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ala-baguette · 9 months

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It's the most loneliest time of the year

Busy trying to finish KwtL and trying to stop myself from getting sidetracked with what has become an annual tradition of writing an angsty Christmas fic. So here's a throw-back to last year's instead. Summary: Four Christmases in which Percy Weasley was alone. And one in which he very much was not. Relationships: Percy/Audrey Rating: T | Words: 5.5k | Read it here or on AO3

Christmas, 1994

As he descended the stairs, Percy’s ears were met with a cacophony of clanking pots and pans from the kitchen. A mouth-watering aroma wafted up to meet his nostrils. Oh, dear. Mum. We talked about this. He straightened his dress robes as he brusquely took the last few steps down and turned the corner into the kitchen.

As he predicted, every flat surface was covered in food. A dozen mince pies were still left after Mum had sent off the majority of the batch to the rest of the family yesterday, and all week she had been baking biscuits and tarts and cakes. Now, dish-by-dish, Christmas dinner was making its way out of the oven. Percy’s eyes followed a plate of Yorkshire puddings as it flew across the kitchen and over to the dining table. It came to rest beside a large chicken surrounded by roast potatoes, parsnips, and Brussels. Mum pocketed her wand after conducting the Yorkshire pudding dance and turned back to resume stirring a gravy at the hob. Dad smiled at Percy as he entered, then went back to setting the table. Percy immediately took note of three place settings arranged at one end of the long wooden table. Why do they never listen to me?

“Mother,” Percy said with a sigh. “This is too much food for just you and Dad. I told you not to go overboard; I can’t stay for dinner, remember? Mr Crouch is counting on me to make sure everything is prepared at Hogwarts.”

“Well, I thought, you know… Just in case you changed your mind.” Then clearly not able to resist reopening their previous argument, Mum chided, “Surely you can have a small bite before you go.” She waved her spoon at him like a naughty child. “The Yule Ball doesn’t start until eight o’clock!”

“Yes, I know. But I want to get there early!” Percy ground out for what felt like the hundredth time. “There’s so much to prepare and so many people to organise. Someone needs to make sure everything is getting done—tables to set up and the band and the decorations. Merlin knows we can’t count on Ludo Bagman for help.”

“I’m sure the House-elves will have all that taken care of. Really, Percy.”

“There’ll be a feast at the ball, Mother!” he reminded her. “I really don’t need to eat twice. I told you this. I have to go.”

“Come now, Percy,” said Dad, passing a gravy boat to Mum to fill. “Go easy on us. This is the first time your mother and I have been alone for Christmas evening since before Bill was born! Can’t blame us for feeling a bit lonely.” Dad was smiling at him in that way Percy hated so much. That patronising smile that said he saw something Percy didn’t. Which was complete rubbish, of course. Quite the opposite, in fact!

Why couldn’t they understand that this was important! He, Percy, was Mr Crouch’s personal assistant, and this was one of his first real tests. Everything had to go smoothly tonight. Percy was representing Mr Crouch and nothing could tarnish the reputation of his boss or his department.

Or maybe Dad did understand. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he was jealous that in the first six months of his career, Percy was already becoming more important at the Ministry than Dad ever would.

But Percy could hardly say such thoughts aloud.

Percy sighed irritably. The nerve Dad had to go for that guilt trip. It was hardly his fault that Ginny, Ron, and the twins had decided to stay at Hogwarts for the Yule Ball. Hardly his fault that Charlie had said he couldn’t justify the expense of travelling back when he’d already visited twice this year. Hardly his fault that they had uncovered some big new tomb in Egypt, and Bill had needed to cancel his trip home to work on breaking down the curses protecting it. Why did everything always fall to Percy? Why was it always his job to keep this family together?

But Mum and Dad were both looking at him expectantly. And he had to admit that it was rather sad to see them standing there with so many empty chairs around the dining table. And the Yorkshire pudding did admittedly smell divine.

Percy reached up and smoothed back his hair. “Ten minutes,” he said in compromise at last. Honestly, it was really quite magnanimous of him, Percy thought. “One piece of chicken. One Yorkshire. A little gravy. Then I have to go.”

Mum beamed and rushed to kiss him on the cheek. Dad smiled approvingly. Percy took his seat, and Mum began piling far more than just one piece of chicken, one Yorkshire, and a little gravy onto his plate. Percy swallowed his complaint. None of them would ever truly appreciate how much he did for this family.

Christmas, 1995

His flat was tiny. One room. That was it. He’d managed to squeeze a bed in one corner awkwardly butted up against the kitchenette. A desk that doubled as a dining table sat opposite. Percy suspected the bathroom had once been a cupboard before the crumbling walk-up had been repurposed into ‘chique industrial’ flats. Hermes had adopted the top of the bookcase as his perch, nestling himself into the hollow between some exposed piping. He was currently shredding a newspaper for recreation, a repetitive shhhrup echoing in the quiet of the room.

Outside was anything but quiet. The honking of Muggle cars and the rumbling of busses and the yelling of merchants was a constant roar outside the single pane window. But the constancy made it easy enough to ignore.

Percy pushed his glasses up his nose as he scratched out a line on the parchment at his desk. He scribbled a correction in the margin, then read it through again. Shhhrup. He glanced up at Hermes and let out an irritated breath. Then went back to his work.

Yes, it was Christmas. Yes, he could have taken the day off. But he really wanted to finish this report for the office. As Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic, it was, after all, his job to stay on top of these things. The Minister was counting on him to keep his administration running smoothly. With all the wild rumours and accusations the Ministry had to contend with lately… Well, it was all keeping Percy very busy, and he didn’t want to fall any further behind. He definitely didn’t need any more distractions.

Against his better judgment, Percy’s eyes strayed from the document he was working on to a letter lying crumpled on the far corner of the desk. He could still make out the closing line from where it lay:

Love from your brother, Bill

Percy felt his lip pull up in a sneer. Love. How could any of them claim ‘love’ for him. They had turned their back on him—the whole family had. Turned their back on Percy. Turned their back on the Ministry. Turned their back on their country! They had gone off to join some foolish rebellion, and Percy had been left behind as the sole voice of reason.

‘Rebellion’ was the word Percy used when he was feeling generous. ‘Treason’ was perhaps the more accurate word.

Percy had spent the last six months distancing himself from his family. It was just a matter of time before Dumbledore and Potter and everyone associated with them was brought down, and Percy would have nothing to do with it!

But now Bill had the nerve to write to him of father’s injuries. To encourage him to visit Dad at St Mungo’s and ‘mend fences’. To say that surely Percy should be ‘able to see how important family is in times like these’.

How dare he lecture him? When his father had literally been caught dangerously wounded in the Ministry with some utterly codswollop cover-story about an escaped beast that had been previously confiscated by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures? How thick did they think the Ministry was? Did they really think that the Ministry didn’t know that Dad had been up to something shady for Dumbledore? Just because they couldn’t prove it, didn’t mean they didn’t know.

And Percy was just supposed to forgive and forget, just because Dad was injured? Shouldn’t it mean the opposite? Shouldn’t something like this be a wake-up call to his family that they had no place getting mixed up in Dumbledore’s insurrection? Shouldn’t they be the ones coming to him to tell him how wrong they’d been? To ‘mend fences,’ as Bill had put it?

Shhhrup.

Percy dropped his quill to the desk and a splotch of ink marred his report for the office. “Do you mind?” he growled at Hermes. “I’m trying to work here.”

Hermes met his gaze. The owl cocked his head, blinked once at Percy, then his talons gripped another strip of newspaper deliberately. Shhhrup.

A growl escaped Percy’s chest. “You know what? Here. If you’re going to do that, why not shred something worth shredding.” His fist crumpled around Bill’s letter, and he chucked it up on top of the bookcase. Hermes hopped to dodge the projectile and ruffled his feathers indignantly.

Percy opened his mouth to say something more, but he was cut off by a tap tap tap on the window. He spun around. Then was immediately annoyed with himself at the burst of hope and joy he’d felt at the sound. He paused for a moment, staring at the dark shape on the window ledge outside the glass. With a sharp release of his breath, he marched over and wrenched the window open.

Errol tumbled in and onto the desk. The ancient owl was gasping for breath, slumped against the lumpy parcel he’d been carrying. Percy merely stood there and stared down at him. A concerned trill came from atop the bookcase.

Percy’s face felt stony as he stared at Errol for a moment. Then his gaze flitted to the brown paper-wrapped package. It was lumpy and soft, and Percy had no doubts as to what it contained. He knew without looking that it would be mustard yellow, because it always was. Knew there would be not a single dropped stitch. Knew how it would feel, how it would smell. He looked back to the owl.

“What are you doing here?” Errol blinked open tired eyes to look at him questioningly. “I told her I don’t want anything to do with any of them.” But Percy’s fingers twitched as a traitorous part of his heart longed to tear open the paper and run his hands across the thick soft wool. Longed to breathe in the scent of his mother, of his home. The urge only served to make him angrier.

“Take it back.” Hermes let out a warning hiss from atop the bookcase, but Percy ignored him. “Take it back this instant,” he snapped at Errol. Errol looked up at Hermes as though begging for help. The old owl was still slumped and panting and looking utterly exhausted.

Hermes fluttered down to land next to Errol and glowered up at Percy. “What? It’s not my fault they sent him on a long flight to carry a package they knew I didn’t want!” he snapped at Hermes. Then he turned back to Errol who had still made no move to leave. “Well? What are you still doing here? Go on. Get out of here! And take this with you. Go!” Hermes snapped his beak angrily at Percy, then turned to nuzzle encouragingly at Errol. Grasping the parcel in his own talons and nudging Errol toward the window, Hermes spared Percy one last disgusted look before he spread his wings and took flight with the package in tow. Errol followed tiredly after.

“Fine. Side with them. See if I care,” he called out the window after Hermes. But Percy stood at the open window for a long time after watching them disappear into the night.

The breeze coming through the window was bitingly cold, but he barely felt it. He stared after the two owls long lost to the darkness. Dimly he registered that they were flying northeast, which was not the direction of the Burrow, but he refused to allow himself to wonder why. It didn’t matter. Whatever his family was up to, it was none of his concern. They had made that quite clear. They had chosen their side. And so had he.

Slamming the window shut, he turned and marched into the kitchenette. He bent to retrieve his dinner from the larder, kicking the cupboard door shut after. He banged the dinner down on the counter and glared down at the packaging.

Mrs Misley’s Magical Meals for One TURKEY ROAST *Tap your wand here and enjoy a warm delicious meal in seconds!

Percy proceeded to prod it so hard with his wand, the packaging ignited. “Aguamenti!” he yelped, smothering the flames in water. He let out a long sigh as what appeared to be half frozen turkey soup leaked from the charred packaging. Cursing under his breath, he scooped the sodden cardboard and some mush that he suspected was supposed to be mashed potatoes into the rubbish bin. He returned to his desk to finish his report.

Christmas, 1996

“Weasley. We’re going,” the Minister snapped through the open kitchen door. Potter had just swept in from the garden and was returning to his seat at the table with the attitude of a petulant child. Scrimgeour was clearly in no better mood; he had not even bothered to come in to say goodbye to the family. The pretence was done with, then. Thank God. Just in time. Because Percy couldn’t have stood a single minute more of it.

Percy stormed through the back door and slammed it behind him, cutting off his mother’s cry of “Percy, wait!” He followed Scrimgeour across the garden, the frozen earth crunching angrily under his feet. Not slowing his speed, he removed his glasses and shook them hard to dislodge the bits of mashed parsnip splattered across them. He brushed another chunk from his hair impatiently before redonning his specs.

Ahead of him, the Minister was walking faster than Percy would have thought possible with his bad leg and walking stick. He seemed as eager to be gone as Percy. Things had clearly not gone well with Potter. So it had all been for nothing. Can’t you see they’re using you, Percy?

Percy wanted to hit something. Fury was bubbling in his chest. All of this had been to give the Minister an in with Harry Potter. And Percy had gone along with it. He’d swallowed his pride and gone along with it because it was his duty. Because he had trusted that it was in the best interest of the Ministry of Magic. But it had all been for nothing. Potter was the most stubborn, pig-headed—

“Dumbledore’s man, through-and-through,” Scrimgeour grumbled under his breath followed by a frustrated growl in the back of his throat. He shook his head and kept walking, pushing his way through the garden gate.

They were all stubborn. The whole family was being utterly infuriating. Why they couldn’t recognise their duty to ally with the Ministry… Why they insisted on sticking to Dumbledore’s secretive agenda when clearly, they were all on the same side… Percy just could not understand them. None of them.

And yet… Percy had walked into the kitchen a little bit ago. And he’d smelled the turkey and stuffing. And he could see the tree covered in fairy lights and Ginny’s paperchains hanging from the rafters in the next room. And he had seen Mum’s famous Christmas pudding waiting on the counter for dessert. And he had seen everybody wearing their Weasley jumpers. And he’d felt Mum hug him, felt her tears on his shoulder, smelled her lemon soap and bergamot scent. And, just for a fraction of a moment, he had felt like a small child coming down to Christmas dinner. And he’d had to avert his eyes to keep from wanting it. Missing it.

Of course the row that started the minute Potter and Scrimgeour had left the room had been very quick to cure him of those thoughts. Barely had the Minister and Potter left the room before Dad had accosted Percy, demanding to know what Scrimgeour wanted with Potter. Dad’s voice was still ringing in his ears. We’re not fools Percy, and neither are you! Surely you can see what’s happening here. Surely you can see that he’s just trying to get to Harry. Can’t you see they’re using you, Percy? Percy felt his teeth grinding together. What did Dad know of duty.

Percy followed Scrimgeour through the gate and swung it shut behind him. The click of the latch echoed in the quiet stillness of the country lane leading into Ottery St. Catchpole. He looked to Scrimgeour who was now stationary, staring out across the frosted hills and shaking his head with a sour look on his face. Percy shoved his hands in the pockets of his cloak and waited. Waited for the Minister to declare the next move. Waited for his next instruction. Waited to do his duty to the Ministry of Magic.

But the Minister merely stood there.

It was a full minute later before Scrimgeour seemed to abruptly remember that Percy was there. He glanced over and looked Percy up and down for brief moment. He didn’t particularly seem to like what he saw. “See you at the office,” the Minister growled. And without so much as a ‘Happy Christmas’, he Disapparated with a pop.

Percy stood on the deserted lane for a long while. It had grown dark and the cold bit through his cloak. He glanced back toward the Burrow. He could just make out the brightly lit kitchen window through the snow-laden vegetation. The shadows of people moved within the square of warm yellow light. Then he turned to stare down the road toward the spot where Scrimgeour’s footprints in the snow disappeared. Beyond stretched a colourless landscape of snowy hills, pastures bordered by low stone walls and scrubby hedges. Wind ruffled his hair and tugged at his cloak.

Percy spared one last glance toward the Burrow before he too Disapparated.

Christmas, 1997

The rumble of the Muggle street below was the only sound as Percy sat with his elbows propped on his desk, his hands clasped together. Even Hermes was quiet tonight. The owl was staring at the window as though expecting something.

Percy too glanced to the window. But there was nothing there. Just as there had been nothing there the last time he’d checked.

The night stretched on, and still nothing came. No owl. No letter. No soft lumpy package.

Had Mum finally given up on Percy and not made him a jumper this year? Had something happened to Errol? Had something happened to his parents? Would he even hear about it if it had?

Percy reached up to pull off his glasses. There was a clatter as he dropped them next to his rapidly cooling and hardly touched tray of Mrs Misley’s Magical Meals for One.

And he buried his face in his hands and wept.

Christmas, 1998

We are so late. The bathroom door was shamelessly open. Percy had a clear line of sight from where he sat on the foot of the bed. He chewed a thumb nail as he watched her getting ready, his knee bouncing up and down restlessly. She kept saying she was almost ready, but her sparkling emerald green dress was still spread on the bed next to him awaiting its wearer more patiently than was Percy.

He cocked his head as Audrey leaned across the bathroom vanity to check her lipstick in the mirror. It gave Percy a rather pleasant view of her backside, clad only in knickers and sheer stockings. Her eyes caught his in the reflection and she winked, a small smile curving up her newly red painted lips. Percy thought she looked rather smug as she turned her attention to her hair.

“You look great. You don’t have to put so much effort in. They’re going to love you,” he assured her.

“I know,” she replied, turning around to look at him directly as she ran her brush through straight dark hair. “Everybody loves me. I just feel like looking pretty.”

“I’m just saying, no one else is going to be particularly dressed up. We’re not really that kind of family.”

“Sometimes, I want to dress up for me, you know?” She laid the brush down on the vanity and gave her reflection one final look over. “It’s not always about dressing up for other people.” She smiled at herself, then marched into the bedroom and picked up the dress, stepping into the skirts.

Percy chewed his lip as he watched her. “Okay. I’m just saying that if you didn’t want—”

“Oh, my God!” Audrey straightened, and she turned to look at him as though she’d just realised something. There was a moment’s pause as she studied him, the dress bunched around her hips as though she’d quite forgotten what she was doing. Percy tried not to stare at her lace-clad breasts.

“What?” Percy asked, startled by her sudden outburst.

Audrey didn’t speak for a moment. She shimmied her arms into the sleeves, eyeing him with a sudden frown on her face as she did so. Still with her eyes on him, she reached around to zip up the back. Percy made to stand to help her, but she just shook her head and did it herself, arching her back to reach the top. But never once did her eyes stray from his face. “You’re nervous!” she accused him.

“What? I’m not—”

“You are! You’re completely terrified! You think they’re going to hate me!”

“I don’t think they’re going to hate you.” He pushed his glasses up his nose.

“Yes, you do! You’ve been dragging your feet about introducing me to your parents for weeks! You don’t think I’m going to fit in with your family!”

“It’s not that…”

“Then what?” she demanded, but she had a teasing smile on her red lips.

“They’re going to love you,” he said weakly.

“You said that already,” Audrey insisted. She was refusing to let him off the hook. “Fess up. You’re ashamed of me.” Her broad grin acknowledged that no man in his right mind could ever be ashamed of her and she knew it.

“You’re going to fit in great with my family,” Percy assured her, shifting uncomfortably. He found his gaze traveling to his shoes. “You’re… you’re going to fit in better than I do,” he added in a mumble.

He glanced up at her just in time to see her teasing smile faulter. “Percy…” she said gently.

Percy looked away again, leaning his elbows on his knees. He felt the bed beside him sag as she sat next to him and felt her eyes on the back of his neck. Then a gentle hand he didn’t deserve caressed the hair back from his forehead.

“It’s not you I’m ashamed of,” he managed softly. “It’s me.” She was so quiet, he had to turn to see if her face would show what she thought of that. But she was merely gazing at him sombrely, her expression inviting him to go on. “You’ve only ever seen me at work or among friends. But my family…” Percy bit his lip and stared at the ceiling as he tried to consider the words. “I’ve done terrible things. Said terrible things. I turned my back on them. For three years, I did everything I could to distance myself from them. But if I had just done what I should… Maybe I could have helped… Maybe I could have stopped… Maybe he’d…” Maybe he’d still be alive. But Percy couldn’t say those words aloud. Not even to Audrey. Especially not to Audrey.

“Anyway. Family gatherings… They can be… hard. Everybody pretending like none of it ever happened.”

Audrey took a moment before she answered. “Has it occurred to you,” she said at last. “That maybe they’re not pretending? That maybe they’ve just moved on? Forgiven you? And that maybe it’s time to forgive yourself?”

Percy glanced at her, and she was gazing at him. He saw no doubt in her eyes. She merely seemed as though she were waiting for him to cotton onto something that was terribly obvious to her.

“How could they possibly forgive me for something like that?” he asked her. And he looked into her eyes, desperate for them to hold an answer to a question he had asked himself a hundred thousand times, but never uttered aloud before this moment.

Audrey just smiled as though this were the most obvious thing in the world. “Because they love you, you tosser.”

Percy felt a huff of disbelief escape his chest, and he turned away, shaking his head. “You don’t even know them.”

“I don’t have to. I know that you love them. And I know that I love you. And I have excellent taste, so obviously they agree with me.”

He looked at her sidelong. And the grin on her face was enough to break through the gloom. He laughed in spite of himself. Reaching up, he cupped her cheek in his hand and her smile shifted from mischievous to affectionate. They simply gazed at each other for a long moment, smiling like idiots.

“I love you too,” Percy said at last.

“Well, good,” Audrey shrugged. “Because it would be really inconvenient if I loved you and you didn’t love me ba—”

But Percy cut off whatever wisecrack she might have had in store for him next by pulling her face close and kissing her hard on the mouth. He felt her grin against his mouth before submitting, and her lips softened against his.

Percy had kissed her a thousand times and would kiss her a thousand times again, and still he would not have gotten over the thrill at feeling her lips against his. The way they always moved and parted in time with his as though to a well-choreographed dance he couldn’t remember learning. The way they made his heart pound and his stomach clench. The way they made him feel like the most important man in the world and the humblest, all at the same time.

Loosing himself in the feeling, Percy buried his hands in her silky hair and felt hers running up his back. He deepened the kiss contentedly, but she pulled back slightly, and he felt rather than saw her smile. “I thought you said we were going to be late,” she whispered against his lips. “I know how you hate being late.”

Percy groaned. He did hate being late. Audrey laughed softly, pecking him lightly on the lips before pulling back fully. They allowed themselves one moment more to simply look into the other’s eyes. Audrey’s gaze darted down to his lips and a funny smile tugged at her cheek. Percy thought she was considering kissing him again, but she stood up determinedly. “Give me a minute to fix the damage you’ve done to my hair and makeup. Then we can go.”

Percy threw his head back and drew in a deep steadying breath as she disappeared into the bathroom again.

They arrived at the garden gate to the Burrow hand-in-hand. Percy felt Audrey give his hand a gentle squeeze before they walked up the garden path. The door was flung open before they could knock.

“Oh, Percy, thank goodness!” Mum flung herself on him, hugging him tightly there on the front stoop. “I was getting worried! You’re never late.” She pulled back and looked him over as though assuring herself that he was alive and whole.

“Sorry, Mum—” Percy began. But before he could get another word out, she caught sight of Audrey standing just behind him.

“Oh, and you must be Audrey! At last! We’ve been telling Percy to bring you for weeks and weeks!” Percy found himself pushed aside as she dove to hug Audrey. But somehow he didn’t mind one bit. Audrey smiled at him from over Mum’s shoulder.

“Oh, you’re so pretty!” Mum said, patting her own hair back as she took Audrey in up and down. “Come in! It’s freezing out here! I’ve knitted you a jumper. I so hope it fits; Percy wasn’t much help when I asked your size.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Audrey laughed, shooting Percy a mischievous grin. “Men are so useless at that sort of thing, aren’t they?” The pair of women walked into the house arm-in-arm in happy excited conversation as though they’d known each other for years, and Percy followed behind.

There was a rush of movement and sound through the crowded kitchen as they entered. Calls of ‘Hello’ and ‘Happy Christmas’ echoed in the cramped space. Percy found himself separated from Audrey as Dad came up to hug him and Charlie slapped him on the back and George poured him a drink.

His head felt like it was floating in all the noise and conversation. Before he could respond to one person, another was greeting him. Percy craned his head to check in on how Audrey was getting on; he saw her shaking hands with Harry and, to her credit, she did not appear painfully starstruck like most people were when meeting him.

Drinks and half-eaten appetisers were claiming spots at the table, but few people were seated yet. Percy couldn’t help it as his gaze travelled to a particular empty chair at the table. He was sure it wasn’t empty by coincidence. No one wanted to sit in that particular spot.

“Hey! Looking good, Audrey!” called Bill across the room, cutting into an unpleasant reverie. Percy turned back to look over to Audrey himself. She had slipped on her first of what was sure to be many Weasley jumpers and was grinning at him from across the room. The lumpy olive-green wool far from complimented her sparkly emerald dress, but she wore it with so much confidence, the runway models were sure to be adopting the style by next season. A small cheer went up around the room and Audrey’s grin widened. “Percy, dear! Come and get yours,” Mum called, and Percy picked his way through the throng to them. As Mum turned to collect another jumper from under the tree, Percy felt his arm wrap around Audrey’s waist. She squeezed him back.

As he’d known it would be, the soft wool was a mustard yellow. As he’d known it would, it had not a single dropped stitch. As he’d known it would, it smelled of lemon soap and bergamot. “Thanks, Mum,” he said softly, kissing her on the cheek.

“Alright, come along, all of you!” said Mum, waving him off, though she had a touch of a blush on her cheeks. She began shepherding them all toward the dining table. “It’s dinner time!” she called to the room at large. Another cheer and some laughter as the group migrated toward the table.

Percy followed suit, but he paused to look around the room. For a moment, he just stood there, clutching his Weasley jumper to his chest. He looked around the table as his family took their seats, all chatting amongst themselves, all laughing and smiling and relaxed. Their faces were brightly lit by the candles on the dining table. And before them was a spread of all of his favourite foods. And Ginny’s paperchains were hanging artfully from the rafters. And the fire was crackling merrily. And everything was perfect.

And yet everything was wrong.

Percy felt his feet faulter. They seemed unable to make the final few steps to the table. His breath was coming fast and shallow. He felt as though he were caught midway through Apparition. As though a tight rubber band was compressing his chest. He didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong in this warm and loving house, surrounded by warm and loving people. He didn’t deserve it. How could it be that he was here and someone else was not. When it had been Percy who had had squandered their last chance to ever again have them all together in this room.

“Er, Perce,” said George as he pulled out a chair across from him. Percy blinked several times as he tried to clear his head enough to really take him in. George gestured to his lips. “Trying out a new shade? I think red clashes with your hair a bit.”

Percy merely continued to blinked at him bemusedly for a moment. Then he felt heat flood to his face, and his hand shot up to scrub at his lips. Several snickers sounded around the table. He glanced apologetically to Audrey only to find her grinning at him in a way that reminded him uncannily of Fred. He sighed. His glare was made rather less effective by the traitorous smile tugging at his lips. “You didn’t tell me on purpose.”

Audrey shrugged. “I thought the shade suited you quite well.”

The kitchen was filled with laughter and the screeching of chairs on the floor as everybody took their seats. George was still sniggering and Dad was smiling fondly at him and Mum was piling food onto his plate and Audrey was beaming at him. As fast as it had come, the rubber band around his chest was gone. When he at last sat down, he felt he was exactly where he belonged.

And when Audrey sat herself in the empty seat beside him— the one seat everyone had been avoiding— no one seemed to mind at all.

Least of all Percy.

#harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #canon compliant #percy weasley #weasley family #percy/ audrey #christmas fic #christmas #angst #character arc #family

22 notes · View notes

dracomort · 1 year

Note

16. What’s their favorite “domestic bliss” moment? Do they cook/clean together? Do they like to go out shopping together?

Ship Ask Game (answering for The Travelling Cabinet universe Taco)

This can double as an answer for 3.

So Tom is banned from cooking (despite being the one who taught Draco how to operate a stove) because his idea of gourmet is baked beans, stale bread and carrots reduced to the texture necessary for a toothless geriatric. There isn't a vegetable he won't boil to death and if a steak isn't grey he assumes it's undercooked. He thinks pepper is spicy and that all questionable flavours can be fixed with more salt. It's lucky he spent his youth decades before the invention of the microwave because the crimes he would commit with that piece of technology are beyond comprehension.

Draco, being raised a spoilt little pureblood, developed a taste for the best from a young age, and thus had to learn to cook or else starve thanks to his refined palate. This is why Tom does the grocery shopping—so that he can substitute truffles with mushrooms and strike things like saffron off the list entirely.

When they lived on Knockturn, Draco would do all the cooking out of necessity, due to Tom's long hours, but once they move to Hogwarts it became something he could choose to do for enjoyment, and thus something he could rope Tom into (along with gardening). While Tom isn't allowed near the hob, Draco does let him chop up the vegetables and bread. He's very good both with a knife and with severing spells, for reasons we shall not address, so this task is well within his skills. So at least once or twice a week, they skip the house elf meals and instead cook together. It's quiet and simple and perhaps the least complicated thing in their lives. It's also time they set aside for each other, since Draco works odd hours once he reaches the practical component of his training, and Tom often meets up with his... 'friends' in the evenings.

#ask game #goodtoyous #asks #ttc

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finsterherz · 2 years

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𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒐 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒗𝒐𝒍𝒐 𝑹𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆, born in November 1979 and child to Tom Marvolo Riddle Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange (née Black). Theo was raised in London amongst his fathers beloved Death Eaters, never experiencing parental love. As his parents before he attened Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a proud Slytherin, living up to his last name and reputation. After his parents death he now is the one to lead the Death Eaters, always on the run.

𝑲𝑼𝑹𝒁𝑬𝑹 𝑨𝑼𝑺𝑺𝑪𝑯𝑵𝑰𝑻𝑻 𝑨𝑼𝑺 𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑮𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑵𝑯𝑬𝑰𝑻:

Schwerfällig hob sich seine Brust in unregelmäßigen Abständen. Es fiel ihm schwer zu atmen oder einen klaren Gedanken zu fassen. Mattheo war die Qualen unter der Hand seiner Mutter – oder viel eher Erzeugerin – schon gewohnt. Nichts neues, dass sie einen Fluch auf ihn abfeuerte, als wäre er kein Kind und dazu auch noch ihr Sohn. Vermutlich hatte sie genauso viel für ihn übrig, wie für jedes andere Kind auf dieser Welt. Nichts. Elterliche Liebe war nichts, das Theo in seinem Leben erfahren durfte. Weder sein Vater noch seine Mutter waren im Stande dazu auch nur einen Hauch von Empathie, geschweige denn Liebe zu empfinden. Er war keineswegs ein Kind der Liebe. Viel mehr war er aus der Obsession entstanden, die seine Mutter für Tom Riddle empfand. Voldemort. Ein Name, der jedem Zauberer und jeder Hexe mit einem normalfunktionierenden Verstand einen Schauer über den Rücken jagte. Selbst die dunkelsten Zauberer und Hexen unter ihnen fürchteten sich vor ihm. Sie beugten sich seinem Willen, als stünden sie unter dem Imperius Fluch. Dabei taten sie es willentlich, wissend, dass sie Unschuldige ermordeten und folterten, ohne dafür Konsequenzen tragen zu müssen.

Mattheo trug Konsequenzen für sein Verhalten. Er wurde mit einer Strenge erzogen, die man selbst seinem schlimmsten Feind nicht wünschte. Gehorchte er nicht, traf ihn der Cruciatus Fluch. War er nicht schnell genug, traf ihn der Cruciatus Fluch. Oder war irgendjemanden aus den Reihen seiner Eltern langweilig… traf ihn der Cruciatus Fluch. Und jedes Mal aufs Neue trafen ihn diese Höllenqualen in der tiefsten Ecke seiner kindlichen Seele, sodass diese mit jedem Mal mehr zerbrach und schlussendlich irreparabel splitterte und zersprang. Mit sechs Jahren wurde er das erste Mal Opfer seiner Mutter. Auch davor schon schubste sie ihn herum, als sei er ein Klotz am Bein. Sein Vater schenkte ihm kaum Beachtung bis er alt genug war, um selbst jemanden zu töten. Sie richtete ihren Zauberstab auf ihn, die schwarzen Locken türmten sich in einem wilden Chaos um ihr blasses, ausgemergeltes Gesicht, während ihre Lippen zu einem manischen, beachtlich breiten Grinsen verzogen waren. Es war schrecklich. Mattheo verspürte keine Angst, das trieb man ihm früh schon aus. Aber Hass. Hass war die Emotion, an die er sich mit aller Kraft klammerte. Schon als Kind wusste er genau was Hass war. Hass und Wut. Der rote Strahl entfachte sich aus der Spitze des Zauberstabes und traf ihn in die Brust. Keine Zeit zum Ausweichen. Mit einem schmerzerfüllten Schrei war er auf die Knie gefallen. Noch heute konnte er sich gut daran erinnern wie es war das erste Mal von einem der Unverzeihlichen Flüche getroffen zu werden. Als würde sein Körper in Flammen stehen, gleichzeitig zitterte er vor Kälte. Es fühlte sich an, als würde er in tausend Teile zerspringen, als würde sein Gehirn zu einer flüssigen Masse werden, die augenblicklich aus sämtlichen Öffnungen in seinem Kopf tropfen sollte. Und je näher er der Dunkelheit kam, umso sehnlicher wünschte er sich das Ende dieser Qual. Theo sehnte sich das erste Mal mit sechs Jahren nach einem Ende, nach dem Tod. Heute waren die Qualen nicht mehr unerträglich. Wenn man sich tagtäglich mit einer solchen Misshandlung auseinandersetze, gewöhnte man sich mit der Zeit daran. Und er konnte sehen, dass es seiner Mutter nicht mehr die Genugtuung gab, die sie sonst verspürte, wenn er unter ihrer Hand litt. Stattdessen richtete sich Theo auf, zarte zwölf Jahre alt, und richtete den Zauberstab gegen sie. „Crucio!“ feuerte er ihr entgegen und bevor sie reagieren konnte, wurde nun sie von dem Folterfluch getroffen. Kreischend ging sie in die Knie. Zitternd lösten sich ihre dürren Finger von ihrem Zauberstab, bevor sie ihre Hände zu ihrem Kopf hob. Ihr Kreischen hörte nicht auf. Und je länger er dem Fluch aufrechterhielt, umso verzweifelter wurde ihr Betteln. Doch er würde nicht aufhören. Nicht, bis sie lernte ihn zu respektieren.

𝑨𝑩𝑶𝑼𝑻 (following) 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑺 𝑭𝑨𝑪𝑬

𝑶𝑶𝑪: Bevor ihr mit mir/meinem Charakter interagiert solltet ihr euch im Klaren darüber sein, dass eine vulgäre Sprache und Kraftausdrücke bei mir keine Seltenheit sind. Auch in Texten werden Misshandlung, Drogen, Alkohol und andere 18+ Themen angesprochen und beschrieben. Falls ihr euch also von diesen leicht triggern lasst, bitte ich euch eine Interaktion zu überdenken oder auszulassen. Ansonsten bin ich für jeden Gesprächspartner und Schreiberling offen, solange ein gewisses Maß an Verständnis für Grammatik und Rechtschreibung vorhanden ist. Ja, jeder macht Fehler und das ist auch absolut menschlich (!), aber meine Zeit hier ist begrenzt und deswegen möchte ich sie so gut es geht nach meinen Vorlieben gestalten. Was das Jahr und Universum angeht, in welchem wir uns in Texten aufhalten sollten, bin ich flexibel. Natürlich freue ich mich, wenn jemand in das Harry Potter Universum eintauchen möchte, aber ich passe mich auch gerne an.

#⸻ ( 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑺 ) 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒊'𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒚 #⸻ ( 𝑭𝑨𝑪𝑬 ) 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒑𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 #⸻ ( 𝑨𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑻𝑰𝑪 ) 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 #⸻ ( 𝑶𝑶𝑪 )#userfakevz #profile #modern setting #period setting #he-him #deutsch #englisch #r: kein interesse #roleplay

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mira--mira · 1 year

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Oh my god you read HOB. Can we expect an AU in the future? Because you’re so right, it’s super hashimada-coded. Personally, I see Madara as a Very Grumpy Xié Lian.

...yes. Should I be writing an AU? No. Absolutely not. I'm too busy. Is my brain already trying to? Yes. It will be SHORT. I will make it short. Or it'll be a tumblr text post full of bullet point ideas like my survivor and hogwarts AUS lmao.

Tell me more about your Madara as a grumpy Xie Lian anon 🤔 bc right now he is very Hua Cheng coded to me. Villainous man with a flair for the dramatic, likes wearing red, has long messy black hair, at least (1) red eye at some point, is an utter bastard to everyone he dislikes, gets really obsessed with his man and: has a cave full of sculptures of said man.

#asks #anon

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tracingpatternswrites · 1 year

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camper van??? I truly have questions

Helloooo <3 Oh oh oh I'm truly very excited about this. Technically this one is actually completed but not posted yet as it's part of my Wolfstar Bingo. BUT the idea comes from a Wolfstar Microfic I wrote a while back called Camper in which Sirius buys a camper van because Harry wants to go camping the summer before he starts Hogwarts. So this fic is the follow up to that microfic.

Wolfstar raising Harry, stuck in a camper van and living like muggles. Great stuff.

Here's a little snippet:

“Merlin’s blithering– what the– no, no this can’t be right. Buggering, buggering, fuck!”

Remus could hear Sirius from outside the van, the door slightly ajar, and he only barely suppressed the urge to laugh at the hint of panic in his husband’s voice. He tossed the towel he had been carrying over one of the sunchair outside the camper van before opening the door wider, amusement laced through his voice as he spoke.

“You alright there, Pads?”

Sirius looked up at him, eyes wide and several strands of hair had escaped the frazzled bun on the top of his head. Remus could see him flush slightly at having been overheard, his chin raised in the familiar haughty expression he always succumbed to when he was feeling overwhelmed.

“It’s this stupid fucking hob,” he groused, jerking his head in its direction. “Five bloody days we’ve been at this now and I still can’t get it to fucking work.”

Remus didn’t even try and hide the way his lips quirked up into a grin as he pushed past the other man, covering his hand with his own.

“Look,” he said patiently, for what felt like the hundredth time in only five days. “You push it in like this to get the spark and then turn to release the gas.”

“I did exactly that,” objected Sirius, a bemused pull around his mouth as the hob ignited on the first try, the flame dancing happily. “It’s just this stupid fucking stove that hates me.”

“Seriously Pads, such language, think of Harry.”

“I’ve heard him say worse,” came Harry’s voice from the back of the van, followed closely by the boy himself, a mischievous grin on his face. “He’s still better than you, Moony.”

#wip game #nat tag

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the-violin-rebel · 2 years

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Jetzt kann es sich nur noch um Stunden handeln, bis sie erfroren sind.

Ein furchtbarer, eisiger Sturm wütete in Schottland und auch Hogwarts blieb davon nicht verschont. Selbst die Peitschende Weide schaffte es nicht, den eisigen Böen standzuhalten und krümmte sich gen Boden, um so vielleicht doch weniger Angriffsmasse zu sein. Die Fensterscheiben des alten Schlosses klirrten jedes Mal, wenn der Wind gegen sie prasselte, so als wäre er wütend darüber, dass die Bewohner im Warmen saßen und Tee tranken und ihn dabei ausschlossen, ihn nicht einmal zur Kenntnis nahmen. Auch Ethan saß am Kamin des Slytherin Gemeinschaftsraum, doch hier unten bekamen die Bewohner nicht viel mit von dem, was über der Erde passierte. Dies schien wohl eines der positiven Dinge davon zu sein, das sich die Schlafsäle und Aufenthaltsräume unter dem See befanden. Weniger positiv war stattdessen, dass auch der See von dem Sturm durchgewirbelt wurde und so schlugen jedes Mal Wellen gegen die Fensterscheiben. Es war Zeit zum Abendessen, also begab sich der blonde Zauberer auf den Weg zur Großen Halle, als plötzlich ein ohrenbetäubender Knall zu hören war. Es klang so, als würde Glas zerbrechen und Stahl aufeinander fallen. Einige Schüler, die in der Nähe waren, sahen sich fragend an und liefen zu den nächstgelegenen Fenstern, um hinaus zu sehen, doch es war absolut nichts zu erkennen. Der Wind brachte Schnee mit und dieser verdeckte jegliche Sicht. Auch Ethan war neugierig und sah hinaus, doch als er nichts erkennen konnte, trat er vom Fenster zurück und begab sich in die Große Halle, als eine atemlose Professor Sprout an ihm vorbei rannte, nach vorn zum Lehrerpodest, wo sie sich an den Schulleiter Albus Dumbledore wandte und ihm etwas zuflüsterte. Da Ethans Gehör wegen seines inneren Werwolfs geschärft war, konnte er sogar auf diese Entfernung hören, was die beiden Erwachsenen dort vorn besprachen. "Ich war gerade im Gewächshaus Nummer zwei, um die Alraunen umzutopfen, als der Wind das Dach und alles drumherum mitgerissen und zerstört hat.", sagte Sprout total aufgeregt, ihre Wangen rot von der Kälte und vermutlich auch wegen der Panik. "Wenn wir nicht schnell etwas tun, kann es sich nur noch um Stunden handeln, bis sie erfroren sind! Und so schnell kann ich keine neue Alraunen ziehen und dann hat Professor Slughorn keine Zutaten mehr für seine Tränke und Poppy kann nicht..", sprach sie panisch weiter, doch Dumbledore hob sachte seine linke Hand, um sie zum Schweigen zu bringen, damit sie sich erst einmal beruhigen konnte und setzte sein typisches Lächeln auf. "Keine Sorge, Pomona. Wir werden eine Lösung finden. Nun setz dich erst einmal und trink einen Tee. Ich werde mich um das Problem kümmern." Auch Ethan setzte sich mit einem Lächeln hin und griff zu einem Stück Kürbispastete.

#writingsfakevz

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elisaday35 · 2 months

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**Elisas und die Flammen der Liebe**

### Kapitel 1: Elisas Kindheit

Elisa wuchs in einem liebevollen Zuhause auf, das die perfekte Mischung aus Magie und Muggel-Welt darstellte. Ihre Mutter, eine talentierte Hexe, erzählte ihr oft von Hogwarts und der magischen Welt, während ihr Vater, ein Muggel, sie lehrte, die kleinen Wunder des Alltags zu schätzen.

Elisa verbrachte viele Stunden damit, in der Küche zu sitzen und zuzusehen, wie ihre Mutter zauberte. „Eines Tages wirst du diese Zauber auch lernen, mein Schatz,“ sagte ihre Mutter immer lächelnd. Ihr Vater hingegen erzählte ihr Geschichten aus der Muggel-Welt und nahm sie oft mit auf Ausflüge in die Natur. Sie liebte diese Momente, die Wanderungen durch Wälder, die Picknicks am See und die abendlichen Geschichten, die er ihr vorlas.

Doch eines Tages änderte sich alles. Elisa war acht Jahre alt und spielte im Garten, als sie plötzlich laute Stimmen aus dem Haus hörte. Sie rannte hinein und sah ihren Vater, wie er sich schützend vor ihre Mutter stellte. Vor ihnen stand Lucius Malfoy mit seinem kalten, arroganten Lächeln.

„Du hast deine Schulden nicht beglichen, Muggel,“ zischte Lucius und hob seinen Zauberstab.

„Bitte, lass uns in Ruhe!“ flehte Elisas Mutter, Tränen in den Augen.

Doch Lucius kannte keine Gnade. Mit einem grausamen Lächeln sprach er den tödlichen Fluch aus. „Avada Kedavra!“ Ein grüner Lichtblitz erhellte den Raum, und Elisas Vater fiel leblos zu Boden. Elisa schrie und rannte zu ihrem Vater, ihre kleinen Hände zitterten, als sie sein Gesicht berührte.

„Papa, bitte, wach auf!“ schluchzte sie, doch er reagierte nicht. Lucius verschwand, und Elisas Welt brach zusammen.

### Kapitel 2: Der Beginn in Hogwarts

Elisa trug die Erinnerung an diesen schrecklichen Tag tief in ihrem Herzen, als sie nach Hogwarts kam. Sie wurde in Gryffindor eingestuft und fand schnell Freunde in Harry Potter, Ron Weasley und Hermine Granger. Doch trotz der Abenteuer, die sie zusammen erlebten, fühlte sich Elisa oft einsam.

Im dritten Jahr bemerkte sie Cedric Diggory, den charmanten und talentierten Schüler aus Hufflepuff. Seine Freundlichkeit und sein Lächeln zogen sie magisch an. Sie begann, heimlich von ihm zu schwärmen, doch sie traute sich nie, ihm ihre Gefühle zu gestehen.

### Kapitel 3: Der Yule Ball und der erste Kuss

Als der Yule Ball angekündigt wurde, hoffte Elisa, dass Cedric sie fragen würde. Eines Abends, als Elisa in der Bibliothek saß und lernte, trat Cedric schüchtern an sie heran.

„Elisa, darf ich dich etwas fragen?“ begann Cedric.

Elisa sah auf und lächelte. „Natürlich, Cedric. Was gibt's?“

„Würdest du... würdest du mit mir zum Yule Ball gehen?“ Cedric rieb nervös seine Hände.

Elisas Herz machte einen Sprung. „Ja, das würde ich sehr gerne.“

Der Abend des Yule Balls war magisch. Elisa trug ein wunderschönes smaragdgrünes Kleid, das ihre Augen betonte, und Cedric sah in seinem Anzug umwerfend aus. Als sie zusammen die Treppe hinuntergingen, drehten sich viele Köpfe nach ihnen um. Auf der Tanzfläche führte Cedric Elisa in eine elegante Drehung.

„Du siehst wunderschön aus, Elisa,“ flüsterte er ihr ins Ohr.

„Danke, Cedric. Du siehst auch fantastisch aus,“ erwiderte sie, ihre Wangen leicht gerötet.

Nach dem Ball führte Cedric Elisa an den See. „Ich habe eine Überraschung für dich,“ sagte er geheimnisvoll. Elisa folgte ihm neugierig. Am Ufer angekommen, sah sie tausende von Kerzen, die auf dem Wasser schwammen und wie Sterne funkelten.

„Oh Cedric, das ist wunderschön,“ flüsterte Elisa, überwältigt von der Romantik des Augenblicks.

Cedric nahm ihre Hand und sah ihr tief in die Augen. „Elisa, seit ich dich das erste Mal gesehen habe, wusste ich, dass du etwas Besonderes bist. Ich... ich liebe dich.“

Tränen der Freude und Überraschung füllten Elisas Augen. „Ich liebe dich auch, Cedric.“

Er beugte sich vor und küsste sie sanft. Es war ihr erster Kuss, und er fühlte sich magisch und vollkommen an. Die Kerzen auf dem See spiegelten die Sterne am Himmel wider und schufen eine Atmosphäre, die sie nie vergessen würden.

### Kapitel 4: Der tragische Verlust

Das Glück hielt jedoch nicht lange an. Während des Trimagischen Turniers starb Cedric tragischerweise. Elisa war an dem schrecklichen Abend Zeugin, als Harry mit Cedrics leblosen Körper zurückkehrte. Ihr Herz zersprang in tausend Stücke.

Elisa stand am Rand des Labyrinths und wartete gespannt auf Cedrics Rückkehr. Plötzlich sah sie Harry aus dem Nichts erscheinen, Cedrics leblosen Körper in den Armen. Ein Schrei entwich ihren Lippen, als sie auf die beiden zulief.

„Cedric! Cedric, nein!“ Elisa fiel auf die Knie neben ihm, ihre Hände zitterten, als sie sein kaltes Gesicht berührte. „Bitte, nicht Cedric...“

Harrys Augen waren voller Tränen, und er konnte kaum sprechen. „Es... es war Voldemort. Cedric ist tot.“

Elisas Welt brach zusammen. Die folgenden Wochen waren ein Nebel aus Schmerz und Trauer. Sie konnte nicht schlafen, kaum essen und die Tränen schienen niemals aufzuhören. Cedric war alles für sie gewesen, und nun war er fort.

### Kapitel 5: Der Beginn einer unerwarteten Freundschaft

Verzweifelt und einsam suchte sie Trost und fand ihn in einer unerwarteten Person: Draco Malfoy. Doch ihre ersten Begegnungen waren alles andere als freundlich. Elisa konnte nicht vergessen, dass Dracos Vater ihr Leben zerstört hatte.

„Was willst du, Malfoy?“ fauchte Elisa, als Draco eines Abends versuchte, mit ihr zu sprechen.

„Elisa, ich... ich wollte nur sagen, dass es mir leid tut,“ begann Draco unsicher. „Cedric war ein guter Mensch.“

„Spar dir deine Worte,“ schnappte Elisa. „Dein Vater ist ein Mörder. Was könnte ein Malfoy schon über echtes Bedauern wissen?“

Draco ließ sich nicht so leicht abschrecken. Er versuchte immer wieder, mit Elisa ins Gespräch zu kommen, suchte nach Gelegenheiten, um ihr zu zeigen, dass er anders war. Eines Tages, als sie im Verwandlungsunterricht einen besonders schwierigen Zauber übten, bemerkte Draco, dass Elisa Schwierigkeiten hatte. Er trat vorsichtig an sie heran.

„Braucht du Hilfe?“ fragte er sanft.

Elisa funkelte ihn an. „Ich komme zurecht.“

„Ich sehe das, aber manchmal ist es leichter, wenn man Hilfe annimmt,“ sagte Draco geduldig und zeigte ihr den richtigen Zauberstab-Schwung.

Elisa wollte sich nicht helfen lassen, aber sie spürte, dass Draco es ernst meinte. Zögernd ließ sie ihn ihr helfen und der Zauber gelang. „Danke,“ murmelte sie widerwillig.

„Gern geschehen,“ antwortete Draco und lächelte leicht.

Einige Tage später suchte Draco wieder nach einer Gelegenheit, Elisa näherzukommen. Er sah sie allein in der großen Halle sitzen und setzte sich vorsichtig zu ihr.

„Elisa, ich weiß, dass es dir schwerfällt, mir zu vertrauen,“ begann er leise. „Aber ich will dir beweisen, dass ich anders bin als mein Vater.“

Elisa schaute auf, Überraschung in ihren Augen. „Warum sollte ich dir glauben?“

„Weil ich es ernst meine,“ sagte Draco entschlossen. „Ich habe gesehen, wie viel Schmerz mein Vater verursacht hat. Ich will nicht so sein. Bitte, gib mir eine Chance.“

Langsam begann eine unerwartete Freundschaft zwischen ihnen zu wachsen. Draco bemühte sich, Elisa in kleinen Dingen zu helfen und war immer für sie da, wenn sie ihn brauchte. Eines Abends, als sie zusammen am See saßen, sprach Draco offen über seine Gefühle.

„Elisa, ich glaube, ich habe mich in dich verliebt,“ gestand er mit zitternder Stimme.

Elisa sah ihn überrascht an. „Draco...“

„Ich weiß, dass es kompliziert ist,“ fuhr er fort. „Aber ich kann nicht anders. Du bedeutest mir so viel.“

### Kapitel 6: Dracos Dilemma und Elisas Vertrauensbruch

Während des sechsten Schuljahres geschah etwas, das alles veränderte. Draco wurde von Voldemort gezwungen, ein Todesser zu werden, und erhielt den Befehl, Dumbledore zu töten. Elisa entdeckte das dunkle Mal auf Dracos Arm und fühlte sich zutiefst verraten.

„Wie konntest du?“ schrie Elisa, als sie das Tattoo auf Dracos Arm sah. „Ich habe dir vertraut!“

„Sie hätten meine Mutter getötet!“ schrie Draco zurück, seine Augen voller Tränen. „Ich hatte keine Wahl, Elisa. Bitte, glaub mir.“

Elisa zögerte, ihr Herz kämpfte gegen ihren Verstand. Die Worte, die aus Dracos Mund kamen, schienen wahrhaftig, aber die dunkle Markierung auf seinem Arm erzählte eine andere Geschichte. „Ich kann dir nicht mehr glauben, Draco,“ sagte sie schließlich kalt und wandte sich ab.

Die folgenden Wochen waren eine Qual für beide. Draco suchte verzweifelt nach Wegen, um Elisa zu zeigen, dass er nicht wie sein Vater war. Doch Elisa konnte die Wut und den Schmerz nicht einfach abschütteln. Sie verbrachte viel Zeit allein, oft am Ufer des Sees, wo sie und Cedric so viele glückliche Momente geteilt hatten.

### Kapitel 7: Dracos Kampf um Vertrauen

Draco ließ sich nicht entmutigen. Er wusste, dass er Elisa beweisen musste, dass er anders war. Eines Abends sah er sie wieder am See sitzen und näherte sich ihr vorsichtig.

„Elisa, ich weiß, dass es schwer für dich ist, mir zu vertrauen,“ begann er leise. „Aber ich werde nicht aufgeben. Ich liebe dich, und ich werde alles tun, um dir zu zeigen, dass ich auf deiner Seite stehe.“

Elisa sah ihn lange an, ihre Augen waren rot und geschwollen vom Weinen. „Du hast keine Ahnung, wie schwer es für mich ist, dir zu vertrauen, Draco,“ flüsterte sie. „Dein Vater hat meinen Vater ermordet. Und jetzt siehst du aus wie einer von ihnen.“

„Ich weiß,“ sagte Draco und senkte den Kopf. „Aber ich bin nicht mein Vater. Ich hasse, was er getan hat. Ich habe nur versucht, meine Familie zu schützen.“

Elisa seufzte tief. „Zeig es mir,“ sagte sie schließlich. „Zeig mir, dass du anders bist.“

Von diesem Moment an setzte Draco alles daran, Elisa zu beweisen, dass er es ernst meinte. Er unterstützte sie in ihren Studien, half ihr bei schwierigen Zaubern und war immer da, wenn sie ihn brauchte. Langsam begann Elisa, ihm wieder zu vertrauen.

### Kapitel 8: Der Höhepunkt der Dunkelheit

Doch die Ereignisse überschlugen sich, als der Angriff auf Hogwarts bevorstand. Draco wurde von Voldemort gezwungen, eine gefährliche Aufgabe zu erfüllen: Er sollte Dumbledore töten. Elisa war sich der Gefahr bewusst, in der Draco schwebte, und wusste, dass sie etwas tun musste.

Am Abend des Angriffs traf sie Draco im Astronomieturm. Er zitterte vor Angst und Unsicherheit, als er vor Dumbledore stand. Elisa versteckte sich in den Schatten und beobachtete die schreckliche Szene.

„Draco, du musst das nicht tun,“ sagte Dumbledore ruhig. „Es gibt immer einen anderen Weg.“

„Aber sie werden meine Mutter töten!“ schrie Draco, seine Hand zitterte, als er den Zauberstab hob.

Bevor er etwas tun konnte, betrat Snape den Turm und sprach den tödlichen Fluch aus. „Avada Kedavra!“ Ein grüner Blitz erhellte den Raum, und Dumbledore fiel leblos zu Boden. Draco brach zusammen, seine Tränen mischten sich mit dem Staub auf dem Boden.

Elisa wartete, bis Snape und die Todesser verschwunden waren, bevor sie zu Draco rannte. „Draco, wir müssen hier weg,“ sagte sie dringlich und half ihm auf die Beine.

„Ich kann das nicht mehr,“ schluchzte Draco. „Ich will das alles nicht.“

### Kapitel 9: Der gemeinsame Kampf

Während der Schlacht von Hogwarts kämpften Elisa und Draco Seite an Seite gegen die Todesser. Draco hatte endlich ihren Respekt und ihre Liebe gewonnen. Sie unterstützten sich gegenseitig in den dunkelsten Stunden und fanden gemeinsam den Mut, weiterzumachen.

„Ich werde dich beschützen, egal was passiert,“ versprach Draco, während sie sich gegen die Todesser verteidigten.

„Wir werden das zusammen durchstehen,“ antwortete Elisa entschlossen. „Ich vertraue dir.“

### Kapitel 10: Ein neues Leben

Nach dem Krieg entschied sich Draco, sich endgültig von seiner dunklen Vergangenheit zu lösen. Gemeinsam mit Elisa trat er dem Aurorenbüro bei, wo sie Seite an Seite gegen die verbliebenen dunklen Mächte kämpften. Ihr Mut und ihre Hingabe machten sie zu einem der besten Auroren-Teams.

Elisa und Draco heirateten und bekamen zwei Kinder. Ihre Tochter, Lily, wurde nach Elisas Mutter benannt und kam nach Gryffindor, während ihr Sohn, Scorpius, nach Slytherin kam. Trotz der unterschiedlichen Häuser blieben die Geschwister und ihre Eltern stets eng verbunden.

Eines Abends, als sie zusammen am Kamin saßen, nahm Draco Elisas Hand. „Wer hätte gedacht, dass wir nach allem, was passiert ist, hier zusammen sitzen würden?“

Elisa lächelte und drückte seine Hand. „Ich habe immer an uns geglaubt, Draco. Liebe und Mut können jede Dunkelheit überwinden.“

Elisas und Dracos Liebe bewies, dass wahre Gefühle und Mut selbst die tiefsten Gräben überwinden können. Sie bauten zusammen eine glückliche Familie auf und zeigten der Welt, dass Liebe und Versöhnung stärker sind als Hass und Dunkelheit.

#harry potter #fanfic #cedric diggory #draco malfoy #trust #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #love #friends #drama #fanfiction #favorite

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t-t-t-trasher · 2 years

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HELLO??? SANDMAN HOGWARDS AU????? ANYONE?? ANYTHINGG?? PLEASE I NEED IT LIKE I NEED AIR

i saw some ravenclaw dream fanart n gods do i need more now jfc do if anyone knows any fics of fanart bleasee ee let me know or tag me i can show u pics of my dogs

#sandman #the sandman #sandman au #dream #morpheus #hob #sandman hp au #ong if ANYONE KNOWS ANYTHING #LET ME KNOWWW #cuz damn i dwana do it myselff #hogwarts au

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gameforestdach · 10 months

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Beim kürzlich stattgefundenen CCXP-Event in São Paulo, Brasilien, teilte Phil Spencer, CEO von Microsoft Gaming, beeindruckende Meilensteine über Bethesdas RPG Starfield mit. Seit dem Start im September hat das Spiel einen bemerkenswerten Erfolg erzielt und die Marke von 12 Millionen Spielern übertroffen. Diese Zahl bedeutet einen Anstieg von einer Million Spielern seit Ende Oktober, was die wachsende Beliebtheit des Spiels unterstreicht. Spencer bedankte sich bei den Fans und erkannte ihre Rolle darin an, Starfield zu einem gewaltigen Erfolg zu machen. Bemerkenswerterweise rangiert das Spiel unter den top 10 meistgespielten Spielen aus den Studios von Microsoft. Diese Errungenschaften stimmen mit Microsofts Bestreben überein, den Erfolg von The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim nachzuahmen, einem Spiel, das seit über einem Jahrzehnt beliebt bleibt. Blickt man in die Zukunft, teilte Spencer Microsofts Vision für die Langlebigkeit des Spiels. Er hob hervor, dass sie Starfield durch Erweiterungen und Modding-Tools unterstützen wollen, welche es den Spielern ermöglichen, eigenen Inhalt zu erschaffen. Die bevorstehende erzählungsbasierte Erweiterung, Shattered Space, ist ein zentraler Bestandteil dieses Plans. Erwartet wird, dass diese Initiativen Starfield noch viele Jahre lang in den Spiel-Charts oben halten, und so Skyrims langanhaltenden Erfolg wiederholen. Trotz fehlender offizieller Verkaufsdaten scheint die kommerzielle Leistung von Starfield robust zu sein. Das Spiel nicht nur die UK Box-Charts angeführt, sondern wurde auch das meistverkaufte Premium-Spiel des Septembers in den USA. Derzeit steht es als das neuntbestverkaufte Spiel des Jahres 2023 in den USA da und übertrumpft dabei namhafte Titel wie Resident Evil 4 und Final Fantasy XVI. Dennoch liegt es hinter Hits wie Mortal Kombat 1, Star Wars Jedi: Survivor, Marvel’s Spider-Man 2 und Hogwarts Legacy. Die Resonanz der Spieler auf Starfield ist gemischt. Auf Steam erhält das Spiel die Bewertung "Durchwachsen", mit nur 68% von über 80.000 Bewertungen positiv. Seit dem Höhepunkt im September mit über 330.000 gleichzeitigen Spielern hat es einen stetigen Rückgang gegeben, mit aktuellen täglichen Spitzen von 20.000 bis 30.000 gleichzeitigen Nutzern. Diese Entwicklungen deuten darauf hin, dass Starfield eine bedeutende Veröffentlichung für Microsoft ist und auch in der absehbaren Zukunft ein zentraler Bestandteil ihres Gaming-Portfolios bleiben wird. Für mehr detaillierte Informationen, besuche: TechRaptor: Starfield erreicht 12 Millionen Spieler, während Phil Spencer „großes Vertrauen“ in die Zukunft des Spiels setzt

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ala-baguette · 2 years

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Never a Free Elf

Between a recent Discord conversation about Kreacher and writing a KWTL scene that features him, I have suddenly been reminded how much I love my grumpy little dude. So enjoy a throwback my old Kreacher fic, just because.

Summary: Kreacher rallies the house-elves to fight at the Battle of Hogwarts. Relationships: Kreacher & Harry Potter Rating: T 6k words | Originally posted on AO3 here

“We’ll be back as soon as we can, Kreacher. If all goes well, we should be home for lunch.” “‘If all goes well,’” Master’s blood-traitor friend intoned dryly. Such a negative brat, he could be. Did he not have faith that Master’s plan would work? When Master had spent weeks and weeks devising it? He supposed the other two had helped, but in his mind, it was Master’s plan. Master was going to retrieve Master Regulus’s locket and Master was going to complete the task that Kreacher had failed. The credit would go to Master. Not this brat. But Master Harry was fond of the brat, so Kreacher would not rise. And after all. The blood traitor had been kinder to Kreacher of late. Kreacher was begrudgingly growing fond of Master’s friends. Even the Mudblood was not so very bad, he supposed. That thought made him cringe. Oh, what would his Mistress have said to that…? No. Perhaps he was better off ignoring them, as he did whenever possible. He would merely direct his attention to Master Harry. “Kreacher will have a steak-and-kidney pie ready for Master when he returns,” Kreacher croaked. He bowed as low as his old back would permit. Once he would have bowed so low his ears would brush the ground. He hated that his body struggled to keep up with his work these days. Mistress would have found this bow shameful. But Master Harry never seemed to mind. By the time Kreacher straightened, Master and his friends were already leaving through the kitchen door. “Bless him,” he heard Master’s brat friend say, and Kreacher beamed before reminding himself that he did not need the approval of blood-traitors. Their voices continued as low murmurs as they retreated up the stairs. They never liked to wake Mistress, after all.

Kreacher turned and cleared away the coffee and hot rolls he had served for breakfast. Master had not eaten much today—none of them had. A pity, that. They would need their strength. But Master never knew what was good for him. He would be hungry when he returned, and Kreacher must not disappoint him. Kreacher crossed to the pantry and paused to take stock of the necessary ingredients for a steak-and-kidney pie. There was tinned beef stock in the pantry. It would cut down quite a bit of time to use the tinned variety. Making stock from scratch was such an arduous affair, even with magic to speed it along. Mistress Walburga was always very particular that he should not use the tinned stock. She always claimed it was too salty. But Kreacher doubted Master Harry would know the difference. Perhaps he could skip that step. His back was aching, and he did not much fancy standing at the hob for all that time skimming off the fat. He stared at the dusty tins of stock, absently sucking on his teeth. One gnarled hand reflexively came up and ran across the smooth metal of Master Regulus’s locket which lay against his chest. Then he set about gathering the necessary marrow bones and vegetables to make the stock from scratch. The morning ticked by. Kreacher glanced at the clock on the wall as he finished crimping the pastry over the top of the pie. It was near lunchtime and Master and his friends had still not returned. Had their plan gone awry? Kreacher could feel Master in the corner of his mind, just like he always could. Just like he had been able to feel Master Sirius before him. And Mistress Walburga and Master Orion and… and Master Regulus. Over the course of his six hundred years on this earth, Kreacher had shared room in his brain with countless members of his noble family. An elf could always feel his Master’s presence. It was a part of their magic. What good was a house-elf who could not immediately Apparate to his master’s side when he was needed? Once, Kreacher had happily shared his mind with several members of the Black family. But they had gone out, one-by-one, like the snuffing of candle after candle at the end of a long day. Then there had been only Master Sirius. Then there had been only Master Harry. Sometimes it felt lonely with only one master left. Kreacher still felt the empty places where so many others had once been. When Master Sirius had died, Kreacher had reviled at the feeling of Master Harry entering his mind. It had been an infringement of all he believed in. The Black family line had ended and now a half-blood Potter had forced his way in, just because of a slip of paper Master Sirius had spelled. It was violating! It was not to be born! Kreacher had begged and begged whatever god might listen that Mistress Bellatrix would replace Master Sirius and had cried and sobbed when he had found it not so. Without thinking, Kreacher again caressed the locket hanging around his neck. Things had changed since that day. Kreacher had changed. Master Harry had changed. They understood each other better now. And Master Harry cared about Kreacher, Kreacher was sure of it. Back then, Kreacher would never have believed that he would now find comfort in Master Harry’s place in his brain. This small corner where his master’s presence sat quiet and undemanding. Kreacher focused on this small corner of his mind for a moment, cocking his head to the side. Master was not so very far away. He was here in London—Kreacher could feel him in the direction of the Ministry, just as he should be. Kreacher had no reason to think things were not going according to plan. But why then was it taking them so very long? And why then was he so worried? Kreacher sliced a slit in the top of the pie to allow steam to escape, snapped his fingers to preheat the oven, and slipped the pie in. He distractedly dusted off his hands on the tea towel he wore as he looked at the clock again. Then he jumped. He looked down at himself and furiously brushed the flour away. Master must not return to see him looking so filthy! Oh, the shame of it! Kreacher would not have it. He waved his hand over the table to clean away the remnants of flour and bits of pastry. Then looked around the kitchen for his next task to complete while the pie baked. But it was all sparkling clean. Perhaps he would have a chat with Mistress Walburga’s portrait. Kreacher hesitated. He knew Master Harry did not like Kreacher talking with his mistress. But he had never expressly forbidden Kreacher from doing so. Still… Knowing that Master Harry would not like it made it feel like a betrayal. But he did so miss his mistress. For so many years, she had been his only company. After Mistress Walburga had died, the only one left in his mind had been Master Sirius, and he had been locked away in Azkaban. Kreacher had been left in this house with no one but his mistress’s portrait to give Kreacher instruction. One little chat could not hurt. Kreacher climbed the stairs from the kitchen onto the ground floor. All these steps in the house were becoming more and more challenging for his old stiff knees. He wondered when his body would give out, and he would be unable to work. At such time, he was sure Master Harry would do him to honour of mounting his head on the wall beside those of his forebearers. Master Harry respected Kreacher, after all. Master Harry would want to do him this honour. He approached the dark velvet drapes covering Mistress’s portrait. But before he could do more than pat the frame, he froze and jerked his head to the front door, ears flapping. Master Harry was home! But something was wrong. Kreacher had felt Master disappear from the Ministry of Magic to the south and reappear immediately just outside the front door as planned. But why then would he immediately Disapparate again? Now, Kreacher could feel him some two hundred miles to the west. So far! Why? Why would he go so far and leave Kreacher behind? Kreacher was looking to the west in the direction of his master, but he startled as he heard the sound of an unmistakable scream of fury coming from the other side of the front door. Then there was a thump, and he suspected whoever was on the other end had just punched the door in frustration. Then there was silence. Kreacher dared not move. He sank into the shadows behind the curtains covering his mistress’s portrait, peering out toward the front door. Then he heard, rather than saw, the doorknob being jiggled. Another pause. And with a bang the door flew open off its hinges. Kreacher sunk back still further into the folds of the drapes. Two cautious footsteps sounded as the unknown trespasser crossed the threshold. “Severus Snape?” the voice whispered out of the darkness as Kreacher knew it would. The new-comer had not expected it, however, for Kreacher heard him jump and curse as he stubbed his toe on the doorframe. “Lumos!” came a harsh voice, and a light ignited, shining down the hall into the darkness. It passed over Kreacher’s location, but he was well hidden. Gingerly, another footstep crossed further into the hall. And, as Kreacher peered out through a gap in the curtains, the tall, ghostly figure of Albus Dumbledore rose up from the carpet and charged toward the intruder. “What the bloody hell! I’m not Snape! I didn’t kill you! Gerroff me!” But the figure of Albus Dumbledore had already burst into a cloud of dust and disappeared. For a moment, there was just the sound of a few shaky breaths coming from the dark figure, shrouded in the resultant dust cloud. But this gradually transitioned into quiet huffs of laughter. “Not so scary now, are you, you old codger?” Then the figure advanced again. And as he emerged from the cloud of dust, Kreacher could make out a tall man with hard, blunt features. Kreacher recognised the face from photos he had seen in Master’s Daily Prophet. This man worked in the Ministry. High up in the Ministry. Which meant he was no friend to Master Harry. “Homenum revelio,” the figure muttered, looking around the hall. He waited, but nothing happened. The man merely stood there, looking around the entrance hall. “This is headquarters….” the man muttered to himself. “The fools brought me straight into the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix!” There was quiet again for a moment. Then a sound escaped the man’s throat that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Thank Merlin. Harry Potter may have escaped, but I can give him this! The Dark Lord will not punish me too harshly! I’m saved!” And then the man began to laugh. It was a small quiet laugh of relief at first. But it grew. Became more hysterical. More manic. And as the pitch and volume crescendoed— “FILITH! HOW DARE YOU TRESPASS ON THE HOUSE OF MY FATHER?” “What the—” The man whipped around, pointing his wandlight directly at the portrait of Mistress Walburga who was now screaming at the top of her lungs. Kreacher reflexively patted his mistress’s frame to calm her, even if he shrank further back behind the curtains. “BEGONE FROM THIS PLACE! HOW DARE YOU BESMIRCH THE HOME OF MY FOREBEARERS WITH YOUR UNWORTHY PRESENCE?” He could hear the man approaching cautiously. Kreacher had to leave. And leave quickly. He would be discovered at any moment. And then what? He did not care for his own safety. But Master… Kreacher knew too much. And he feared what methods the Dark Lord would have to extract that information. He would be putting Master at risk. No, he must leave. But where? Where could he go? He could not return to Master—Kreacher was bound to this house and Master had not summoned Kreacher to his side. Hogwarts. It was the only option. Master had sent Kreacher to work in the kitchens in Hogwarts last year, so his bindings extended there. If staying in the Black ancestral home was not an option, he would default to his previous instruction. He would be safe there. He could blend in with the other house-elves. No one would look for him there. For he was below their notice. He must go to Hogwarts. He would wait there until Master Harry summoned him, as he was sure to do. For Master Harry cared for Kreacher. He was sure to call for him, sooner or later. And just as a long-fingered hand curled itself around the drapes just over Kreacher’s head, preparing to rip them aside, Kreacher Disapparated. Even as he deserted his post, Kreacher found himself thinking of the steak-and-kidney pie, still in the oven. It would be burned by now. Kreacher must punish himself. Mistress Walburga was always very adamant that he should punish himself should ever he burn the dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The months stretched on. And still Master did not summon Kreacher. Oh why, oh why would he not summon Kreacher? Kreacher could feel Master Harry inside his head. His master moved frequently. Every couple of days, Kreacher would feel his presence disappear from one place only to reappear immediately somewhere quite different. Constantly, his master moved all about the country. To everywhere except to Kreacher’s side. Frequently, Kreacher thought of going to him. But it was not the place of a house-elf to go to his master if his master did not have the mind to summon him. A house-elf’s place was not to be seen or heard. It was to serve his master quietly, efficiently, and out of sight. But how could Kreacher serve him from here? How frustrating this was. At his place in the Hogwarts Kitchens, Kreacher chopped vegetables in preparation for the evening’s dinner. He wiped his hands on the tea towel he was wearing. He had spilled soup down his front at lunchtime, but he had not bothered to change. Who was there to care if he was dirty? Abruptly, Kreacher dropped his knife and turned his head. Master was moving again. But it was different this time. Master Harry had stopped for an unprecedentedly long time somewhere far to the southwest. He had stayed there for two full weeks. Kreacher had never known Master to stay in one place so long since he had abandoned Grimmauld Place. It made Kreacher worry that Master had been injured. But just that morning, Kreacher had felt his Master disappear and reappear in the direction of London. Yes, Kreacher was quite sure Master was in London. Diagon Alley, he thought. This seemed a most dangerous a place for Master to be going. Kreacher did not like it. And he had been there for several hours now. But now Master Harry was moving. He was moving north. But something was odd. Very odd. Normally, Master would simply Apparate to his next location. But this time, he was moving at a steady pace. Fast, but nowhere near as fast as Apparition. And far too straight a line to be using any Muggle transportation. Kreacher cocked his head, staring across the kitchen, but not really seeing it. Staring in the direction of his master. “Kreacher finds this very odd. Very odd indeed,” he muttered to himself. “Kreacher is still waiting for his master to summon him,” came a mocking voice beside him. Kreacher looked around to see Tobbin depositing an armful of carrots on the counter, next in line to be chopped for dinner. “Ooh, when will Kreacher give up and accept that his master has forgotten Kreacher. That his master does not want him. Kreacher must be a very bad elf for his master to have sent Kreacher so far away.” Kreacher glowered at the other elf. Kreacher would never truly fit in here. The loyalty of these elves lay with the Headmaster of Hogwarts. And they all knew that Kreacher’s loyalty was elsewhere. And they looked down on him for it. “Tobbin tells lies,” Kreacher croaked. “Tobbin should shut his mouth and not say things he understands not. Master Harry cares for Kreacher. Master Harry merely wants Kreacher to be safe,” he snarled. “Tobbin is just jealous that he does not have so great a master as Kreacher has!” And he grasped a carrot and with a harsh swing of his knife, cut away the greens with unnecessary force. But as he continued peeling and chopping carrots, he knew he was so angry at Tobbin because he spoke the things that Kreacher feared. Perhaps Master Harry had forgotten him. Perhaps Master Harry did not care for Kreacher. He suspected that the only reason the Hogwarts house-elves continued to tolerate Kreacher was that Master Harry still held their respect. Rumours had reached them last week that Dobby, their former colleague, was dead. Killed by Bellatrix Lastrange. And rumour also said that Master Harry had been seen digging a grave for him. A grave with a tombstone. A grave such as would be dug for a wizard. Such as would be dug for an equal. It was a great honour. And the elves of Hogwarts recognised it. Kreacher wondered if his master would do him the same honour one day. But no. Kreacher was not ambitious. He wished for nothing more than for his head to be mounted on the wall among those of his forebearers. Dinner prepared and laid out on the five tables of the kitchen, Tobbin snapped his fingers to send the meal up through the ceiling to their corresponding tables in the Great Hall above. Tobbin was very proud of this duty and was sure to be available every mealtime to complete this most privileged task. “Nasty little show-off, Tobbin is,” Kreacher muttered to himself. “Lording it over the rest of us hard-working elves. Oh one day, Kreacher will show him. One day he will see.” As they all set about washing up, Kreacher again paused, head swivelling. Master had stopped. He had settled directly to the south, but closer than he had been to Kreacher in some time. The Lake District. Yes. He seemed to have stopped here. Kreacher suspected he would set up camp for the night. It must be getting dark outside at this hour. Kreacher went back to washing dishes. The evening was drawing to a close. Soon the students would be in their beds and the house-elves would venture out to clean the house common rooms. CLANG! Kreacher had just dropped a large soapy stock pot. It now rolled back and forth on the floor of the kitchen, its hollow sound ringing around the room. All eyes had turned to stare at Kreacher. Then they sighed and shook their heads at him and returned to their work. But Kreacher didn’t care. He didn’t care what these elves thought of him. For his Master was here. He felt him. He had just Apparated into Hogsmeade. He was here! He had come for Kreacher! But the joy Kreacher felt dissipated as fast as it had come. Master Harry must not come here! It was not safe! He must know the Death Eaters had control of the school. He would be caught for sure! He must go away. Far far away. Kreacher stood there, stock pot forgotten on the floor. He sucked his teeth unsure what he should do. A particularly small and kindly elf named Kiffy zipped over and picked up the stock pot. She patted Kreacher on the shoulder sympathetically before proceeding to take over washing the dishes Kreacher had abandoned. Tobbin Disapparated. It was his job to provide turn-down for the Headmaster. Tobbin thought himself very important because of this. But at that moment, Kreacher was too preoccupied to care about Tobbin’s self-importance. Kreacher did not know what to do. He did not want to do anything that might alert the Death Eaters to his master’s presence. He stroked the locket hanging around his neck over and over to bring himself comfort. He, of course, felt the moment Master Harry entered the castle a short time later. Kreacher paced the floor in front of the fire. He prayed his master would give him instruction. The minutes ticked by, excruciatingly slow. There was a crack as Tobbin reappeared in the kitchen. “Elves! Master Headmaster Snape warns us there may be an attack on the school! He tells us to keep to the kitchens out of the way!” There were squeals and a flurry of commotion as elves around them cried, “How?” and “Why?” and Tobbin was immediately surrounded by elves seeking more explanation. Tobbin proceeded tell all he knew (which Kreacher did not think much), looking very important. But Kreacher did not listen. His fear for his master had redoubled. Let him call Kreacher. Let Master call him. He could Apparate him away from this place. Just let him call him. Sounds of commotion could be heard from above. Hundreds of students were thundering down the stairs above them in the direction of the Great Hall. Outside the kitchen door, he heard the Hufflepuffs leaving their dormitories, heading up. The elves stared up at the ceiling trying to discern what was going on above. And still Master Harry did not summon him. And then a voice rang out. A high-pitched cruel voice. A voice Kreacher would know anywhere, though a voice he had not heard in nineteen years. “I know that you are preparing to fight.” There were screams amongst the house-elves as they clutched at each other, looking around in terror for the source of the voice. “Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood. Give me Harry Potter and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded. You have until midnight.” Kreacher looked up. All around him, elves were looking at him. But he didn’t know what they could possibly expect of him. There was more commotion up above as students seemed to be ushered out of the Great Hall and up the stairs again. But the elves merely settled in to wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hours stretched. The house-elves of Hogwarts huddled together in fear, flinching and whimpering at the sound of every bang and crash and explosion from above. A few times, the castle rattled so hard, dust drifted down on them from above. Kreacher hoped they would not all get buried down here if the ceiling caved in. He did not cower like the rest. He paced back and forth, back and forth. He must be ready when his master called him. A couple hours into the battle above, Kreacher felt as Master Harry moved away across the grounds. He was far from the castle now. Or was he in Hogsmeade? He would be near the boarders, but Kreacher could not understand how he could have gotten out of the grounds during such a battle.

Then a shudder went around all the elves of the kitchen as one. Kreacher squinted at them trying to understand why they had suddenly all gone white and cried out in shock. But then Kiffy wailed, “Ooh, Master Headmaster Snape. He is gone, he is gone! Ooh, my master!”

“I is feeling Mistress Professor McGonagall,” Tobbin said, looking very shaken. And several house-elves nodded that they too cool feel a new Mistress taking charge. And around the room there was crying and moaning. Kreacher could not say if they truly grieved for their master’s death or merely for the loss of his place in their minds. It was not a pleasant feeling and one Kreacher knew only too well.

But he could not dwell on this long. For just a few minutes later, the harsh voice of the Dark Lord sounded again.

“You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste.” Kreacher seethed. Not elf blood. The Dark Lord cared nothing for elf blood. He had been plenty willing to sacrifice Kreacher to the inferi. He was responsible for the death of Master Regulus. And now he claims that magical blood is precious to him? “Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.”

“I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.”

Kreacher did not realise he was shaking his head until his ears smacked him in the face one after the other. “Master Harry must not listen to him. Master Harry must not go. Master Harry must call Kreacher to him, and Kreacher will Apparate him far from this place.” But still, master did not call him.

But Kreacher felt relief as he felt his master turn away from the forest. Master re-entered the castle from his place far far out on the grounds. Kreacher felt him upstairs now. Kreacher breathed a sigh of relief. He was not laying down arms so easily.

His relief was short-lived, however. For not long after, Kreacher felt Master leaving the castle again. Walking in the direction of the Forest. No! Why was no one stopping him! Where was the blood-traitor brat and the Mudblood? Was that not what they were good for? “Call Kreacher to you, Master,” he groaned, still pacing back and forth. “Call Kreacher.”

The designated hour came and went. Kreacher and the others watched the clock on the wall. They knew when the hour was up. And with no sounds from above, Kreacher saw as the elves began to fidget and fret again.

But Kreacher felt hope. The hour was up. And still his master lived! He had not gone to the Dark Lord. He had a different plan! A better plan. Master was clever and resourceful. He had found a way to escape!

Kreacher felt his knees make hard contact with the floor.

It was very swift in the end. One minute Master Harry was there, a comforting weight in Kreacher’s mind.

And then he was gone.

One more candle snuffed out. The same as Master Regulus.

“Nooo,” Kreacher croaked. Tears were streaming down his snout-like nose, but he made no effort to wipe it. “No no no, Master Harry! Noooooo.”

Kreacher knelt there on the kitchen floor, rocking backwards and forwards. Sobbing into the quiet kitchen. Dimly he was aware of the other elves watching him sympathetically. They knew. They understood.

Kreacher was clutched his hands over his ears, screaming his grief at the loss of a part of himself that had so needlessly been torn away. He was gone. Master was gone. He didn’t know how long he sat there, crying. But after a bit, he was left gasping on all fours as the shock wore off. And slowly his mind began to register something even more horrifying.

Master Harry was dead. He was gone. And no one had taken his place. He had left Kreacher behind again. But now… now Kreacher was horrifyingly, terrifyingly alone.

When Kreacher had passed to Master Harry, he was no longer a member of the Black family. He had passed to the Potter family. But Master Harry was the last of the Potters. There was no one left. His line had ended. His house was finished. And Master Harry had not written a will as Master Sirius had done. There was no one there.

Kreacher stared in horror at nothing. Tears no longer streaked down his face, for he was beyond tears. He could feel the crunching stiffness of the skin of his cheeks from the dried salt on his face. Gently, he probed the corner of his brain where his master should be. But there was no one there.

Kreacher was a free elf.

“No. No,” Kreacher muttered. “No. Kreacher is not wanting it. He is not wanting to be a free elf. Come back, Master Harry. Come back.” Anyone. Please please, anyone! He would even serve the blood-traitor Weasleys, he didn’t care, but there must be someone. He could not be alone. He could not. “Come back, Master Harry! Come back!” he screamed into the quiet void.

And then Kreacher blinked. For much to his surprise, Master Harry did come back.

Kreacher sat up slowly. His back was stiffly erect where he still knelt on the floor. He probed at the corner of his mind again. And sure enough, that was Master Harry. He was sure of it.

His eyes roved around the room, trying to see if this made sense to any of the other elves, but of course they could not feel what he felt. They were merely sitting, avoiding eye contact, giving him privacy in his grief.

There was an eerie silence that had fallen around the castle as they sat, waiting. All that he could hear was the crackling of the fire and the periodic sniffs of the frightened elves around him.

And his master was moving. Moving out of the forest in Kreacher’s direction.

Kreacher merely sat, perfectly still, trying to make sense of it. How? How was it possible? Master Harry had been gone. He had died and left Kreacher behind. But now that place in his mind told him that his master was back. He was there. Moving closer and closer. At last Kreacher felt Master’s presence nearly just above him. He cocked his head and stared up toward the ceiling of the kitchen, completely mystified.

“NO!” Several elves jumped as the sound of a scream from the Entrance Hall above broke the silence. Then more screams joined in.

“No!”

“Harry! HARRY!”

“SILENCE!” came the Dark Lords scream, magically amplified to ensure not one person missed a single word. “It is over! Set him down, Hagrid, at my feet, where he belongs!”

There was quiet for a moment. Then, “You see? Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!”

All around the kitchen, eyes were darting toward Kreacher. Eye full of pity. For the house-elves knew the pain of losing one’s master. Or they thought they did, for Kreacher doubted the elves of Hogwarts who passed from Headmaster to Headmaster could ever understand in earnest. Kreacher ignored them. He merely sat there, shaking his head in bewilderment.

He did not understand. His master was alive! He could feel him! It made no sense! “Master is alive,” he croaked, more to himself. “Kreacher can feel him. Master is alive.” The other elves merely looked at him with even greater pity. They thought him mad. Slowly, Kreacher rose to his feet.

There were more cries and voices from above, but Kreacher paid them no mind. It was too difficult to gather what was going on upstairs. But of one thing Kreacher was certain. Master was alive. And Kreacher would go to him. He did not care that Master had not summoned him. If he had to punish himself for it, it did not matter. He had to see his master. Had to understand.

But in that moment, he had a sense of clarity about one thing. No, Master Harry would not call him to his side. But Master had not forgotten Kreacher. He had not left him behind. He had been fighting for something bigger than Kreacher. Bigger than himself. But he would not fight alone. Kreacher would not have it.

There were bangs and screams coming from above again, and his fellow house-elves were cowering where they crouched, frozen in fear. Scoot surreptitiously sneaked closed to the table, clearly preparing to dart underneath it, and Kiffy buried her face in a handkerchief. No one spoke, but with every

bang

from above, there would come a flinch and a whimper from around the room.

“Is the house-elves cowards,” Kreacher said into the quiet. All around him, wide eyes turned his way again. “Is the house-elves not serving this school?”

“We is serving as best we can,” piped up Scoot indignantly. “But we is not knowing what to do.” The other elves nodded their agreement, ears flapping, eyes brimming with tears.

Kreacher stared around at them in awe of their idiocy. “We fight,” said Kreacher plainly.

“We is house-elves, Kreacher,” reasoned Tobbin. “We clean. We cook. We is not knowing how to fight. We is not strong enough.”

Kreacher stared around the kitchen. Then he marched deliberately to the nearest knife block on the counter, and drew out a sharp carving knife in one sweeping motion. “House-elves is strong enough,” he declared. All eyes were on him, and Kreacher was not sure if their looks were out of awe of his bravery or of his insanity. “House-elves is not weak. House-elves is powerful. House-elves is having more powerful magic than any of those wizards upstairs. Maybe even the Dark Lord. It is time house-elves learned to use it!”

All around him, his fellow elves were exchanging glances. Yes, Kreacher was quite sure they thought him mad. But it did not matter. “My master is giving his life for this cause. He is giving his life to save everyone in this castle. Kreacher include. Tobbin included. Scoot and Kiffy and Nippin included! My master is dying so the elves can have a better life. My master is giving Dobby a wizard’s burial because he is believing elves are good. He is believing elves deserve more.

“Kreacher knows the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord cares nothing for the lives of elves. He is seeing us as expendable. Weak. Less than nothing. But Kreacher will prove him wrong. Kreacher is alive because wizards like Master Harry and Master Regulus think otherwise. And Kreacher will fight for their cause. Kreacher will fight for Master.”

Kreacher glared around the room, challenging them. “And the elves of Hogwarts will fight with him,” he concluded, his voice dropping deadly soft. Again, the elves exchanged glances amongst themselves.

“But… Master Headmaster Snape instructed us to stay in the kitchen,” said Nippin hesitantly.

“Master Headmaster Snape is dead,” Kreacher replied savagely. “Mistress McGonnagall is being the house-elves mistress now. And your mistress is now upstairs fighting. Defending Hogwarts as the house-elves should be doing!”

There was a murmur around the room, and again. Uncertain looks were exchanged.

“We fight,” said Kreacher vehemently, staring around at all the frightened faces around him.

After a small pause in which several house-elves merely stared at him in fear, Tobbin rose to his feet, giving a small nod. Kreacher could see him trembling, but he stood with his chin held high in that self-important way that Kreacher always hated. Kreacher braced himself for the inevitable argument. But it did not come. “We fight,” Tobbin intoned back.

Kreacher glared around at the rest of them. “We fight!” he said, louder this time.

There was a murmur. And then more elves were getting to their feet. “We fight!” they called back.

“We fight!”

Kreacher cried.

“WE FIGHT!” the whole room chorused back. And no one was left seated. And in a flurry of motion, all around the kitchen, elf after elf was helping himself to knives and cleavers. One grasped the poker from the fireplace and another the small hatchet used to make kindling.

“FOR MY MASTER! FOR THE DEFENDER OF THE HOUSE-ELVES!” Kreacher called.

“FOR THE DEFENDER OF THE HOUSE-ELVES!!!” they all screamed back in unison.

And as Kreacher stormed up the stairs toward the Entrance Hall with a hundred elves at his back, he cared not that his back ached or that his knees were stiff. He cared not that he could be killed in this effort. As Kreacher charged out, carving knife held high, all he cared about was getting to his master who needed him.

And as they burst through the doors and swarmed out into the Entrance Hall, Kreacher called to rally his compatriots. “Fight! Fight! Fight for my master, defender of the house-elves! Fight the Dark Lord, in the name of brave Regulus! Fight!”

Kreacher made this choice for himself. It was not because he was ordered to do so. He made this choice because it was want he wanted. He made this choice because it was what he believed in.

Kreacher was not a free elf. Kreacher would never be a free elf.

For he was a part of something bigger. Something more.

“FOR MASTER!!!”

#Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #kreacher #kreacher & harry potter #house elf #elf magic

19 notes · View notes

mydyspraxiablog · 11 months

Text

Right been do free sample on magic site Freeuk site so see if free sample or scarm?

Could not get free note book too late.

Now feeling do my wishes

1. Wish to sponder a another child

2.wish have another cat

3.wish have dog

4.wish have hamsters

5 wish have Ginerapigs

6 wish have assistance dog

7 wish travel around the world

8 I wish see my sponder child in Ethiopia 🇪🇹

9 wish going chalie cat cafe and help cats there.

10 Wish Christmas art crouse at Lower Drayton farm

11 Wish for Engish crouse

12 wish for Engish crouse does do letter writing

13 Wish going back to Cannock college do Engish and Math

14 Wish go Esschell so can learn to swim again

15 Wish go Charie cat cafe in Esschell

16 Wish sponder a child on my birthday and there birthday

17 wish could have another bank account not happy with Natwest bank

18 Wish could have support living with pets

19 Wish could do cooking again but too expensive using hob now so microwave meal instead.

20 I wish Gluten free food was same price as normal food.

21 I wish going on Saturday Night take away only see Ant and Dec but at won't happon even wish did but don't like London so have come to Stafford at won't happon.

22 Wish could Guider leader of Blackflies School with Guides That won't happon.

23 wish go back to Blackflies school use there swimming pool again

24 Wish could go Disneyland Paris

25 wish could going on Disney cruise

26 Wish could going magic college like Hogwarts but won't happon too old now.

27 wish could write letters

28 wish could win some money.

29 Wish could visit Africa

30 wish could go Disneyworld

31 Wish going Guesey island again

32 Wish go Island white good part

33 Wish could visit Ethiopia twice year

34 Wish could going Turkey

35 Wish going to Deven

36 wish going camping

37 Wish going my sister Chalet in France 🇫🇷 too hot chocolate but not skiing.

37 Wish visit Scotland

38 Wish visit where Chalet School books begins

39 wish visit Wales again

40 Wish go Jersey haven't been yet

41 Wish going Greance

42 Wish have my own savings accont

43 Wish have own Swimming pool

44 Wish have second home in Turkey 🇹🇷

45 wish help cats and dogs around the world

46 Wishes help more children going to School 🏫

47 Wish give mum break from me

48 Wish was clever go to University

49 wish could help someone in uk

50 Wish God speek to me

51 Wish going Christmas Market around the world but won't happon

52 Wish go holiday with Trefoil Guild but that won't happon

53 Wish going coach trip going to Christmas holiday and Christmas Market

54 Wish go Christmas Market in chester

55 Wish see Disney on Ice

56 Wish could CEA card

57 Wish could have disabled railway card

58 Wish put more public buses back

59 Wish could bus pass instead 9am instead 930am missing college crouse because that and always late for 10am taxi 🚕

#dyspraxia #wishes

0 notes

lunatheskier · 2 years

Text

Ok now I kinda want a standard professor Hob Gadling fic but he teaches at Hogwarts

#harry potter #sandman #the sandman #sandman netflix #hogwarts #fanfic ideas ill never write #cause I dislike writing anything that isn't an essay #fanfic idea #tea talks

0 notes

joyfulhopelox · 3 years

Text

The Weasel and The Serpent

Summary: When Yoongi, a halfblood, enters Hogwarts he lies about being a pureblood and is welcomed into the elite of the Slytherin House. Yoongi spends the whole of his school life upholding this lie, terrified of being exposed. Until one day, Jimin's cousin, the loud and rambunctious Y/N enters his life and gradually breaks down the walls that he had tried so hard to build. Can the weasel and the serpent learn to co-exist?

Pairing: Slytherin!Yoongi x reader (Hogwarts!au)

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: light swearing

Word count: 13.2k

Rating: pg

A/N: Welcome to the first instalment of the Hogwarts for @homeofbangtan collab!

I want to thank everyone in the collab for being amazing and patient and incredibly lovely! @mochi-molala for being the catalyst of this fic, @min-yoon-kween for being an amazing support and beta reader and @ttaetae for this amazing banner. @delacyrose224 @alpacaparkaseok @joheunsaram @sunshinejunghoseokie @ggukcangetit for being an amazing squad!

Copyrights @joyfulhopelox

As always please leave feedback and/or talk to me as i love to hear from you! Enjoy <3

Who would have thought you would end up here? Knees bruised on the cold wet tiles, bent over, heartbroken and desperate. If at the beginning of the year someone would have said you’d be in this position, you would’ve laughed at them. But there you were, on your knees, watching helplessly, as the person that had become your everything suffering on the wet bathroom floor. The mournful sobs wrecking his body echoed through you, rendering you speechless. If it weren’t for the fact that it was Yoongi’s sobs you were witnessing, you would’ve thought it was Moaning Myrtle doing her usual rounds in the bathroom.

You willed yourself to move. The sound of your robes trailing through the murky water were muffled by the anguished cries and heart wrenching sobs. You felt powerless and it scared you. The feeling gripped at your heart tighter and tighter until you felt like you could not breathe.

How ironic is it, you thought, that when you first met him you were in the exact same position that he was in now. Yet, at the time, he knew exactly what to tell you, as if you’d been friends for a long time. This trait he possessed; the ability to read someone so well and yet be so detached from everyone, had made him popular in your year.

Everyone liked Yoongi, his aloof personality a complete contrast from his soft looks. With his coal black hair and pale white skin a contradiction to his soft lips and plump cheeks, it was hard to not be intrigued by him. Yet, for some reason you chose to keep him at an arm’s length. He became your cousin’s friend quite quickly. It was Park’s gift; having the ability to make friends and break hearts left and right. However, being the rising star of the Slytherin house, he made enemies just as quickly. But the relationship between him and Yoongi developed so quickly, you didn’t even see it coming. One day Jimin was loitering around the corridors being his dramatic self with only Taehyung to keep him in check. Next you run into him and Taehyung and Yoongi. They were whispering secretively to each other and you couldn’t pass up on the opportunity to intervene.

“Oi, Cocky Park, why are you acting like a bunch of gossip girls?” you shouted at him across the corridor. The three of them jumped apart in surprise and glanced at you, each face looking similar to a kid’s having been caught with his hands in the cookie jar. Satisfied at the reaction you got, you sauntered over to them.

“So, what’s the deal?” your grin intensified when Jimin’s flustered face morphed into an annoyed one. It meant you had done your job. You were cousins on your father’s side, but in reality you acted more like siblings. You grew up together, always around each other, your father and his attending meetings together. So of course in true sibling fashion, it was necessary to rile up the other.

Taehyung glanced at the both of you, knowing that if he did not intervene there would be bloodshed. “Hey, Y/N, uhhhh, we were just talking” he tried to distract you from the situation at hand. You tapped your foot impatiently, an eyebrow raised unimpressed and urged him to continue. “About what?”

Before Taehyung could say anything, Jimin stepped up, “Nothing that concerns you lesser Park, so run along to your clique” he smirks at you, his hand gesture dismissing you. You huff in annoyance.

“Cocky Park!” You warn glaring at him stepping closer to his frame. He was by no means tall, only a few inches taller than you, and you liked to remind him of that every single day knowing that it drove him up the wall. “I’ll tell mother about that one time you set the family portrait on fire just because-” Jimin instantly covered your mouth, not wanting to be exposed in front of his friends like that.

“Ok ok ok, enough,” He pleaded, your laugh muffled and your eyes displaying the satisfaction you felt at his distress. You had won this battle and you savoured every moment of it. “Take a chill pill J-Park.” Noticing the third person next to the double trouble of the Slytherin house you paused. “Oh, new friends?” You pointed towards the silent man behind them. During the whole interaction between the three of you he hadn’t said anything, his dark eyes meticulously observing the scene before him.

You decided it was rude of you to not introduce yourself. You may have a loud personality and be opinionated to the point of aggression sometimes but you couldn’t forget the etiquette that your parents instilled in you. Especially in front of a fellow Slytherin, so with a confident grin you stepped around the two clowns of the house and extended your hand out.

“I’m Y/N.” The stranger looked wearily at your hand before hesitantly extending his. You don’t wait for his hand to reach yours, grabbing it mid rise and waiting for him to tell you his name. Only for a drawn out silence to ensue. You give his cold hand a small encouraging squeeze, urging him to say something. Noticing the shift in atmosphere Jimin stepped up next to you grabbing your forearm.

“Y/N, Yoongi. Yoongi, Y/N” he quickly said whilst pulling your hand away from the hold. You eye your cousin suspiciously but decide to not say anything. Instead you look at Yoongi and offer him what you hope is a friendly smile. “ Nice to meet you Yoongi. Well I have to go back now, I have practice” you turn on your heels prepared to leave. But before you could rush off you stop abruptly as if you’ve remembered something. Turning back, you point to Yoongi’s hands, making the boy take a small step back at your abruptness. “Make sure to wear gloves Yoongi, it may still be autumn but the castle is cold and your hands are freezing.” With a wink you then turn your attention towards Jimin, pointing threateningly at him.

“And you, you better not be late for practice, Outdated Park. We can’t afford to lose in front of Jeon again so get your ass on the pitch on time or I'll tell Sunny about your massive-“ Jimin’s cheeks turned red instantly and he almost shoves you down the corridor desperate to not let you finish that sentence.

“I get it, now move your troublesome ass out of here,” he pleaded. Laughing you wave at the three of them one more time before you rush down the corridor to meet up with the rest of the Quidditch team.

That was the first time you saw Yoongi, not as tragic as the second time; where he stumbled upon you in a dimly lit corridor. You took refuge there after receiving an unsettling letter from your parents. Said letter, now suspiciously damp, dangled from your hands when he found you. Even though your face showed no sign of distress, if there was someone who could read emotions well it would’ve been apparent. Yoongi was that someone.

He approached you silently, cautiously. As if he was afraid his presence would set off the feelings you were trying so hard to suppress. He observed your blank face for a second, his face not giving away any of his thoughts. You knew he was there and yet, you did not move. You couldn’t, the fear and pain gripping at your heart making you immobile. The letter you had just read replayed in your mind constantly.

‘Our daughter,

As this year happens to be the last year of your studies, we have decided that it is time for us to think about your future. Your father and I have decided that once you have finished your exams you shall be coming back home to Murkwood Manor where you will be spending the summer attending galas thrown by esteemed families. We are pleased to have come to the conclusion that for your sake and progress into the pureblood society, a convenient marriage is the best option and what better place to find such connections than there?

We hope that you can see how much we are thinking about you and understand our worries about your future.

Your everloving parents.’

You tried to forget the words staining the white paper, but it proved to be difficult. You knew the day would come, you and Jimin having been primed for this since you were children. Unlike Jimin, who would have more freedom of choice as he was to inherit his parents’ manor, you were doomed to enter an arranged marriage. As a pureblood it had always been your duty. Before you understood what that meant, as a romantic, you used to be excited at that prospect. Your brain came up with scenarios similar to ones in books about wizards in arranged marriages and living happily ever after.

Once you grew up, the excitement morphed into apprehension. The prospect of being tied to someone you did not willingly choose was daunting. To receive a letter informing you of your imminent fate crushed you.

Yoongi let out a soft breath, the sound loud enough to break the silence between the two of you. You knew you had to acknowledge him and yet, you could not bring yourself to. You barely knew each other, but as soon as he crouched next to your slumped form, a hesitant hand reaching out for yours the dam broke. You didn’t know or care if his touch was the push you needed or if the tumultuous feelings running through you became too much. You let yourself weep, not caring about the man tightening his grip on your hand witnessing it.

Normally your mother’s voice would be ringing in your head, telling you that your behaviour was unladylike, that someone of your status should not act like this. But the cold touch enveloping your trembling hand offered you the comfort you needed to let go.

Though only a few minutes had passed they felt like an eternity to you, your violent sobs dissolving into sniffles, too tired to carry on. Unknowingly, your hand sought out the reassurance of Yoongi’s hand, your fingers now intertwined. He let you cry it out, not saying a word, but his mind was running at a hundred miles an hour. Had he not been an expert at hiding his feelings, you would have been able to see the sadness he felt displayed across his face. He could not fathom why you would be sitting on the stone cold ground, knees drawn to your chest, shivering and looking so...broken.

When your sniffles ceased you looked up at him, your face red and blotchy from crying. He didn’t ask, his understanding eyes only watched you as you tried to gather your thoughts. He didn’t ask and yet, you couldn’t help but tell him. Tell him of the fate that waited for you once you graduated. There was something about the way he looked at you, a comfort you found in his gentle gaze that you couldn’t help yourself. Hiccuping you let it all spill out, his grasp on your hands becoming your strength to carry on.

“Your parents don’t define who you are, you define who you are. Whatever you are feeling, going through and your future, your parents will not be with you forever. And if you spend most of your time pleasing them, when they are gone you will start resenting everything that you have become.”

With that Yoongi wordlessy let go of your hand and slipped out of the bathroom leaving you with a tear stained grubby face slumped on the bathroom floor.

For a few days after that you tried avoiding Yoongi like the plague. Too embarrassed at your outburst you found yourself leaving the Great Hall when he would enter, turning your head the other way when you happened to make eye contact in class and avoiding any conversation that brought him up. If anyone noticed your odd behaviour towards him they did not say a word. He didn’t try to approach you, and no one in your House mentioned anything about it, and so after that first week you relaxed. Your cousin, however, did notice and when he tried to approach you about it you dismissed it as not having enough free time with the Quidditch game around the corner.

“Y/N, you do know I am on the same team as you right?” Jimin’s use of your full name indicated he was serious about the conversation. Sighing your shoulders slumped, you were feeling tired of hiding around. After letting it all out in front of Yoongi, it felt like all your body wanted to do was shout out to the world how exhausted you were of being a member of a pureblood family. No one would understand you better than Jimin would.

“I’m just tired, Chim.” Jimin faltered, his seriousness melted into worry at the sound of your voice. You sounded meek, the exhaustion clear on your face. Jimin was never one for emotional display, but he was your cousin, he was your family, he was like your brother. He offered you the comfort that you sought, placing his arms around you. You didn’t wait for him to speak, the unasked question hanging above you like the ghosts roaming around the castle.

“I’m getting married.” At your words you felt Jimin stiffen. He knew what you were talking about, it was a long tradition in pureblood families. Arranged marriages were not uncommon, if only to keep the bloodline pure; so it was only a matter of time before this happened to you as well. He was lucky, as the male of the family, he had more freedom than you but that also didn’t mean he could marry just anyone. “Who?” Was all he asked and you took a moment to recollect yourself, wondering if the mention of the rival School in the tournament would be a bad idea. “Who, Y/N?”

You stepped away from him, your eyes glossy with unshed tears. “Someone from Beauxbatons. I don’t even know his face. Just his name. And I am supposed to live the rest of my life with this person.” You felt the tears gather in your eyes but you knew you couldn’t cry. Even if it was just Jimin, the rest of the courtyard was completely void of students, your pride stopped you from letting all your emotions flow. Yoongi caught you at your most vulnerable and since that day you swore to yourself you would never let it happen again. If anyone were to witness it and your parents to get wind of it, you would be reprimanded, possibly even punished.

Jimin felt the shift in you, your vulnerable demeanour instantly covered up by a cold emotionless wall. He tried to say something, anything to prevent that shift but he couldn’t bring himself to. He understood why you would do that; as a pureblood the expectation to be impeccable was high, and the slightest slip would end in punishment. Not wanting to push you towards an emotional breakdown he did what he normally did best and distracted you from your misery. Gripping your shoulders he smirked at you, “come on Park 2.0, we need to get on that pitch today and win.”

The sight of the Quidditch pitch along with your peers cheering and chanting, instantly calmed you. This was your home, on your broom, ready to kick some ass. Today was the game against the Gryffindor team and the contrast between the green of your House and the red of Gryffindor House formed an enchanting colour palette. The Team Captain was yelling instructions left and right, discussing the strategy once more but you didn’t care. All you wanted was to be up in the air and hit a few Bludgeons to vent your frustrations out. As soon as your Team is given the go ahead you kick off onto your broom. The feel of the air brushing your face and the sound of your teammates yelling encouragement to each other giving you the adrenaline that you needed to get your head in the game.

The chants fuelled you, dodging a Bludger here, slamming your bat into it, sending it into the direction of a chaser, your head never left the game. The dynamics of the group, the teamwork, they all made you proud to be part of the team. From time to time, your eyes would wander towards the bleachers, taking in the crowd. Your fellow Slytherins were cheering as loudly as they could, chanting everyone’s name. You rolled your eyes, of course the loudest yells would come from the Gryffindor side. Kim Seokjin and Jeon Jungkook were favourites and so, their names would be on every lion’s lips. A quick break from the referee allowed you to catch your breath, high fiving with your fellow beater. You were crushing this. Taking in a deep gulp of air to calm down your heartbeat you scanned the crowd once again, only to make eye contact with a dark haired Slytherin who seemed to be watching you intently. You smiled hesitantly, confused at his presence, Yoongi had never been the one to watch the Quidditch games, but his presence gave you confidence that everything would be alright.

The game wasn’t going in your favour, Gryffindor had a good chance at winning, everyone on the edge of their seats for the end of the match. Suddenly you saw Jimin and Jungkook diving towards the ground, neck to neck and you knew that they'd spotted the Snitch. Breath caught in your throat, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Jimin turns at the last minute, rising back up leaving Jungkook behind. In his hand he held the Snitch. The triumphant yell of the crowd switches from the Slytherin crowd towards the Gryffindor team and you lower your head dejected. Jimin may have caught the Snitch, but Gryffindor House had already won enough points to win the game without it. Sighing you turned towards your team, their hopelessness could be felt throughout the pitch. It wasn’t their fault, they’d played a good game, so in an attempt to cheer them up you started clapping. Soon, the crowd all caught onto what you were doing and joined in and quickly, what could have turned into a disastrous end for the team morale ended up quite the opposite. You turned yourself towards the crowd, the smile on your face widening at the sight of your fellow Slytherins cheering for you. In that moment you swore you didn’t look through the crowd for a particular person, but your eyes found his and your grin widened. Yoongi was clapping along with everyone else, his reassuring gaze never leaving yours. Suddenly you didn’t feel like you lost anymore, instead, you felt like a winner.

Under normal circumstances, the days after the game were the hardest to endure. This time however, the atmosphere felt lighter than even before the match. After the game ended and the team went back to change out of their uniform, your Team Captain held a speech about pride and defeat. That, along with the cheers from the crowd, lessened the sting of the loss and you promised yourselves that you will do better for the next one. However, classes and your professors waited for no one. With only a few weeks left until Christmas break the number of assignments kept rising, and the pressure of your N.E.W.Ts looming above your head forced you to spend every possible waking moment inside the library, your head stuck in a book. Despite being a Slytherin and not a Ravenclaw, you did enjoy studying. You were never alone whilst in there, especially now that Jimin and that Hufflepuff were spending more and more time in the library together. You got first hand experience of their budding relationship. Both of them being very much interested, yet both of them being very much oblivious.

It was during one of those days in the library when Yoongi approached you. The library was already full with students trying to cram a last minute essay. You were no better, your Potions essay due that afternoon, you tried to get as much done as possible. Writing about the properties of Amortentia was not a pleasant experience. Scribbling furiously, you bit your lip in concentration, not even noticing the silent dark haired man that sat down in front of you.

“You’re going to break your quill if you carry on writing like that.” His remark made you jump out of your skin, dropping your quill to the ground and knocking your ink over the sides of the table in the process. “Ah, shit.” You muttered as you tried to blot your parchment with your robes. Yoongi jumped out of the seat, hurrying to help you salvage your work, muttering his apologies to you incessantly. “It’s okay, no problem.” You smiled at him, you were not really upset, you knew your essay could be done better and maybe a restart is what you needed. “You actually did me a favour.” Confused, Yoongi glanced at your paper. “Isn’t it due today?” He motioned towards how much you’ve written, “and that looks like a lot of research to me.” Waving him off you sat back down and got out another piece of parchment.

“It wasn’t that good to begin with. Potions is not my strongest suit so I could probably do with rewriting it. There’s only so much, ‘and boom they fall in love’ that you can describe.” You laughed at Yoongi’s expression. He looked offended at your statement, and you took the time to admire his expressions. Never one to express too many feelings, at least not in your presence, it felt like a breath of fresh air. You couldn’t help but wonder what caused the change in behaviour. “Wait, a Slytherin, not good at Potions?” He mock gasped at you and you laughed. He looked a lot younger, freer this way and you couldn’t help but take in this carefree Yoongi. As you stared at the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled; his wide grin making his round cheeks puff out, you felt your heart speed up, and butterflies start fluttering in your stomach. “I know right?!” You carried on with his joke, not wanting this lighthearted atmosphere to end. “Appalling.” He nodded trying to look serious. You tried to hold in your laugh but when your eyes met, you couldn’t stop yourselves and burst out laughing.

“Shhhhhh.” The angry librarian loomed over the both of you and you bowed your heads in apology still trying to stifle your laughter. “Well, that is that… now you know my darkest secret.” So absorbed in getting your books together, you didn’t notice the way Yoongi stiffened. “I am bad at Potions, and it’s my final year and there is no way I can do anything about it now.” When you carried on, Yoongi relaxed a small smile thrown into your direction. “Would….you don’t have to, but would you like some help? I may not be the best….” You perked up instantly as soon as he said that, not even letting him finish you quickly grabbed his hand and nodded. “Nonsense. You are one of the best in our year!” You noticed the slight redness that crept up Yoongi’s cheeks and you smirked. “And I heard that you are going to be interning for the Auror Office at the end of school! I would be honoured if you helped me!” Sensing his hesitation, you paused for a second, trying to think of a way to make him feel more comfortable about it when an idea suddenly hit you. “How about an exchange?” You looked at him hopefully, his eyes roaming over your face trying to understand what you were proposing. “As in, is there anything that you may need help with?” You clarified and Yoongi nodded, finally understanding what you meant. He didn’t reply for a while and you started to get uncomfortable under his gaze. Shifting uneasily in your seat you cleared your throat, “of course, you don’t have to, I just thought it may make things a lot fairer if-”

“Defence” Yoongi interrupted abruptly. You stared at him for a second before your baffled expression turned into a smile. “Deal.” You took the deal, even though you knew very well that Yoongi was more than good at the subject, having managed to be one of the few people who could produce a Patronus in class. Deciding not to mention having observed his wispy Weasel Patronus almost starting to attack your Serpent one, you nodded at him extending your hand to seal the deal. Startled, Yoongi took a glance at your hand before hesitantly grabbing it. His warm hand enveloped yours and you gripped it, immediately finding comfort in his warm grip. Staring at each other for a second, the silence that settled over you wasn’t uncomfortable. There was a remnant of something that felt overlooked, as if there was something left unsaid between the two of you. Yoongi opened his mouth and your breath caught in your throat.

“Oi, Park!” Your cousin’s voice broke the comfortable bubble that you and Yoongi were in and you immediately dropped your hand on the table, pretending nothing had happened. You knew Jimin, and you knew he would not let you live it down if he noticed the position you and his friend were in. You schooled your face in a sneer and turned towards your obnoxious family member. “What Outdated Park?” You sneered at him, annoyed, then settled your eyes on the person hiding behind him. Sunny looked uncomfortable, so to ease the tension you smiled at her. It wasn’t that you didn’t like her, yet, you would not go out of your way to get to know her. “Are you ready for the Yule Ball?” Jimin airly said, dropping his arm over Sunny’s shoulder in such a casual way you could tell it was something he did often. At the thought of the Yule Ball, your mood instantly soured. Jimin knew there was no way you were excited about it, you glanced at Yoongi, who was doing his best to look at anyone but you. “Uhm, yeah, I guess.” You shrugged, the disappointment in our voice quite obvious.Yoongi chanced a glance at you, and you smiled sadly at him. “We will have to wait and see.” You broke eye contact, turning around to look back at Jimin, whose sympathetic eyes took in the interaction between you and his friend.

Yoongi felt his heart drop and his hand twitched. The sadness that he could read in your eyes made him want to grab your hand again, to reassure you, yet he stopped himself. He was nothing for you, and he could never be something. He would just stay as a friend and tutor, even though all he wanted to do was ask you to be his partner for the dance.

Staring at yourself in the mirror you took a deep breath in, your hands twitched at your sides. You were trying hard to not wipe them on your ball gown, your parents would kill you if you appeared less than perfect in front of anyone. Yoongi’s words rang loud and clear in your head. Refusing to acknowledge the truth of his statement you focused on your appearance once again. Tonight, you would be meeting your fiance officially - the thought as appealing as that one time you fell off the broom during the match against the Gryffindor team. You threw one more glance at yourself in the mirror before you acknowledged your friends calling your name.

“Coming! Wands out your asses.” You walk out of the dormitory into the Common Room. The dark atmosphere broken by the languid emerald flames coming from the fireplace, enhancing your satin dress. The lights caught in the folds of it giving it the fluidity of a crystal clear lake, the silver diamond like colour reflecting the green sheen cast around the room.

“Y/N, you have outdone yourself. Your partner is extremely lucky.” Your heart sped up at the thought of having to face your supposed arranged marriage partner. After you received your letter and had your emotional slip-up, you’d pushed the thought of your future fiance to the back of your brain. However, what you hadn’t realised was that with the Tournament happening at Hogwarts this year, you were going to meet your future husband sooner than intended. A pureblood from Beauxbatons; he was amongst the students chosen to be part of the visiting party. So, it didn’t surprise you when one afternoon, during your study session with your friends, he approached you. After he introduced himself, he immediately asked you to be his partner for the Yule Ball. No one else had dared to ask you to the Ball. Mouth agape you struggled to respond to him, knowing full well you couldn’t refuse, when you spotted Jimin and Yoongi making their way towards you.

“Hey Annoying Park.” Jimin greeted you, but at the sight of your discombobulated expression his face darkened, and he glanced between you and the Beauxbatons guy. “Who are you?” He narrows his eyes at the stranger and you would’ve laughed at his crassness if not for the conflicted feelings coursing through you. A small cough behind Jimin caught your attention and your eyes made contact with Yoongi’s. He shifted under your gaze as if uncomfortable and a sudden rush of embarrassment came over you. There was no reason to be ashamed of the situation you were in. Your future fiance had asked you to a ball, it was a perfectly normal situation. Nonetheless, the thought of Yoongi witnessing it made you squirm.

The tension was so thick you felt as if you were trapped in the darkness of the Forbidden Forest. The Beauxbatons student took a step forwards, placing himself in front of you in a protective manner. “Luc Millefeuille the Third.” He announced proudly, puffing his chest. Yoongi stiffened drastically at the name. He had heard it before, in newspapers. His great grandfather, the famous patissiere, was known for the serial mass poisoning of a group of muggles. The thought of you being chained to such a name made his skin crawl. If Jimin recognised the name he didn’t show it, instead he eyed the male with a steel gaze. “Nice to meet you.” Glancing at you he motioned with his head. “Red, we have practice to go to.” Taking the chance to get out of the situation you mumbled a goodbye to Luc before you hurried after Jimin.

In the end, Luc cornered you once more and you had no choice but to agree. Your parents were bound to have some harsh words for you if they found out you refused him. You knew of the family name, Jimin had made you aware of it. Despite your inherited indifference towards muggles, the thought of mass murder disgusted you. You didn’t know what your parents were planning and you couldn’t find out as your letters home had not been replied to.

“Y/N, are you ready?” You snapped out of your reverie. Turning to look at your friends, your smile grim, you nodded at them. “Yes, I guess so.” Patting your skirts once more you prepared to exit the dungeons just as the entrance opened, revealing a dashing Yoongi dressed in black robes, with a dark green sash around his torso. You faltered as you made eye contact with him, his eyes trailed down your form, darkening to the colour of tar. You felt yourself flush under his gaze, a slight tingle underneath your skin making you shift in discomfort. You couldn’t break eye contact with him even as your friends greeted him, his shocked gaze keeping you in place. “Y/N.” He whispered, taking a step towards you, you’re prepared to reach out to him when your sight is cut off by the abrupt entrance of the blonde Frenchman who barged past Yoongi.

“Y/N. You look delicious.” He smirked at you and you had to fight the urge to grimace. Grabbing your hand forcefully he doesn’t even acknowledge Yoongi as he dragged you out of the Common Room. Having to pick up your pace so that you didn’t trip over your dress, you looked back, your desperate eyes making contact with Yoongi’s dark ones once more. However, he’s gone from your sight the next second as Luc turned the corner.

Not being part of the Champions, the two of you had to wait near the entrance to the Great Hall, so you took your time observing the Christmas decorations that littered the gradious hall. The theme was a dark blue, with stars sparkling above your heads bathing the dance floor in an ethereal glow. You spotted Jimin and Sunny waiting to the side for the signal to start the dance. You could tell she was nervous by the way she gripped at Jimin’s robes, whispering animatedly in his ear. You laughed to yourself, you didn’t know her very well and you weren’t her biggest fan per se, but their relationship was adorable. Both of them were so oblivious to the other it was almost endearing if not borderline annoying.

Luc’s grip on you hasn’t softened since you entered the Grand Hall, it was starting to make you feel uncomfortable. You stepped to the side as you tried to get him to loosen his hold on you. When you were unsuccessful, you stomped your foot near his. “Let go.” You warned him through gritted teeth. Not only did he ignore you, but he tightened his grip on your arm as he dragged you forwards towards the rink. You didn’t even notice that the Champions had finished with their first dance, and now it was open to everyone to join in. You knew you’d regret it later, as you missed the opportunity to witness your cousin’s marvelous dancing with his clumsy partner, but you had more pressing matters to sort out. Your partner pulled you onto the dance floor and with a sneer he glanced at you, “I hope you know how to dance, I don’t want to be embarrassed.” You bit back a remark, you knew you couldn’t cause a scene in the middle of so many people, no matter how loud you normally were. Instead of answering you tighten your grip on his shoulder, your eyes coldly staring past him.

As you glided in a waltz across the floor you took your time scanning the room, taking in all the couples, the decorations and most importantly, your eyes were searching for the sole person you wanted to see that night. You spotted him in a corner near a table, his eyes already on you. The intensity with which he was watching you made a shiver run down your spine. This time, it didn’t feel uncomfortable, on the contrary Yoongi’s gaze on you felt reassuring. The whole dance you kept your gazes locked on each other, Yoongi not even glancing away as his partner got pulled from him for a dance. Even though you were apart, and you were dancing with the man meant to be your husband, it felt like it was just you and Yoongi in the room.

You stepped away from Luc as soon as the dance ended. Muttering an excuse about needing refreshments you fought the urge to gag when instead of offering to get them for you, he burdened you with his own refreshments. Taking any excuse that you could to get away from him you nodded and hurriedly made your way towards the tables where Jimin greeted you.

“You could’ve done worse.” His mocking tone irked you and you resisted the urge to kick him in the shin. Instead you angrily grabbed a glass of mead and downed half of it in one go. “Woah there, slow down.” Jimin backed away from you. “If you tell me it’s unladylike Park, I swear on Peeve’s dung bombs you and Sunny will not have any children.” You grumbled under your breath at him, not caring that said girl was also next to him, both their faces now beet red. “I am close to murdering him.” You sighed, the drink and reprieve you had from your French fiancee finally calming you down. “Oh Merlin’s beard, here he comes.” You spotted Luc making his way through the crowd with a pompous stride, heading straight towards you. Grabbing Jimin by his robes in a desperate attempt to hide, you didn’t notice the other man that reached you before your fiance could. With a yelp, you stumbled straight into Yoongi’s chest, his hands wrapping around your waist in an attempt to steady you. “You’re good.” He whispered in your ear. Your stomach clenched at his low voice and his breath hitting the sensitive shell of your ear. Mumbling a thanks you stepped away from him, your eyes never leaving his. You could feel your heart speeding up and you had to resist the urge to grab onto him for support once more.

“Y/N, where are the drinks?” Luc’s voice broke you out of your daze, and you turned away from Yoongi to face him. “I- uh- forgot.” You mumbled causing the Frenchman to scoff at you, a look of pure disgust on his face. “I can’t believe my wife is this stupid.” He spat at you. You could feel your blood boiling in anger, but before you could reply Jimin stepped in front of you. “She is not your wife and she is definitely not stupid.” You could hear the anger in his voice. Luc sized him up, knowing that he couldn’t have an argument with the head of the Park family, that would ruin any chances. Instead he sneered at your cousin whilst grabbing your arm tightly. “Come on.” He glared at you, but having had enough you stood your ground trying to pry your arm out of his grip. “Let me go.” You said through gritted teeth, you were close to hexing his ass and no one would have been able to stop you. Pulling at you roughly once more trying to get you away from your friends, he suddenly tripped over his robes. You yelped feeling yourself start to fall down along with him, when a hand grabbed you and pulled you towards a familiar chest. In the corner of your eyes you noticed a wand being placed back into the black robes that Yoongi was wearing.

“What happened?” Luc looked around confused, picking himself off the floor and you realised straight away what Yoongi had done. “Your robe’s dirty.” Yoongi pointed out with a monotonous voice, and you fought back a laugh. You could see the change in Luc’s eyes, the anger making him explode. With a flurry of curses thrown around in French, he stormed out of the Great Hall. You stared after him in silence for a second before you couldn’t help it anymore and you burst out laughing. “Oh, wow. Who would have thought?” Jimin finally calmed down enough to speak. “Now if you’d excuse us, Sunny needs to polish her dancing skills.” Saying that he grabbed said girl by the arm and led her towards the dance floor. Still chuckling to yourself you turned towards Yoongi, a sparkle in your eyes that made his heart burst with warmth.

“Confundus eh? Thank you. I don’t know how to repay you for that.” You smiled kindly at him, waiting for a response. But when he silently extended his hand towards you, all you felt was the blood rushing to your head, making you dizzy. “You could dance with me.” His tone was calm, not once giving away the nervousness that he felt beneath his skin. You didn’t even hesitate, you placed your hands in his. He led you towards the dance floor, wrapping his arm around your waist, whilst you daintily placed your hand on his shoulder. As you slowly started to glide along the dancefloor between the couples, your eyes locked onto his. The charmed stars twinkling above you, your heart fluttered in hope.

Needless to say, Christmas holidays came and went, your trip home cut short by your desire to be away from your obnoxious family, and the excitement of continuing your studies alongside Yoongi. With his help, you started making progress with your Potions, and you would have long chats about anything and everything during the hours you were meant to be studying for Defence. Yoongi felt happy, it felt like everything was finally going right. Until that one fateful day when a curse and a fight would change everything for him. He never thought that by being himself just once in his life, would cost everything he had managed to build over the past seven years at the school.

Yoongi’s heart dropped. He’d been found out. He could tell just by looking at everyone’s reaction. The friends he’d managed to make, had found out about his blood status. If not certain, they are suspecting him now. Suddenly, flashbacks of his father degrading him- calling him a dirty blood traitor, whilst making sure the skin of his wrist was raw and blistery, plagued his mind. His thoughts filled with his father’s harsh words, accompanied by his mother’s cries; the symphony of Yoongi’s life. He stood frozen on the spot, the adrenaline coursing through his veins causing him to enter the fight or flight mode. His wide eyes took in the faces of the people that have always supported him for the past few years he’s been at Hogwarts.

But then again, could Yoongi even call these people friends? Could he say they have always supported him? He glanced at Jimin.

Jimin, the person whom he thought was a stuck up pureblood. The person who approached him, offered him not only a seat at the Slytherin table, but also a group to belong in. He could vividly recall the day he got put into his house. He was terrified when the Sorting Hat sealed his fate with a simple holler- “SLYTHERIN!” Yoongi was aware of the house's reputation and fame. Full of purebloods, prejudice and pride; his mother had warned him to stay away from them. But how could he, now that he was one of them? In a split moment, he decided then and there that he would not allow anyone know about his status, he would take it to his grave if he had to. So with a strengthened resolve he created Slytherin Yoongi. Gone was the boy who would openly smile until his cheeks hurt, the boy who dreamt of happy endings, the boy who would innocently sit by the lake, his eyes following the murtlaps chasing each other. In his stead, a coldness settled over him. He knew that in order to make it he had to avoid being too close to anyone. Becoming friends with people would only make it harder for him to hide who he was. So he hid in the shadows on his own, keeping himself away from activities that would force him to interact with people more than necessary.

Until Jimin came along. Under the pureblood facade, Jimin was charismatic and flirtatious with everyone and that made him very popular amongst his fellow Slytherins. Yoongi stood no chance against his charms, and when one day he felt himself pulled down, to sit with the most popular Slytherin boy and his best friend he did not know what to make of it.

“You look terrified,” Jimin laughed at Yoongi’s expression.

Being aloof and stiff with most of his peers made Yoongi very good at reading people. However, there was one person he could not read at all, and that was himself. Conflicted most of the time, the battle between the soft hearted boy who would try his best to make everyone happy and the new indifferent one mirrored in his eyes. Jimin was not stupid by any means, Yoongi found that out along the way. The internal battle that he was going through was not unnoticed by the pureblood Slytherin. Thinking about his friend and their journey into their friendship caused an old wound to reopen, a new wave of pain washing over him.

Then there was Jin, his neighbour Jin, who had stuck with him through thick and thin since childhood. Jin was there to pick him up when the other muggle children started calling him a freak. He never thought that Jin would end up at Hogwarts, not until they both got their letter when their mothers met up during their weekly cooking sessions. Getting excited over the letters, their mothers gushed at the two of them being best friends forever. Having Jin be there with him when they both entered the grand halls of the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a comfort he knew he shouldn’t indulge in. After all, they would probably not end up in the same house, and having read enough about the School, he knew there were rivalries, stereotypes. He couldn’t bear the thought of Jin becoming his enemy. So he kept his distance. But as usual, Jin had an innate ability to jump in and save the day, a stubbornness only characteristic to Gryffindors. So, Jin stayed by his side. The boy was smart enough to not reveal their friendship to everyone. Until this day, that is.

Then there was Red, you were the sole reason his cold facade melted. For you he became the person that he used to be. Warm hearted and ready to jump to anyone’s aid. He tried his best to not let his wall crumble, and for the most part he succeeded. But in his heart, something changed, something shifted. Your loud and honest personality paired with your stubbornness and your laissez faire attitude drew him in straight away. Yet, you were Jimin’s cousin, born as a pureblood, with the values of a Slytherin. You were loud and proud about being who you were. Never obnoxious about it, but there would be times when you would slip in one insult or another towards fellow ‘mudblood’ students. Yoongi knew then that as enraptured as he was by you, he had to keep you at a distance. He could not let you find out who he was, so he denied himself the intimacy with you that he desperately craved.

He got caught in the web of lies he has created around his persona. The Yoongi that everyone knew was a facade, he was not and he would never be that Yoongi. He wasn’t the pureblood genius that everyone knew, and he certainly was not the pureblood that could ever hope to win Red’s heart. At the thought of you his eyes honed in on yours. To his surprise he couldn’t see any animosity in them, instead the sheen that glossed over your eyes spoke of pain. The sight of you there, amongst the people who have witnessed his comeuppance was unbearable to him and so with one last wistful glance at you, he turned on his heels and ran.

“Yoongi!” The chorus of voices calling him was drowned out by the desperation in your voice.

He ran as fast as he could, stumbling into people, his eyes filling with hot tears. His legs were starting to hurt, and as he passed students, teachers, statues, Peeves who tried to pelt him with water - all he could focus on was the scene that had sealed his fate. The punches, his innate reaction to help his friends. The way Jin and Jimin had thrown meaningless words at each other. Something so unlike Jin that he did not know what to do, he acted instantly to break up the fight. Seeing his childhood friend, his brother, this aggressive triggered something in him he had not felt for a while. Fear.

He feared that Jin may have snapped, the trials of his life finally catching up to him at one word sputtered by Park’s mouth, so he acted out of pure instinct. He got in between the two, but to everyone’s surprise, Jimin was not the person he first reached out to. It was Jin who worried him the most. Talking to him in front of everyone as if he was an old friend, saying things to him that he shouldn’t have known, raised an alarm in everyone’s minds. When everything finally calmed down, Jin calmed down and Park, constrained by Taehyung. Yoongi was the only one left in the middle of the crowd, exposed and afraid.

Seeing him stand like that, his nervous countenance so unlike the cool composed man you’ve come to know, spurred you on. Cautiously you approached him, your hand extended towards him. “Yoongi?” You tried to get his attention however, your voice came out softer than you’d intended. Clearing your throat, you tried again, this time with a lot more conviction. “Yoongi, are you...ok?” To your credit, you settled for the safest of questions. There were a million thoughts running through your head, how did he know Jin? Most importantly, how did he know Jin so well? You have never once witnessed any contact between him and the Gryffindor Head Boy, other than the occasional nod in his direction. But this, everything you’ve heard, it seemed like their relationship ran deeper than Hogwarts. Purebloods and muggles in your head did not mix, especially Slytherins, unless there was something there that you were missing. That thought now in your head, you threw a hesitant glance in Jimin’s direction. It was easy to spot him amongst the rest, his face the only calm composed one out of all of them. Taehyung, Sunny, Nerd- the surprise was clear and apparent on their faces. Jimin’s calm composure told you all you needed to know- he was aware of the situation. Promising yourself to question him later, you turned your attention back to Yoongi, who as time passed looked more and more like a cornered animal, and you knew that at any moment he would flee the scene. Without thinking you took three rushed steps towards him, your eyes locked onto his. You read the sheer panic in them and before you could react his feet had carried him halfway across the hallway. “Yoongi!”

Without thinking you ran after him, ignoring your cousin’s shouts for you to return. You did what you normally did best, acted rashly and ignorantly. As a beater on the Slytherin team you had the athletic advantage and so you quickly caught up with his retreating form. Reaching out for his arm you stopped him dead in his tracks. “Yoongi. Stop.” Your voice sounded harsher than you’d intended, so desperate to get him to listen to you that you did not consider how your tone would affect him. You waited, not even phased by the sound of the other students milling in the corridors, the sight of his back being all you could see. The sound of his laboured breathing all you could hear. You uttered his name again yet, he did not turn around to face you, and for a second your composure crumbles. You squeeze his arm trying to get his attention, trying to get him to respond to you, trying to get him to do something. Caught up in your own thoughts and worries you yelped in surprise, you didn’t even notice his sharp intake of breath before he suddenly yanked his arm out of your hold.

“What do you want now?” The tone of his voice is as cold as the corridor you are both in. Your heart clenches at the sound. You were expecting him to be hurt or scared, but the anger that you could read in his voice takes you by surprise. How Slytherin of him, you thought, and how Slytherin of you to assume he would be anything but angry. All your life you’ve been indoctrinated to believe that anyone is below you, no matter who they are, all your life you were taught to assume you could read everyone, and you would always be right in your assumptions. Prejudice is not a winner in this case, you realised, not when it comes to love. Because all the nights you have spent in your dark room mulling over what had transpired between the two of you since that day in the bathroom, to the Yule Ball where you could barely think of dancing with anyone else but him. You didn’t see it coming, like a Bludgeon to the head, but your heart did. You tried and tried to tell yourself that it was not love, but it was already too late.

“Yoongi, please don’t shut us out.” You haven’t pleaded in your life, the sound of your voice a surprise to your ears. Before you could think too much into it, Yoongi’s response hit you like the Cruciatus curse.

“Why? Why would I not? Why would I let you use my situation to fuel your pureblood pride?” He spat and you recoiled instantly from him, you’ve never heard such venomous words coming from him. “Yoongi,” you whispered, the fire in your heart dwindling. “Why are you like this? I’ve never....why,” you tried to find your words but the hurt and shock running through your body made it difficult. “You’ve never been like this.” You finally settled. Yoongi narrowed his eyes at you, his fierce expression made you tremble. The shivers running down your spine didn’t stop even as he carried on. The malicious tone of his voice bleeding through your veins like ice cold water. For a second you wonder if this is what Jimin’s felt like as Sunny pulled him out of the Black Lake. Cold and scared.

“What do you know about me?” You open your mouth to respond but he stops you dead in your tracks. “Nothing!” he hissed. “You don’t know anything about me. You know Yoongi, the Slytherin. But you don’t know anything about Min Yoongi the person.” His words cut through you and in that moment you’d rather be stuck with an army of Dementors than hear the accusations thrown your way. You knew he was right, you knew nothing of him. You hadn’t tried to even after your brain finally accepted that your heart belonged to him. Ashamedly, you cower away from him, your heart stuck in your throat, the sudden feeling of nausea hitting you as if you’ve had more Butterbeer than needed. You couldn’t speak, your words falling short of your own feelings. You wanted to tell him you wanted to know him, the real him, pureblood or not, it was him you have fallen in love with. You wanted to tell him the extent of your feelings, yet nothing would come out. The silence that settled over the two of you was pressing and your senses were telling you to run, to get away from the uncomfortable feelings coursing through you. There was a reason you were sorted in Slytherin, more than your pureblood status, the need for self preservation ingrained in you since birth.

Yoongi’s laugh brought you back to the present, the despair you could discern in it made your heart break. Once more, the need to yell out your feelings, to comfort him like you did that day in the bathroom, willed you to move, and so you did. Taking a small weary step, the need to be closer to him overriding your cautiousness you softly whispered his name.

Scared and confused, Yoongi knew he had shut himself in. He was aware of what his words were doing to you, yet he could not bring himself to care. Not when all he could feel was the rejection that had trumped over his entire life, not when the hurt he has carried since birth which was not even his own doing, fuelled his emotions. His heart was screaming at him to move away from you before he did more damage, to remove himself from your vulnerable form, something he had only witnessed twice, your pride never allowing you to show anything less than perfection. However, what he did was the complete opposite to that. The hand that was extended towards him, in an attempt at reconciliation, made him bristle, and so, acting like a cornered Hippogriff, he took the bite in the form of words. Words he would come to regret later, but at that moment, it did not matter to him.

“Stop, just stop.” His voice was loud and clear, the hardness of it washing over you. He could have cast a Stupefy spell over you and the results would have been the same. You froze, the feeling of dread gripping at your heart. “Do you think you can come here, with your pretty words and make everything better?” He spat, his eyes blazing with anger. “You don’t know anything about me, and you wouldn’t care to know.”

Finding your voice, the anger he is throwing at you fuelling yours, you narrowed your eyes at him. “Yoongi, stop. I never said I did not want to know you. I will never shut you out like you are now. Stop being a coward. Don’t shut us out,” The anger in your voice dissipated, leaving the desperation that you felt to seep through. “Don’t shut me out.” But Yoongi is relentless, his anger blinding, he knew he needed to protect himself from what was to come and so, he chose to do it in the only way he’s known how to, by distancing himself from people and his own feelings. “So what, are you implying you’d be friends with a mudblood?” He scoffed, and for a second you couldn’t find the will to speak. Taking it as an agreement, Yoongi carries on, his voice more spiteful than before. “See what I mean? You are not going to shut me out? That is a lie, and you know it. What would your parents think about their perfect princess being friends with a dirty blood traitor huh? What would they say if you brought something as disgusting as that and presented him as your friend? You couldn't, could you? Your perfect status is too important to be tainted” He took another step towards you, but this time instead of meeting him in the middle, you took a step back. The fire in his eyes, and the hatred in his voice terrified you.

“But you’re not a mudblood, not…” You couldn’t continue, your heart stuck in your throat, and the taste of bile invaded your tastebuds once more. You could feel the tears pricking, waiting to come out. Yoongi stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide as if you’ve burnt him. And maybe you have, because the next second he groaned in frustration, “see what I mean, Y/N? Full mudblood or not, blood status will forever matter to you. And this is why you need to stay away from me. Forget I even existed in your life.” With that he turned around and left in a hurry his robes billowing behind him, not even bothering to glance back at your broken form. He knew he shattered you, his words pierced through your heart, he could’ve used an Unforgivable Curse on you and it would have been kinder than this. Yoongi tried his hardest to not break down in front of you but as soon as he turned the corner and was out of your sight he crumpled to the ground, his silent sobs a mirror of your echoing ones.

He didn’t know how long he’d stayed there, he didn’t know when his legs carried him to the bathroom that Moaning Myrtle normally did the rounds in, yet he wasn’t disturbed by anyone. He didn’t even notice you entering and trying to talk to him again, all he could hear was the yells of his father, the abuse he suffered because of what he was, all to the soundtrack of his own sobs. He could feel his body begging him to stop, to stop crying himself to exhaustion. When he eventually calmed down he found himself unable to move, and you were nowhere to be seen. His body stiff from sitting in one position for so long, his head pounding with the effort of crying, he felt empty. Helpless. He didn’t know where to go from there, aware it was late he willed himself to move. He knew he needed to return to the dungeons, it would be around this time that Jimin would start his rounds as Prefect and he didn’t want to risk getting points taken away from them if anyone else but Jimin found him loitering in the corridors. Though, that wouldn’t be unlike him, a disappointment to his house.

Luckily for him, the way to the Common Room was deserted. Before entering, the growl coming from his empty stomach reminded him he missed dinner and so at the last minute he took a detour towards the kitchens, hoping that one of the Elves could make him something to eat. Standing in front of the painting he tickled the pear. Entering the kitchens he greeted the House Elves but to his surprise, he found himself staring at Jimin. Muttering his name Yoongi went to turn around and leave, the sight of his friend a painful reminder of what happened a few hours prior. “Yoongi, wait.” Jimin’s voice sounded stern and by habit, Yoongi stopped dead in his tracks. He didn’t want to face his friend, the friend who always thought he was something he wasn’t, something he could never be, and something that Jimin valued above anything else. The thought of you crossed his mind and he closed his eyes tightly in grief. How could he dare face the cousin of the person he’s hurt the most?

“Jimin.” He couldn’t say anymore than that, his feelings clear in his voice. He felt angry, he felt ashamed, he felt like a fraud. No one said a word, the hustle and bustle of the House Elves the only noise that could be heard around them. Finally, Jimin sighed as he sat back down, motioning for Yoongi to join him. Yoongi hesitated, he shouldn’t. He didn’t know what Jimin would do now that he knew his friend wasn’t what he said. “Please sit or I'll have to report you to the Headboy for being out this late.” Yoongi narrowed his eyes. He wouldn’t put it past Jimin to do such a thing so he complied, and sat down further away. Once again Jimin sighed,”look, I won’t discuss what happened today unless you wish to.” Yoongi’s eyes widened, unable to believe what he was hearing. It was so unlike Jimin to make a pass at someone in such a way.

“Then why am I sitting here?” Yoongi bit back, too exhausted to lash out at Jimin, even though that is all he wanted to do. “Because you are my friend.” Yoongi couldn’t help but scoff at Jimin’s words, “Yes, you are my friend Yoongi, nothing can change that, especially since you are in love with my cousin.” Yoongi froze, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His brain was yelling at him to deny it, how could he love you, when all he’s done was hurt you, yet his heart wholeheartedly agreed with Jimin. Confused by his own feelings, he didn’t say anything while waiting for Jimin to continue. Seeing that his friend was not going to react to his words Jimin sighed and continued. “Look, I knew who you were, I've known since 4th year.” Yoongi snapped his head round to look at Jimin, his eyes wide in surprise. “You...knew? Why then...?” he whispered and Jimin nodded. “Yes, I knew. Why, then, did I not say anything or why have I stayed your friend?” Yoongi nodded at the latter, he wanted answers for both of those questions but he would take whatever Jimin would give him. Jimin sighed once more, he never realised how broken his friend actually was, and it broke his heart to see it. “Because no matter what, you are who you are, not what your blood status is. Yes, there is prejudice, and I apologise if I've ever made you feel like I would shun you because of this, but I frankly don’t care. My family does, but I don't care what they do either.” Yoongi couldn’t help but laugh, relief washing over him. Jimin didn’t care. It felt as if a rock had been lifted off his chest. Jimin smiled grimly, “I will fight until the end with them if it means I get to live the life I want.” Yoongi nodded in understanding. “Is this about Sunny?” Jimin hummed in agreement. “I will tell my parents after graduation.” Yoongi shuddered, he knew where this was going, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse. “I will consider.” He said and got up to leave; suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore.

“That is all I am asking of you.” Yoongi smiled grimly at Jimin but didn’t reply. Jimin continued, “And Yoongi, what I just said about not caring what you are? I know Red doesn’t either. So please consider that too.” Yoongi left without uttering another word, his heart pounding in his chest.

The sight of the looming manor made Yoongi stop dead in his tracks, his blood ran cold and he fought the instinct to Disapparate back to his home. He was here for Jimin’s sake, he needed to be there for his friend so with a sigh he dejectedly made his way towards the entrance. With the last bit of his strength he prepared himself to knock, only to be startled when the door opened for him as soon as he raised his hand towards the knocker. Confused, he took a cautious step inside, expecting someone to yell at him for trespassing. When only silence greeted him, he glanced around, taking in the intimidating vastness of the corridor. The mahogany theme of the door continued inside, the tall ceiling supported by wooden beams displaying various carvings. Yoongi took his time observing the paintings displayed above his head, the intricacy and detail told him they were an expensive artifact. Taking a few more hesitant steps, he came face to face with a grand mirror, its frame made out of solid gold and Yoongi couldn’t help but huff at the thought of a Slytherin owning something else apart from silver. But then again, Jimin has never been your usual Slytherin. Before he could wonder further into the house, his ears picked up a murmur carrying over from the right hand side.

Determined to not make himself appear like a muggle, he took a deep breath in and with a determined stance, straightening his back he prepared himself to fully enter enemy territory. He was a lithe person, normally living in the shadows, he was used to not making a sound as he walked. Sometimes that would be a blessing and sometimes it would be a curse. As he approached the location where the voices were coming from he decided it was the former rather than the latter. Turning the corner, his heart stopped for a second. With her back towards him, in full dark green robes, bent over, whispering cautiously to a house elf, stood Red. He hadn’t seen you since that last argument, the two of you making it clear you wanted nothing to do with each other. You played this avoidance game throughout to the end of the year, it wasn’t hard to do so.

With your N.E.W.Ts around the corner, you both got stuck studying for your respective classes. Fortunately for him, aside from Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts you two didn’t share any other classes together. So for the rest of the year, you two didn’t have any unnecessary meetings. At first, Yoongi felt relieved, the way he treated you at that time was a painful memory, not having the chance to face you about it eased his mind. He wasn’t wrong when he told you during your dance at the Yule Ball that he was going to hurt you, you adamantly refused to believe him. That night in the corridor when he degraded your status as a pureblood with all the hatred he could muster, he saw the heartbreak in your eyes. At the time, he couldn’t care less, the painful memories of his childhood completely blinding him, the shame hit him a few hours later when he talked to your cousin. “She has the right to love whomever she wants, what she doesn’t have is a choice to have whomever she wants. Yet, she’s fighting for that choice, and her choice is you. She couldn’t have found a better cause to fight for.”

Those words stayed in his heart until the end of the year, he didn’t know how or when, but he’s slowly come to terms with his feelings. He suspected his talk with Jin about it also helped. Jin, who came to apologise about the situation he put Yoongi through, however, contrary to his first reaction, Yoongi was quick to assure him it didn’t matter. People were bound to find out regardless, it wasn’t as if the situation ended up that way due to Jin’s malicious intent. The discussion with Jin made him realise that people haven’t treated him differently. He’s managed to make friends during these years at Hogwarts, and the friends he’s made liked him for himself, not his status in society. The only people who may have had a real issue with it were the first people to find out, the people who accepted him without a doubt.

At the sight of you, crouched to the House Elf’s level whispering instructions, his gaze softened. You were one of those people, and yet, he treated you horribly. As a Slytherin pureblood you had your faults, pride being one of them, but you’ve never treated anyone differently based on their blood status. You tended to stay away from what would be deemed as ‘impure blood’ but that wasn’t a choice, the rivalries and prejudice between Houses made it difficult to overcome that. Suddenly his ears picked his name out from the conversation and he took a step back, assuring that he was hidden from view.

“Make sure Yoongi doesn’t realise, ok? Honestly, how can he Disapparate in front of the Manor and come knock like a muggle?” Yoongi’s heart clenched at your words, maybe he was wrong, maybe you did avoid him on purpose. Before his thoughts could take over his actions, you carried on, “this family would not only suspect him, but go to the depths of looking into his family history. Make sure no one realises he didn’t Floo himself here, Harvey.” Yoongi unknowingly took a few steps closer to you, his body now in full view. Straightening up, you turned to leave the room when you caught sight of Yoongi’s frozen form.

Your surprised expression instantly turned cold, as you nodded at him in acknowledgement. “Yoongi.” Said man couldn’t find his words to greet you, the discrepancy between your cold words to him and what he’s heard earlier making his head spin. Your face may have been stony cold, but your heart bled for him. You’d missed him- playing the avoidance game had been the hardest thing you’d ever had to do. Seeing him now, looking fresher and healthier than he was the last time you saw him, hurt. Because you knew that it was you who’d managed to bring him to despair. You may have done it subconsciously, or maybe you weren’t even a part of it, but the guilt gnawed at your inside nonetheless. Your world was not healthy for him. You knew that. You shouldn’t have even thought about bringing him into it, this wasn’t a fairytale, and it would never be. You needed to let him go. Defeated, you prepared yourself to leave. But just like Jimin had stopped him that night in the kitchens, Yoongi decided that it was time to stop being a coward. He needed to face his demons, and most importantly he needed to make sure you never left his side again.

“Y/N.” The tone of his voice made you stop abruptly, your eyes widened in panic. This was not meant to happen, you weren’t ready to face him on your own just yet. Putting on the most cordial face you could, you nodded at him in acknowledgment. “Yoongi. How have you been?” He hated it- hated this politeness towards him. Where was the woman who put him in his place more than once? Where was the woman whose pride meant she had to have the last word. “I-Fine.” He was so caught off guard by your behaviour that he found the words he’d prepared stuck in his throat.

Staring at him for a second longer, you nodded. “Well-“ Yoongi knew what you were going to say so with a last surge of courage he plunged. “I love you.” You froze, your brain trying to wrap itself around the confession that Yoongi just hurtled at you. “What?” You whispered, you needed to make sure you heard it correctly. Yoongi took a deep breath in, the cat was already out of the bag, and he would be as truthful with you as he could without drinking any Veritaserum. “I love you, I may not be the best for you, by Merlin, I am not even a possibility for you, but I wanted to let you know. I’ve run away too much, and you were right, I’ve been a coward. But if I want to stand any chance against your family, I need to stop hiding behind my hatred and cowardice.” His words were said with such conviction they brought tears to your eyes. Unknowingly, your feet carried you closer and closer to him, until you broke off into a run, not caring about how unladylike you may have looked. You threw yourself into his arms making him stumble. “I love you.” You whispered into his shirt, the tears flowing down your cheeks washing away the pain you’ve garnered in your heart. There was nothing else exchanged, there was no need to. You both knew how you felt, you both knew the other knew how you felt. You were both aware it will be a tough ride for the both of you, but your hearts were mending and that was all that mattered.

“What about the French bastard?” Yoongi broke out of your hold and looked at you in confusion. “What about him?” Your eyes are twinkling like the night stars, and Yoongi swore he saw galaxies in your smile. “My parents don’t want a son in law who ditches their daughter at a ball.” You chuckled as Yoongi’s eyes widened. “Plus,” you grabbed his hand and led him out of the drawing room towards a grandiose, intricately carved door. Behind it, Yoongi could hear murmurs and he assumed that is where the party was being held. “Jimin can be very convincing when he wants to.” You winked at him playfully.

“Let's hope he’s more than willing to be convincing today too.” Yoongi smirked and he looked at you. “You ready?” At your nod, you both waved your hands whispering Alohomora and watched with your hearts in your throat as the door opened. It was now or never.

As Jimin announced his relationship to Sunny, your hand gripped Yoongi’s subconsciously. Your heart threatened to beat out of your chest in fear. Fear for Jimin and his relationship, but most importantly, fear for yourself and your own chances at a happy relationship with Yoongi. You glanced at said man, he looked terrified as if he was the one under scrutiny, you could notice his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. The silence in the room felt heavy and you turned your attention towards your parents. You knew it was selfish, it was Jimin you should be worried about and yet, all you could think of was the man next to you. The man who managed to brave this manor, and these purebloods despite his adversity to them. All for your cousin. You could see the tick in your parent’s jaw, you could see the tension between Jimin and his father, so thick you could cut it with a knife. No one dared to say anything for a while, and just like that, with the sounds of a platter dropping to the floor the tension was broken like a spell. Everyone’s heads turned towards the source of the noise. There in the middle of the fireplace, stood the fashionably late Taehyung, having Floo’d in straight into a House Elf serving a platter of wine. “My apologies for the lateness!” He exclaimed as he took in the mess he’s managed to create. With a wave of his hand he mumbled “Reverte” under his breath, not giving the House Elf another look as he made his way in between Jimin and his father. “Mr. Park, lovely to see you.” He bows his head in respect, not giving Jimin’s father any time to react, Taehyung turns quickly towards Jimin. “Jimin, you are needed in the Auror Office today as soon as possible.”

If you wouldn’t have known those two rascals from a very young age you would’ve thought it a coincidence, a bloody godsend, but because you have been around them since diapers you didn’t miss the slight turn at the corner of Taehyung’s mouth, or the way Jimin subtly nodded at him. They have planned this from the beginning, and with a small relieved laugh you acknowledge Tae’s greeting with a wave of your hand.

“They planned this all along didn’t they?” Yoongi’s whisper in your ears makes you shudder. Still chuckling to yourself you nod, “of course they did, it’s the double trouble of Hogwarts, well I should say the Auror’s Office now shouldn’t I?” Turning towards him, you don’t miss the amused glint in his eyes. You barely notice the commotion of the party carrying on around you, your fingers intertwined with Yoongi’s, your gazes locked and silly smiles on your faces. If Jimin could do this and get through it, then so could you. You weren’t going to let Outdated Park beat you at that too.

“We will be fine.” You said determinately, a surge of courage and hopefulness running through you. Chuckling at your expression, Yoongi nodded.

“Yes we will, Red, yes we will.” You could get through this, especially if it was with Yoongi by your side, it was all worth it.

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