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[to-fly-with-clipped-wings]

Chapter 1.2 - Train Rides and Talking Hats

Chapter 1.2 - Train Rides and Talking Hats

Pairing: Harry Potter x Chosen One! Reader

‘“Oi,” you spoke, feeling your jaw clench at the blond boy’s demeanour. “I’d watch what I was saying if I was you, especially considering the crap that’s spewing outta your sewage-system of a mouth.” Draco Malfoy turned his sharpened gaze toward you. “And I’d be more careful if I was you. You don’t want to make enemies with the wrong people.” “Same goes for you.”’ OR: in which you hitch a ride on the Hogwarts Express and buckle up for one hell of a ride. → Set in a universe where you are the chosen one, and Harry Potter is your best friend who tries to help you navigate the woes of being the lone hero of the wizarding world. A swap au where you are the chosen one, your parents are dead but the marauders + Lily are not. Eventual Harry x Reader, slowburn, friends to lovers. Series Masterlist

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Perhaps, if you had any less self-respect, having had a mental breakdown on the King’s Cross platform would have been your morning on the 1st of September.

The train leaves at eleven, Hagrid had told you. The Caddels had dropped you off at the station at half past ten before leaving to drop Odette off at her new school, Smeltings, they’d said. All you were really aware of was the nifty cane that came with the uniform, supposedly used to thwack fellow peers. An excellent training for later life.

Regardless of peculiar apparels or uniforms – you had now acquired a steadily rising fear that you would never be able to wear your own, if you couldn’t uncover where exactly platform nine and three-quarters was located at the station. 

There they were, right in front of you, platforms nine and ten – right there – but nowhere could you spot any semblance or notion of anything three-quarters related. The large plastic number nine leered tauntingly at you, swinging back and forth vaguely with the passing breeze.

You had pestered the guard manning the station. He hadn’t even heard of Hogwarts, and since you had no flying clue where or even what the school was, you couldn’t describe it to him. The guard stared at you incredulously, as though you were deliberately trying to be stupid (you didn’t miss how he eyed Hedwig, your owl, who chirped irritably back at him). It took every ounce of your remaining willpower to not snap or lunge at him and cause a scene in the middle of the station, especially when a congregation of people had formed a circle around you to observe the exchange curiously.

Apparently, according to a variety of people at the station, there wasn’t even a train that left at eleven o’clock. And, though it was obvious, platform nine and three-quarters completely did not exist. Like, at all. And to top the cherry on your fabulous sundae of anxiety and chagrin, according to the large clock situated on the arrivals board, you had a little under fifteen minutes to be seated on the train. 

You wished Hagrid had left you with more information, but when the man had dropped you back at your house and allowed you the time to blink, he had vanished. Urgent magical business, you mused dryly. Almost like the kerfuffle of being stranded on a station with not the foggiest idea of where to go. 

Were you missing something? Did you need to cast a spell? What if you missed the train? Oh, you knew you should have read the books before coming to the station. You swore at that moment to leave no page in your spell-books unturned (in hindsight, you knew you would drop this vow three days in).

Just as you were preparing to brandish your wand at the stray ticket box next to platform nine, trying your very best to formulate a spell that would divulge the presence of platform nine and three-quarters. 

In a perfectly timed turn of events, a group of people passed behind you, and you managed to glean a glimpse of their conversation.

“ – packed with Muggles, of course –

You heard your neck crack from how fast you wheeled around. Muggles. You had never been happier to hear a single word. The speaker was a stout woman, to an audience of about five red-headed children. Four boys and a girl, who from the conversation that ensued, you discovered was too young to attend Hogwarts just yet. 

You trained your eyes on them like a hawk, shadowing ‘Percy’, the oldest boy, as he dashed toward the brick wall of platform nine, pushing his trolley along with him. Wincing, you closed your eyes so you wouldn’t see him and all of his school supplies crash onto the floor. 

Miraculously, however, when you peeled your eyelids back open, the boy was gone. As were the twin brothers, Fred and George (or did their mother say George and Fred?). 

There was only one more boy left; a tall – though that entire family seemed to be on stilts – lanky, deeply freckled one. If you wanted to know where the sons were disappearing to, this was your final shot.

“Hey!” you called out, dragging your trolley behind you as you approached the remaining members of the red-headed family. Then, realising how the abruptness of a random girl yelling at someone may be perceived as abrash, you decided to dial back your advances. “Hi, sorry. Do you happen to know how to –” “How to get on to the platform?” she said kindly. “No worries at all, dear. Is this your first time at Hogwarts? Ron’s new, too.” 

She pointed at her last son. He had dirt on his nose. You nodded your head slightly toward him in greeting, but your mind was still hyper focused on how the clock was dwindling closer and closer to eleven. “Pleasure,” you smiled, desperation beginning to blemish your voice, evident as it began to inch one or two octaves higher. “So, er, I’m hoping that you do know how to get to the train?” “That’s right,” she said. “All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don’t stop and don’t be scared you’ll crash into it, that’s very important. Go on, go now before Ron.”

You ruffled the collar of your shirt, which was looking far too neat and sophisticated (and therefore, not nearly as charming as you preferred it to be). “Thanks, Miss.” 

You sucked in a deep breath before gathering your courage and sprinted toward the very solid, opaque looking barrier of platform nine and three-quarters. 

You were running — running like a lunatic, might you add, when you realised you were almost there — and then, quite suddenly, you weren’t. 

Rather, you now found yourself underneath a sign that read Hogwarts Express, 11 o’clock.

Permeating through a brick wall was yet another box to check from your list of magical experiences. Twice, actually, if you counted the entrance to Diagon Alley. Odd was it indeed, but it was your odd now, and you lest would allow anyone try and rob you of it. 

You stood in awe, head on a swivel as you examined the new environment. A mammoth of a train, one whose size could only be attributed to the slight of one’s magical hand, with smoke seeping out of its charcoal chimneys, stood tall against the crowded stage of the station. 

You turned around to see if the red-headed family had made it through as well, and sure enough, there they were. The woman was still looking at you, and when you waved at her, her face split into a soft smile as she returned the gesture. You swept your dishevelled hair to the side – it had tousled itself into a heaping mess sometime during your episode on the other side of the train station. 

You only registered the consequence of this action when the red-headed woman’s eyes widened, and as an abrupt muteness circulated throughout the platform, capitulating the vocal cords of what seemed to be every single man, woman and/or child present there at that very moment. 

Families that were once bidding their children goodbye, lovingly caressing cheeks or smoothing down fly-away hairs, or families who were once loading trunks onto compartments, were now reacting in an identical fashion of the same scene that had transpired at the leaky pub; normal chatter was extinguished, and murmurs crept around the platform like an amateur thief in a treasure trove.

“The lightning scar!”

“Is that – oh, my sweet Merlin, it is!” “Oh – where –?!”

“Move! Let me get a glimpse!”

“Look, over there!”

“(Y/n) (L/n)!”

You stiffened under everyone’s combined gazes, the hasty switch of focus to you catching you off guard. But, as quickly as the alarm had rippled into your body, it had dispersed out. 

A smirk split your face, and you nodded toward the woman closest to you (who promptly went pink and near-fainted) as a way to acknowledge that you acknowledged their sudden interest in you. You heard someone chuckle at the sight, and a few more flurries of whispers were burgeoned from other by-standers.

During the time it took for you to jostle your trolley into an empty carriage near the back of the train, the number of people actively tracking your every move had died down, though only by a fraction. From the corners of your eyes, you could still see the odd third-year trying to estimate how many laces you had on your shoes, no doubt so he could pester his parents into buying the same pair. (You kept to yourself that they had previously belonged to Odette, however, as you seriously doubted anyone wanted to know that (Y/n) (L/n), hero of the wizarding world, still wore hand-me-downs.)

Unfortunately, it seemed that although you possessed the power to terminate the reign of the darkest and most powerful wizards in history, you had apparently not attained the muscles required to heave your trunk up the stairs onto the Hogwarts Express. You stumbled back, cursing as you reeled from the pain that rocketed through your foot after you dropped your trunk on your toes.

“Want a hand?” 

You looked up. It was one of the red-headed twins, from that family you had met before.

“Yes,” you said almost immediately. “Er, please.”

“Oy, Fred! C’mere and help!”

The three of you managed to successfully store your trunk into the corner of your compartment. Before you could thank the twins for their help, though, one of the twins pointed at the spot on your forehead where the thin lightning-shaped scar donned your skin. 

“You’re (Y/n) (L/n),” he announced. Just like Olivander, this had not been a question, but rather a statement.

“Yes,” you straightened your posture, raising your head a little higher. “That’s right. I am.”

The two boys gawked at you, and you subtly swept your sweaty hair to expose the scar even further. To your slightest dismay, however, the familiar voice of the red-headed mother drifted through the carriage before you were able to elaborate further on your tale of the lightning-shaped battle scar.

“Fred? George? Are you there?” Both the twins groaned at their mother’s summoning. Sparing one last glance at you, they ambled toward her call. “Coming, Mum.” You waved the twins goodbye. Sitting down by the window, you ducked your head so you could listen to the family, who were still on the platform, whilst being half-hidden at the same time. Their mother had scourged out a handkerchief and was furiously scrubbing at Ron’s nose to rid the smudge of dirt that laid upon it.

You watched with amusement as Ron tried to lurch away before being caught in his mother’s iron-fisted clutches once again.

“Mum – geroff!”

One of the twins snickered, leaning close to Ron. “Aaaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?” 

“Shut up!” You saw the oldest of the red-headed siblings saunter towards his family, already draped in his robes. A shiny red and gold badge was pinned onto his chest, with the letter P engraved onto it.

“Can’t stay long, Mother,” he said stiffly. “I’m up front, the Prefects have got two compartments to themselves –”

“Oh, are you a Prefect, Percy?” One of the twins gasped, bringing his hands to his face in disbelief. “You should have said something, we had no idea.” “Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it, once –”

“Or twice –”

“A minute –”

“All summer –”

You huffed a laugh at the back and forth going between the family. Percy the Prefect’s face was starting to sport a lovely bright, irritable shade of red. 

“How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?” queried one of the twins.

“Because he’s a Prefect,” their mother smoothed Percy’s already-perfectly-smoothened hair fondly. “All right, dear, well have a good term – send me an owl when you get there.” 

She sent him off with a kiss. 

You sunk back into your seat. For some reason, the jovial atmosphere you’d felt upon discovering the magical platform had now become strangely dampened. 

Call it a moment of weakness, sure – but in that moment, you wished that you could have a mother. A mother who would dote on you like that or who would comfort you. 

But, as soon as that looming train of thoughts had festered, you vanquished them from your mind – the other kids could keep their affectionate mothers who waved them goodbye as they left, the same, in fact, would go for their superficial, gentle-natured fathers; you had your fame and that topped any shred of whatever they may have had, whatever you were missing!

As though the red-head family were suddenly attuned with your train of thought, you heard the voice of the youngest child, the girl, pipe up. “Oh! (Y/n) (L/n) On the train? Please can I go see her, Mum, please, please, please…”

“You’ve already seen her, Ginny, and the poor girl isn’t something you goggle at in a zoo. Is she really, Fred? How do you know?” “Asked her. Saw the scar. It’s really there – like lightning.”

“Poor dear.” 

Your fingers traced the pattern of the scar, not particularly liking the feeling of pity emanating from the family.

“No wonder she was alone. I wondered. She was ever enthusiastic, though, when she asked how to get on to the platform. I’d have thought she’d be scared, by herself…”

“Never mind that, do you think she remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?”

The red-headed mother swelled. “I forbid you to ask her that, Fred! No, don’t you dare. As though she needs reminding of –... ”

The disarrayed ruckus of another family hurriedly barrelling onto the platform, and ushering their boy onto the train, stripped your focus from the ginger group. 

Observing the mop of black hair, you realised pleasantly that it was the boy you had met at the Quidditch store that day in Diagon Alley. Closely behind him, a stressed looking woman with copper-coloured hair, followed him briskly onto the train. Your lips twitched as you noticed that she possessed the same brilliant green eyes as her son. 

The father, a carbon copy of his son, followed seconds after, carrying a tremendously large trunk onto the train. There was one more man – perhaps one of the uncles the boy had mentioned – who remained on the platform. You guessed that he was allowing the family their final moments together. He didn’t really look alike to the mother or father of Quidditch Boy’s family, so you presumed that he was probably an uncle by choice, not blood. He had sandy brown hair with substantially sized scars running down the entirety of his face and neck. There was a large, shaggy black dog beside him too, and you swore that it had winked when it saw you looking at the group.

A shrill burst of steam raged outwards from the chimney of the train. You guessed that this was a warning to families that the train was about to depart right now. True to your word, just as Quidditch Boy’s mother and father practically leapt off the train carriage they’d left their son in, the train doors slammed shut, and the vehicle began dutifully chugging forward. 

Left behind now, was the platform of nine and three-quarters.

Leaning back in your seat, you exhaled roughly. This was it, the moment that marked the beginning of your journey into Hogwarts. You had no clue where you were going, but you just knew it would be good. A grand moment, you were sure, but what you were also sure of was that the next few hours on the train (or possibly days or months, who knew?) would result in you being bored out of your mind. Stuck in an empty carriage by yourself with no one to talk to – tragic – maybe it would do you some good if you popped down into one of the other carriages and try to find some other first-years.

Coincidentally, the door of the compartment was opened by none other than Quidditch Boy himself. His hair was askew, glasses lopsided and cheeks clearly flushed from the rush of trying to scramble onto the Hogwarts Express before it departed. He did not have his trunk with him, which meant that his father was able to stash it onto the train it in time.

“Hey, again,” he flashed you a bashful smile. “Would it be alright if I could sit here?”

“Sure. No problem.” 

You observed him as he took the seat opposite you. He was already wearing robes of sorts, not the Hogwarts ones, judging from the lack of school emblem, but the sorts that you hypothesised would be the wizarding equivalent to a t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

“Er,” he started, causing you to look over at him. “It’s nice to see you. Again.” “Yeah.” you agreed with him, offering a lopsided smile. “Great. To meet you.” 

“Yep.”

The compartment fell into a highly awkward silence, one that you were not at all familiar with. Back with the Caddels, or even at your previous school, you had no problem whatsoever making friends with strangers. In fact, conversation came easily to you – you weren’t the most popular girl in the grade for no reason, after all. So the stuffiness invading the atmosphere was most definitely unwelcome, and honestly, unnatural.

Thankfully the awkward cloud hanging above you and Quidditch Boy dissipated abruptly when the compartment door slid open again, revealing the tall, freckled, ginger boy. The other first-year you’d spoken to: Ron.

His eyes widened when he saw you sitting in front of him. “Uh – sorry, anyone else sitting here? Everywhere else is full.”

Quidditch Boy shook his head and Ron took the seat beside them, so they were both facing you. Ron’s gaze hadn’t settled and he kept on glancing toward you and then toward the window whenever he made eye contact with you. It was amusing, his discomfort, from how often he did it.

“Hey, Ron.” The red-headed twins popped into the compartment suddenly. “Listen, we’re going back down the middle of the train – Lee Jordan’s got a giant tarantula down there.”

“Right,” said the youngest sibling.

So we’re not going to question the spider. Seems good.

“(Y/n),” the other twin, the one who hadn’t been talking to Ron, turned to you. “And other Kid,” referring to Quidditch Boy, “did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. Anyways, see you later, then.” The three of you said bye in unison as the twins left.

As soon as they were gone, Ron blurted out, “Can we see the scar?” You blinked at him, and he went pink. Though, you complied either way (as you had no qualms to showing off the lightning-shaped bolt). Pulling your hair back, the scar on your forehead was revealed to Quidditch Boy and Ron.

“Wow,” breathed out Quidditch Boy. “It really does look like lightning.”

Ron was equally stunned. “So that’s where You-Know-Who – ?”

“Yes.” You grinned brightly at their awed expressions. They stared at you a couple seconds longer before Ron diverted his attention quickly back to the greenery flitting through the window.

“So, is your whole family magic then?” you asked Ron out of curiosity. 

You already knew that Quidditch Boy’s father was a pure-blood and his mother was a muggle-born, whatever that meant; you weren’t going to be the one to say you had no idea what those were.

“Quidditch Boy?” puzzled Quidditch Boy, eyebrows furrowing. 

Ah, had you said that outloud? Whoops.

You laughed, bringing a hand to your nape. “Sorry, I don’t know your name, so I’ve just, kinda, resorted to calling you Quidditch Boy in my mind.”

“Oh, well, I’m, uh, Harry. Harry Potter.” said the boy, smiling at you once more. 

You slouched further into your seat. “Nice to meet ya then, Harry Potter.”

Ron interjected into the conversation, for which you were grateful. The ginger boy seemed to hold the power of evaporating awkwardness with a snap of his freckled fingers. “Pure-blooded means that everyone on his father’s side is magic. I’m the same – everyone in my family is a wizard, well maybe except for my mum’s second cousin who’s an accountant, but we don’t really talk about him.”

“I get it,” you said, cupping your chin with your hand. “I’ve got no clue what I am. But I know that my father had no magic.”

“A muggle,” Ron nodded appreciatively. “Well, basically everyone knows that your mother was a pure-blood, though. That makes you a half-blood like him, since you’re a mix I guess.” He pointed at Harry. You were slightly startled that he knew more about your family and lineage than you did yourself. Maybe you should get used to people knowing more about you than you did yourself.

“A muggle-born’s a witch or wizard who was born from muggle parents,” continued Ron.

You tilted your head to the side. “Where does their magic come from, if they’ve got no magical blood or whatever?”

Ron looked partially affronted. “Who knows, – magic isn’t exactly something that comes in a nice little package that gets delivered to you when the time is right! All I know is that if you’ve got magic, then you’ve got it. That’s all there is to it, really.” He waved his hands about in the air for further emphasis. This was probably a topic Ron was passionate about, as you noticed his ears flushing red under the combined blank stares of you and Harry. You ponderedthat if Ron were to ever wear something salmon-coloured, it would definitely wash him out. You wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between his face and his left knee.

You tried to recover from the painful silence. “Thanks, that clears it up. You two must know loads of magic then.” 

“Not nearly enough as my mum wants me to,” said Harry.

“Hear, hear,” mumbled Ron.

“Huh. Guess that’s one good thing that comes out of being an orphan. No pushy mother for me!” You chuckled at the uncomfortable looks on the boys’ faces. 

“I heard you went to live with Muggles,” said Ron, scratching the back of his neck. “What’re they like?” “Alright,” you shrugged. “Not outstandingly nice or anything, but they do their job. Would be cooler to have wizarding brothers like you though.”

“Not if you’ve got five of them.” answered Ron gloomily. “I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I’ve got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left – Bill was Head Boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy’s a Prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they’re really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it’s no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I’ve got Bill’s old robes and Charlie’s old wand. I wanted an owl, but they couldn't aff – I mean, they got Percy one instead for becoming a Prefect.”

Ron’s ears went pink again. Your brain, it seemed, was temporarily delayed and was not able to formulate a response to that.

“I’m sure you’ll do better than all your brothers combined,” said Harry. 

Ron smiled gratefully at him. 

As the train rolled onward and your surroundings grew greener, you, quite helpfully, took Hedwig’s cage and placed her on the centre of the table, announcing that the first one to get nipped whilst feeding her treats would be declared the ultimate ‘Loser Lord and/or Lordess.’ Hedwig loved you, so obviously she went ham whenever the two boys got close to her in order to secure your victory.

The three of you fell into an easy conversation after that, and you barely even realised how much time had passed until a smiling, old-looking woman popped her head into the compartment and said “anything off the trolley, dears?”

With that lovely gesture, you had leapt out of your seat and essentially pounced onto the food she was offering. Your pockets were lined with wizard money now, an infinite stash really, and so there was nothing stopping you from buying multiples of everything she had. As such, you, Harry and Ron had to literally struggle and drag back the food you’d hoarded, before dumping it on the table.

“Hungry, are you?” said Ron, raising his eyebrows at the pile of snacks that was nearly as tall as him.

“Starving,” you grinned back.

You, Harry and Ron tore into the pasties and cakes, the mountain rapidly diminishing by the second. There was one incident with a chocolate frog creeping into Hedwig’s cage before getting mauled by her talons. The card that supposedly came with the treat, had also been destroyed, so Harry had given his to you. One with a moving picture of Albus Dumbledore, who had waved politely at your stunned expression.

Once you’d moved onto Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Beans, you found a lot of enjoyment when Ron had the misfortune of coming across a bean that tasted like dirty socks. Though, your amusement at Ron’s plight had been adjourned with the appearance of a round-faced boy.

“Sorry,” he said, “but have you seen a toad at all?”

“No, sorry.”

You were taken aback when the boy promptly burst into tears. “I’ve lost him! He keeps getting away from me!” “He’ll turn up,” said Harry.

“Yes,” said the boy, turning away dejectedly. “Well, if you see him…”

“Don’t know why he’s so bothered,” remarked Ron once the boy had left. “If I’d brought a toad I’d lose it as quick as I could.”

You deadpanned at him. “You haven’t even got any pets to lose, Ron. I’m betting that if you ever got one, you’d have even worse attachment issues than Toad-Boy.” “Mind you,” said Harry, talking around his mouthful of Cauldron Cake. “That’s saying a lot.”

“What’ve you got then?” asked Ron, turning his head to glare at Harry. “You seem awfully high and mighty for someone who probably doesn’t even have anything at all.”

“I’ve got a dog,” defended Harry. “Snuffles.” You stifled a giggle. “Snuffles? No way you named your dog that!” “I didn’t pick the name!”

“A dog’s not as good as an owl anyways,” you teased.

“I’d beg to differ – my dog totally is,” Harry grumbled, crossing his arms. “Plus you don’t even need to have an owl – the school’s got its own aviary shock-full of ‘em that you can send letters with.”

“One day, I’m gonna get an owl.” Ron sighed dreamily. “Just for myself, I wouldn’t have to share with Fred or George or Percy or Ginny.”

“Who’s Ginny?”

Before Ron could express the identity of this ‘Ginny’, the compartment door was opened by a bushy-haired girl whose face was wrinkled up irritably. Toad-Boy also made a reappearance.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.” 

“We’ve already told him we haven’t seen it,” said Ron, but the girl wasn’t listening. Rather, she had been staring at you. 

“You’re (Y/n) (L/n).” she declared matter-of-factly. “I saw you at the station. I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”

Ron gaped at her and Harry blinked a few times repeatedly.

“Be surprised if I wasn’t,” you said, winking cheekily. You also had no idea what she was talking about though.

She studied you appraisingly before asking Ron and Harry “and who are you?”

“Ron Weasley.”

“Harry Potter.”

“Pleasure. Well, I’m Hermione Granger. I was ever so pleased when I got my letter to Hogwarts, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard – I’ve learnt all of our set books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough.”

All three pairs of eyebrows furrowed in synchronisation. You, personally, had only caught about one-third of what she had been saying since she’d been basically rapping out her words. 

Herminkoni (was that what she said her name was?) began talking again. “Do either of you know what house you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds the best by far, I hear Dumbledore himself was one, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad. Anyay, we’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. You three had better change, you know, I expect we’ll be there soon.”

Herpes Motion thus turned around and left, taking Toad-Boy with her.

“Well,” you announced cheerfully. “She was nice.” “Sure,” muttered Ron, reaching for a Treacle Tart. 

“She was right about one thing though,” said Harry, grinning and brushing his hair out of his face. “Gryffindor, by far, is definitely the best house.”

“Who’s Gryffindor?” you squinted your eyes at him. Ron attempted an exasperated face-palm with his left hand (he was still holding the tart in his right). Harry laughed at this, before proceeding to explain the four houses to you.

Gryffindor had been the house Ron’s and Harry’s families had gotten into. The house of the brave, it was known for. Ravenclaw, the house for smart people (you had a feeling you would not be getting into that); Hufflepuff was the house for the loyal and well-meaning. And finally, there was Slytherin. Both Ron and Harry detested the green-and-silver clad house, for it had been the house to pump out the most dark witches and wizards.

“Ah,” you said. “So naturally, we should hate that house, since that was the one Voldemort was – ” “Woah,” interrupted Ron, looking impressed. “You just said his name.” “Why wouldn’t I? It’s just a name. Anyways, I’m guessing that you both want Gryffindor then?”

“Of course!” Ron puffed out his chest. 

“Hey,” Harry began, rubbing your chin. “Have you — ”

Unfortunately, whatever Harry had wanted to ask had been interrupted by the compartment door sliding open again. 

This time, it was a group of three – the ringleader being a sallow-faced, gauntly blonde boy. The other two were giant-sized, goliath looking boys who looked like his bodyguards. And, of course, they were all fixated on you. (But then again, why wouldn’t they be?)

“Is it true?” he said. “They’re saying all down the train that (Y/n) (L/N)’s in this compartment. So, it’s you, is it?”

“That’s right,” you smiled at him.

His lips twitched into a small smirk. He waved his hand carelessly at the two body-doubles next to him. “This is Crabbe and that’s Goyle. And my name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”

Ron choked on his treacle tart, but you suspected that may have been him trying to disguise a sneer. Draco Malfoy narrowed his eyes on Ron.

“Think my name’s funny, do you?” he sneered, causing your hackles to raise immediately. “No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.” 

Ron’s face went pink again and he sunk into his seat. 

Draco Malfoy raised an eyebrow at Harry, but before he could say something about his family, you cut him off.

“Oi,” you spoke, feeling your jaw clench at the blond boy’s demeanour. “I’d watch what I was saying if I was you, especially considering the crap that’s spewing outta your sewage-system of a mouth.”

Draco Malfoy turned his sharpened gaze toward you. “And I’d be more careful if I was you. You don’t want to make enemies with the wrong people.”

“Same goes for you.” 

You stared down Draco Malfoy. Harry was glancing back and forth between the two of you, and he looked ready to stand up if this altercation escalated.

“You don’t get to come in here and poke fun at us,” you muttered slowly. “Especially, if you want to be on good terms with me.”

His cheeks tinged a faint pink. “Not like I would want to be friends with the likes of you.” He placed the emphasis on ‘you’ the same way you did for ‘me’.

You, Harry and Ron all stood up. 

“I think it’d be best if you left.” you gritted out, disliking the boy less and less by every twitch of his rat-like face.

Unfortunately for you, Malfoy’s rattish face had broken out into a sneer. “You’ll regret making enemies out of me, (L/n). I promise you that much.”

He furiously spun around and out of the carriage, but not before he could shoot you a final scathing look. Crabbe and Goyle chased after him, robes billowing out from behind them.

“What a buffoon,” you huffed angrily.

“Agreed,” said Harry, still glaring at the door.

“I’ve heard of his family before,” said Ron darkly. “They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn’t believe it. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side.” “‘Specially if they thought it was the winning side,” added Harry.

The door opened before you could open your mouth. There was Hermit Yeti, yet again, standing at the entrance.

“What has been going on? Why did I just see three boys bolting out of this compartment?” She looked you up and down. “You haven’t been fighting, have you? You’ll be in trouble before we even get there!”

“They were the ones starting it – not us!” defended Ron, scowling at her.

“All right – I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors,” she said sniffly. “And you’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know that?”

“Thank you,” you interjected, glaring at her on behalf of Ron. “Could you leave now?”

And finally, Herm-onion left.

If you had to guess, it had been only an hour after that when the train had pulled to a stop. You had slipped on your robes, ensuring that they still had your signature wind-swept appearance about them. Ron and Harry were also wearing their school robes now too. The three of you stuffed your pockets with the remaining sweets before you left the train.

Hopping out of the train and onto the station, you were delighted to be met with the familiar, wild face of Hagrid, the giant-man. 

“Firs’-years! Firs-years over here! All right there, (Y/n)?” He beamed at you from under his scraggly beard.

You waved enthusiastically at him. 

The first-years, it looked like, had their own means of reaching the school, which involved travelling in groups of four in a little boat across a lake. You, Harry, Ron and the bushy-haired girl (to your displeasure) took a boat close to the front.

Whilst you did not dislike the girl, you weren’t fond of her tendency to huff or be bossy, especially when she did it toward Ron (which you found she did often). Harry hadn’t done anything to get into her wrong books, and nor vice versa, so they were probably on the most amicable terms between your little trio.

The boats glided in unison across the great body of water, before coming to a stop at the front of the school’s castle. You could hardly hear Toad-Boy’s reunion with his toad (“Trevor”) amongst the excited buzzing in your ears.

The gaggle of first-years came to a stop at the entrance of Hogwarts, a ginormous wooden castle door. Hagrid raised his fist and rapped three times on it. 

The door opened immediately. There was a stern, grey-haired witch standing behind it. She was sifting through the crowd intensely, and her gaze did not linger on your scar like how most peoples’ did.

“The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.” The door was opened further and you streamed into the Entrance Hall. The entire school was huge, you realised, and was very elaborately decorated – like something you would read in a book. Flaming torches illuminated the corridor. The first-years were pulled into a little room, next to a place where you could hear the rest of the school talking.

It was then you noticed that Ron appeared quite pale under his freckles and that Harry was fiddling with his fingers. In fact, every first-year seemed to be exhibiting some sort of nervous tick, apart from Malfoy, who was rolling his eyes for some reason. 

You drew your eyebrows together in confusion. Should you have been scared too? It wasn’t like they were going to force you to fight each other or anything right? At least, that’s what you hoped. Although, you definitely knew that if they made you fight, you’d win.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and speed free time in your house common room.

She continued giving a debrief of the houses, but as it was something you had already heard from Harry and Ron, it wasn’t anything new. You fidgeted restlessly, wanting to get onto the Sorting already.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.” Her eyes lingered on your messy hair and ruffled collar, as one lapel stuck upwards. 

Once she left, you turned to Harry and Ron. “What do they do to get us into these houses? Is it like a test? Based on how you answer, that’s where you get in? Like, ‘what is the square root of sixteen?’”

“That’s probably only good for finding Ravenclaws and non-Ravenclaws though,” said Ron, taking you seriously. “My brothers said it was a test too, though. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking.”

Harry was looking more unsettled by the minute. 

“Hey,” you said, patting his shoulder, mistaking his expression as anxiousness. “Don’t be nervous. I’m sure Ron’s brothers are just messing with us.” “Me too,” confirmed Ron.

“But,” Harry’s green eyes met yours. “A test? I didn’t know we had to do a test. In front of the whole school? I can barely do two spells, how will they sort me with that? I— I didn’t think — I mean, my dad said— I thought it had something to do with a ha –”

“Listen,” you began, patting his shoulder. “That’s already two more spells than I know, and probably most of the first-years too. That Malfoy kid included.” 

You narrowed your eyes at the said blonde boy, before returning them to Harry. “Don’t worry, alright? Test or not, I’m sure we'll all do great. Probably.” 

Beside you, Ron nodded in agreement (although it looked like his skin was also beginning to reach a sickly pale green colour).

“You’re right,” said Harry, and you were pleased to see that he was a fraction less scared than he was a moment ago. Although he did still look a tad bit confused.

Anyways, moving onto more pressing matters. You didn’t bother with ‘smartening yourself up.’ You were already pretty smart enough, in your opinion. Having bested the darkest wizard of the age at a meagre one year of age didn’t come to just anyone, you know?

After a whole debacle with some ghosts or something flying in to greet you before the ceremony, Professor McGonagall entered the room once more. You all trudged in a single-file line into the Great Hall.

You gaped openly at the Great Hall, which looked even bigger than the Entrance. Four long tables were lain across the room, with golden plates and goblets sitting on each. The students were segregated by houses, indicated by the colour of their robes and ties. There were also several candles floating in the air, which was pretty sweet too. Oh, and the roof looked like the sky as well. 

Professor McGongagall placed a three-legged stool in front of school, and then she placed a rusty-looking hat on top of it. You deadpanned when it broke into song, and even more when everyone burst into applause once it finished.

“So, we’ve just got to try on the hat!” Ron whisper-yelled to you and Harry. “I’ll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll!” Harry gave him an unsure smile, and said “I tried telling you it was just a weird hat. You threw me off with the test talk.”

Professor McGonagall approached the stool, unravelling a long roll of parchment paper. “When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said. “Abbott, Hannah!”

Hannah stumbled from the crowd of first-years and toward the professor. She placed the hat on her head and after a moment of silence, the hat shouted out “HUFFLEPUFF!”

The table on the right, with the yellow-and-black clad students, the house of Hufflepuff, cheered and hollered as Hannah went to join them.

‘Bones, Susan’ went up next and she too went to Hufflepuff. ‘Boot, Terry’ went to Ravenclaw, and ‘Brown Lavender’ became the first new Gryffindor. The cheering from the red table was definitely the loudest, especially when right after ‘Bulstrode Millicent’ was sorted in Slytherin and all she got was only a polite and semi-subdued applause from her new house.

A few more people went, and then, so did ‘Granger, Hermione’ (so that was her name) who sat on the stool for a precariously long period of time before being sent to Gryffindor. Ron groaned. Toad-Boy (Longbottom, Neville!) got Gryffindor too, but somehow, he was on the stool for even longer than Hermione.

You were raising your hand to scratch at the itch in your ear when your name was called. 

As you stepped forward, the students in the Hall started to whisper loudly, just as they had done at the station.

“(L/n), did she say?” “The (Y/n) (L/n)?” Those comments did not help the rising ego blooming inside of you. You swaggered over the stool and sat down. Your fingers delicately gripped the brim of the hat. The fabric felt ragged and old underneath your fingertips. You brought the Sorting Hat down toward your –

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat had barely scraped the fly-away hairs on your head when it shrieked out. 

The Great Hall was silent for a few, stunned moments, taken aback by your instantaneous sorting. You stared back at them with wide eyes, darting downwards to look at Harry and Ron. They were wide-eyed too, before the dam of silence was broken, and they beamed gigantic smiles at you, alongside the entirety of the Gryffindor table erupting into cheers – louder cheers than for any of the people before you. 

You felt a warm glow in your chest. You looked around the table, and saw many friendly faces. Percy the Prefect had dived over the table (almost) to shake your hand vigorously and you could hear the Weasley twins jeering “we got (L/n)! We got (L/n)!” Even the resident Gryffindor ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, was congratulating you for your placement by patting your arm, which felt oddly like you were being doused in a bucket of cold water.

At the High Table, Hagrid was grinning and gave you the thumbs up of approval. Dumbledore, as you recognised him from the chocolate frog card, was up there too with a faint twinkle in his eye.

The only notable people left up, really, were Harry and Ron. 

Harry had been called first.

The Sorting Hat was sat upon his head for what seemed to be the better portion of an eternity. For the first time since your arrival, you felt a jolt of fear. What if you and your friends would be separated into different houses? You didn’t to be stuck in a full with only Neville and Hermione, everyday. What would happen if you woke up to find Neville’s slimy toad on your pillowcase or —

You felt a surge of joy and relief, as after a minute or two, the hat declared “GRYFFINDOR!” and the Great Hall erupted in cheers for Harry. You clapped your hands and smiled widely, looking for him among the sea of red and gold.

He took a seat beside you and you high-fived him.

“Nice to see you here, Potter, Harry,” you said, changing your voice to mimic McGonagall’s.

“Nice to see you too, the (Y/n) (L/n),” he snickered, mocking the way the students had reacted when they’d heard your name.

You grinned at him.

Ron joined you rather quickly, even though he was one of the last people to get sorted. You were delighted at this, as it meant you could still be with them for the rest of your Hogwarts years, if what Professor McGonagall had said about your house being akin to family, was true.

Dumbledore rose to his feet, “Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!” He sat down, and as he did, food magically appeared in front of you.

“Is he – a bit mad?” Harry asked you uncertainly.

“Probably,” you said, shrugging, reaching for the roast potatoes.

You scarfed down your food, listening to the conservation around you. You cheered when the dessert had come, causing the people around you to chuckle, quietly – except for Ron, who had gotten to the apple pie before you could.

You wrestled Ron for a slice of said pie, and were happily munching on it when you glanced back up to the High Table. Hagrid was drinking from his goblet, and Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore were in a deep discussion with each other. Another Professor, in a purple turban, was fiddling nervously with his cutlery, tapping his fork against the edge of the table. He was speaking with a professor with greasy black hair, a hooked nose and sallow skin.

The teacher, as though he could sense your presence, glanced straight past the Turban-Professor and bore his black eyes into yours – a sharp, hot pain seared within your scar, and you let out a hiss of pain.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked you, foreheading furrowing in concern.

“N-nothing.” The pain had left as quickly as it had come. How strange. You got the feeling that the hooked-nose teacher did not like you very much.

“Who's that teacher, the greasy-haired one?” you pointed at him, not discretely.

Harry stifled a laugh. “That’s Snape. No one likes him, they say he wants to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, but every year he gets stuck as the Potions one instead. My dad doesn’t like him at all – actually, my entire family doesn’t really either.”

“Why’s that?” you questioned.

“Not sure,” said Harry, but he scratched his cheek nervously. “They won’t tell me.”

Deciding not to press him further, you continued to watch Snape a little longer. He never looked at you again, though, after that.

Once the desserts had all faded away, Dumbledore had announced his final speech and conducted a very tragic school school orchestra. He wiped his eyes, from pain or sadness or you guessed maybe even both, when they had finished. “Ah, music. A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

Powering your legs through the sheer force of the food you’d guzzled down, you followed Percy up to the Gryffindor Tower. With horror, you realised that you’d have to climb an average of seven staircases everyday, simply just to get to your bed. 

Anyways, the entrance to the Gryffindor headquarters was through a painting of a Fat Lady and she flipped open when you told her the password, Caput Draconis. You scrambled through the portrait hole and into the Gryffindor common room. 

You lazily trudged up the stairs, and without even bothering to notice that your trunk had been transported up to your dorm room, you face-planted onto your bed and fell into a heavy sleep.

Perhaps you had eaten a bit too much, because that night, you had a very strange dream. 

You were staring into a mirror, desperately trying to tug off a purple turban from your head. When did you get a turban? How did you get a turban? The fabric of the turban grew tighter, making you feel a sharp pain in your skull as the turban squeezed your head like a vice. You wondered how you got into this mess in the first place.

Furiously pulling, pulling, at the turban finally caused it to unravel and expose your hair. With a start, as you glanced back to the mirror, you discerned that your face had, horrifyingly enough, taken on the face of Snape. His own black, empty eyes stared back at you. 

You scrambled back, leaping away from his cockroach-like eyes, only to find that, for some reason, there was a bottomless abyss behind you. You fell down, down, down into a pit. Closing your eyes as your head thrummed painfully, you braced yourself for the impact. 

A bright flash of green light, and a high, cruel laugh jerked you awake. 

Oddly enough, however, when you’d gone back to sleep, you hadn’t remembered the dream at all. You did question, however, the next morning why when you closed your eyes, all you saw was a luminous, green light in the shape of a lightning-bolt scar.

.｡*ﾟ🗲.*.｡  　ﾟ*..🗲｡*ﾟ

→ Author's Note: Hello my lovelies, welcome to ch 1.2 yippee!! Sorry that its super long but we’re pretty already halfway through the ch 1 portion of the series XD — I’m guessing now that it's gonna reach about 1.4 or 1.5 but I could also be widely incorrect :P Anyways that’s all so catch ya next time :))) thank you

Time for this chapters analysis ~ You will have probs noticed one of the most canon-divergent parts of this series so far is that instead of the same dilemma Harry faced when he was getting sorted (Slytherin vs Gryffindor), as soon as the hat touched the little hairs upon your head, you were sorted into Gryffindor. During this chapter, and a little of the last one (but mostly this one), I've kinda been subtly trying to hint that the Reader is really quite arrogant and brazen. Rather than Harry as the chosen one, where he longs for a quiet and normal life, Reader dives headfirst into her role. She shamelessly self-promotes her lightning-scar and doesn’t try to hide it – she knows she’s special and she feeds into that!!  She’s kinda like James Potter in that regard >.< and therefore I want her to kind of be epitome of a Gryffindor (courageous and arrogant) and maybe, maybe not, a parallel to Draco Malfoy (who also got sorted into Slytherin ASAP, and is ambitious and arrogant) hehe → that’s also why Reader and Malfoy get more aggressive even more quickly than Harry did in canon… Anyways!!! This is the briefest hint at what I have in store for this series, and we’ll see how Reader’s arrogance courageousness deviates Harry Potter from canon.  Tbh I’m planning to make the reader Percy Jackson-coded (with the sass and reckless bravery and loyalty and what not) and maybe just the slightest bit Gojo-coded hehe,  I know that it's not that clear rn lol but I’ll work my way into it hopefully… Anyways, thanks again! :D Series Masterlist

Taglist (thanks for asking!): @kaverichauhan

[actually-mentally-ill]

[blac-ivy]

One thing golden era Wattpad writers had going for them was that they knew the importance of a buildup. I'm of the opinion that the sexual tension is WAY more satisfying to read than the actual sex and quite frankly there is a serious lack of non smutty writing.

Like I really miss reading fics/ x readers that start from scratch. Meeting the characters, initial reactions getting to know them, the tension the jealousy the TENSION the freaking tension.

Looking and looking away when they get spotted, touches that feel like they linger but perhaps they didn't and they're both so hot for each other that they think it's wishful thinking. And I don't mean just sweet sunshine romances, darker works can have a buildup too but it seems like so much is just about getting to the smut instead of the psychological aspect.

Bring back the build up!!!!!!!

[melanthaeunomia]

Do y’all ever reread an old unpublished fanfic you wrote and then get invested on the storyline but get sad because you never wrote the next part of it, just me?

[dreamingofmarauders]

You Belong With Me

James Potter x Reader

Summary: In which despite having rejected you, James feels the uttermost jealousy of someone else being near you

Warnings: Jealousy, rejection, angry/a bit possessive James Potter, regret, arguing, cussing, crying (Let me know if I missed anything)

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: I honestly don’t even know what I was thinking then, but this idea just randomly hit me so here it is lol. Hope you enjoy! ❤️

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

James tightened his hold on his glass of Firewhiskey, his gaze piercing dangerously as he watched you get too close with another guy. He clenched his jaw, downing his drink in one go before he tossed the glass back on the table, rage filling his whole being.

He had no right to feel like this. After all, he was supposed to be in love with Lily, not you. At least, that's what he kept trying to tell himself but as he watched you drape your arms around a Slytherin, both swaying to the music, he felt nothing but pure hatred for the male and absolute jealousy.

You should be in James' arms, not his.

James clenched his jaw, shutting his eyes as he inwardly groaned, as it came back to him once again, the memory so vivid it was as if the young Potter was reliving it once again.

You and James leaned against the railing of the Astronomy Tower, your eyes fixated upon the captivating night sky. You turned your head to look at the hazel eyed beside you, who gazed up at the twinkling stars with a soft smile sitting upon his lips. You and James had been best friends since you were children and your bond only deepened during the many years you spent together at Hogwarts. It was a weekly tradition for the two of you to stargaze together.

Your heart fluttered at the content expression on James' face, nothing but adoration in your eyes for him. Over the years, you didn't realize when but you had fallen for your best friend.

You were in love with James Potter.

However you kept that secret locked away in your heart, knowing James had been chasing after the redhead, Lily Evans, since you all were eleven.

Now as you admired James, the ways his lips curved or the twinkle in his hazel eyes, or his always messy black locks, or the way a dimple appeared whenever he smiled, the words slipped past your lips before you could stop them.

"I love you."

Your eyes widened with horror as James' rounded at that as well, turning to look at you in surprise.

You had mentioned many times how much you loved him but what caught James off guard this time was the way you spoke the words, the emotion behind them indicating a whole other meaning, a confession of you being in love with him.

"What?" He breathed out.

You sighed, knowing it was useless to deny it.

"I am in love with you, James."

"No." James uttered out in horror, taking a step back, causing a crack to form in your heart. "You can't be in love with me. I-I only love Lily."

Despite knowing the truth, your heart still shattered at the words that passed his lips, your eyes brimming up with tears.

Why had you even dared to hope he may reciprocate your feelings?

"I love Lily, Y/n. I could never love you." He said, as the tears slid down your cheeks. "I'm sorry." And with that James spun on his heels and hurried away, leaving you to stare after him, utterly heartbroken.

You had destroyed your own relationship with James, severing off the threads that had bonded the two of you together since forever.

You angrily wiped your face.

Why did every force in the universe always have to work against you?

The two of you haven't spoken since. James seethed as he watched Rosier pull you closer, but what really ticked him off was that your gaze had connected with his, and he knew that you knew what James was really feeling as you observed his very red face, before you inched your face closer to the Slytherin's.

That was the final straw for James Potter.

He immediately took a step in your direction but a hand latched onto his arm, rooting him to the spot.

"Mate, calm down."

James' furious gaze flickered to see who had dared to stop him, his eyes finding the silvery grey irises of his best friend.

Sirius knew exactly what had transpired, all the Marauders did. After all, you had been a fifth of their group, and your absence had impacted them all.

"Prongs, you need to calm down." Sirius instructed again, carefully analyzing James' facial expression.

This only angered the young Potter.

"Stay out of this, Black." He spat out and shrugged off Sirius' hand, ignoring his friend's protests.

James strutted over to you with nothing but fury and jealousy blinding him. When he reached you and Rosier, he shoved the Slytherin back, who shot the Gryffindor a death glare, grabbed your wrist and dragged you through the crowd of bustling and dancing teenagers, ignoring your protests. He finally dropped his hand from you when the two of you were in the silent corridor outside the Gryffndor common room.

You glared at James, who was staring back at you intensely, his jaw clenched.

"What the fuck, Potter?!" You yelled.

"What the fuck were you doing with that Rosier?! You were doing it on purpose!" James retorted back, silencing you for a mere moment before your face hardened.

"I can do whatever the hell I want, Potter, you have absolutely no right over my life!" You screamed at him, throwing your hands up in anger. "You told me you don't love me, you pushed me away, so how in the world do you get to decide what I can do and whom I can be with?! Why does it bother you so much?!" You shrieked at him.

However the next second, your back was pressed against the cold stone wall as James closed the distance between the two of you, caging you in his arms as his lips pressed to yours. You tried to resist, knowing this wouldn't end well, but the feel of him on you ignited a fire that yearned for more and your hands slithered to lock behind his neck, as you both poured out all your emotions into the kiss.

When the need for oxygen became great, the two of you pulled away, James placing his forehead against yours, as the both of you panted.

"This isn't fair to me, James." You breathed out, your eyes brimming once again. "You can't say you want Lily but then not let me live my life either." A tear slid down your cheek as your voice became heavy with emotion.

James lifted his head back, raising his hand to softly brush away your tears, placing a kiss on both of your cheeks before he peered into your y/e/c eyes, his gaze so intense that it seemed he was looking right into your soul.

"I am so sorry, love. I was wrong. I kept telling myself that it's Lily, but," He shook his head rather vigorously, "I've missed you more than ever since that day. My heart keeps calling out to you and I tried to push it down, but seeing you with another made me fully realize that there is no one else I would rather have than you." He confessed, placing his hand on your cheek, relishing in the way you leaned into his touch.

He continued, whilst lovingly caressing your cheek.

"My life is colorless and dull without you, y/n/n. I want you, darling. I... I love you." James uttered out, watching your face flood with astonishment, noticing the way you had stilled in his hold. Knowing he couldn't lose your attention, he went on, "I know I was an absolute jerk to you that day and today, but I promise you my love, if you give me the chance, I will spend the rest of my life, spend each day proving to you how much I really do care for you." James professed, his heart pounding heavily as he awaited your response.

You stared at him in complete shock, eyes round, making James afraid that he had truly lost you for good. However, a rush of relief flooded James' body when your beautiful lips slowly curved up into a tiny smile.

"I'll give you one chance, Jamie, just one."

The biggest smile you had ever seen graced James' face at your answer, and he cupped both your cheeks, "Thank you! Thank you!" He lifted you off the floor, spinning you around before he gracefully set you back on your feet, his arms going to settle around your waist. "I promise you that you will not regret this, darling."

And James Potter lived up to his promise, as each day after that, he made sure to show you how much he truly did love you, and Merlin were you above the clouds to have landed the man of your dreams, disbelief still clawing at you from time to time that James Potter loved you back just as much as you loved him.

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

[colmiilllo]

I fear the day that my mom finds out that I don't read fantasy books on Tumblr/Wattpad/Ao3

[daintyys]

all i wanted was you

fem!reader x touchy bestfriend!james potter, 500 words

modern/nonmagical au. pls send james reqs!! also this isnt proofread i needed to post it urgently. ps happy thanksgiving

"Have you eaten yet?" James asked, leaning in the doorway staring at you. Your cramps were unbearable, and the only way you could get any sort of comfort was curling in a ball on the bedroom floor. You mumbled a response, which he didn't hear. He made his way over to you, and sat on the floor next to you.

"Your period?" He questioned, rubbing your arm. You nodded and closed your eyes. His touch was so comforting. "I'm sorry, love." James whispered, helping you sit up.

You groaned, and wrapped your arms around your stomach. "I want to stay on the floor, James." He shook his head and took your hand, standing you up. "You need to eat, come here." He said, putting his hand firmly on your lower back.

He took you to the kitchen of your flat and you sat at the table. You tried not to cry as your cramping became worse. You laid your head on the table and brought your knees to your chest, trying to relieve pressure in your abdomen. "I know it hurts but you need to eat." Your best friend said as he put a bowl of soup in front of you. He sat beside you and adjusted his glasses so he could see you better.

You ate slowly, and once you were done, your cramps hadn't gotten much better. "Feel any better, Y/N?" James questioned, intertwining your fingers with his. You shook your head. "Nothings working, Jamie." You groaned. Standing, you made your way back to your bedroom and flopped on your bed. James followed, and crawled into bed with you.

He laid in between your legs with his head on your chest, keeping you warm. You sighed, his warmth was helping with your cramping. "Feels good, doesn't it, love?" He cooed, twirling your hair in his fingers. You nodded and smiled as you traced his spine. He laughed appreciatively and looked up at you.

"You're beautiful, y'know." James flattered.

You blushed, and kissed his forehead gently. "Most would say that was flirting with me, James." You hummed.

"It was." James crooned, moving his hands under your back to hug you closer. You hummed in approval and ran your fingers through his hair. "'M sorry you feel so sick, baby." He sighed. "I feel better now that you're taking care of me." You admitted. James squirmed a little, adjusting his position to look up at you again.

"A kiss would take all the pain away, Y/N." He grinned, and his glasses were lopsided on his face. You nodded, and he cupped your jaw in his hands, gently kissing you.

He pulled away, face burning red.

"You're right, that did help a lot." You smiled at him. James giggled nervously , and hid his embarrassed face in your chest. "Don't be embarrassed," You whispered. "I like you too."

You felt him laugh against your chest, and you soon found your bodies intertwined, being each other's one sense of complete comfort.

[bookishdreamer28]

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Mattheo opened the door slowly, trying not to make loud noises. As he walked in his room, his eyes fell on your sleeping figure peaking under the covers and he felt his body instantly relax. The reason why he has been so upset lately is because he had these really awful nightmares about you, nightmares that made him scared and had made him spend most nights staying awake, while watching over you as if he was afraid that you might actually disappear.

He took his clothes off and strolled to the bathroom. Once he was done from there, he headed to bed, wanting desperately to hold you. Once he got under the covers he gently wrapped his arm around you and brought your body against his. He leaned in to take a look at your face and when he saw the cute sleepy face of yours, he gently smiled, his heart beating rapidly at the sight of you.

He was about to lay back on his pillow, but then he felt your body stirring and he moved closer, afraid that you were having a nightmare. But then you slowly opened these gorgeous eyes of yours, and he hugged you, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek.

"Hey sweet gir" he whispered and you turned to the side, smiling beamingly at him. You wrapped your arms around him, inhaling his scent which brought you comfort and warmth.

"Is everything all right? I noticed how upsetyou seem lately" your hand cupped the side of his face and he leaned in your paml, in need to fell your skin.

Dont worry sweetheart everything's ok" he kissed your forehead and held you closer to him. In all these times, the day that haunted him the most was the fay he almost lost you. He had never utter a word about how he feels scared of losing or how these nightmares tormented his soul. He wanted you to not worry about him.

"I know you're hiding things from me Mattheo" And he knew you were about to be serious since you called him by his name.

"You need to talk to me. I don't ever want you to feel like you have to hide things just because you don't want me to worry about you. I'll always worry. And it's not my job. It's because I love you" you whispered and you could see how his eyes became glassy, trying to hold his tears back.

"Express yourself the way you feel and want to Mattheo. You should've known by now that I'm here for you no matter what" after that he instantly laid his head on your shoulder and you silently played with his hair.

His released a shaky breath and his hild became a bit tighter around you.

"I love you, I love you so much" you heard his voice shaking with emotion and you turned your head to kiss his head.

"I just don't ever want to lose you. In all my life, I had only known darkness. Nothing good or pure surrounded me but that changed when you came into my life. You know how dangerous it is to be with me and trust me, there were times I thought I should push you away for your own safety, but my love for you grew day by day, with every smile of yours, every laugh, every touch." he slowly sat up to look in your eyes.

His fingers traced your cheek softly as he slowly moved closer to you, pressing a kiss to your lips. The kiss was full of unsaid feelings and strong emotions, the desperation in his movements as he cradled your face to deepen ths kiss, made your stomach flip.

When you both pulled away, he laid his head back on his pillows and circled his right hand around you, bringing you close so you can rest your head on his chest. You looked up at him and said:

"I'll always be here for you love, always" you whispered and he smiled at your fondness in your voice. He kissed you once more and held you tight.

Having you right here in his arms, was the greatest gift he could ever have, especially after he experienced great loses in his life. You were everything he could've ever asked for and even though at first he didn't want to be around you because you made him feel things he had never felt before, he doesn't regret a single thing. As long you're here with him, nothing can make him live in fear anymore.

----

I've been crushing over many fictional men lately and one of them is Mattheo 🙌 I thought about writing a mix of a bit of everything, sooo I hope you enjoyed reading it ✨

[cherry-pop-elf]

Warming Up The New Client

Fred Weasley x Reader

Sum: Was another one of those little bets you and Fred did. You lost, but you are kinda the biggest winner between the two of you. Especially when one of the Weasley’s business partners come in to discuss important things. Let’s see if he can keep his head straight

Warnings: 18+, cock warming, blow jobs, semi public, kinda cracky because not everything needs to be a porno you gotta laugh, accidental choking, worried boyfriend because whoops this has become a sitcom, after care. Lowkey tho any fic you’ll read from me will have it, unless stated otherwise. HEALTHY AND REALISTIC SEX

“MR WEATHERBIRD! What are you doing here?!” Fred would panic, as he would force his chair to push into the desk. Was followed by a thump, as your body hit the back of the desk. Hardly any space for you, and his legs, in the confined space.

Why were you under his desk, and between his legs? Well you lost a bet. Was a harmless one. Just those lazy Mondays, at the shop, where you both needed something to help stimulate the day. A bet where it didn’t matter who won or loss, because there weren’t really any losers when the fun is the game.

Your prize for losing was to give the winner a blow job. Nothing too crazy. That is until unaware company arrived. That being a man that the Weasley twins were meant to do business with. Seems like George must have missed the man. Well, he arrived via fire place. George wouldn’t have seen him arrive, unless in the office with you two.

“Is now a bad time, Mr. Weasley? I figured Mondays would work best for you. Tis a joke shop, after all. The slowest day of the week, as your largest income bracket is through the school children. A Monday morning felt the most reliable to arrive.” Damn his logic, that was what Fred thought. He had a point.

“No no! It’s fine, you are right. Just surprise, that’s all. Take a seat. Let’s talk!” He would grin his award winning smile, as you remained stuck in your hiding place. Left with a choice to make. Stop what you are doing, or see how far you could push the button. Well, you married a Weasley. What’s a little bit of risk?

“Wonderful. We have much to discuss.” Boy was this going to be boring. You knew it, Fred knew it, but hey. You are certainly going to make it more enjoyable. Or worse. Either way, it’s gonna be fun.

As the older gentlemen began his garble, you were busy with your own garbling. Letting his cock press into your cheek, as you tried to find a way to move your head. You didn’t want to just keep thumping your head on the wood. That’s not fun at all.

You were shifting your head all over the place, as you tried to get comfortable. Made for your boyfriend to struggle with paying attention to the boring work jargon his business partner was making. Was certainly difficult to make sure he looked like he was listening, and not currently getting sucked off. Certainly difficult indeed, when those freckled cheeks of his were rosey.

“You seem a bit warm, Mr. Weasley. Are you feeling well?” The older gentlemen would ask Fred. Ever the charismatic man he was, he was oh so quick to think on the fly. Lie out of every situation. Such a charming gift to have.

“Fever fudge. You know how my brother and I are. We always self test our products. That way if anyone gets hurt, it’s us. We only ever field test with mostly our siblings. We know how they would react to what we make, but not to strangers. No. We don’t act like it, but we try and keep things safe.” That seemed to win over Mr. Weatherbird. Charmed the man as much as he could charm a gaggle of girls in a quidditch stand.

The devil on your shoulder was going to be the death of you, and him, with what it was whispering to you. Wanting to try and make his facade crack somehow. Just a little bit. Enough to make him sweat under the pressure. Just a little bit. You don’t want to actually put him at risk of anything, but gambling is gambling. Win big, or die trying.

As you finally managed to force Fred’s chair back, you could properly move your head. Made him need to sit awkwardly, to not make it appear that he was pushed back. Didn’t want the man to get suspicious. Seems he wasn’t, as he was busy with papers. Gave Fred time to look down, and see your devious face. Stuffed with his cock. Was so arrousing, you could feel his cock twitch on your tongue. With fresh flavor for you to enjoy.

He would shoot you a glare, only for the man to look back up. Forced him to meet the clients eyes, as to try and act as chill as possible. Never did he think he would want to do paper work right now. Anything to not just cum down your throat. George was the moaner, not him. But you were seeing if they were identical in a few other ways.

That was until Mr. Weatherbird started to lean over the desk. Just trying to be polite, and show him something on the papers. Had Fred quickly slam himself back under the desk. Forced you to take his cock all the way down your throat, and gag on it. Had you cross eyed, and trying so damn hard to not gurgle on it. Guess you weren’t quite enough.

“What was that noise-?” “What noise?” “Sounded like someone was choking….” Fred, ever quick, was able to come up with the perfect lie. A lie melted in truth, to keep the seal on the little secret at hand closed.

“We have a product here called puking pasties. A pastry used to help kids throw up. For one reason or another. Not to mention we have many things that stink so bad you wish to obliviate yourself from the memory. Just kids being kids. George has it under control.” He would brush off the worry, as you tried to find your ability to breathe again.

Was rather difficult, as you were now trapped entirely under the desk this time. How your head was pressed against the desk, and held no way to move your head. Just gagging around his cock, with drool soaking all over your clothes.

The more you tried to steady yourself, the more his cock twitched in your mouth. Feeling your tongue trying to adjust itself. How your throat kept clenching and your lips desperate to move.

Before you could make any other noises, he was quick to wave his wand. Had his gramophone kick to life, and play that loud swing music those twins loved. Nothing like some big band to liven up the scene. Along with hide more of your gagging, and sputtering, in the hopes to finish this meeting.

“That’s better. Now, as we were saying-“ The droning was starting to get to him. All his mind could think about you was choking on his cock. Had him aroused, but also very worried he was hurting you. It’s not hot if it’s not consented on. Was an accident, yes, but he loves you and wants you safe. He had to figure out how to get you out of there, before things get worse.

“Say uh. Mr. Weatherbird, um-“ Wow was it getting harder to talk. Wasn’t helping that you were still scrambling. Your hands reaching into his lap, to try and push him back some. When trying to reach the front of his chair, you got a full grab of your favorite stress toy instead. Had his eyes go cross, for a moment, as he had to bite his lip. Trying so hard, but he wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Oh, I know it’s alot. You are so new to this world of business. I respect it. You two are stars, I can see it. I’ll do my best to help guide you both. You two are already doing so wonderful. Truly business savvy. Your parents must be so proud. Here, I’ll leave these papers for you and your twin to discuss over. Just send an Owl if you have any questions.” He gave a tip of his hat to Fred, as Fred himself did his best to give a flustered nod.

Mr. Weatherbird would give a wave goodbye, and vanished through the fireplace. As soon as he did, Fred pushed himself back. Made for a rather pornographic sight, and sound, as he popped his cock out of your mouth.

You were just covered in your own drool. Face more flustered than his own, with your lips swollen from being stretched for so long. How you were panting hard from the stress of the scene. It was all too much. You were just so perfect in his view. He just had to add to it.

He barely had time to close your eyes, as he leaned back. His cock just spilling his cum all across your face. Across your drool stained chest. You were just covered in so much. You were surprised he even had so much in him. Guess this was some life or death edging, so to speak.

With your breath caught, it was his turn to pant. Just leaning back in his office chair. His body slack, as he was seeing stars. That release was so needed, and so intense. He swore he pulled his back out from it.

“That could have gone better…Or worse. Depends on if we look at this from a positive view or not.” You would joke, as he gave a dry laugh. Happy to know you were ok. You knew he was worried, you could just tell. There was something sweet about it. That even with such heat of the moment he was looking out for you.

You would let him collect himself, as a cleaning charm solved all your problems. You also were polite to help out his dick away for him. After care goes both ways, after all. When he would come back to reality he would take care of you. You knew that. Until then, you’ll make sure he is cared for to.

Once he had his time to no longer sweat himself a new pool, he would pull you into his lap. Just cuddling you. A means of apology, without saying it. You knew he was trying to not have you humiliated. It wasn’t intentional in any way. The way you would play with his hair conveyed it. Both of you using your own silent little love language.

“So….Whens your next meeting?” The fact you asked that made his head spin. You wanted to do that again? That risk? The choking? The fear? The adrenaline? The insanity of it all?

“…….Thursday, after lunch….” He’s a Weasley. They were all adrenaline junkies. That’s just one of the many things that made you love him. Love him, kiss him, and bump your noses together. His adorable bird nose, with yours.

“You are such a minx, and I LOVE it.”

[ervotica]

whump with poly!rosekiller and their sweet angel girl. their treasure, the most precious person to ever exist. maybe it's voldy related, maybe it's someone holding a grudge against them, maybe it's a pureblood feud. unfortunately for the culprit, it doesn't matter, anyway. they're out for blood. feral. primal. nursing their sweet baby's injuries and fussing over her even as she whines and shies away from the affection, the intensity of it. even after all this time, sometimes it's a lot to process at once. their blinding adoration. when she finally drops into a fitful sleep in evan's arms, barty gives a curt nod as he stalks from the dorms, wand in hand.

the poor fucker won't know what hit them.

[to-fly-with-clipped-wings]

Chapter 1.1 - The Unexpected Visit

Chapter 1.1 - The Unexpected Visit

Pairing: Harry Potter x Chosen One! Reader

‘“I dunno what it was, no one does – but somethin’ about you stumped him, all right.” Hagrid turned to you, a mixture of warmth and respect blazing in his kind eyes. You straightened your back, preening under his gaze. So, what he was saying, basically was that you were the hero of the wizarding world. It had been you. The antidote to the disease. The champion. You were the saviour.’ OR: in which unexpected encounters open your eyes to a whole new world. One, it seems, you know nothing about, but knows everything about you. → Set in a universe where you are the chosen one, and Harry Potter is your best friend who tries to help you navigate the woes of being the lone hero of the wizarding world. A swap au where you are the chosen one, your parents are dead but the marauders + Lily are not. Eventual Harry x Reader, slowburn, friends to lovers. Author’s note: throughout this chapter I’ve put in some obvious parallels to the canon HP universe, but as we progress through the whole series, the plot may or may not become more canon divergent since you are you, and not Harry Potter… Anyways, welcome!!! Let’s see what (Y/n) (L/n), the girl who lived, gets up to. Thank you and enjoy! Series Masterlist

.｡*ﾟ🗲.*.｡  　ﾟ*..🗲｡*ﾟ

Your scar was hurting.

The lightning bolt-shaped mark that rested above your right eye, in a manner of which your foster-mother, Mira Caddel, despised. Your hair had always been a flying mess because of her insistence in shaping it in such a particular way that it hid your ‘hideous scar’. You had definitely been through your pick of crude hairstyles and forced bangs in your lifetime. 

It also didn’t help that your foster-sister, Odette, enjoyed grabbing the ends of it when she pushed your head into the bowl of the toilet. You swore that she ripped out at least half of your head when she did (yet, strangely enough, when you got back up, your hair was as normal as it normally was).

Anyways, back to the matter at hand, you supposed. 

Your scar typically didn’t pain you. It was more like a weirdly-shaped birthmark at its best. But, right now, it was throbbing, releasing shockwaves of pain that reverberated throughout your head. 

You tried thinking of what you’d done to cause this. You couldn’t have hit your head on anything (even though this was a common occurrence since you had outgrown the cupboard under the stairs years ago), because you had just woken up. You didn’t think it was the usual migraine either, because they didn’t want to make you want to scratch off your lightning-bolt scar. You quite liked it after all — it added to your timeless charm. 

Maybe it was something you ate last night? What did you do last night? You couldn’t remember it point-blank but —

Oh, that was right. Seconds ago, you were fast asleep, in a dream that involved a bright green flash of light and the sound of a small child’s cry. You had a funny feeling that you’d had the same dream before. 

You clutched your forehead. The pain was slowly becoming unbearable, as though someone had stabbed a knife into your brain. You looked around, hoping to find some relief or explanation, but all you saw was the familiar sight of your tiny, cramped room. The floor was littered with clothes, books, and toys that you had collected over the years, mostly from the trash or the charity shops.

A sharp rapping on the door to the cupboard caused you to jump. 

A gruff voice snapped out. “Oi, girl! You awake yet? C’mon!” 

You groaned, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Callum Caddel, the final puzzle piece to your ‘family’, if that’s what one would call this arrangement. He was your foster father, a well-established family man to most, but a wacky old sod to you. He always managed to go out of his way to irritate or prod a taunting comment toward you. 

Your real parents, you’d been told, were killed in a car accident when you were very little. About one year old, too. That was also how you’d acquired your lightning scar. The Caddels didn’t often answer your questions about your biological family, mostly because they didn’t know the answers themselves. You had wound up in the foster care system for about two years before they had taken you in, although you presumed the only reason they did was because they got a sum of two hundred pounds a month for it. The Caddels often did find themselves on the shorter side of the economical scale, and from your own experience, knew how they jumped like fishes out of a bowl at any chance of opportune (free) money.

You stood up, dusting off your tattered pyjamas. A spider scurried up the pant leg, and you bent down to pick it off. Spiders weren’t an odd presence in your humble abode, in fact, you thought yourself to be basically a spider magnet of sorts considering how many you’d find latched to you when you woke up.

The fast knocking resumed. “I want you out! Out!”

You pulled open the door harshly, meeting the pink, rounded, wheezing face of Callum. You snarked at him. “Woulda keep quiet, old man? I’m up.”

“Good riddance,” he spat, looking awfully sour for someone with a chocolate stain on the right side of his mouth. “Hurry up and make us breakfast, girl. We do our own jobs around here, you need to pick up slack! Least, I remind you that you were the one to pick that as your chore. Don’t you know how long we’ve waited for you to wake up?” You eyed him distastefully. “I don’t see much waiting,” referring to the brown mark on his face. 

He swelled like a bullfrog, huffing and crossing his arms across his chest. “What did you say to me?” You run a hand down your face. It was too early for this. Brushing past him, you entered the kitchen and began your routine of cracking eggs onto the pan.

You had just begun to fry the bacon when Odette herself decided to grace the kitchen with her glorious presence. Odette looked like an odd mix between her two parents. Her face was in a perpetual state of pinky rage, and her neck blended seamlessly into her torso (in a way that made it seem she did not have any neck at all). Her blue eyes were wide-spread and little, obviously drawn freckles lined her cheeks, sort of in a straight line. You enjoyed making fun at how her freckles seemed to be inching ever so slightly off her face everyday. With how aggressively she would apply them, some freckles would end up roughly the same size as a failed chocolate chip cookie. Her black hair was down, greasy and shiny and damp, which didn’t help her case either.

You were glad that you were not forced to share the same bathroom as her, because the times you’d stepped foot in it (you were forced to scrub it clean, you would have never done it willingly), the poor drain was quite literally clogged with what seemed to be half of Odette’s scalp. You would say that the poor thing ate more than its owner, and that was certainly saying something.

Mira entered the kitchen soon after. Her skin was deeply tanned from all the fake-tanning solutions she’d gone through, still, it was very patchy and not done well at all. Her box-dyed blonde hair was thrown over her shoulder and she brushed her long, claw-like fingers through it. “She looks like a doll”, Callum loved to swoon and you would love to reply with exaggerated, painful gagging, which never went down well with the Caddels.

She narrowed her eyes at you before taking a seat at the table and waving her hand at you. “Glad to see you’re up.”

You glared at her, muttering “lazy oaf”, under your breath before handing out the plates until there was only yours left. It was a flimsy child’s plate, one that Odette had outgrown at the ripe age of four. You powered through your food, the smiling face of Bambi peeking through your slowly diminishing heap of bacon.

Odette’s ugly mug began to twist itself into her gruesome smirk, and her lips parted. Probably to hurl out a teasing jab at your oversized clothes (which was not a phase!) or messy hair. But, before said insult could escape your foster-sister, you all heard the click of the letter-box followed by the flop of letters on the door mat.

Too intune with the deliciously appealing food on your plate, you did your very best to ignore the petulant stares of the Caddels, the stares that edged you down expectantly to fetch the mail. 

“Get the post, Odette,” you snapped at her, not glancing up from your precious. 

She huffed and got up to get the post.

Your ears were finally being blessed, listening to the heavy thumps as Odette tramped her way down the corridor to the front door. Just as you sank into your chair lazily, her high-pitched shrill cut through the air of the Caddels’ kitchen. 

Mira gasped and sprung up from her chair. “Odette!” She sprinted to where you’d heard the scream. The pointy part of her high heel hooked onto the leg of the chair you were sitting on, causing her to stumble. She caught herself on the back of your chair, but the force of her grip somehow managed to topple it over, sending you almost flying and then rolling across the floor. 

Groaning, you sat up from your new position on the ground. The clicking of heels and the heavy pants emitted from Mira and Callum respectively grew distant, as the pair of them rushed to check on their precious daughter.

Now, you didn’t really care about the girl herself, but when there was just the slightest possibility that she could be out there, embarrassing herself or prissing her pants in fear - well, now that was an opportunity you couldn’t bear to miss.

As you follow after them, you deliberated whether or not to pop up over to get the camera in order to capture the moment ahead of you.

Looking back, you think that, perhaps, you should have, considering that very moment was to become one of the very best ones you would ever have in your life.

“Who - who are you?” you heard Callum shout. “Don’t you dare come in! Don’t y - !”

“Ah, shut up Caddel, yeh great prune.” retorted another voice.

You did not recognise that voice. The Caddels were social people, sure. They frequently left the house for social outings, like the occasional meetings run by Callum’s drill firm, but never had someone stepped foot near the house. Too ashamed to reveal the tiny size of their floor plan, you reckoned, or maybe they were afraid that the dreadful state of your cupboard under the stairs would scare the lot of them off.

Of course, that did not mean no one knew of your existence. Years of praying that some knight in shining armour would come to whisk you away from the Caddels led you to pick up on rather strange occurrences. Very strange strangers would often stop (quite dramatically too) in the middle of the street to gawk at you. A tiny, funny looking man in a violet top hat had bowed to you once, or when a terribly old woman had winked at you from inside a bus. Ms Fig, the cranky, resident catwoman and your babysitter, down the street also treated you with a gentle softness, offering you extra packs of crisps to take home with you.  

The point was, this whole situation was odd. But why?

Your feet skidded against the floor as you came to a stop. 

A giant man, one no less than ten feet, with a great, scraggly beard and obsidian eyes that glinted slightly in the light, was stood in the doorway. You barely had time to notice that the poor door was hanging off its hinges, like it had been forcibly opened. 

The house was already rundown and shabby enough, and you hoped the giant man would pay for the repair funds. The house wasn’t big enough to fit the four of you, let alone some giant. This was evident when he squeezed his body into the house, causing the door to pop off its frame and go crashing down. The giant man jumped slightly, and the back of his head bumped into the hanging light bulb on the roof. Tiny little shards of crystals pelted down. 

Odette squealed and stumbled backwards into the house. The other two, who had gone ghost white with fear, were opening and closing their mouths like lost fish. Callum raised his pointer finger at the giant man, but did nothing more.

The giant’s eyes swivelled around the room before settling on you. His face, still hidden under his mass of hair, grew into a warm smile at the sight of you. A smile, you decided, had to take second place on your very short list of best smiles (after your smile, of course. The Caddels hadn’t qualified, with their hideous jugs, so it was a meagre list of two). 

“Ah, there she is! ‘Ello, (Y/n).”

You looked toward him, and if your hands wanted to tremble, you didn’t show it.

Who was this man, and how did he know your name?

“Las’ time I saw you, you was only a baby.” the giant man’s smile grew. His eyes swept you up and down, certainly taking note of the baggy, rumpled clothes you had on. “I got summat fer yeh.”

He turned around, fishing for something inside the massive coat he had on. He spun back around, brandishing two things; a letter made from yellowish parchment paper with a purple wax seal, and a slightly squashed box.

Now it was your mouth that was openly gaping at the man. He raised an eyebrow at you, grinning, before handing you the letter.

You almost ripped it out of his hands, your curiosity taking over you. The giant man chuckled at your eagerness. 

Ms (Y/n) (L/n)

The Cupboard under the Stairs

5 Alva St

Midlothian

You stared at the letter. 

You did often get letters. You were quite popular at school, after all, for your reckless charm. But, still, no one knew about the cupboard under the stairs. Not even a single whisper of it was breathed outside of the house. 

“W-what is that?” Mira croaked out. You had forgotten she was there.

The giant man looked like he was about to snap her at but you beat him to it. “Well, that’s what I’m finding out obviously. You think I know more than you?”

The giant man huffed out a small chuckle at your hostility.

Ignoring the faint flushing of Mira’s tanned face, and Callum turning a slight purple on behalf of his wife, you flipped the letter over and yanked out the paper within.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)

Dear Ms (L/n),

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

You read the letter, and felt a warm tingle surge through your body. 

Excitement. 

Hagrid smiled warmly at you.

“Yer a witch, (Y/n).” 

You had always known you were different, that you had something special inside you. The strange occurrences, the oddly shaped scar on your forehead. That didn’t happen to just anyone. You weren’t like the Caddels, you knew you never had been.

And now, you had proof. You were a witch. A real, honest-to-goodness witch. 

You grinned down at the letter, before tilting your head at the giant man. “I can’t believe it. A witch. That’s — that’s well, incredible!”

The giant man was openly laughing at your ecstasy. Even Mira, Callum and Odette had nothing to say. You could see them craning their necks to stare at the letter in your hands.

You smiled at the giant once more when a sudden thought struck you. “Ah — er, maybe I should’ve started with this, but, who are you exactly?”

His shoulders shook with each of his chuckles. “The name’s Hagrid. Rubeus Hagrid. Keeper o’ Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts — yeh’ll know all about Hogwarts, o’course.”

Mira stepped forward, quite suddenly. “I don’t understand. A witch? What are you talking about? Witches, wizards — the whole thing! Those aren’t real!”

Your smile faltered at this. In your excitement (the prospect of finally being whisked away from here), perhaps you had allowed a cloud of delusion to settle over your head. She was right. Magic? Wouldn’t you have known if there was a magical society thriving right under your nose? 

You shook your head at this. No. There had to be one. There just had to.

Hagrid’s face fell but he was quick to bring it back up. “Tha’s right. You lot are muggles. Yer hadn’t an inkling of magic.”

“What are muggles?” you asked, perking up at the unfamiliar jargon.

“A muggle,” Hagrid began, “is what we call non-magic folk like them. It’s real bad luck that you ‘ad to grow up with ‘em, instead of yer parents. I knew we shoulda left ya wit’ a wizarding family… ‘least then yeh woulda known about - ”

His eyes widened with realisation as he whipped around suddenly to face you, a sad expression taking over his features. “Then tha’ means you never learnt about yer parents. About Hogwarts. About yerself!”

He looked quite distressed, as he ran a hand down his big face. “A sad thing, really. The whole situ’tion with yer parents. A huge scandal, ‘specially since yeh don’t even know what happened. Ya know, every kid in our world knows yer name? Yer famous!”

Hagrid looked at you, his eyes sparkling brightly. You blinked dumbly.

“Yer famous!” he repeated, noticing the stunned faces on your and the Caddel’s faces. “Gulpin’ gargoyles, I knew Dumbledore said yeh didn’t know much but, I didn’t expec’ yeh knew so little.”

You sucked in a breath, chest puffing out affront. You certainly knew your stuff. Hell, you were salutatorian in your maths class, captain of the football team and the most liked person in your year level. You definitely weren’t stupid, if that was what Hagrid was suggesting.

Hagrid sighed deeply. “It begins, I suppose, with — with a person called — but its incredible yeh don’t know his name, everyone in our world knows — ”

“Who?” you asked testily, not quite enjoying the way he was talking about this whole thing like it was as obvious as the sky was blue or the grass was green.

“Well — I don’ like sayin’ the name if I can help it. No one does.”

“Why not?” “People are still scared of ‘im. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went… bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His  name was…” Hagrid visibly gulped. 

“Can you write it down?” you suggested helpfully, unfolding your arms.

“Nah - can’t spell it. All right - Voldemort.” Hagrid flinched, like some had just rammed a knife into his back. “Don’ make me say it again. Anyways, this - this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin’ fer followers. Got ‘em too - some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o’ his power, ‘ cause he was gettin’ himself power, all right. Dark days, didn’t knew who ter trust, didn’t dare get friendly with strange witch or wizards… terrible things happened. He was takin’ over. ‘Course, some stood up to him - an’ he killed ‘em. Horribly. One o’ the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore’s the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn’t dare try takin’ the school, not jus’ then anyway.”

He breathed out, wiping at his eyes. “Now, yer mum was as good a witch I ever knew. Yer father was great as well. Brillian’, the two of ‘em were. Truly. But then, You-Know-Who turned up in the village where you was all living, on Hallowe’en ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an’ — an’ —”

He stopped suddenly, pulled out a very dirty handkerchief and blew his nose with it. A noise that caused the remaining chandeliers to rattle.

“He killed them,” you said quietly. It hadn’t been a car crash… no. They were murdered.

“He killed ‘em. An’ then — an’ this is the real myst’ry of the thing — he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin’ by then. But he couldn’t do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That’s what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh — took care of yer mum an’ dad an’ yer house, even — but it didn’t work on you, an’ that’s why yer famous. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill ‘em, no one except you, an’ he’d killed some o’ the best witches an’ wizards of the age — the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts — an’ you was only a baby, an’ you lived.”

You raised your hand to cup the scar on your face. A vivid flash of green filled your vision, but this time, you could hear something else — a high, cold, cruel laugh.

Hagrid sighed again. “Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore’s orders. Brought yeh ter a buildin’ an’ — ” he reached for his handkerchief. “An’ left yeh there, since yeh had no other family!” Hagrid dabbed at the corner of his eyes.

The amount of questions you held grew exponentially. “But, what happened to Vol — er — I mean, You-Know-Who?”

“Good question. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That’s the biggest myst’ry, see… he was gettin’ more an’ more powerful — why’d he go?

“Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he’s still out there, bidin’ his time, like, but I don’ believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of ‘em came outta kinda trances. Don’ reckon they could’ve done if he was comin’ back. Most of us reckon he’s still out there somewhere, but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. ‘Cause somethin’ about you finished him, (Y/n). There was somethin’ goin’ on that night he hadn’t counted on — I dunno what it was, no one does — but somethin’ about you stumped him, all right.”

Hagrid turned to you, a mixture of warmth and respect blazing in his kind eyes. You straightened your back, preening under his gaze. So, what he was saying, basically was that you were the hero of the wizarding world. It had been you. The antidote to the disease. The champion. You were the saviour.

The Caddels gaped at you, and then at Hagrid, their heads swivelling like fans at a game of tennis. The foster-couple had their mouths angled toward the floor, looking positively bewildered and confounded at the entire exchange. You truly didn’t care what Mira and Callum thought of you. They were just muggles, according to Hagrid. They were ordinary and boring. Not like you.

You were a witch, a sorceress destined for greatness.

You looked up at the giant man, who was smiling at you with a twinkle in his eyes. “So, what do you say, Ms. (L/n)? Are you ready to join the wizarding world?”

You didn’t hesitate. You nodded eagerly, clutching the letter to your chest. “Yes, yes, yes! I can’t wait to go to Hogwarts!”

The giant man laughed heartily. “Tha’s the spirit, lass!”

“J-just hold on now,” muttered Callum, stepping forward. “That’s all dandy and all — ” you saw Hagrid’s eyebrow twitch. “—  but, who’s going to be paying for her funds? Not us, I can assure you.”

Hagrid scowled. “We’ll cover it then. Ungrateful old muggle.” 

You stifled a laugh. 

Callum snatched the letter from your hands, inspecting the list of equipment. “She needs all sorts of rubbish — spell books, wands, cauldrons. This is just some great joke isn’t it?” He turned to you suddenly, his moustache twitching violently. “You’re in one hell of a punishment after this, girl. Think it’s funny, do you? Wasting our time with this wizarding nonsense. Some hilarious prank.”

“It’s very much real,” spoke Hagrid, his voice rising steadily. “And don’ yeh worry yer little head off, Caddel. She’s one of us. You don’t need to be butting yer head into it now. Yeh’ve done all yeh needed to fer the past ten years, bare minimum from the looks of it, but we’ve got ‘er now. ”

Callum’s face went an ugly shade of purple. “Good, I suppose.” he replied stiffly. “Then get along.” 

He grabbed Mira’s shoulders and they started walking back into the kitchens. Odette turned to look at you, her eyes flickering to Hagrid, before her lips curled into a wide smirk. “Have fun, at your special school.”

You sent her a nasty glare, taking a step toward her before Hagrid disciplined her for you. A loud explosion blew Odette’s hair backwards, a warning blast that, to your pleasure, curtailed her growing ego. She shrieked and high-tailed it to the kitchen, sprinting faster than you’d ever seen her run before.

You barked out a laugh at Hagrid’s guilty face. 

“Sorry, shouldn’ta lost me temper. I’d be grateful yeh if didn’t mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts. I’m —  er —  not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin’. I was allowed ter do a bit ter get yer letters to yeh an’ stuff — one o’ the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job — ”

“Why aren’t you supposed to do magic?” you asked, tilting your head at him in interest.

“Oh, well — I was at Hogwarts meself but I — er — got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an’ everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore.”

“Why were you expelled?” “We’ve spent alotta time here,” said Hagrid loudly. “We still gotta get yer books an’ all. Let’s get goin’.”

.｡*ﾟ🗲.*.｡  　ﾟ*..🗲｡*ﾟ

Diagon Alley was a strange little place.

After passing through a grubby-looking pub, the Leaky Cauldron, and getting your hand furiously shaken by everyone in the store, Hagrid had led to the small outroom beside the pub and whacked his pink umbrella against a stray, mouldy looking brick.

You raised an eyebrow unimpressed when nothing happened after a second. The very next second, however, the entire structure began to collapse and expose the treasures hidden within. 

A knobbly street with stores positively hanging from the ground as they towered over everyone — even diminishing Hagrid of his giant stature. From what you could see, there was a cauldron shop with various different kinds of pewter, copper, brass, even silver cauldrons. There was an owl emporium, from which you could hear the distant chirping of owls, and a ‘Quidditch store’ (whatever that was) with boys and girls around your own age stood around the place, pressing their noses to the glass. At the very end of the street, there was a snowy-white building, significantly larger than the rest, whose sign read ‘Gringotts.’ 

Hagrid had debriefed you on some of the commonly known things in the wizarding world; one of which was Gringotts. Gringotts was the resident wizarding bank, where wizards would deposit their money (knuts, sickles and galleons) into vaults that were fiercely guarded by goblins. Apparently your parents had even stored a wizarding fortune for you in one of those little vaults.

And so was true. A goblin named Griphook cracked open your vault to reveal piles and mountains of bronze, silver and gold coins. You reached inside and grabbed as many coins as would fit into your pouch. 

You visited another vault too, one for ‘secret Hogwarts business’ as Hagrid put it. Of course, you tried your best to get a peak at the small item wrapped delicately in its brown paper package, but Hagrid had been quick to shove it into his coat pocket.

After a tumultuous cart ride back up to the surface, you went about doing some boringish house-keeping work, which included sizing your robes, buying your books, stationary and other equipment (Hagrid wouldn’t let you get the rainbow, colour changing ink bottle nor the quill that sung melodies to you as you wrote).

The last thing that was left was getting your wand. But before that, Hagrid had departed mysteriously, telling you to stay put at Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour with your chocolate and raspberry ice cream (with chopped nuts) until he returned.  

Naturally, you did not stay put.

Sauntering over to the ‘Quidditch’ shop you had passed before, ice cream cone in hand, you joined the small crowd still present in front of the display windows. You took a small lick of the chocolate syrup as you squinted your eyes at the thing everyone was obsessing over.

A broomstick.

You stifled a laugh. Of course, witches and wizards rode brooms – what else were you expecting? It must’ve been a form of transportation here. The label under the broom read ‘Nimbus Two Thousand - newest model of the Nimbus line.’ You looked at it appreciatively. 

You leaned to the right slightly, trying to look at the models surrounding the Nimbus, but you swayed too far and ended up bumping shoulders with one of the boys next to you. He jumped and turned to you with a start.

“Sorry,” you grinned at him. “I was trying to look at the other brooms.”

He smiled back at you uncertainly. “That’s fine. Are you a first-year at Hogwarts too?” The boy had messy black hair and rounded glasses perched on his nose. His brilliantly emerald-stained eyes shone out, past the glare of his lenses, as he made eye contact with you. He was quite scrawny for his age too, or perhaps that was created by the robes he was donning. Weirdly, your breath stuttered slightly. Now that was strange - your breath had never frozen quite like that before. Maybe it was part of the wizard charm, he was the first wizard you had really talked to (aside from Hagrid, but you were still unsure if he was a giant, a wizard or both).

Oh cripes, he wanted an answer didn’t he? “Uh — yes, I am. First-year. Hogwarts.” You nodded, in order to solidify your statement.

“That’s cool,” said the boy. His hair flopped onto his face and he pushed it back to expose the unmarred skin on his forehead. Your hair too had also fallen onto your face, covering your scar, but you weren’t as fussed about adjusting it. “I’m a first-year as well.” He gestured to the shop in front of you. “Do you like Quidditch? Well, you’re standing here so you probably do. Do you play much? What position?”

“If we’re being honest here, I frankly have no idea what you’re talking about.” You scratched your cheek, smiling sheepishly at the boy. He blinked, tilting his head. “Oh, like you don’t know what Quidditch is? At all?” “Yeah.” you answered. “I just came here to check out what had everyone so excited.”

“Oh, okay,” said the boy. “Are you a muggle-born then? Sorry — I hadn’t realised.” You continued to smile blankly at him, head empty from the stuff he was speaking of (what on earth was a muggle-born?).

“I’m a half-blood, see. My father’s a pure-blood, but my mum’s a muggle-born,” he said. “They’re out picking up some extra supplies with my uncles. Don’t worry if you aren’t familiar with anything yet! My mum was too, when she was invited to Hogwats, but then she ended up being top of her year and head girl. Here, let me explain Quidditch to you - you’ll love it…”

The boy rambled on with his speech about the sport - something about seven players, four balls, something called a chaser? which was what position he played. You certainly didn’t absorb anything he was saying, but you did note that he had a nice smile. A bit awkward and unsure, but it was still nice.

He was about to dive into the finer details of the game when Hagrid’s voice called out. “(Y/n)! (Y/n), where are you?!” 

You grinned apologetically at the boy, stuffing the end part of the cone into your mouth. “Sorry - that’ll be me. Great talking to you though, see ya at Hogwarts!”

You began to scurry away toward the sound of Hagrid’s distressed call, missing the way the boy’s green eyes widened at your name. “(Y/n)... (L/n)?”

His father, James Potter, snuck up behind him and clasped a hand on his shoulder. “What’s up, little Prongslet?”

The rest of his family came piling up behind the two. His mother, Lily Potter, whose forest-green eyes and bright red hair were positively sparkling at the sight of her husband and son. Lagging slightly behind were his uncle, Remus Lupin – with his robes prim and proper, not shabby at all, how he liked them – and his other uncle, Sirius Black, who was currently partaking (with much joy, might one add) in trying to pull Remus’s robe hood over his face. 

“Alright, Harry?” asked Lily, her fingers brushing away his bangs. “What’re you looking at?” “Um. Nothing,” said Harry Potter, tearing his eyes away from the spot you were last standing and back to his family. They met his gaze with their own warm, bright ones. “At least, I think so.”

.｡*ﾟ🗲.*.｡  　ﾟ*..🗲｡*ﾟ

The thing, Hagrid had left to do, ended up being a present for you. A little something for your admission into Hogwarts, he had mentioned. You were grinning ear to ear, thanking him profusely, when you had discovered what he had given you. You were proud to say that now, tucked delicately under your left arm, was a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. You’d have to decide a name for her later, you thought.

The final store to get checked off was a shabby building tucked nicely away in the corner of Diagon Alley. Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC.

The place was tiny and quiet, and it almost reminded you of a strange library - though the only difference was that it was near empty and the shelves were lined with boxes containing wands rather than books.

Hagrid took a seat on a small pink spindly chair, though he nearly leaped off it when a soft voice echoed out within the small shop. “Good afternoon.”

“Hello!” you said back, twisting your neck to try and get a glimpse of the voice. “I’m (Y/n) - “ “(L/n). (Y/n) (L/n), yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon.” An old man popped up in front of you, his watery grey eyes fervently scanning your figure up and down. 

Mr Ollivander touched the lightning scar on your forehead with a long, white finger. “I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. “Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… Well, if I’d known what that wand was going out in the world to do…”

He shook his head, before suddenly whipping out a measuring tape to eyeball the length of your dominant arm.

“I remember when your mother was here, buying her first wand. Twelve inches exactly, malleable, unicorn hair. Aspen.” The measuring tape flew away from his hands, now measuring the width of your nostrils by itself.

Your mouth blubbered slightly, gaping at the man in astonishment. “How do you remember that?” The man chuckled. “I remember all of the wands I’ve ever sold, (Y/n) (L/n).”

“Do you know my father’s one, then?” “Your father never purchased a wand.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. Was your father like Hagrid then? Expelled from Hogwarts before he could get a wand? (Well, Hagrid did have a wand you guessed, tucked inside his flowery pink umbrella). Your eyes widened. 

Was Hagrid your fath —

“He was a muggle,” explained Mr Ollivander. The tape had now switched to measuring the length of your face. “He didn’t have any magic.”

“Oh.” was all you said in reply.

“That’s quite enough,” he spoke to the tape, which fell limp to the floor. “Right then, Ms (L/n). Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it, and give it a wave.”

You took the wand from his hands but before you could do so much as to lift it, Mr Ollivander snatched it out of your hand at once.

“Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try -”

And try you did, but Mr Ollivander had snatched it back almost instantaneously once again.

“No, no - here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out.” You tried. And tried. And a little more. The pile of wands on the spindly grew and grew until the poor chair was squeaking and compressing under the weight. Yet, despite the failures in finding your wand, the more Mr Ollivander pulled from the walls, the happier he became.

“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere - I wonder, now - yes, why not - unusual combination - holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”

You took the wand and it immediately spluttered to life. A shower of golden sparks exploded from its tips as you brought it swooshing down from your head. An explosion of colourful fireworks emitted from it, creating little light spots, like the sort you’d find at the surface of a swimming pool. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr Ollivander cried, “Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… How curious. How very curious…”

He began wrapping your wand in a brown paper bag. “Curious… curious…”

“What’s curious,” you asked, furrowing your eyebrows at him.

Mr Ollivander’s silvery gaze hooked onto yours. “I remember every wand I’ve sold, Ms (L/n). Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother - why, its brother gave you that scar.”

Your throat became dry.

“Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Ms (L/n)... After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things - terrible, yes, but great.”

Great things. 

Terrible, yes, but great. That was right.

Ollivander, in his old manly rambles and silvery light gaze, was correct. That was you — (Y/n) (L/n). The only survivor of Voldemort’s wrath, and the sole hero of the wizarding world.  It was you who bore the weight of this burden now, and you sure did hope that your shoulders were steady enough.

→ Author’s note: Hello my lovelies, thank you so much for picking up The Girl Who Lived series! 💖 (I think I’ll abbreviate it to TGWL when I write about it though hehe)!!! If you couldn’t tell, this will follow the plotline of the books but it will deliberately omit, add or change some events ;0 Hoped you somewhat liked the whiff of interaction we got between reader and Harry (verrryyy brief but there is more to come, promise!) You don’t have to read this next part but I like analysing and explaining texts so I’m kinda gonna go ham on this chapter//series Reader grew up with her foster family rather than her aunt and uncle like Harry. There was no particular reason for this, ‘specially since both families are pretty similar 😀 Though, one thing that I wanted to point out was that the Caddels aren’t supposed to be as abusive as the Dursleys. The Dursleys are cruel to Harry because they hate magic and they’re spiteful of it, because Petunia was jealous of Lily.  On the other hand, the Caddels are an ordinary, Muggle family who happen to be quite prudent and stingy. They have a small house that’s not big enough to house four people, which is why reader lives in the cupboard under the stairs. Odette and reader’s relationship is a more hostile version of a typical sibling relationship, not the social hierarchy pyramid that was Harry’s and Dudley’s.  Anyways, the point is they hold no real grudge against magic, but they aren’t fond of reader herself, hence the mocking jabs. Because of this distinct lack of hatred, not only did reader receive her letter on the first day, rather than that canon goose chase/hunt thing, but Hagrid also wasn’t as aggressive to them as he was to the Dursley’s. They don’t hate magic, nor do they hate the reader. To them, she kind of just exists This partly ties into reader’s quite arrogant and brazen personality (which I will analyse more in depth later on… no spoilers!) So yeah, the Caddels aren’t evil or abusive at heart, just a family who needs money and happens to have taken in a teenager with a bucket load of angst (which I will also tap into later ;)  (One more thing soz… but if you’re wondering why you met Harry instead of Draco in Diagon Alley like in the og books, well in the canon, Harry goes to Diagon Alley like on the 31st of July (very late). On the other hand, reader received her letter first up so they went to get the supplies on like the 1st hence her and Draco’s times don’t overlap! I chucked Harry in here because since he lives with his parents now, James would def want Harry to get his stuff ASAP to teach him random crap and Lily would want him to start studying or practising for school LOL) Series Masterlist

[jm-2406]

Hi! I saw that your requests are open and I read your rules. Can I request a Theordore Nott with a Hufflepuff reader? A Hufflepuff who is quiet, but not shy. Like she speaks when spoken too or whenever she deems it necessary. Maybe they get grouped together in a project or something where they cross paths. Preferably fluff. Thanks love

You're feisty.

Summary - a study session ends with a confession.

Pairing - Theodore Nott x Hufflepuff! reader.

Word count - 775.

Note - I think I strayed a little and my work is rusty, I've written after a long break. I hope you like it.

Warnings - none.

Requests - open || find my work - here.

Being in hufflepuff was a good as well as tiring experience. Your housemates were cheerful and had a positive vibe, most of them were smart and badass but to others, you guys were portrayed as a bunch of smiles and laughs. The most common assumption that other houses had regarding you was that they thought you were shy, sweet and naive but you are not, you are just quiet and enjoy your alone time. It was a given that most of them who tried to bother you or make fun of you were pleasantly shut down and put into place. And on such days, your friend Hannah would find you in a sour mood.

“What happened now?” She asked curiously after seeing your grumpy expression. You shook your head and mouthed ‘potions’. That was enough for her to guess what might have happened. You shared potions with the Slytherins and one of them always bothered you because he considered himself as an expert in the subject just because of his house when in reality he was not. As you guys were about to sit down and relax, someone's footsteps caught your attention. To your left stood Theo, the boy with whom you were paired up, courtesy of professor Snape.

“Need to discuss something.” He said plainly and turned around. You didn't know what he was expecting but still stood up to follow him. Hannah looked at you with wide eyes and a smirk, knowing well about your crush on the tall boy. “Out of my league.” You would say but she was convinced that he liked you back.

Theodore led you to one of the quiet spots in the library. You took a seat in front of the windows while he wandered off to select the books needed for the potions assignment. After a few minutes he came back with not one but three thick books making you chuckle and the tall Slytherin graced you with a rare smile of his own. It made your heart flutter.

“All good, badger? You sure this is a study session and not a tutoring program for yourself?” A nasty voice interrupted your study session. You were too deep in the books to notice him the first time.

“What do you want, Codnor? We're busy here.” Theo said to his housemate. The boy continued to stare at the two of you until you finally snapped.

“Codnor, please go to madam pomfrey and get your eyes checked. They're stuck at our table, I think that might be a serious issue.” He looked at you with a very displeased expression but before he could retaliate, Theo had gotten up and made him leave.

When he returned, he saw you mumbling and couldn't hold back his laugh. “Stop it.” You whispered angrily. Theo raised his hands in surrender and took his seat. “You know [Y/N], there's something about you that I might've guessed wrong.”

“What?” You looked at him confused.

“I thought that you were one of those shy ones but you're not. You're feisty. I like that. I like you more now.” An awkward moment followed after his unexpected words. Theo cleared his throat and tried to find the right words.

“What do you mean, Theo? You're not teasing me, are you? Because that's a little evil considering you know how I feel.”

“No. I'm not. I'd never.” He reassured you. “And I know about how you feel.”

For the first time since you reached Hogwarts, you saw Theo at a loss of words. “Are you saying that you feel the same?” You asked him quietly, hesitantly.

“Merlin! Yes. I am not good with words but I'll try. [Y/N] [Y/L/N], i am infatuated with you, your personality and intelligence add to your charm. Will you do me a favour by being my girlfriend and making me the happiest man alive?” He forwarded his hand, palm up, to you.

You blinked in shock then did a little dance while sitting on the chair because you couldn't shout in the library. “Yes. A thousand times yes.” You placed your hand in his. He brought it up to his lips and placed a chaste kiss at the back of your hand.

The rest of the afternoon went away peacefully and by the end of it, you ended up in Theo's lap, sharing your first kiss.

THE END.

[reidmym1nd]

WHY ARE THE SEX BOTS BACK???? i have to lower my brightness when im in public now😭

[glittervame]

Valentines day

(Happy National Single Persons Appreciation Day!)

Mattheo

Mattheo would not even make a big deal about it it seems like he forgot about it altogether

In the days leading up to it he continues like normal while everyone else is rushing around the castle, girls worrying about their makeup and outfits, boys worrying about their tuxes and gifts

 You, hinting at wanting him to ask you to be his Valentine are extremely frustrated

Subtly dropping hints in class saying really obvious things like, “Man I saw this really pretty necklace with hearts on it down in Hogsmead, I wish I got it”

Comments like this seemingly blowing over his head as he just nods along to whatever you’re saying

When asked what he’s doing for Valentine's Day he shrugs and brushes it off, not giving it another thought

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

On said day he sits down next to you at breakfast, kisses you on the cheek, wishes you a happy valentines Day, and starts to eat the heart-shaped pancakes in front of him

Sometime during the morning after breakfast, he sends you a gift, The box containing the pretty necklace you had asked for

Throughout the day you’ll find little love notes in your bags and books, your favorite pieces of candy attached

The last note says ‘Diners at six’

You kind of wanted to go to the dance but dinner sounds better anyway

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

Dinner’s lovely, it’s a nice fancy restaurant, the lights are dimmed and classy music plays in the background

Fancy champagne is poured and those annoyingly tiny little servings of food are served

You guys chat about your lives and the different kinds of gossip from different houses

When you leave and admit you’re still hungry he takes you to another food place to get you fed

“Anything you want Mi querida”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

When you get back he brings you back to a room all decorated in pink and red, candles lining all of the solid surfaces in the room

Strips you down off all your clothes and ties you up in pretty red ribbons 

Mattheo focused entirely on you, spending at least an hour between your legs (Mostly for his pleasure because he loves the way you taste) making you squirm and beg him to stop

He only stops when he slips his fingers between your legs real nice and slow, kissing light feathery kisses along your shoulders and forehead

With tears rolling down your face he pulls his fingers away and licks them up

“You taste good pretty girl”

Theodore

Theo sends little gifts and love notes all week, he constantly makes sure that there is a smile on your face no matter what

He’s the type to get creative about it, from the bracelet that you had looked at a little too long in a fancy little box sitting next to your pillow when you woke up, to the book that you had commented on saving up for a couple of months ago somehow finding its way into your bag during lunch

On the way to your classes, he holds your hand extra tight as if you’d disappear if he lost contact

During the week he takes you on mini dates, To the new cat cafe that popped up in Hogs Mead, together in the three broomsticks sipping on hot chocolate, even setting up a movie night in his dorm; taking snacks from the school’s kitchen

“Anything for you bella”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

On Valentine's Day, you wake up to find a pretty new bracelet next to a ring that matches the dress you’re going to wear

In a cheery mood, you make your way to the great hall which is decorated in red tencel and floating red hearts instead of the regularly floating candles

Sitting next to your friends you chat about their valentines Day plans, theo comes up to you with your favorite chocolate arranged in a heart and gives it to you with a small smile

With a kiss on your lips, he’s wishing you a happy valentines Day before going and meeting up with his friends

Your friends squeal about how cute that was and how they wish their own boyfriends were as sweet as Theo or how they wish they had a Theo themselves. He’s one of a kind tho so too bad for them :(

“Have a good day love”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

That evening he greats you with a big bouquet of glitter roses in your favorite color  with a few gift cards to your favorite places attached to them (He likes to keep up with the trends)

He takes you on a stroll through an extravagant garden holding onto your hand the whole time excitingly telling you which ones can be found in Italy and how they grow

After the garden stroll, he brings you to a cafe that’s a little bit classier but it has cute little cats running around. You guys have genuine conversations, you talk about how you want to travel to different places over the summer and he suggests that you go to Italy with him for a couple of weeks.

Overall it was a pretty great having

“Are you having a good time?”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•  ｡ﾟ

He holds you in a tight hug on the way back to his dorm protecting you from Hogwarts' wacky-ass school weather, you’re chatting and giggling about some stupid thing that you guys saw on the way

When you do get into the castle he takes you to the kitchen to get more hot cocoa and a few snacks before dragging you back to his dorm

He’s set up a small fort in his bed and a movie screen that's cast onto a wall making the screen bigger, one last gift for you sitting on it; a lobster squishmallow with a small crown sitting on top of it’s head.

You guys watched movies ranging from The Princess Bride to The Incredibles; laying tangled in each other, you stayed like that for the rest of the night until you fell asleep

All of you guys are my valentines <3

[2-dsimp]

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𝚄𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚕 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚐𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚂𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙷𝚊𝚝

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Might do a showcase of the other bois reactions to their respective houses. Up next would be Quio the Dilf and Yujin the Hacker.

But if yall want to see the other house feel free to ask XD.

[sxmnc]

I'm not a violent dog...

I don't know why i bite..