmly placed on your shoulders, holding you in place.

"What…" You start half annoyed, half wary, the undercroft’s shadows and the fact that no one can help you here suddenly act somber on you.

"Unforgivable Curses are dangerous even while they are being mastered." Sallow's voice, deeper and more serious, sends goosebumps through your body. "We wouldn’t want anything to go wrong, would we?"

When you don't answer, the long fingers tighten slightly on your shoulders, pressing down on your muscles.

"We would not." Understanding the hint instinctively, you answer, the grip on your skin loosening at your words. His one hand remains on your shoulder while the other begins to slide down your forearm. You freeze, concentrated on the touch. Through the thin fabric of your shirt, warm from the heat of your body, you can feel the coldness of five fingertips slowly rolling down your arm.

You think you can hear Sebastian swallow as he reaches your rolled up sleeve at the crook of your elbow, lingering there.

"Good. It would be a shame to kill you here." A small shiver runs through you as you hear the change of his voice. Sebastian sounds muffled, guttural. You'd give anything just to see the look on his face right now, to understand a little bit about what's going on. 

"Speaking truthfully, I entertain the thought that we could do far more enjoyable things down here than putting you into danger."

You don’t have time to analyze his words, because all your attention is captured again by the movement of his hand, which overcomes the threshold of your sleeve and touches your bare skin.

A quiet sigh escapes your lips, to which Sebastian reacts instantly, pressing his fingers tighter, sliding them down to your wrist and wrapping around it.

You let him raise your hand to a chest level, align it to the position he wants. A huge question mark burns in your mind like a red neon sign.

"Does misleading me count as a part of your teaching methods?" Your voice sounds quieter and more intimate than a few minutes ago. Sebastian responds in the same velvety tone, and his lips are much closer than you initially thought, giving consideration to your hair, moving under his breath. This thought occupies you so much that you almost miss his answer.

"Am I misleading you?"

"With your actions. You are irrational." Your answer is intended to prick Sallow, but even without seeing you and your puzzled eyes, Sebastian perfectly feels the slight trembling of your wrist, securely hidden in his palm.

"On the contrary." Sallow removes his other hand from your shoulder and you feel your wand being deftly fished out from behind the bosom of your clothes. "I'm very sagacious when it comes to what I need. What I want."

Your wand settles with its usual weight in your hand when Sebastian offers it to you and slightly corrects your posture again, one hand holding yours with the wand clamped in it.

"The truth is, when I set a goal or, Merlin forbid, desire something." Sebastian tilts his head to the side, scratching your ear with his breath. "Rationality is my strongest trait."

You try to move away from Sallow, his captivating voice intoxicates you better than the Imperio Curse. Sebastian allows you to win a few tens of saving centimeters between you, while not letting you to pull your hand out of his.

"The first spell is the Cruciatus Curse. I do believe you know what it does. Always hold your wand steady or it might ricochet back at you."

Sebastian controls your hand and repeats the right movement several times before releasing your wrist from his grip.

"The main idea with Unforgivable Curses is the wizard's willpower. For the curse to work, you have to mean it."

You take a few deep breaths in and out, trying to urgently put your thoughts in order and focus. The lack of concentration after your impromptu hug with Sebastian, your friend and fellow student, is indeed dramatic. However, your talent for sorcery helped you get out of many other complex situations, so on the third breath you mentally call on all known wizards, wave your wand and firmly say: "Crucio."

A red flash erupts from the end of your wand and crashes into the stone wall of the undercroft, certainly dooming the several billion microbes that live on it to eternal suffering.

"Well done." Resounds behind you. "You looked so confused that I was ready to drag you to the Hospital Wing."

You are about to turn around and make a couple of flattering comments about your confusion and its reasons, but Sallow is quicker. Wrapping both arms around your waist, he presses his whole body against your back.

For a few seconds, both of you keep deathly silence. You, because Sebastian smells so damn good of sandalwood, probably after sitting through the Potions class before you met in the undercroft. Sebastian is silent because, knowing you, he is seriously taking in consideration how to avoid you practicing Crucio on him for all his antics today.

"Sallow." Your voice seems to be trembling, but because of the ringing in your ears, you can't tell for sure. "What the fuck."

Sebastian clicks his tongue in disapproval and rubs his cheek against the top of your head. "We're not finished." He purrs, breathing in the scent of your hair.

Without letting you go, his hand is again on yours and puts it in the right position.

"Next is the Imperius Curse." Sebastian rests his head in the hollow between your neck and shoulder. "It will allow you to force anyone to do what you want." Sallow shows you the right move but doesn't pull away this time.

"Sebastian." Your voice sounds almost pleading, to which he hides a chuckle, pressing his lips to your shoulder. "I- I can't cast it until you-" Your voice cracks, you clear your throat several times.

"Couldn’t care less." Sallow whispers, leaving dry kiss, a quick stroke of lips, on your neck. "The next curse is Avada Kedavra."

He supports you by the waist, the toe of his boot pushes your feet apart.

"This spell also needs a special posture."

"Sebastian." You speak louder, panic and arousal roll up to the bottom of your stomach at the same speed. Your fingers are cold, your cheeks are burning, heart is beating wildly in your chest. "Stop."

"Why would I do that?" Sallow runs his nose up your neck, stopping his lips at your ear, exhaling into it with a chuckle. "I can feel your pulse from the start of our little talking, silly. Your heart has been racing ever since."

"So what? Maybe I'm just scared by your growing insanity."

"You of all people should not be afraid of my insanity. You should be entirely and completely blamed for it."

You abruptly pull yourself out of his embrace, wasting no time turning on your heels and finally finding yourself face to face with Sebastian Sallow. The first thing you notice is his wand lying at his feet. He probably dropped it at some point, because he was too busy with what else (who, rather) could get into his hands.

Studying Sallow's face, you need a few seconds to recover and just enjoy the view in front of you.

Sebastian looks utterly smitten. He’s all fast breaths, eyes lidded in gaze of a pure bliss, pupils dilated, lips parted. His chest rapidly heaves, as if he’s trying to control his every breath through force. His fingers, nervously clenched into fists, tremble, like the fact that you have slipped out of his grip causes him almost physical pain.

The sudden realization of your power over him blooms in your chest with warm pleasure. You run your tongue over your lips, trying to make the final decision for yourself whether you want to be here, now, with him. Sebastian's gaze immediately jumps to your lips and fixates on them, the edge of his mouth twitching slightly, as if he forbade himself to repeat your movement at the last moment.

"Well, in that case." You straighten your back, trying to give yourself confidence and not show that your own self-control is cracking like glass under Depulso. Praying that Sebastian doesn't see how desperate you are.

"We must both be insane then."

You’re giving him your consent directly, and Sebastian reads it from your lips, as if drinking the sweetest nectar from the rim of a glass.

His eyes darken, unfailing smirk turning into a grin. He takes a step towards you, then again and again, while you hastily move back. Every step he takes forward is your one step back. 

Your confidence is thinning with every meter that you overcome in sync. It almost feels like a dance, but when Sebastian in the torches’ half-light reminds you of a predator approaching to devour your soul, it’s more like dancing on coals, when every wrong move can mark the triumph of fire and your defeat. You giggle, remembering Sallow's love for fire spells, imagining yourself as a pillar of sparks if you anger him. Sebastian narrows his eyes.

"What's so funny, love?"

You are about to snipe as you open your mouth, preparing a caustic comment, when your back rests against the cold, damp wall of the undercroft. All cocky remarks die in your throat. You exhale, resting both hands on the mossy rocks. Your wand is still between your fingers. Sebastian lets out victorious sneer, caging you between his two hands, pinning you against the wall.

"Not so funny anymore, is it?" Sallow murmurs, looking at you. There are hunger, longing and something else in his gaze, similar to the tenderness of a collector preparing to pin rare butterfly with a needle.

Despite your position, you still try to maintain a bit of dominance and control. Therefore, tearing your palms away from the wall, you stealthily hide your wand behind the edge of your clothes on your waist. Feeling light-headed at his proximity, you grab Sebastian's tie with one hand and place the other on his lips, preventing him from closing the distance and kissing you. Sallow huffs in annoyance through his nose, giving you his brand menacing look.

You smile as you wrap the green and white fabric around your fingers.

"Yeah, what's so funny, Sallow?" You pull on his tie and Sebastian follows your instructions without question, getting even closer. In his eyes, black with desire, you see the reflections of fire from the torches of the undercroft. "Is that the right way to act when you want something? I'd like to hear the magic word."

Suddenly you feel a wet hot touch on the inside of your palm. In surprise, you pull your hand away, staring in amazement at the sly smile spreading across Sebastian's face.

"Did you just licked-"

"Poor little Ravenclaw." Sallow grabs both of your wrists and holds on tight, preventing you from moving. "Has anyone ever told you that snakes tend to eat birds?"

Your gaze darts from his hazel eyes to his lips as you try to get your thoughts in order. Sebastian is watching your efforts with keen interest. When you growl in annoyance from the overflowing desire to kiss the damn smile from his face, Sallow leans forward and covers your lips with his own. 

Your breath hitches as Sebastian picks up a slow, painfully slow pace. You expected some violence and passion from him, but instead he kisses you the way a dying knight, devoted only to his mistress, kisses her palm for the last time. The kiss is sensual, soft, wet. Alluring. As if he is afraid that you will shatter like a mirage, like a dream inspired by a mind tormented by fantasies.

His lips are hot, the hands on your wrists clenching tighter as you return the kiss, rising up on your toes.

When he feels the responding movement of your lips, it seems that you have lost the poor boy for good.

Sallow releases your hands from his grip as you pull them demandingly towards yourself. Without breaking the kiss, he takes you under your head with one hand, holding your waist with the other, and pulls you closer. Your fingers are in his hair, slightly squeezing the curly strands. Sebastian seems to forget to breathe.

The kiss becomes faster, you pull each other more, further and, in the heat of touch, it seems that you become one lump of shattered breathing and pleasant shivering.

Sallow bites your lip, pulling it lightly with his teeth, then runs his tongue over it. You moan softly, parting your lips, and Sebastian melts in your arms, getting drunk from your voice and permission.

His tongue meets yours and deepens the kiss. You are being slammed into the wall, Sallow braces your face in both of his hands now, tilting your head as he wants. You allow him, trembling from all the unfamiliar sensations. 

It feels good, but so hot, unbearably so. There is not enough air, too, but it is a pleasant suffocation, as if an oxygen void spreads in your chest being filled with an endless repetition of one word instead of air. Sebastian Sebastian Sebastian Sebastian Sebastian. 

"Sebastian." You moan as you feel Sallow's lips on your neck, just below your jaw.

Sebastian freezes instantly, returning to your face – it takes a couple of seconds for his misty eyes to focus on yours.

"I think I just found your weak spot." He looks smug, but his voice is broken, and his eyes are pleading.

"Shut up." You whisper, stubbornly looking away.

Sallow grins, pushing your head back into place, hooking your chin with long fingers.

"What is it, darling? I know what you need, and I know what you want. All you have to do is ask politely."

You stare daggers at the proud Slytherin, who playfully runs the fingers of his free hand along your neck, raising a wave of goosebumps. His thumb on your chin circles your lip. 

"Too much honor. Why would I bother?" 

Sallow slightly scratches the skin of your neck with his nails, and you lean into his touch, causing him to chuckle.

"Because." Sebastian leans down, picking at the skin of your neck with kisses and bites. "I can make you feel good." Sallow returns to his original position, looking into your eyes with a burning glare of anticipation. "Be nice, won’t you? Is it really this hard to confess what you want?"

Sebastian watches your pupils dilate as you stare in fascination at his lips stretching into a seductive smile.

"Come on." Sallow gently tucks a strand of hair from your face, kissing you lovingly on the cheek. "Beg for me, love."

You instantly come out of the trance into which Sebastian without the slightest difficulty allured you with sweet voice and warm touches. Pride and stubbornness inflame in your chest a violent desire to resist.

"I don’t beg." You answer, firmly meeting Sallow's gaze. He frowns, puzzled by the change in your behavior, but once you believe in your small victory for a second, you see the familiar spark of an idea that flashes through the depths of Sebastian's eyes. It’s an all too well-known light that always means trouble. To you mostly, that is. 

Sebastian straightens up to his full height, throwing his head back a little and looking down at you. You don't like the amount of triumphant glee on his face as you try to figure out his next move in confusion and panic.

"Oh no, love." Sallow purrs affectionately, you are bathed in the tart sweetness that pervades his every word. "I'm afraid now you do."

You notice too late that his hands are no longer touching your skin. It's also too late because you can't feel your wand in the bosom of your clothes anymore. The last thing you see before a green veil fills your vision is Sallow's right hand aimed at you with your wand clasped in his fingers.

"Imperio." Sebastian whispers and gracefully waves the wand.

With an impulse, you are slightly thrown back into the wall. It feels like you are spinning on a very fast carousel, or you are being at a very high altitude – not a single thought has time to reach your consciousness, as if invisible barriers reflect it.

Sallow watches with an unhealthy interest how the fog swirls in your eyes, green flashes are shimmering through the irises. You look up at him, your face free of all emotion.

"Beg." Sebastian commands, excitement and euphoria filling his entire being.

"Please, Sebastian." Your voice is the most beautiful thing Sallow has ever heard in his whole life. But when you pronounce these words under your breath, brokenly desperate, bittersweetly, he feels that he can come undone.

"Again." He orders, leaning forward, drinking in your every word. "Better."

You whimper, fingers clawing at his robe, but Sallow feels it as if your fingers are clenching right on his heart. It's stupid, embarrassing really, how much power you have over him without realizing it. Now it’s you who beg him, but for some reason he feels that he is the one kneeling in front of you, as if before an ancient deity on the altar, sacrificing his soul, praying that you will accept it.

"Please." You pleadingly look into his eyes. "Please, Sebastian. Please, please, please, please, please, please, I can't take it anymore." The cascade of your whispers falls on him with an unbearable weight. Sallow groans softly at your pleas, his eyes rolling back, and he must control every breath to keep him from choking.

He lets out another quiet moan, pressing his lips to your neck, covering it with open-mouthed kisses, bites, and licks, holding you in place with his fingers on your hips.

Sebastian knows the curse wears off as you relax in his arms, leaning closer.

"Sallow-" You begin with outrage ringing in your tone. "You-" The furious tirade is being abruptly stopped with a loud moan as you choke on it, sensing Sebastian leaving a hickey, effectively cutting off all of your displeasures.

You feel his chest vibrates under your fingers with laughter.

"What would Ominis say if he knew you were practicing the Unforgivable Curses on me?" You say revengefully. 

"Don't use my best friend's name when I'm kissing your neck." Sebastian winces.

"Oh?" You mumble innocently. "And here I thought that it would amuse your ego."

"How so?" Sebastian pulls away from your neck, giving you a look.

"Well." You close the distance between you, biting on his chin for a second, hearing his breath hitches in his throat. "Because right now you are the one kissing my skin, not him." You trail wet kisses down Sallow's neck, leaving your own vindictive hickey. Sebastian flinches and groans, making you break into a smirk. "Because I'm being hold in your hands, not in Ominis', and finally-" You move higher, looking into his eyes. "Because when I begged a couple of minutes ago, it was your name that escaped my lips. Or am I wrong?" You smile slyly as you watch Sebastian open his mouth, completely stunned by your words.

"You are incredible." Praise finally escapes his lips when he tries to kiss you again, but you back away, chuckling as Sebastian whines in disappointment. A blush covers his cheeks, framing a constellations of freckles with warm color. You want to kiss all of them.

"I know." You wink at him, kissing him yourself, obediently wrapping your legs around his waist when he picks you up and takes you in his arms, leaning your back against the wall.

You are so absorbed in each other and in your undying duel for authority that you almost don’t catch the sound of the undercroft door opening.

You freeze in horror, Sebastian breaks into a big shit-eating grin. You now think that it is highly possible that only you did miss someone else’s company.

Sallow brings his index finger to his lips, signaling you to be quiet.

"I can hear you, you know." The voice of Ominis Gaunt resonates in the silence. Sallow's smile widens. "I'll leave you two doing Merlin knows what in my undercroft then, you filthy animals." He grumbles when he does not hear an answer from either of you. He hears perfectly clear, however, how you sink back to the ground, twisting out of Sallow's grip.

When Ominis turns on his heels and leaves the undercroft in a rage or nervousness, you are ready to cast Crucio on yourself. Already starting to move towards the exit to catch up with Gaunt and talk to him properly, you feel a strong grip on your wrist stopping you.

"You haven't finished your lesson." Sounds from behind.

[thebemoon]

My WIP "A Clock With No Numbers" is updated! Witch Weekly publishes its take on Hermione's campaign and her relationship with the Weasleys.

Chapter 22: "Reading Witch Weekly"

Excerpt:

“Clearly somebody on the Flack campaign has Muggle ties,” Hermione said. “Perhaps we should consider a slogan from Muggle history as well.”

“Perhaps,” Justin said. “But I can’t think of any that aren’t awful.”

Hermione laughed. “Good point.” She raised her hands. ‘Britain Can Be Better!’”

“‘New Labour New Danger!’” Justin cried.

“‘Click With Dick!’”

“‘Tippecanoe and Tyler Too!’”

“What?” Hermione asked. “What does that even mean?”

“No idea. But who can disagree with it?”

Hermione snickered. “Of course. Our slogan can be ‘Glumbumble Goo and Granger Too!’”

[heartofspells]

Someone suggested this one would be cute for use on Harry, and it would be, but my mind went a different route with it. But Harry’s still here, of course. Because he’s just too precious. 

was that a yawn?

Remus drops down on the bed beside Sirius with heavy, legless intent. More like crumbles, really, but Sirius refrains from commenting. He's just opening his mouth to say something, possibly ask a question or maybe even a solid quip – he's never sure until it happens – when Remus' face splits into an impossibly wide yawn, eyes crinkling beautifully at their corners, nose scrunching just enough. His arms stretch up over his head, flexing outwards, fingers extending like they're reaching to touch the moon. Sirius becomes briefly lost in watching the muscles of his bare shoulders shift and tighten before he shakes himself clear.

"Sorry, was that a yawn?"

Remus glowers up at him without any true heat. "Shut up," he grumbles moodily, lowering his arms and cross them tightly over his chest. "Four stories, Sirius. Four. And then he was still wide awake. I'm knackered. More than knackered. I am dead."

Sirius pokes at Remus' side experimentally, and the other man squirms, pouting. "Don't seem dead," he remarks. Remus promptly huffs in irritation and flops over to his stomach, burying his face in his pillow. "Aww, c'mon, Moony. Don't be that way. He just likes spending time with you."

Remus mumbles something into the fluff that Sirius can't understand, but he decides it doesn't matter. He presses his nose into the skin of Remus' back and then snuffles his way up, causing the other man to squirm again, movements feeble. Sirius only stops when he reaches the subtle dip in Remus' shoulder where it extends to his neck, lips seeking out the flesh there. Remus harrumphs but Sirius can feel him relax a little under the attention.

"Mooooony," he coos softly, grin on his face and clear in his voice even if Remus can't see it. "Think you've earned a reward for your hard work."

"Go sleep, Pads," mumbles Remus, a bit more intelligible this time. "Tom'row. 'ave your wicked way tom'row."

Sirius keeps moving, hand slipping over Remus' lower back, dipping beneath the waistband of his loose joggers. His mouth continues to chart a small, predetermined path over warm flesh right in that glorious curve.

"You really want to wait that long?" he questions. "Hmm. Doesn't seem much like you."

Remus release a snort-like sound into the pillow but turns his head just enough to crack one eye open and peer at Sirius with a mixture of disdain, exasperation, and a glint of want. Sirius grins.

"Pads," he moans half-grumpily. Sirius fingers grip into soft flesh and Remus sucks in a sharp breath. The expression on Sirius' face broadens. His hand drifts down a little further, nearly where he wants it, but he pulls hit back quickly when they hear trampling footsteps down the hall. Remus groans softly in defeat, turning his head again, and Sirius chuckles as they door is thrown open.

"Ah, the Prongslet returns," he announces quietly, pushing himself up to sitting as Harry's small legs carry him across the room. He hoists himself up into the bed with a bit of effort and then crawls across its surface until he's settled beside Sirius' knees.

"Moony left," says Harry, his green eyes shifting to where Remus still lays, unmoving. "What's he doing?"

"Moony's sleeping," responds Sirius, lifting one finger to his lips in a gesture for silence, his eyes glittering. "He's tired, kid. Try not to wake him."

"Shh," whispers Harry in agreement, and Sirius smiles as he lifts the boy over his lap, feeling Remus stir just a little at the same time.

"That's right. Can't sleep? Is it the Glumbumbles again?"

Harry shakes his head, sighing very seriously. "No. Now it's the Plimpies," says Harry gravely. "They're after my toes."

Sirius bites back a laugh, glancing sideways, spying Remus' head turned a bit again, eye open. The half of his mouth Sirius can see is upturned in amusement.

"Plimpies, huh?" murmurs Sirius, angling back towards Harry. "You know they only live in water, don't you?" Sirius is thinking, not for the first time, that he never should have bought his godson that book, but hindsight is hindsight.

"But they've come for my toes," whinges Harry frantically, face falling a little. Remus makes a noise beside them, a half-choke, half-laugh. Sirius carefully nudges him with his own toes, silently telling him to hush up as Harry's eyes turn to him suspiciously. "Is Moony awake now?"

"No," denies Sirius easily. "Want me to check your room for the Plimpies?"

Harry shakes his head dolefully. "They hide when I'm not alone," he mumbles dejectedly.

"Ah," says Sirius knowingly, smiling a bit. Remus wriggles again beside them. "So, you'd rather stay in here, is that right?" Harry nods, green eyes wide and pleading as he stares up at Sirius. He knows he should resist, knows it's setting a bad precedent, but Sirius feels himself caving almost instantly. It's only one night. "All right, then. I'll fix your room tomorrow, get rid of your infestations of creatures. How's that sound?"

Harry instantly brightens and wiggles from Sirius' lap, planting himself squarely between him and Remus. Sirius restrains a sigh of resignation. His hand had been so close. Oh well.

Sirius shifts in the bed, settling down with Harry, burying all three of them beneath the warm blankets snugly. He can feel the heavy breath Remus releases and Sirius knows he's near enough to sleep not to care much. He likes having Harry in their bed on these rare occasions as much as Sirius does, though they rarely admit to it. Terrible thing, after all. That's what they tell themselves, never believing it for a second.

Harry slowly drifts off to sleep as well, Sirius stroking through his dark hair. Two pairs of even breathing begin to fill the room, and Sirius smiles as he snaps his fingers quietly, extinguishing the light, eventually drifting off with his family, happy and content.

[redhairedgryffindor]

How do you think he’s doing? He was glummer than a Glumbumble when I visited.

Rather well

Not well at all

[that-one-weird-fangirl2020]

peace | S. Sallow | Chapter Two

Warnings: none

Sebastian Sallow x F!OC

"And that's all for today! Now remember, I want a seven inch essay on Glumbumbles by Friday of next week! Class dismissed!" Professor Howin shouted as the class got ready to leave.

Ariadne had partnered with Poppy Sweeting for the class again. Thought the girls' expertise on magical creatures and beasts was something to not be ignored. Especially after the whole adventure with the dragon egg and golden snidgets last term.

"Aren't they just adorable!" Poppy exclaimed happily, still admiring the Glumbumbles in their glass enclosures.

Ariadne looked at the gray insects, grimacing. At least it wasn't acromantulas. She had enough experiences those to last a lifetime. Though something tells her, she would still be dealing with those awful creatures.

"If you say so, Poppy," Ariadne sighed.

"Oh, Ariadne, I know how you feel about insects and arachnids," the Hufflepuff girl giggled.

"At safe distance away where they can't bother me!"

The girls started to walk back to the castle. Advanced Potion Making was next, a class that Ariadne had been excited to begin (other than alchemy). As she and Poppy approached the classroom, Ariadne saw Sebastian walk out, hands in his pockets as he stalked out of the classroom with Ominis in toe. The sour look on his face only softened when he caught sight of Ariadne. But the next person to leave the potions classroom was none other than Colter Winterfaire. No wonder Sebastian is in a foul mood, She thought.

As she and Poppy entered the classroom, they made their way over to a free table. Ariadne took her potions textbook out and laid it next to her cauldron.

"Now, time for a class I'll actually enjoy," She smiled, fixing her brown-auburn hair into a braid to keep it out of her face.

"What? You didn't enjoy Care of Magical Beasts?!" Poppy faked hurt.

"Oh, come off it! I love that class, I just love potions a lot more."

Suddenly, Garreth Weasley was there. His hair was a lions main of red curls, green eyes twinkling with mischief, and a wide grin plastered on his freckled face.

"Mind if I take one of the open spaces here?" He asked.

"Not all, Garreth," Poppy replied, "the more the merrier."

"Then you won't mind if I take the last place!" Imelda took the spot across from Ariadne.

"Nope!" Always the optimist, Poppy Sweeting.

There were the sounds of heavy out of sync footsteps. The class turned and saw Professor Sharp limping in. Some of the girls in class had dreamy looks on their faces as he went by. Ariadne had no idea why they found him attractive, given the fact that he was old enough to their father.

"Good day, class, and welcome back for a year of Advanced Potions. Seeing how you are all able to continue the subject in sixth year, you got an Outstanding on your OWLs for potions- some of you i'm surprised made it into this course," Sharp began, aiming a look at Garreth, "and today we'll be looking into and brewing the potion called Draught of Living Death. This can be found on page twenty-seven of your textbooks."

Ariadne opened her textbook and flipped to the corresponding page, reading the information tab in the corner.

The Draught of Living Death brings upon its drinker a very powerful sleep that can last indefinitely. This draught is very dangerous if not used with caution ... This is an extremely dangerous potion. Execute with maximum caution.

"Now, what would be the correct antidote if one were to consume this potion?"

Ariadne raised her hand.

"Ms. Silverthorne," Sharp acknowledged.

"Wiggenweld potion, sir," She answered.

"That is correct. Ten points to Slytherin."

The girl smiled to herself, a bit of pride swelling up inside. What a Slytherin thing to do, but then again, if one was sorted into Slytherin, feeling prideful was guaranteed. Ariadne had a vast knowledge of all sorts of potions and alchemical ingredients. When she wasn't fooling around with Sebastian over the summer, Ariadne was cooped up in her late father's study and alchemy lab. She would go over the hundreds of alchemy and potions books. Studying the formulas and components one needed for something somehow became a coping mechanism of sorts. Ariadne even concerned finding a possible cure for Anne Sallow in the Alchemy books her father owned, but shelved the idea for a later date seeing how she -like Sebastian- would have to dive into the depths of dark magic, especially when it came to alchemy.

"I must ask that you all proceed with caution when you start to brew this potion, especially you, Mr. Weasley." Sharp again gave Garreth another look.

"Loud and clear, professor," the Gryffindor boy chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

"You may begin!"

Ariadne got to work, taking the necessary ingredients out. She carefully looked over the instructions, mindful of how much of each component to add. The Sopophorous bean was a bit of a pain in the arse- the damn thing would not hold still for nothing. She ended up crushing it instead of cutting because it was driving her mad. Ariadne eventually removed her house cloak and loosened her tie because the humidity from the potion brewing was almost unbearable, and she could feel the sweat rolling down her forehead. There was the sound of a minor explosion next to her. Looking up from her cauldron, Ariadne found that Garreth Weasley- face covered in black soot- must have done something wrong to render the explosion. She had to cover her mouth to keep a laugh from erupting.

"Congratulations, Weasley, it's your first explosion of term!" Imelda said sarcastically.

Her normally neat ponytail was now loose with several strands of hair hanging down in her face. Garreth sent her a glare as he wiped his face with the sleeves of his robe and flipped Imelda the bird.

Poppy and Ariadne looked at each other and chuckled before returning to their work. As she finished her potion, Ariadne went to get Professor Sharp. He looked at her brew.

"Impressive, your skills in potions are truly outstanding," Sharp commented, "I'd say one drop of this, and it will kill us all."

Again, pride swelled within her, "Hard work and dedication pays off. Would you agree, professor?"

"I would, another ten points to Slytherin."

Ariadne smiled to herself, and as class ended, she bid farewell to Poppy and headed to her next class. As the day progressed and classes ended, she was stopped outside of the Alchemy class. It was Coulter again.

"What do you want, Coulter?" She asked.

"I just wanted to see if you changed your mind about butterbeer now that Sallow isn't around," He said, a genuine smile on his face.

"Like I said, I have plans. Professor Weasley wants to speak with me now that classes are over," Ariadne said.

Coulter nodded, "I understand, I just wanted to get to know you better, seeing how you're the Savior of Hogwarts and everything."

Ariadne quirked an eyebrow, "What's that supposed to mean?"

The Welsh boy just chuckled, "Nothing."

Then he slipped away, down the corridor, and disappeared in the throng of students. Ariadne just shook her head and proceeded to Professor Weasley's classroom in the transfiguration courtyard.

As she arrived, Professor Weasley was at her desk, going over some papers. She looked up and spotted Ariadne enter.

"Ah, Ms. Silverthorne, how lovely to see you, my dear," She greeted, getting up.

"Hello, Professor Weasley. You wanted to speak with me?"

"Yes, how are you adjusting since the events of last term?"

Ariadne took a seat at one of the desks. She let out a sigh and folded her arms. "I would say I'm doing well, but that would be a lie."

Professor Weasley gave her a concerned look, "What do you mean by that?"

"It's just with all that happened with Ranrok and Rookwood, not to mention losing Fig," Ariadne took a shakey breath, her green eyes looking at the desk, "I know, what i did saved the school, but I wish I could've done more, maybe I could've save Professor Fig."

"Ariadne, you needn't have to blame yourself for what happened, I'm sure Fig is proud of the student you have become," Professor Weasley placed a hand on Ariadne's shoulder.

She gave the professor a weak smile. She wasn't so sure that was true. Ariadne saw the look of disappointment on Figs face when she decided she wanted to keep the power for herself and learn to use it. He died being disappointed in her. She just knew it. And now the power she holds is wanting to be used.

"How are you adjusting to your new classes?" Professor Weasley changed the subject, sensing the grim atmosphere.

"I'm adjusting quite well, I really enjoy alchemy," Ariadne answered, "it's something that I find fascinating."

"It's from my understanding that your late father was an Alchemist, am I correct?"

"Yes, my father was dedicated to his study. He was obsessed with finding ways to make one's life better through alchemy. My mother was a potioneer, she wrote several books on her findings with potions she's created. I guess you can say my parents ambitions rubbed off on me."

Ariadne smiled fondly at the memory of her parents. She lost them both when she was eight years old. They left for a business trip somewhere in Ireland, leaving a young Ariadne in the care of her Aunt Marjorie. They were ambushed by dark wizards on their way back and killed in the process. Marjorie did her best to take care of the young witch and had taken her traveling around the world. Ariadne lived with her until she turned thirteen and decided to take residence back at Silverthorne Manor.

Ariadne's father had attended Durmstrang and her mother attended Beauxbaton, so it was only natural that Ariadne thought she'd receive letters from those schools when she turned eleven. But no such luck. She thought she was a squib for five years. So, it wasn't until Ariadne was fifteen that she received her letter to Hogwarts, did she realize she did have the ability to create magic, let alone the ability to see and use Ancient Magic. Her Aunt Marjorie was the only one on her mother's side that attended Hogwarts and was friends with Professor Fig.

"I'm sure your Aunt is proud of you," Professor Weasley said, "I remember the days Marjorie was in my class, best friends with Professor Merabel Garlick, always up to something those two."

Ariadne chuckled, "Aunt Marjorie never told me she was friends with Professor Garlick."

"They were inseparable during their years at Hogwarts. Though Marjorie was also close to Professor Fig," the Professor moved back over by her desk.

"That I did know. He was her favorite professor." Ariadne got up from her desk.

Professor Weasley smiled warmly, "Thank you for coming to see me today, Ms. Silverthorne, I'm sure you have other things to do now."

"Anytime, Professor."

With that, Ariadne left the classroom, making her way back to the Slytherin common room.

[euphorial-docx]

was looking up magical creatures in hp and came across a GLUMBUMBLE

it’s so fucking cute. what the fuck.

[speakbeastypodcast]

This week’s Beast Of The Week is Glumbumble! Did you know that the decline in honey production is often blamed on glumbumbles?🐝

[gamerpeak]

Fantastic Beasts and How to Slay Them: Glumbumble

Fantastic Beasts and How to Slay Them: Glumbumble It's a bug that makes honey taste bad... #dnd #harrypotter #dungeonsanddragons #potterverse #blogpost

It’s a bug that makes honey taste bad… (more…)

[ghostgothemma]

Harry Potter Universe, Pottermore Glumbumble by EmmaS-Bowbie

[dwollsadventures]

Clabbert - For some reason all the clabberts I've seen are lanky, but frogs and orangutans are both pretty flabby, which isn't represented very much. Demiguise - Not sure where I got that invisibility idea from, but chances are it's probably from some other, much better, more successful, professional artist. Dugbog - Log dog. Fwooper - Not sure if it was always supposed to be a potoo, the illustration in the book wasn't that clear. Fire Crab - Okay, this one really get's to me for some reason. It's described as "turtle-like" but where does crab come into that??? So, I interpreted it as some sort of crab that's tortoise shaped, right?? Glumbumble - Just a big ol' parasitic bug. Gnome - I think when Rowling described the gnomes with big heads she meant that as in a reference to their red hats, but it'd make more sense if they actually had reddish fur. Horklump - Another one looked over in the book, only mentioned as a food source by other beasts despite the fact that it's a carnivorous fungus.

[transfigurmoose]

Glum Creatures_hp rp

Zan insisted on running back to her room instead of bringing Chubs to class, leaving me waiting by the kitchens awkwardly.

I tried to reason with her (and save the time and trouble) by telling her that Professor Hagrid could probably identify it for her.

To which she promptly responded “Chubs will identify ‘imself to me when it’s time, IF it’s time, because honestly,” -she moved her bangs to look at me- “it’s really none of my business.” I had no retort for that, so beside the kitchens I stood until she reemerged.

We rushed out and across the grounds until we made it to the gaggle of students crowding the half giant that stood to be our teacher. The sun was setting, which gave the sky a romantic yet foreboding feel. Or perhaps it was merely because Care of Magical Creatures was always taught at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

I liked this class. I was good with creatures, and they were good with me. There’s something about looking into the eyes of something wild and having it accept you. A creature’s eyes were always truthful.

It was only when one looked at them with one’s own agenda that one would miss the bond. That’s when you get hurt.

Some girl screamed and a few young wizards backed up from the center where Hagrid stood. Zan and I only craned our necks and stood on tiptoe to try to get a better view. I realized that quite a few of the people I shared this class with were hufflepuff. Odd. I wondered if any of these scaredy cats were under Jerrica’s protection.

“Aww, c’me now. ‘s o’ly a lil’ Glumbumble. ‘s ‘armless,” came Hagrid’s pleading voice. The girl who’d screamed was far off from the group now with two of her friends flanking her.

“She’s allergic to bees!” The tall male beside her shouted.

I chuckled.

“ ‘S not a bee, i’s a Glumbumble. T’ey won’ sting yer!” He waved a huge gloved hand to beckon her back over. She seemed very reluctant.

With a huff, Hagrid continued on with the lesson for the rest of us. He held up what arguably DID look a lot like a slab from a beehive, but instead of the usual honey golden color, it looked to have dark brownish black goo inside.

“Glumbumble like ter ta’e o’er bumble beehives. T’ey excrete melanch’ly treacle ‘stead o’ honey.” He looked down at the Glumbumble hive and pointed at the blackish hexagonal shapes. He then looked around and a confused frown came upon his face.

“Well, now w’ere’d it go ter?” He turned around and a giant grey insect was hanging onto the back of his shoulder. Zan pointed, I giggled, most shouted. It did seem to look like a big sad bumble bee. It had the fuzzy butt and everything.

Zan stepped forward to try to reach and grab it off of him, but couldn’t quite make it. At this point the class was getting out of control. Students pulled out their wands, but couldn’t decide whether to squash it, swat it, or burn it. Didn’t they realize this was a CARE for magical creatures class?

Annoyed, I marched up to Zan’s aid and got down on all fours. She stepped on my back and tried again to reach. As she climbed on me, I looked out to the crowd. In the distance I saw that frightened witch crying between her two friends. Hysteria all around. That tall boy with her looked like he was at his wits end. He pulled out his wand and growled out some sort of spell.

I didn’t know what it was, all I knew was that it was headed straight toward three potential targets: the professor, a glumbumble, and my friend.

[in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather]

[Amortentia]

Clyde x witch!RC

The first prompt for Magic May, based on a few prompts and conversations with @safarigirlsp​

Summary: Clyde comes to your home looking for a good luck potion, but leaves with so much more.

*

There were two distinct ways people entered your home: through the front door if they were invited and friendly, or through the back door, if they were looking for something they likely thought they shouldn’t be.

Clyde entered one evening by the back door, pale as a sheet and shoulders high, like he was expecting a giant axe to come swinging down, fixing to slice him in two right down the middle.

He was told that if the door was unlocked and a candle burned in the window, you were admitting visitors.

But when he entered, no one seemed to be there.

That is to say, you clearly couldn’t be too far, with one cauldron brewing on the stove and another in the fireplace.

Clyde lingered in the doorway, craning his neck inside, expecting you to pop up from somewhere, each passing second making him consider turning around and leaving. So to stop himself, he made his feet step forward, and forward again, like he always did when danger lay ahead and he had to face it.

The kitchen was clean and cozy, but it was brimming with pots and dried plats, small boxes and strainers, vials and papers with slanted scratchings on them. He didn’t dare read any of the writing, suspecting some ill might come of it so he squeezed his hand, feeling his lucky ring between his knuckles and huffed out a breath.

As if something compelled him to turn, he saw something that equally terrified and excited him – a cauldron bubbling. The same compulsion brought him closer and had him examining it.

The small cauldron was filled with thick and rich liquid, with vapors rising from it. It had an eye-catching mother-of-pearl sheen, and steam rose from it in spirals despite the still air. But what struck him most was the scent of it.

At first it smelled like paper, that distinct thick, old kind, yellowed over time and layered with scents of time and leather binding, an absolutely decadent scent. Then suddenly it turned herbal, at times zesty and tart, then refreshing and green, the occasional flowery bloom scattering across it. Lastly, his mouth turned gravelly, from the stark scent of crystals, or minerals, and their rocky, earthy smell.

The smell, captivating and alluring, seemed to travel down his nose and coat his tongue and throat like a drink, making his belly feel full and bubbly warm.

You rushed in because you smelled something burning, which should have been impossible. You looked around for the source, but all there was was the Amortentia on the stove. It had never smelled like anything to you, but now it… did? It smelled like burning meat? No, bacon? That’s preposterous. You felt your eyebrows pull together in confusion and the scent cleared out as fast as it came, making you momentarily relax. In fact, not only did it not smell like anything was burning, it suddenly smelled incredibly fresh. Like a morning in the mountains, dewy and foggy, lush and fresh and earthy. Willing the scent to disappear, you turned to the other cauldron, but that just had a big batch of Pepperup Potion brewing, mostly sought out for common colds, that was flying off the shelves these days. And that had only ever smelled like mint and made the room heat up. When you turned back, the scent had transformed again, smelling strong and sharp, like a cellar stacked with dusty wooded casks filled with delicious rich amber whiskey. With unsteady hands, you put the lid over the cauldron and turned the heat all the way down, finally acknowledging the man standing in your kitchen.

“Sorry for the wait, I had to…” - how do you explain to this man that you had to catch some glumbumbles before they flew off and potentially infested beehives, making the honey depression-inducing? – “…chase off a cat from my garden.”

If he believed you, he didn’t particularly look like it. – “Are you, uh…” – he didn’t know how to ask. To say the witch seemed kind of crass. You nodded when he trailed off and he gave you elevator eyes, taking in your form from head to toe. Clyde was aware he was gawking and it was rude as hell, but he couldn’t stop it. – “M’sorry, it’s just… ya look…”

“Surprisingly normal?” – you offered and he couldn’t formulate a response. – “Maybe disappointingly normal?” – you tried again. Honestly, people still expect witches to dress in black dresses and pointy hats, and cackle the day away riding on a broom. And while cackling the day away riding on a broom is undeniably fun, it doesn’t pay the bills or help get one integrate into society.

Clyde cleared his throat and told himself to get to the point before he looked like an even bigger fool. – “I was told yer able to make a potion for luck.”

“I am.” – you assured him calmly. – “What exactly are you looking for? A little bit of confidence and euphoria, or the really hard stuff?”

“I think I’m lookin’ for the hardest thing you’ve got, ma’am.” – he answered after pondering for a while and for some reason, you throat felt hot and parched all of a sudden. It didn’t help to acknowledge that he was staggeringly well-built, with lips that looked sinfully delicious and hair so lovely and shiny you could have sworn he was already using your potions for growth and shine.

So. Felix Felicis. You had Ashwinder eggs lying around in the freezer somewhere for love potions and such – always in demand - but where are you expected to find Murtlap? Not that this guy would understand your plight.

“Mh. I see.” – you nodded and swallowed the frog in your throat, mouth still annoyingly dry and clumsy. -  “Well, there are three things you need to know.”

Clyde nodded with focused eyes and it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand to be scrutinized, noting with curiosity that their shade was a dark shade of amber, kind of like the… whiskey you smelled a minute ago.

“It’s very expensive.” – you started, effectively dissuading him from his plan.

“I thought it would be. Jus’ name yer price.” – Clyde answered confidently, resolute not to let something as pedestrian as money or possessions stand in the way of finally having some luck.

“Not so fast.” – you cautioned against dismissing your warnings so quickly. – “The other thing is, it’s not a very common order. I don’t have any lying around.”

Clyde shrugged, lips pouting as he discarded this notion as an impediment. - “I can come back tomorrow? Or a coupla days?” – he offered nonchalantly; after all, what’s a day or two more after a lifetime of bad luck?

“It takes six months to brew.” – you said bluntly, sure that the wait would deter him. People who came looking for such radical stuff usually wanted it right then or it would be useless against whatever disaster they were trying to get out of.

“Six months?” – Clyde repeated, outraged. His expression seemed to as what sort of incompetent witch you were if one measly miraculous potion took you half a year to make.

“That’s right. Because…” – you leaned in, commanding his attention, and silence, again. – “…it is extremely powerful. Which makes it dangerous. It’s catastrophic if brewed wrong or rushed.”

Mesmerized, he kept squeezing his ring, and leaned right in too, like the words could disappear to the air if he was too far away. – “What do ya mean by...catastrophic?” – his tone was afraid, but imbued with a lust to hear what you had to say; some perverse desire to have his lifelong superstition justified.

“I mean brutally toxic and deadly.” – you told him and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly, the rest of his face stony. -  “Even if brewed to perfection, take too much and it’ll be the last thing you do.” – you warned, but then leaned back and shrugged. – “There are probably worse ways to go, but I still wouldn’t recommend it.”

Clyde swallowed and thought hard, a heavy silence falling over your kitchen.

“I’ll see ya in six months then?” – he confirmed and you agreed.

*

When the troubling scent of whiskey wouldn’t leave you alone the whole night and then when you kept smelling burnt bacon even thought you had yesterday’s quiche for breakfast, you decided it was time to call the aunts for some insight.

“What do I do with a bad batch of Amortentia?” – you asked, worried that it might fall into the wrong hands if not disposed of properly.

“What happened, dear?” – aunt Sybill asked.

“Nothing. I mean, I don’t know. It smelled weird.” – you tried to sound casual.

Pause.

“Hello?” – you asked, worry creeping into your voice as you did, and Sybill smelled your tension like a bloodhound.

“What did it smell like?” – she asked as if it was just a matter of innocent curiosity.

“I don’t know. Burnt bacon. The woods. Whiskey, I think.”

You could hear the grin three states away. – “So who is he?”

“Or she!” – Allerga cut in, you were clearly on loudspeaker by now. – “You know I’ve always thought it would be a she, I bet I’m right.”

“What’s the point of betting if you can read palms?” – Sybill grumbled, the two having a chat totally separate from you, as if you weren’t in profound distress.

“For me to win?” – Allegra answered and turned her attention back to you. – “So who’s the lucky girl?”

“There’s no girl, or guy. I haven’t met anyone.”

“Oh, honey.” – Sybill was almost sympathetic to her dumb, oblivious niece.

“Amortentia is supposed to smell like something.” – Allegra reminded, like you didn’t already know. There’s not a teenage witch out there who does not daydream about what Amortentia would smell like to them one day, it’s the first thing they ever learn about it. – “Really, we were more worried when you were brewing it and smelling nothing, distributing it all willy-nilly.”

“Will you do me a favor?” – Sybil cut in, in her no-nonsense way. – “Pop your fridge open for a second.”

You did, not figuring out in the first instant what she was doing. – “Take a look at your butter.”

It lay melted in the dish, despite being in the fridge. A sure sign that someone in the house was in love. – “Plain old stick of butter. What about it?” – you attempted an unperturbed tone.

“Ha! She’s lying!” – Allegra gloated.

“Face it like a grown up, you met your match. Congratulations.” – Sybill said matter-of-factly, like he was serving you a subpoena. – “And don’t call to ask stupid questions.”

“But…” -  she hung up before Allegra could squeal her delight or you had time to protest.

*

Clyde was furious.

When his head cleared, he realized he must have somehow ingested that potion he was dumb enough to inspect. If not, then what the hell was going on with him?

Every night, he dreamt of a woman riding a broom, or burning sage, or stirring a cauldron.

He kept smelling old books and weird plants wherever he went; his heart wanted to fly out of chest and it would take ages to calm down again.

When he tried to date, it was disastrous. He would zone out and not hear a word the woman was saying, making him blush furiously in embarrassment when caught. When one of them tried to kiss him, he recoiled so hard she stumbled and almost fell into a heap on the floor right there at his feet. He couldn’t really focus on what she said afterwards, just like he was unable to focus before as well, but he wouldn’t blame her if she had cursed him out good and proper. After all, the only communication they had was if their eyes happened to cross at the bar and then she would stare daggers at him and promptly go back to ignoring him.

He was counting the days to go get his potion, but what excited him was walking up that small winding path to the back door, entering that enchanting kitchen again and finding that fantastically ordinary witch inside.

Clyde replayed the encounter in his head daily, almost hourly as time went on, and each time, he noticed something new in the starkly vivid memory. The different specks of color in the eyes, how the voice nibbled at his ears and caressed his brain, how the air tasted sweeter and thicker inside that house, making him feel blissful.

He was under a spell and completely livid.

*

Exactly a day before the six months elapsed, you were busy cooking up some Draught of Peace, to alleviate anxiety – another top seller – and considering taking some yourself.

The Felix Felicis was almost done. It was a real beaut, a textbook example of the potion. You observed the liquid, that perfect, elusive shade of molten gold, with large drops leaping like goldfish from its surface, never spilling. Tomorrow, you would take out the few drops for Clyde and store the rest carefully. Just having the stuff around made you nervous; there were certain aspects of life that shouldn’t be meddled with and, though you routinely did, it didn’t mean you were any more accustomed to them or welcomed the danger of messing with things like love, hate, luck, death…

Clyde’s outrage was festering and mounting as the day drew nearer, now reaching a fever pitch and he couldn’t stay away a minute, let alone a day, more.

There was no candle in the window, or even a light on in the kitchen, and the door was securely shut. He didn’t want to go as far as destruction of property and tear the door down, and anyway, he assumed there were charms on the door to keep it in place. So he settled on hammering his fist against the door incessantly until you opened.

There was no time to change out of your penguin onesie pajamas – thanks, Allegra, for this laughing stock and boner pesticide, much obliged – so you ran downstairs before Clyde banged the door off its hinges.

You opened it halfway, but stood on the threshold and whisper-yelled, though any neighbors who was interested in the commotion would tell tall tales of what happened tonight whether or not they heard your conversation. – “What do you think you’re doing?”

“May I come in?” – Clyde whisper-yelled tersely, not wanting to have this conversation on your doorstep.

“There’s no candle, the door is locked. Don’t you know what that’s supposed to signify?”

It was difficult to seriously argue with a woman dressed as a penguin to go to bed, but Clyde would sure give it a try. – “I do. That’s why I took the trouble of knocking.”

“Well, don’t trouble yourself in the future! You’re early, your potion will be ready tomorrow.”

“You best step aside, ma’am, cause I’m comin’ in.” - he warned and charged inside.

“Oh, for the love of…” - you let him in and closed the door behind, taking a steadying breath.

“You put a spell on me.” - Clyde accused, not mincing words.

You rolled your eyes, it wasn’t the first time someone imagined the symptoms of a curse and came whining to you. - “I don’t do freebies, Clyde.”

“Then a curse maybe?”

|I’m far too busy to be cursing people for no reason.”

“Then what happened t’me?” - he asked, looking rather tortured and exasperated. 

“How should I know? What do you think is wrong with you?”

:Well, it started that evening when I came here.” - he said in an accusatory tone. - “And ever since, I keep smellin’ yer house wherever I go, with all the plants and old books, and… I dunno, rocks or something?”

“Crystals”. – you supplied, heart sinking.

“Oh. Right. And I dream about you every night, I can’t focus on anythin’, it’s like I’m possessed or somethin’. So undo it, whatever happened.”

“Let me ask you something. Do you keep any butter in you fridge?”

He frowned, but answered anyway, in case the lifting of this awful curse had something to do with it. – “Er, well, no, not anymore. I used to, but it keeps melting, it’s been doing that for months.”

“About six months?” you suggested.

He nodded.

You sighed. This was not how you ever pictured it. An angry bartender yelling at you in the middle of the night how you cursed him. – “There is no spell, Clyde. No curse.”

“Then what about that thing in the cauldron? It all started when I smelled that damn thing you were brewin’ the last time I was here.”

You nodded, not trying to deny anything. – “Yes, yes, that was Amortentia.”

He raised his eyebrow inquisitively at the name.

“A love potion.” -  you confirmed his suspicions.

“Uh huh!” - he proclaimed, feeling vindicated.

“A love potion doesn’t create real love. It makes infatuation, obsession at best.”

“Well, there you go.”

“Potions don’t go beyond infatuation. No one has managed to create the truly unbreakable, eternal, unconditional attachment that alone can be called love.” - you sighed, feeling with every work how your heart opened to him. - “But when you smell it, if you don’t ingest it, you get a clue about you true love is like. To you, it smelled like books, and herbs, and crystals. To me…” - you felt shy all of a sudden. the air pressure seemed to change in a blink, with Clyde’s indignation dissolving and his focus quiet and intent on hearing what you had to say. – “I smelled the woods. And whiskey. And burnt bacon.”

His face dropped, elongating to twice its usual size and he looked like he might keel over. You thought of getting him some of that fresh Draught of Peace, but perhaps he needed some smelling salts and vivifying slap to the face.

At length, he did finally speak. – “So what are ya tellin’ me here? All these things I’ve been feeling – the agitation, distraction, the dreams, the constant thoughts of you and this place?”

“I’m afraid it’s just the fervor of plain old love.” – you answered apologetically.

You had just finally admitted it to yourself, you didn’t want him to leave so abruptly. But that’s exactly what he appeared to be doing.

“Clyde, wait.” – you followed him, but like a reverse vampire, couldn’t get yourself to  step over the threshold and leave your house.

He walked away unsteadily, shaking his head, turning before he was out of earshot. – “No, there’s gotta be some mistake. I can’t be in love with a witch.”

*

Well, fuck you too, you mouthed, filling the small metal vial with the potion six months in the making, replaying the scene of him running from you like you were Baba Yaga or some shit. If you were as bad as him, you would replace the Felix Felicis with some Fungiface or Maximum Turbo Farts Potion.

But no.

You’d come to terms last night that this quiet, burly mass of superstitions was your love, even if it would take some getting used to, especially now that you were unceremoniously dumped before you ever even had the chance to enjoy your newfound love. He could have his liquid luck and you would have to find a way to drown your own sorrows. He just better not come back around after he got what he was after.

The whole day, and night, passed and Clyde was nowhere to be seen.

You expected him every morning, day and night for a week, but he never came.

Must be that the price he assumed he’d have to pay for the potion was too high. Or, mortifyingly, and you wouldn’t entertain the idea for long, maybe he just didn’t want to see your witchy self again. Well, fuck you too, you mouthed your mantra and tried to move ahead.

*

Weeks passed and you cured pockmarks, summoned concentration and calmed overexcited nerves for your customers. Lilies withered and begonias flowered. You read books and baked new kinds of cakes and thought about that damned shiny haired bartender every waking moment.

It would go away one day, you lied to yourself, resolving to stop buying butter and save yourself the melted reminder of your misfortune.

*

After some months elapsed and Clyde’s infatuation grew, taking deeper root than even the feelings of superstition and wariness he had since childhood, he came back to the enchanted house.

This time, he did it right, walking inexorably, with long, eager strides to the front door. Before knocking, he thought he should have something to say. Something meaningful and romantic, that clearly and elegantly expressed what a dumbass he had been, spooked of his own feelings, but still how dearly and completely he loved every bit of you.

In his contemplation, it seems like hours had passed, the flowers he had brought sagging and wilting in his hand as he sat on the stairs and searched for the right thing to say in vain.

You’d been aware of his presence from the get, wondering why he was taking his sweet time. But you knew, deep down. It was difficult to find the right way to brooch this true love stuff.

So, magnanimously, you silently opened the door and walked over to him, laying your hands over his shoulders and sliding them down his chest in a cross, holding one wrist with the opposite hand and leaning your face against his.

He smelled like the woods and like the rest of your life and you held him for a long, long time.

[docdearbvrn]

where: care of magical creatures classroom / creature sanctuary when: december 15th, 1977 who: caradoc dearborn & anyone

“Bloody atrocious, ain’t it?” He nods towards the now destroyed hive. “Glumbumble’s must’ve gotten their hands on it.” Heaving a sigh, he makes his way towards the remains. Honey seeping into stone wall as he sets his gaze upon his company. He’d always a fascination with the creatures that had managed to find their way to Hogwarts, whether they were as small and destructive as the Glumbumble, or as majestically haunting as the Thestrals that managed to stalk the forest. Where others saw beastly qualities, monsters of the sort, Doc had only ever found beauty. Having already secured a position at the Ministry due to his mother’s influence in the matter, he’d felt comfortable in his knowledge of species. In the world around him. Call it a third eye, his mother would say. He’d call it hopeless, dumb luck. “Here I was thinkin’ the honey could be used for sweets down in the kitchens.”

[gryffinpuffthunderbird]

Seeing as we still have no safe-even remotely-way of riding dragons yet, I should introduce you to my Abraxan. I’ll happily take you for a flight. 😉 (Sadly my avian form is much too small for you to ride me. Did I mean to say it that way? You may never know.)

Do your needs at this moment involve something that isn’t some form of violence towards others? Cause we don’t need to address your more dangerous tendencies right this minute.

Thank you for giving an example of why not your needs right now.

Give me shit, I give you shit. Ask Merula. We’ve got this dance down perfectly.

Random out-of-context quote of the day.

No joke, that absolutely reminds me of you. You’re the Glumbumble.

But for the love of all that is magic PLEASE don’t touch it with your bare hands, or it’s off to Madam Pomfrey.

(Visit the Pacific Northwest in the summer and go hiking in the woods. You’ll often find a lot of nettles. On accident. With multiple body parts)

[ao3feed-gravesnewt]

Glumbumble Honey

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2Wp1lSm

by PaperClipFox

Percival felt too old for all the pomp and mystery of a Gala, yet he found himself at one, at Maman's behest. The last thing he expected to happen came to pass when he returned home without his lapel pin.

Words: 8941, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Original Percival Graves, Newt Scamander, Theseus Scamander, Newt Scamander's Parents, Seraphina Picquery

Relationships: Original Percival Graves/Newt Scamander

Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Age Difference, No Underage Sex, Secret Identity Fail, Meddling Ancestor, Letters, Omega Newt Scamander, Alpha Original Percival Graves, Original Percival Graves is Half French

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2Wp1lSm