#hp x nonbinary reader

[hp-hcs]

he’s my girl — golden retriever! theo nott x genderfluid! reader

requested by 🦕!

it’s 2am let me be delulu and imagine theo as a golden retriever white boy k tysm

very short and very unedited bc i’m very sleepy xx

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Who in Merlin’s name are you?”

You frowned, your fingers pausing halfway through their task of buckling your bookbag. “What’s your deal, babe?”

Theo blinked. “…Y/n?”

“In the flesh,” you said dryly, turning back around to your Transfiguration class’ desk and gathering up the last of your things.

Theo just stared.

“Y/n?”

“What, Theodore?”

He blinked again. “Why are you— why are you wearing a skirt?”

“Because it’s part of the uniform, Theodore.”

The poor boy looked so confused, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly. “I— uh— okay. You look pretty.”

“Thank you, darling.”

~~~

“Are you still my boyfriend?”

You stiffened as he approached your table in the library and sat down across from you, immediately jumping on the defensive. “Are you already breaking up with me? We’ve barely been together two days, Nott.”

“What? No! No— just—” Theo floundered, desperately trying to not come off as a grade-A douchebag. “Uh— just— are you my boyfriend? Or my girlfriend?”

You paused. “What, like— right now?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged awkwardly.

“Girlfriend.”

“Okay. Do you wanna go get lunch now?”

~~~

“…and my girlfriend, Y/n—”

“Boyfriend.”

“Wh— uh. Yeah. Uh. Boyfriend. Right. Anyways. So. My boyfriend, Y/n—”

~~~

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. You were stuck in detention with Theo, writing lines, when you’d been struck by sudden and aggressive gender dysphoria.

You normally would’ve just Transfigured your uniform skirt into a pair of trousers, but McGonagall had confiscated your wand before you started your detention.

After a solid minute, Theo couldn’t help but notice your continued squirming. “What’s wrong, darling?”

“Dysphoria,” you grumbled, wiping your lip gloss-covered lips on the back of your hand to remove the faint glittery substance.

Despite your patient attempt earlier in the day to explain the concept of gender fluidity to him, Theo still didn’t quite grasp it. But he was doing his best.

“Ah. Is it—” He hesitated. “Is it the…skirt?”

“Yeah,” you muttered. “But I don’t have my wand to Transfigure it.”

Theo pondered on how to help you. Surely there was something he could do, right?

~~~

A wolf whistle pierced through the air.

“Lookin’ good, Nott!”

Theo did a little twirl as his friends all cheered and clapped, baffled by the sight of their friend showing up to dinner in the Great Hall, fresh out of detention, in a skirt.

You followed into the Great Hall after him, a small smile on your face, wearing his uniform trousers on your body.

[justelib]

Snuggly Harry Potter and Y\N L\N.

(Pronouns used For reader: They\Them\Theirs)

•

Harry James potter and Y\N L\N, the most openly affectionate couple in hogwarts. (Besides that time Lavender & Ron Dated and the couples who are shoving each other o against walls.)

Everyone knows Harry’s Touch starved, both parents dead and the Dursleys being people who only focus on themselves. So, students aren’t surprised when they see Harry latched on to Y\N somehow, holding their hand or arm, having his arms wrapped around their waste, no matter how shorter or taller they are compared to him. It’s also quite common to see Y\N giving Harry piggybacks, even if he does start to get a little heavy.

Other Students haven’t really seen the chosen one and his partner kiss before, they leave that for when they’re alone or with close friends. Some students even assume that they’re just really close friends, the embarrassment they feel when they ask out Harry or Y\N in front of each other is adorable, seeing the un-informed student turn red in the face or become a laughing mess as they apologise furiously.

Harry and Y\N are the type of couple that do everything together but also don’t. If one wanted to do something and the other didn’t they’d split off and meet each other at the end of the day where they just snuggle together.

•

I didn’t know what to call this. Also- I was bored and just felt like writing something weird and possibly out of character?

[defectivevillain]

darling i do

pairing: Percival Graves/Reader

The reader experiences gender dysphoria and is implied to be transmasculine/nonbinary/gnc. no pronouns are used and race is ambiguous.

summary: You’re having a bad day, but you don’t want to burden Percival with the details. Unfortunately for you, he is rather perceptive.

word count: 1.4k | ao3 version

This is extremely self indulgent, but I hope my fellow transmasc/nb/gnc folks find solace in this piece. :)

also i'm using this gif again and no one can stop me.

warnings: gender dysphoria

You hear the exact moment Percival gets home—not because he’s loud, but because you’re sitting in the living room waiting for him. You greet him with a soft smile, pretending the gesture doesn’t take an unreasonable amount of effort. “Hi, Percival,” you remark. 

“Hello,” he remarks, the tension seeping from his shoulders as he steps inside and closes the door behind him. Percival takes his bag off and hangs it on the hook near the entrance, before doing the same with his coat. “How was your day?” He asks.

“Alright,” you remark, pushing past all the self-deprecating thoughts running through your mind. You don’t want to burden Percival with the details. “How about you?”

“It was good,” Percival replies, bending down to remove his shoes. “The department’s starting to get pretty busy—sorry I’ve been home late these past few days.” His lips are pressed in a thin line and there’s an apologetic look on his face. 

“Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault,” you’re quick to reassure him. Percival is the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, after all. His work is important. “And don’t forget—we have leftovers from takeout the other night.”

“Oh, right,” he nods, taking a few steps forward. “Thank you.” He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead before walking to the fridge. You watch him for a moment, before settling back on the couch. The television is on, but you find it hard to focus. A maelstrom of apprehension, dejection, and dysphoria is swirling around you. 

You don’t want to acknowledge your feelings. Unfortunately for you, Percival is rather perceptive. He’s an Auror, after all. Not to mention, the man has high emotional intelligence. You’re not sure why you even bother trying to hide from him in the first place. 

For an immeasurable amount of time, you let the light from the television wash over you. At some point, you hear Percival get up from the table and wash his dishes. Before you can attempt to slip away, he’s standing before you. “Something wrong, love?” Percival asks, moving to sit next to you on the couch. His attentive gaze nearly makes you crumble right then and there. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“It’s nothing,” you murmur, looking down at your clasped hands. You bite the inside of your cheek and keep your thoughts hidden. Somehow, your feelings must show on your face regardless, because Percival frowns. 

The man places a hand on yours, prompting you to look over at him. “If it’s making you feel like this…” he breaks off, concern written all over his face, “It has to be something.” You still can’t find the words. Your tongue feels glued to the roof of your mouth; you can’t even begin to describe the confusing torrent of emotions rushing through you right now. 

Percival is stubborn, though. “What is it?” He implores. 

You inhale slowly, feeling as if a giant spotlight is searing through your skin. Sentiments of inadequacy and wrongness refuse to leave, clinging to your skin uncomfortably. You don’t feel right today. “I don’t like my hair,” you eventually answer. Indeed, you’d spent the better part of the walk home from work looking at the people passing you, wondering why you couldn’t look like them. 

“Why?” Percival asks. He doesn’t look disbelieving or skeptical—he simply wants to understand. 

“I don’t know,” you choke out. In reality, you do know. You love your hair, you really do, but for the past few days, you’ve been perceived as the opposite gender more times than you can count. While you’ve already taken steps to socially transition, it doesn’t feel like enough. Your hair seems like the easiest thing to change, and your dysphoria has narrowed in on it as the source of the problem. If your hair were shorter, you’d look better. If your hair were shorter, you wouldn’t be mistaken as someone you’re not. 

“You sure?” Percival continues. His hand remains on yours, providing a reassuring pressure. His gaze hasn’t wavered since he first sat down next to you. The recognition makes your eyes begin to burn. You stare at him, before silently leaning forward and embracing him. Percival is quick to reciprocate, tugging you closer until your head is nearly buried in his shoulder. 

“I’m not sure,” you whisper against his shoulder. It comes out muffled, but Percival seems to understand regardless (as he always does).

“What can I do to help?” He questions. That is just one of the many reasons why you love Percival. Rather than scrutinizing your feelings or trying too hard to understand your experiences, he focuses on assisting you above all. He doesn’t treat you like a puzzle that needs to be solved, doesn’t make you feel irrational or unreasonable for having bad days. 

“My hair,” you choke out. “Can you help me cut it?” 

Percival blinks. “Of course,” he responds without hesitation. He places a hand on your shoulder briefly. “Let’s move to the bathroom.” Percival says, eyes flitting to the door down the hall. You get up from your seat and walk over there, knowing he’ll follow you. 

Moments later, you find yourself sitting on the nearby chair with Percival standing over you. His gaze wanders your face before settling on your hair. “What length are you thinking?” He asks. You’re briefly overwhelmed by appreciation, at the way he immediately moved to help you in whatever way he knew how. You forget that he’s waiting for an answer until he repeats himself.

“Short,” you say, avoiding his eyes. 

“Very helpful,” Percival smiles mirthfully. You huff past the tightness in your chest. “How short?” 

“I don’t know,” you respond helplessly. “Just… really short. Almost a buzzcut.” 

The air is quiet for a few seconds. “Are you sure?” Percival asks. You know he’s not questioning your decision; rather, he’s clarifying that you want him to be the one to do it. 

“Yeah,” you say, your throat feeling tight. There’s no one I trust more than you, you think. 

“Alright,” he says. “Ready?” Percival stills and holds his wand up towards you. You nod silently and he takes a deep breath. “Crinus Muto.” You close your eyes and ignore the strange chilling sensation that runs up your spine, knowing it to be a mere side effect of the spell. It should only take a few seconds, but you keep your eyes closed for a few moments after. For some reason, you’re scared to look. Fear strikes through you as you imagine how horrible you could look. What if you don’t have the right face shape? What if this haircut just makes everything worse? What if-?

“You can look now,” Percival says gently. 

You stand up and slowly open your eyes. For a moment, the light assaults your eyes and you’re squinting. Your vision clears soon enough, leaving you to take in your new haircut. “I-” You break off, feeling your lips pulling at the edges as you stare at yourself in the mirror, “I love it.” You’re smiling now. You bring a hand up to your hair and continue looking in the mirror. Your reflection looks… like you. You look more comfortable, more confident. You can’t hide the grin on your face. For a minute or two, you simply stare at your reflection in awe. As you’re looking in the mirror, you accidentally make eye contact with Percival, who is looking at you with an unreadable expression.  “What?” You ask self consciously. 

He blinks for a moment, as if waking from a trance. A smile grows on his face. “You look wonderful,” Percival admits, reaching out to run a thumb along your temple and across your new short hair. You don’t say anything, but your skepticism must show on your face, because Percival is quick to continue. 

“I’m serious,” he maintains. Percival brings his hands to your face again, turning your head to the side to get a better look at your new haircut. He brings you back with a delicate hand on your jaw and you feel flames race across your skin as you see the expression on his face. Percival looks absolutely lovestruck. Smitten. Surely that isn’t for you—surely that look isn’t because of you. “You look… incredibly handsome.” He confesses. At first, you suspect that he just said that to make you feel better. But the way he’s looking at you—the way he’s holding you—convinces you that the compliment is entirely genuine. 

“...Thanks,” you remark hesitantly. And you’re sure Percival knows that you’re thanking him for more than just the haircut. You’re thanking him for understanding you, in a way few others have even bothered to. You’re thanking him for his endless compassion, his determination, and his unwavering faith in you. 

Percival smiles, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Any time, love.” He promises. You take comfort in the unshakeable knowledge that he truly means it.

Me: *includes pet names a total of two times in this story* Also me: this feels like too much.

grAHHHHHHHH where is Percival Graves. I need him like SpongeBob needs water.

anyway, thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @kingkoku @the-ultimate-librarian

[suugarbabe]

✨SABS BLOG RECS ✨

wanted to share some blogs i’ve been obsessed with lately so that hopefully you can be obsessed with them too 😌🖤

@musingsofahufflepuff : writes slytherin boys male!reader, gn!reader, mattheodore and even has a few fem!reader in his repertoire; if you don’t follow him, you need too. I adore him, love him obsessed can’t get enoughhhh, check his blog daily

@ellecdc : writes marauders fem!reader and gn!reader as well as many many poly!marauder, vary crouch jr 🤤 peter parker & finnick odair; I love her, I check her blog daily as well

@moonstruckme : writes marauders fem!reader and I believe gn!reader when asked, steve harrington, eddie munson, spencer reid and carmy!; love love love this person

@nottswitch : writes slytherin boys fem!reader, gn!reader, I believe dabbles in mattheodore? if not totally then deff reblogs mattheodore things

@hp-hcs : writes m!reader, nonbinary!reader, gn!reader for harry potter characters and has a few mattheo x harry you need to check out asap rockyyy

@inkdrinkerworld : writes marauders fem!reader and gn!reader or works that could be read gn and her dealer!remus is my f a v o r i t e.

@crescenthistory : writes marauders fem!reader and gn!reader. my slytherin skittles queen (marauders era slytherin characters)

@prythiansprincess : writes slytherin boys fem!reader I believe some gn!reader or works that can read as gn; I love her sm

[donovankinard]

hullo

i'm akeyla, a pansexual nonbinary (they/them) with a constant feeling of social injustice and a slight addiction to ao3

doesanyonehearrunningwotah is my ao3, on which i'm chronically online

i'm a teenager so please behave yourselves fgs

will be reblogging anything that satisfies my 1d obsession adoration and posting excerpts/updates on my fanfictions so

my pinterest is @akeylaaaaa

ISTP-T

Australian Central (GMT+10:30)

masterlists below the cut :)

---

fandoms

one direction/solo

hamilton

rwrb

noah kahan

marauders (not hp. m a r a u d e r s.)

sabrina carpenter

conan gray

olivia rodrigo

5sos

billie eilish + finneas

taylor swift

ed sheeran

we three

morgan wallen

kelsea ballerini

doctor who

---

tags:

#alex my love❤ - all conversations with or about my brilliant partner #bloggy stuff - blog stuff #rebloggy stuff - reblog stuff #ask answered - asks #masterpost - this post, and all ficfest, challenge, etc. masterposts #personal - personal stuff

all other tags are a given (taylor swift, one direction) and used erratically and unusually, so.

---

masterposts:

2023/24 writing schedule

Whumptober Masterpost

Whumpuary Masterpost

---

complete original pieces:

none yet. watch this space.

---

original WIPs:

letters from my bedroom floor (ongoing poetry compilation)

more soon. watch this space.

--- complete fanfictions:

underneath the mistletoe (larry stylinson christmas au)

tear away my tattoos (larry stylinson break-up au)

just for a moment (larry stylinson break-up au)

grey hairs (larry stylinson old age au)

greatest fear (larry stylinson 1D reunion au)

hold on (larry stylinson multichap mental health au)

orange juice (larry stylinson multichap break-up au)

gone (louis centric multichap zayn's death au)

whumptober 2023 collection- masterpost here.

--- fanfiction WIPs/upcoming

WRITING SCHEDULE 2023/24

caffeine factor (ziam mayne, hurt-but-mostly-comfort coffee shop au) (multichap, some chapters published)

words hurt (larry stylinson hurt-comfort high school au) (multichap, upcoming)

it’s time to go (larry stylinson, hurt-with-a-little-comfort au) (multichap, upcoming) (will rename)

haven't you ever been in love before (larry stylinson hurt-comfort uni au) (multichap, upcoming)

meet you in the future (larry stylinson fantasy/sci-fi au) (multichap, upcoming)

eccedentesiast (larry stylinson hurt-comfort au) (one-shot, upcoming)

if we never met (larry stylinson fight au) (one shot, upcoming)

come back (larry stylinson multichap mental health au) (sequel to hold on) (upcoming)

grief unites (larry stylinson hurt-comfort au) (multichap, upcoming) (probably will rename)

dream (larry stylinson solo louis angsty au) (multichap, upcoming) (will rename)

love is an open door (larry stylinson-family fluff) (one shot, upcoming)

2011 (larry stylinson hurt-comfort au) (one shot, upcoming)

---

writing request masterlist

i write mostly romance, heavy on the angst, but i'm pretty open to anything, just read through this first <3

i won't write non-con, it's just a huge no. i won't write romanticized abuse, incest or p3d0ph1lia either - including teacher-student relationships, step siblings, or those weird fics where the twins are in a poly relationship with a third party?? like no you sick fcks oml. or those overromanticised fics where they have feelings for each other as kids??? nopity nope. children. don't. have. romantic. relationships. i shouldn't even have to say it. anything below secondary is just no.

i don't write omegaverse, you do you but it's a no from me. i don't write y/n or x reader fics, just not my vibe.

oh i also don't write fanfictions where the larry stunts (danielle, eleanor, taylor, caroline, kendall, whoever it may be) are like, villains? no thank you.

(also side note caroline flack didn't do anything illegal or wrong, even if you think it's kinda gross. the age of consent in both the UK and most of the US is 16 therefore harry was legally able to consent and she was not responsible for anything you frown upon in that whole situation.)

--- asks

ask whatever, just be respectful. or don't. anon hate is fun to debate tbh.

---

as for this entire thing; i may have copied it from my brilliant partner and my writing inspiration - @youreverydaydemikid

speaking of which, if you see the tag "alex my love❤" that means its me talking to or about said partner!!

[slytherweasley]

Understanding me (George Weasley x AFAB Non Binary Reader)

Warnings: smut and swearing

Summary/request: Hi:) I was wondering if I could request a George x afab non binary reader smut? Like maybe reader comes out to George and fluffy smut ensues? I totally understand if you’re not comfortable writing this but thank you:)

Note: I’m not non binary so I don’t have this experience of coming out as non binary but I have done some researching and I really hope this is okay. Please let me know if I can change anything and I’d be happy to.

You haven’t been able to concentrate on anything besides how you’re going to tell George. You’d known for a while that you were feeling different about your gender, you didn’t feel like a female and you didn’t feel like a male. It took a while to realise you weren’t trans and you were just non binary.

You and George have been dating for a year, it’s been the best relationship you’ve ever had. George is an amazing boyfriend and you’ve been pushing back telling him because you don’t want him to leave. George is understanding and there’s also a part of you that thinks he’s going to stay with you.

You’ve been looking for the right time when it’s just the two of you but lately that’s been difficult since you are both very busy.

“Come to my dorm tonight, we need to spend some time together, cancel whatever you have going on after school” he says “um I guess I could.”

After School you go to your dorm to practise what you’re going to say before you go. You try a few different ways and decide no matter how you tell him he’s going to hear it anyway.

You walk into his dorm and he’s sitting on his bed reading the Daily Prohphet “Hi Bub” you say with a smile “Come here Darling” he puts the newspaper away and opens his arms. You sit between his legs with his arms wrapped safely around you. “No one’s coming in here to bother us for a few hours so let’s just enjoy this” he says “Mmhm.”

The moments where you weren’t talking you were thinking about it, whether you should fill the silence or not. “What’s the matter bubs?” He asks “What do you mean?” “You’ve been acting strange and that’s why I wanted to spend time with you.” He knows, of course he does, George always knows when you’re not feeling well or in a mood or acting out of the ordinary.

You take a deep breath in “I have been meaning to tell you for a while” you wriggle out of his lap and face him. “Whatever you want to tell me I want you to know how much I love you” “I love you too which is why this makes things hard” “Just tell me, I can handle it.” “I’m non binary now, if you have questions I can answer them and I also understand if you don’t want to continue a relationship with me.” “Oh Merlin- you scared the shit out of me, I thought you cheated on me. Come here.” He hugs you tightly and kisses your head.

“I do have questions though” he holds your hand “Go ahead” “What’s non binary mean?” You chuckle “You don’t know what it means but you’re relieved anyway?” “Well It’s not a big deal as long as you’re not cheating on me, I love you and that’s all.” “Non binary for me means I don’t feel female but I don’t feel male so you can refer to me as they/them but it doesn’t bother me if you accidentally call me something else. I know it’s a lot to get used to, just don’t do that to another non binary person, everyone is different. Right now I don’t want to change anything on the outside, as long as I know and everyone else knows I’m non binary I’m happy.”

“I get it, that’s cool, can I still call you Darling or is that not okay?” “No, I call you darling so it’s okay” “I love you so much I’m so happy that you could tell me, who else did you tell?” “No one I wanted to tell you first just in case.”

He puts you on his lap and kisses you, as it continues, George undresses you. “Do you want to do this?” He asks “Yes please.” He pulls down your underwear leaving you naked on the bed. He kisses your lips down your stomach leaving hickeys.

He kisses around your cunt and on your inner thighs “Fuck, George! Hurry up” “If you say so love” he slides a couple fingers into your core and he watches your face until he hits the right spot. He finds your g spot quite easily, you let out a loud moan telling him he’s found it. He brings his lips to your clit and kisses it gently before licking it.

“George I’m going to cum, I’m so close” “Go on, cum for me, bub” you finish around his fingers. You undress George, unbuttoning his shirt, unzipping his pants and pulling down his underwear. You use your hand to get him semi hard before putting him in your mouth. “Fuck” he groans “So fucking good.”

He pulls out when he feels he’s getting close “Lay down I want to be inside you.” You lay down on the bed and spread your legs, he lines himself up with your entrance and pushes himself in you. He continues thrusting in you and kisses your lips continuously “I love you” you mumble “I love you too, no matter what.” After a couple more minutes you both finish.

George lays beside you, he kisses your cheek. “Thank you for staying with me George, I was really worried you were going to break up with me.” “Feel better?” “Yes much better” “All you need is a bit of sex to let out all your emotions” you smile “Thank you.”

[that-bi-bitch-writes]

The Rumor Around Hogwarts (Ch.4)

Chapter Four: The Train Ride There

1k+ Words a lot of it is taken from the book but as always I added a lot of [Name] in to make it.... chaotic and slightly angsty

Still uses he/him pronouns for now and later addition of they pronouns will be announced before the chapter. Hope you Enjoy!!!

Last  //  Next

“What the actual hell- Ow, heck i meant heck.” [Name] choked out while rubbing the back of his head

“Mhm sure you did”

“Anyway you mean to tell me I have to run at a wall.”

“Yup”

“In a muggle train station”

“Yes”

“In the middle of the day?”

“Look, do you want to go to Hogwarts or not?”

“I mean I do but-”

“If you don’t you’ll only disappoint Harry” [Mother’s name] interrupted

[Name] hesitated before responding “I’m sure he’ll be fine he like defeated an evil lord as a baby of course he can run at a wall and make other friends”

“[Name] if you miss the train I’m not taking you to school myself”

And just as [Name] seemed like he’d be okay with that aspect (anything to not embarrass himself in public really) all his hopes were completely crushed

“And I’m not taking you back home to ride on the house elf express”

“Okay but if I die or embarass myself I’m gonna have to find a way to jinx you or something. Maybe i’ll tell that weird muggle mailman you find him cute and force you to flee the country”

“You wouldn’t”

“That’s what you think”

[Name] seemed to gather the courage of all his ancestors (may they rest in peace) and ran straight at the obvious death trap. He had a chosen one to meet after all. He closed his eyes right before impact only to have his senses assaulted by the sounds and sights of something completely unexpected

‘Wow' he whispered under his breath

“I told you so”

“Alright alright I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. But I mean you’re not exactly the most trustworthy. If I needed someone to help me cover up a crime maybe, but a prank that could end in bodily harm..”

[Mo. Name] pretended not to hear a word as she fussed over [Name], the train departing soon. She’s a mother, she couldn’t help it. After running down a long list of things [Name] should have (And did) pack in his trunk she gave a forehead kiss and pushed him off to the trains. As he got on she did the unthinkable.

“Bye baby!! Momma loves you. Tell Peeves I said Hi’

Yeah [Name] definitely wasn't gonna be popular now. At least… not in a good way. There’d be rumors around hogwarts. And he’d be in the center of them.

          ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry sat alone in an empty compartment after all the hustle and bustle that came with parents seeing their children off for the first time. And could’ve sworn he had heard someone say something about being peeved. Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted when the door of the compartment slid open and the youngest red headed boy he had seen earlier came in.

“Anyone sitting there?” he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Harry. “Everywhere else is full.”

Harry shook his head and the boy sat down. He glanced at Harry and then looked quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn’t looked. Harry saw he still had a black mark on his nose.

“Hey, Ron”

The twins were back

“Listen we’re going down the middle of the train- Lee Jordan’s got a giant tarantula down there.”

“Right,” mumbled Ron.

“Harry,” said the other twin, “did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later then.”

“Bye” said Harry and Ron. the twins slid the compartment door shut behind them.

“Are you really Harry potter?” Ron blurted out

Harry went to nod but the compartment door slammed open once again

“Harry there you are. Thank God I found you.” [Name] gasped out “My mother totally embarrassed me as I was getting on the train screaming about someone named Peeves and she called me BABY. Anyway I’ve been trying to find you without drawing to much attention to you or myself.”

Harry had wondered how [Name] had said so much in one breath. He didn’t know [Name] to be particularly talkative. He of course had his moments when he’d stand up for someone but Harry had always seen name as a little bit of a worrier or an outsider like himself.

“Sorry." [Name] said almost as if he read Harry’s mind “It’s the nerves. I’m super glad that you’re not alone but I’m also jealous I didn’t get to you first.” [Name] continued as he moved to sit next to Harry.

“What were we talking about? Oh yeah he was asking about your chosen one status which is kind of cool and lame at the same time. Is that offensive?”

“Have you really got - you know?” He pointed at Harry's forehead.

Harry pulled back his bangs to show the lightning scar. Ron stared. And surprisingly [Name] did too.

“Y’know as close as we are for two people who only met twice, I realized I haven’t gotten a good look at you Harry.” [Name] realized turning all of his attention on the resident Chosen One

Harry and [Name] stared at each other for a moment. [Name] was curious as to who the boy who lived really was and why he was drawn to him. It was like they were meant to meet up. At the Zoo, in Diagon Alley and now hopefully they would remain on the same path at Hogwarts too.

Harry on the other hand was staring at [Name] in appreciation. They were strangers, yet [Name] came to Harry’s rescue so naturally. Ron was to be a good friend to Harry, he’s sure of it, but it was different with [Name]. Their friendship wasn’t founded on titles, or reputations, or anything but mutual respect and destiny perhaps? If he were more naïve he might’ve attributed this feeling to a crush.

“So that’s where You-Know-Who-? Ron interrupted the staring contest

“Yes” said Harry “but I can’t remember it”

“Nothing?” Ron said eagerly.

“Well- I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else.

[Name] got incredibly bored of the topic, not really keen on discussing Voldemort’s attack on Harry so he began looking out the window like the main character. Only catching flashes of the conversation and adding his own commentary when appropriate. Apparently Ron had 5 brothers and a little bit of “a lot to live up to” but being friends with the chosen one was sure to give him some stories to tell..

[Name] didn’t interrupt with much about his family because he’d already talked about his embarrassing mother and there was nothing else to talk about but his incredibly large and empty house which would have made him a little uncomfortable and slightly awkward. Y’know since he was talking to an orphan and a poor kid with a huge family. How could either of them relate?

What he did however pay attention to was Harry’s bravery and generosity. Apparently he was only a little bit of an oblivious idiot. Sure he proudly said Voldemort’s name (a trend [Name] hoped to follow) but he was smart enough to realized in the wizarding world at least he was rich and could splurge a little bit on the less fortunate *ahem* Ron *ahem*

“Go on, have a pasty” said Harry, who had never had anything to share before or, indeed, anyone to share it with. It was a nice feeling, sitting there with Ron, eating their way through all Harry’s pasties, cakes, and candies (the sandwiches lay forgotten.)

“What are these?” Harry asked Ron and [Name] holding up a pack of chocolate frogs. “They’re not really frogs, are they/” He was starting to feel that nothing would surprise him

“No” said Ron “But see what the card is. I’m missing Agrippa”

“He has no idea what you’re talking about, look at his face” [Name] laughed out. Ron followed his line of sight and chuckled at Harry’s confused face as well.

“Oh, of course, you wouldn’t know - Chocolate frogs have cards inside them, you know to collect - famous witches and wizards. I’ve got about five hundred, but I haven’t got Agrippa or Ptolemy.”

Both Harry and [Name] removed the cards from the chocolate frogs. Harry got Dumbledore which set his curiosity aflame once again. [Name] kept his a secret for dramatic effect of course. After answering his questions Ron asked for a chocolate frog as well only to get Morgana.

“Well Ron” [name] started “if you show me a trick, I’ll give you this” flipping over the card Ron’s eyes went wide at the sight of a Ptolemy card.

After a long conversation about the dangers of eating Bertie's ever flavored beans (which [name] would never even touch) Ron eventually worked up the courage to perform a spell when the toadless boy from earlier appeared, but this time he had a girl with him. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one,” she said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth.

“We’ve already told him we haven’t seen it,” said Ron, but the girl wasn’t listening, she was looking at the wan in his hand.

‘Oh god.’ [name] said to himself as the girl’s thoughts assaulted him and drowned out the obvious awkward silence in the car ‘this girl may have redeeming qualities, or at least I’m hoping she does but she needs to get over herself’

“Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see it, then.”

She sat down. Ron looked taken aback

“Er- alright” he cleared his throat

“Sunshine daises, butter mellow, Turn this stupid fat rat yellow”

He waved his wand but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep.

“Are you sure that’s a real spell? Said the girl. “Well it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice and it’s all worked for me. Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but…

[Name] having heard most of this speech in his head already tried to tune her out and gave a snort at the end of her rambling when Harry and Ron looked at each other incredulously. Only a little offended when he heard Harry's comparison of Hermione to the nervous [Name] earlier

They all introduced themselves but Harry’s introduction led her on another tangent about him not looking himself up as if this was a common thing to do?? Then she asked what houses they thought they’d be in before leaving, taking the toadless boy with her. Poor Neville.

“Whatever house I’m in, I hope she’s not in it”

“I doubt we’ll be in the same house Ron” [Name] realized “you’ll probably be in whatever house your brothers are in”

“Gryffindor” Ron spoke up

“Right, and Harry will probably be with you where as I’ll end up in Slytherin probably”

The car went silent a bit before [name] spoke up again “I know what you’re thinking. Literally. I never had a Ptolemy card. I only said that because I wanted to show off my powers as a legilimens. I can see into your mind basically and I made you see what I wanted you to see. Don’t worry though I won’t like brainwash you or anything. Wouldn’t want to be a typical Slytherin and end up a dark wizard.

[Name] got ready to flee the cart after that whole speech and he could tell Ron felt kind of guilty but [Name] couldn’t risk Harry hating him. He was going to the house that produced Voldemort after all. He rushed out of the cart as some blond entered probably because Hermione had spread the rumor about seeing the chosen one.

Before [Name] knew it he was facing his newest worst enemy. The sorting hat.

[l0verb0t]

INTRO.

l0verb0t (loverbot) is a character(s) x reader blog run by @robo-bud.

I mainly prioritize male + nonbinary reader inserts since there isn't many, as well as polyam fics.

[ Kyle/Robo/Cal. | He/Him. + Rust/Rusts | 17. | Mixed. ]

TAGS. / MASTERLIST. / REQUEST FORM.

support: gazaesims.

(dni underneath.)

You will be blocked if you:

Met the general dni criteria. (ex. racist, queerphobic, misogynistic)

Adding on to the first one/being more detailed: Pro-isreal, anti-blm, blue lives matter, or anti land back.

A NSFM (occasional posts are okay, just if you properly tag it), gore, or yandere account.

Anti mogai, anti neopronouns, transmed/truscum, or mspec lesbian/mspec gay.

Proshipper or irl people shipper.

Anti kin, anti selfship/anti self insert, or a furry hater.

Fan of: HP, any of vivziepop's creations, AOT, South Park, Harley Quinn show, Stranger Things, DSMP, or FNF.

[severussnaddy]

Alright bitches. I'm sad, gay and bored sooooooo. I will be righting x reader hcs and mini fics for lots of different characters. Maybe even ships idk. Idc if it's smut or not but I would need some specs. Top or bottom. Type of Dom or sub. Readers gender ect ect. Also I will do nonbinary reader! Please just use my asks! I have the right to ignore or decline a request if I am uncomfortable with it.

So just send a character from hp and I'll write it!

[crappyartforyou]

Red!Mafia x Reader/ Beast and Beauty

Character List

**full of spoilers**

Beast:  Red: Originally from Undertale, Gasters experiment took Sans and a few others to Mafiafell.  *spoilers galore*It took a while to adjust but He eventually realizes that he needs two people with a huge amount of love. *end spoiler*  After years of amassing the strongest monsters and even humans that he could find he loses hope and becomes a bitter little ball of bearly contained nerves.  He appears very strong but is hidden away for his safety by Boss.  He is a puppet figure that uses flashy magic to keep his people in line.

Belle: Reader:  Has the ability to control reality.  That makes them an asset any mafia family that can get a hold of them.  They run away from the Capital (Asgore’s turf) and got caught in Red’s turf.  They want to stay so that Asgore can’t get at them and they slowly, SLOWLY,  fall for Red.

Marciel:  Gerson:  Reader’s father, he kept them hidden as long as he could but was separated from them when Asgore took the reader.

Cogsworth: Boss:  Second in command (does all the real work)  He protects Red and manages all the day to day work along with a majority of the big decisions as well.  Knows about his brothers hp.

Lumiere: Grillby:  Manages the front of the house (yes there is a bar there).  Knows about Re’s hp.

Wolves:  Royal Gaurd:  They attack the reader when they run away from Red.  They also work for Asgore.

Gaston:   Chara:   Is sent after the reader.  They were betrothed so that Reader would truly become part of the family.  They are about 20, nonbinary, and extremely strong.

LeFou:  Frisk:  They are about 19, nonbinary, and they flirt with everyone.  Frisk has a tendency to get in a lot of trouble.

Mayor:   Asgore:   Had Reader in his possession before but they ran away.  He sends Chara after them.

Miss. Potts: Toriel:  Head of the kitchen.  She helps the reader feel at home in the mansion.  She used to rule the Capital with Asgore.  But she fled and sought shelter from Red.  She is not completely trusted but very well liked.  From Undertale.

Cadenza:  Undyne: The best pianist around.  Only works for the family because she went into debt at one of their casinos.  She paid off her debt a while ago but stayed to be with her girlfriend Alphys.  She is now very loyal to the family.

Garderobe:  Alyphys: Oprah singer, sings with her eyes closed and absolutely hates crowds.  The only reason she can perform is because of Undyne’s piano playing letter her know she is not alone.

Chip:  Azriel:  Toriel took him with her when she fled from Asgore after she found out about his plans for him. He is a scullery boy of sorts.  He looks up to the Reader because of their kindness and power.  From Undertale.

Enchantress:  Gaster:  Is responsible for Red’s low hp (from the magic ‘accident’ that sent then to Mafiafell).  He died/got sucked in the void right after that ‘accident’.

Plumette:  Muffet:  Is often shooed out of the kitchen.  Is very good at cleaning but leaves spiders alone so there are spider webs in a few corners of the mansion.

The triplets:   Fuku, Catty, and Bratty:  Chara’s #2 fans (Frisk is #1).  They work for Asgore as entertainers.  (Fuku is a spy for Red’s family)

Caracters not in the original (will be in crack fics):

Chara

Reckless

Azriel

Ace

(and possibly more.  So anyone got an idea for the title cuz I’m really drawing a blank)

[hp-hcs]

mattheo riddle if you beat the shit out of him in a fistfight <3 — mattheo riddle x gn! reader

Requests open

implied Slytherin (non-pureblood reader)

tws: violence… duh

OOC. LIKE AS OOC AS IS POSSIBLE. i am so sorry for whatever this is 💀 i’m like, borderline delirious kind of sick, so that’s my excuse ig 😌

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

homeboy is not doing fine

his bruised ego 😔

he’d been teasing you for years with his group of lackeys, and you just snapped

he made a comment that went too far about your blood status, talking shit about your family

you just dropped your shit, spun around, and decked that mf

obviously he wasn’t fuckin expecting that, so he just kinda froze like 👊💥😳🧍‍♂️

he has no idea what to do

((he’s also just a little bit turned on bc manwhore duh))

everybody in the hallway freezes too like,

“you dumb bitch the fuck are you doing??”

his friends are jeering, and he just kind of shakes his head like a goddamn etch-a-sketch and like, gently shoves you back by your shoulders (cause you cute bae 🩷 he don’t wanna ruin that pretty face of urs <3)

you, on the other hand, are just ready to FUCK someone UP

and if that someone turns out to be the dark lord’s son, c’est la vie

he makes one more lame attempt at a scathing comment and you just fucking TACKLE him

you’re on top of him (not like that you silly little sluts get your mind outta the gutter) in the middle of the hallway just beating the s h i t out of him

homeboy has no idea what to do lmfao

lowkey he’s falling in love just from your knuckles smashing his face in (masochist manwhore)

he def thinks it’s hot as fuck

one of the professors comes to separate yinz, (probably hooch, cause there ain’t no way she puts up with any shit) and has to fucking DRAG YOU OFF of him

he's got like, a broken nose, a busted lip, a probably-going-to-become-a-black eye, and yk, decimated ego

but he’s just looking at you with those fuckin PUPPY DOG eyes

🥺

congrats, he’s obsessed

he won’t shut up about you for the rest of the day, to his friends, his enemies, madam pomfrey when he’s in the hospital wing…

they're all like “ah. i see the mommy and daddy issues are making an appearance”

when you get out of detention and go back to the common room, he LEAPS off of the couch and over to you

you’re standing there with still-bloody knuckles and a try me, i dare you face

he apologizes profusely, like, to a kind of pathetic extent

you’re like “dude, you’re not pureblood either, dipshit”

he got called out 😔

you apologize for OvErReAcTiNg (you had to apologize as part of your detention & punishment lmfao) and getting ‘unnecessarily violent’

and cause manwhore he’s just like “oh no it’s fine that was hot”

y/n: 😶🤨🫠

he’s got a lil giggle ✨

literal heart eyes for you

so ur like “yeah i gotta mess with this guy even more”

you kiss his cheek and make his brain stop working

baby is bluescreening rn

he then ends up shadowing you for the rest of the week, following a half-step behind you wherever you go like a lil puppy

(i’m of the opinion that he’s just a slightly more violent golden retriever white boy)

((i’m not saying himbo but himbo))

walk him like a dog, sis

alexa, play lovefool by the cardigans

he’s ur bitch now, enjoy <3

[obsidianarchives]

Jessie Blount

Jessie Blount (she/her) is a queer woman of color, an INTP, a Sagittarius, a sci-fi and fantasy nerd, a witch, and an incredible cook. Jessie works for a rad non-profit in Detroit, where she lives with her girlfriend, Nicole, and a beautiful Slytherin cat princess, Winnie. She spends her time learning survival skills for the impending apocalypse and collecting Harry Potter memes. 

Black Girls Create: What do you create? 

HUMOROUS YET RUTHLESS

I create primarily audio-based media themed around the critical analysis of my fandoms. I do this mainly through my podcast The Gayly Prophet, a queer analytical chapter by chapter reread of the original 7 Harry Potter books that I do with my co-host and good friend Lark. Our bi-line is ‘humorous yet ruthless’ because while I’ve been a fan of the series since before book 4 was out, there are a lot of deeply problematic things in the text. One of the biggest inspirations for the pod was Witch Please, a feminist analysis of Harry Potter by two “lady scholars,” which was great, but sadly went book by book rather than chapter by chapter.  While there are a ton of Harry Potter podcasts, there were not any that specifically looked at Harry Potter through a queer lens. 

On The Gayly Prophet's Patreon I create on-the-spot fanfic round-robin style with Lark and post various multi-fandom fanfiction that I’ve written. I also discuss my other fandoms in some of our other Patreon exclusive content, like our “Editors Cut” where we talk about things like time travel, or my biweekly link roundup, “Muggle Studies.”

BGC: Why do you create?

I don’t really consider it an option, more of a necessity. I didn’t grow up with a lot of money, and I struggled a lot with the reality of racism and feeling different than a lot of kids I grew up with. Books and television were my friends, not just as an escape but as a way of dreaming of what could be. This is what drew me to sci-fi and fantasy, but as a child of the ‘90s, I didn’t come across many Black people or women in the stories I consumed. Like a lot of hardcore readers, I dreamed of being a writer, of creating my own story that was as majestic and beautiful as my inner life that had the kind of people I knew, complexity, and strong and weird and queer and POC characters. I cut my creative teeth in fandom, writing a lot of terrible, half created fanfics to go with the poetry that I wrote in my teens. The Gayly Prophet is really an extension of this passion, of my belief in the importance of fun, deep, textual analysis with other people.

BGC: Who is your audience? What do you hope your audience gets out of your podcast?

When I envision our audience, I think of other angry BIPOC queer nerds like me who love a thing so deeply that we want to rip it apart. I think to love a work of art is to examine it from all sides, rediscovering that love but also questioning its limitations and highlighting its flaws. More personally, I hate talking about myself, a holdover of my not-great childhood and deep social anxiety. I’d much rather talk about and listen to people’s thoughts about books and TV and movies. I’ve never gotten tired talking about Harry Potter, as 50 episodes and dozens of hours of The Gayly Prophet can attest to. The gaps in canon are staggering, especially as it relates to marginalized people, and filling those in is something I’m never bored of. I want to have this dialog with our listeners, hear their thoughts and feelings and headcanons. It’s also a bit like group therapy. I talk a lot about childhood trauma and neurodiversity as it related to HP because there is so much built explicitly into the canon and discussing it helps me verbalize and process these things in my own life. At heart, I want our audience to not feel alone. I also want them to laugh because there can never be enough laughter.  

BGC: Who or what inspired you to do what you do? Who or what continues to inspire you?

I’m perpetually inspired by Black nerds, especially folks who are older Millennial/Gen X Black nerds. Being a Black nerd didn’t used to be cool and acceptable. I was a weird kid growing up, consuming sci-fi novels like water and videotaping the X-Files on my grandparents VCR. When I got to college, I was lucky enough to start digging into race and women’s studies, and I was particularly interested in how that relates and informs art and media. One of the biggest influences for me was “The Oppositional Gaze” by Black feminist theorist bell hooks, where she says:

Critical black female spectatorship emerges as a site of resistance only when individual black women actively resist the imposition of dominant ways of knowing and looking. While every black woman I talked to was aware of racism, that awareness did not automatically correspond with politicization, the development of an oppositional gaze. When it did, individual black women consciously named the process. Manthia Diawara's "resisting spectatorship" is a tenant that does not adequately describe the terrain of black female spectatorship. We do more than resist. We create alternative texts that are not solely reactions. As critical spectators, black women participate in a broad range of looking relations, contest, resist, revision, interrogate, and invent on multiple levels. 

I take this to mean that nothing I consume is merely passive escapism, nor do I accept the prevailing white supremacy of much of the media I consume. It’s a complex consumption for me, I love stories and pleasing aesthetics and music and well-written prose. But everything I consume I interrogate, I analyze, I think on the possibilities of what if someone like me was at the center of the narrative. This way of looking has parallels in fandom, in the embracing of Black Hermione, in shipping, in headcanons, in examining canon and discarding and adding at will. 

I also grew up listening to NPR and had this dream of having my own radio show where I just talked about books I loved. Podcasting is honestly a blessing in this regard because I bought a mic and invested in recording software and a website, and now I am living a dream that my sad teen nerd self could have only imagined.

BGC: How do you continue to be inspired especially in these specific times?

Joy and laughter and critical thought are, I think, the best way to survive these trying times. I spend a lot of my time thinking about injustice, racism, and our broken system, and it would be very easy to give in to the feeling of being crushed by a system that actively wants me dead. Thinking of silly Harry Potter puns or playlists for soft bi werewolves gives my endlessly running mind something fun to think on and makes the perpetual tightness in my chest ease a little, because, at the very least, my co-host Lark will laugh and then I will laugh and that’s something that I did, that I created. 

BGC: Why is it important as a Black person to create? 

Honestly, creating is what has gotten Black folks for generations through all the shit that America has wrung us through. There is a reason that anything good in American culture was either created by or made better in Black hands. Music, food, art, clothing, dance, acting, poetry, social change, sci-fi, even the best parts of Al Gore’s internet. And within this, there are countless Black women and Black queer folks who are nearly forgotten. Basically, everyone we know from the Harlem Renaissance was not straight. Disco and house music came from Black and Latino gay club scenes. Even ‘internet speak’ is from Black trans women and folks in the ball scene. It’s part of our culture to thrive in this world by creating something beautiful. 

BGC: Are there other creators that you admire?

My top faves are Black ladies in sci-fi. My number one fave is the late great Octavia Butler, I think everyone should read the Parable of the Sower and Parable of the Talents. Janelle Monáe is out here living a peak queer nonbinary Afro-future nerd life, and I am so happy that young queer nerds get to grow up having someone like them (Janelle has not yet said what pronouns to use). Someone needs to give her all the money to make Afro-future sci-fi films. And, to paraphrase Issa Rae, I’m rooting for everyone Black who’s creating podcasts and writing fanfic and making YouTube vids and TikTok, especially the younger folks. 

BGC: How do you balance creating with the rest of your life? 

I work a full-time job that often has me working extra hours, so I don’t do as much for the podcast as I would like. Lark has a bit more relaxed schedule and TBH the podcast would not be half as good without him. My girlfriend is also very supportive, which helps so, so much. I schedule everything I do in Google calendar to make time for recording and the extra bits of running a podcast and having downtime.

BGC: How do you balance creating when you feel drained or exhausted?

I have depression, anxiety, and ADHD, so I am nearly always drained or exhausted. This is where clear communication and a shared calendar comes in. I know that if I work late at work, I need the next evening to recover and make sure to schedule recording sessions or podcast meetings spaced out from my work schedule. We do a lot of longer recording sessions on the weekends or the times where I have time off. We also record a lot of Patron-exclusive content that doesn’t necessarily require a lot of prep work or mental bandwidth, so for weeks where I am particularly low energy, I can still create something. And, lastly, we deeply stagger the time when we record to when the episode goes up, so if I’m in bad mental space and cannot do anything, I can take that time and episodes will still go out.

BGC: Any advice for new creators?

I think it can be hard to start a project because a lot of what we see is the finished product after years of work. You gotta power through it if you want to learn. And often people love it anyway. Someone might draw some fan art and see all the flaws, I see it and am like ‘Yes, more Black Hermione fan art, I love it.’ It’s ok if you have to take things slowly. Some weeks I only have an hour a week to knit or write or read for the podcast, because of real-life things. A lot of people who create all the time have, like, hired help or the unpaid labor of a spouse, so that ‘we all have the same 24 hours as Beyoncé’ thing is shitty creative advice.   

BGC: Any future projects coming up?

We’ve got some exciting things planned for our ‘Make Harry Potter Even Gayer 2020’ campaign, in which we are amplifying queer HP fanworks and merch by queer creators. We are in the embryonic stages of planning some kind of live event for the campaign, too. Folks should follow us on social media to be kept in the loop on that stuff as it develops! We’re on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter @thegaylyprophet.

[hp-hcs]

dressing up as britney spears to tease ur bf? iconic.

• smut • baby one more time — mattheo riddle x femby/femboy! gn! reader

so like,, it’s gender neutral but not.

like, this is for pretty much anyone other than cis women so-

(y’all get every other x reader anyways so you’ll be fine)

warnings: SMUT MDNI, oral (reader receiving — no anatomical descriptors), ig oral fixation?, crossdressing kink(?), body worship, hand kink? is that a thing?

the ending is SO CHEESY but i kinda love it

smut ain’t really my thing, but some anon asked for this and the idea just GRIPPED me (apologies, anon, for losing your ask, i have absolutely no idea where it went) and i figured y'all might like it. enjoy, you funky lil allosexuals

requests open

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Hey, babe? Enz is throwing this huge Halloween party thing tonight. You wanna come?”

You looked up from your textbook to meet the pleading eyes of your boyfriend and his best friend.

“Why do I have the sinking suspicion there’s a catch?” You asked dryly, ignoring Mattheo’s puppy dog eyes.

The two boys shared a look before Enzo hesitantly spoke up.

“It’s a costume party.”

You shrugged. “Okay?”

Enzo blinked in surprise. “Are you willing to dress up?”

“I’ll think about it.”

~~~

Woah.

Holy shit.

Y/n walked- no, strutted into the common room.

In shiny black platform mary janes.

And black over-the-knee stockings.

And a black pleated skirt.

And a white uniform shirt, almost entirely unbuttoned and tied at the bottom to raise the hemline into a crop top.

And a grey cardigan in an entirely useless attempt at modesty.

And eyeliner dear Merlin.

And a pink bow in their hair.

And a hot pink heart shaped lollipop in their mouth.

Mattheo’s cheeks burned as he cleared his throat and slid a finger under his tie to loosen it.

Shit.

~~~

Y/n scanned the crowd for their boyfriend, sucking on their lollipop absentmindedly.

They spotted him, face flushed and eyes wide, already staring at them from where he sat on the very edge of the common room couch.

They pulled the lollipop out of their mouth with a sly smirk, wiggling the fingers of their free hand in a teasing wave.

Popping the candy back into their mouth, Y/n sashayed over to their partner, wasting no time before plonking down in his lap, their legs on either side of his hips.

“Hi, baby,” you murmured around your sucker, fluttering your lashes.

Mattheo stared at you, completely slack-jawed. His face was as red as a Weasley’s hair, and his hands trembled when they came up to rest on your hips and keep you steady.

“Love your costume, babe,” you snicker, tugging gently on the collar of his Hawaiian shirt. “Ace Ventura?”

He blinks, startled out of his trance. “Huh? Oh- ye-yeah.”

You shoot him a flirtatious grin, smoothing your hands up his chest and over his shoulders.

His grip tightened on your hips when you ran your fingers through the curls of hair at the nape of his neck, and his mouth remained hanging open.

You smirked again and pulled your sucker out of your mouth with audible pop! that made Mattheo’s ears burn red.

“Better close your mouth, or you’ll catch flies, sweetheart,” you tease, holding your lollipop out to his mouth.

His eyes widened as you basically shoved your lollipop into his mouth, his grip on your hips tightening as he suddenly dragged you closer on his lap.

“Baby, don’t tease,” he said lowly, moving the stick of the lollipop to the corner of his mouth and dragging his hands from your hips down to the tops of your thighs.

You had to close your eyes and breathe for a minute at the sensation, having to physically hold yourself back from jumping his bones right then and there.

“Babe…” Mattheo whispered, running his large hands over the fabric of your skirt in an infatuated manner.

Perched on his lap, despite being in the middle of a raucous party, neither one of you seemed to even register the presence of other people.

“Matty,” you breathed, your eyes tracking the small motion of the lollipop stick as it moved around Mattheo’s mouth. “Matty, your room.”

He all but shoved you off of his lap in his haste to stand up, quickly grabbing your hand and dragging you through the throng of people as he made a beeline for the dorms.

“Leaving so soon? But you just got here.”

“Sorry, Enz,” Mattheo responded breathlessly as his friend stepped in front of him, his grip on your hand tightening. “We need to go. See ya.”

Enzo nodded and stepped aside, shooting you a knowing smirk and snickering when you flushed as your boyfriend dragged you down the hall.

~~~

Mattheo pushed you up against his bedroom wall the second the door clicked shut. His tongue was in your mouth before you even had a chance to blink.

He kissed you like a man starved, cupping your jaw reverently as he pulled you closer.

You separated for air, expressions of surprise at the other’s reaction to the outfit evident on both of your faces.

“Babe,” Mattheo’s voice cracked with emotion, with lust, as he obsessively ran his hands over the expanse of your exposed midriff, his eyes trailing down your body. “Babe.”

“I take it you like the outfit.” You laugh breathlessly, cheeks flaming from all of the attention.

“Fuckin’ love, darlin’,” he groaned, shoving a knee between your thighs as he swooped in for another kiss. “Y’damn tease.”

Your breath caught in your throat as he bounced his leg. “Y-you love it.”

“I do,” he conceded, leaning in to nip at your neck and collarbone. “The fuckin’ lollipop, sweetheart? Damn near lost it.”

His lips were still sticky against your skin from the candy, and you could taste cherry on his lips as he leaned in to kiss you once more.

A breathy whine left your throat as he squeezed your ass, and your fingers tugged on his curls impatiently. “Matty-”

“Yeah. Yeah, I got you, love,” he murmured against your mouth.

He pushed you backwards onto his bed, climbing on top of you while steadfastly refusing to separate your lips.

You gasped into his mouth when he straddled you, sitting on your thighs dear Merlin, and ran his hands down the front of your chest. He finally pulled back from your mouth, his lips swollen and red and his eyes dilated with lust. His gaze slowly moved down from your eyes to your shirt, and his hands came up to undo the few buttons holding the front together.

His fingers practically trembled as he undid the knot at the base of your shirt, taking his time in pulling it off—like he was unwrapping a present that was all for himself.

When he finally got it off your shoulders, he reverently ghosted his fingers over your ribs. He spread his large hands around your torso as he held your sides.

“Merlin-” he breathed, leaning down to run his tongue up the center of your chest.

You squirmed under him at the foreign feeling as he littered your chest with soft kisses, running your fingers through his hair just to have something to do with your hands.

Mattheo slid down the bed, his hands gripping your thighs almost painfully tight. He obsessively ran his hands over the sheer black stockings you wore, marveling at the smooth texture underneath his fingers.

His hands traveled back up to the hem of your skirt, rubbing his thumbs over the soft fabric before flipping it up with no further preamble.

He let out a soft moan at the sight in front of him, and without hesitation, immediately buried his face between your legs.

Your hands flew to his hair as you let out a surprised gasp.

“Matty-”

He hummed in response, and you could just barely feel the corners of his mouth turn up in a sly smirk. His hands tightened on your knees, pulling your thighs apart gently to give himself more room.

If there was one thing Mattheo Riddle was good at, it was the utter magic he could do with his mouth.

His sneaky tongue pulled a move that made sparks of pleasure zing up your spine, your gasps and poorly-stifled moans only spurring him on further.

“Matty, please-”

His fingers slid under the edge of your stockings, pulling the elastic back and letting go—the material slapping back against your skin with a solid thwick.

That was all you needed before your eyes rolled back in your head and your thighs shook, the dam of pleasure finally bursting open and coursing through your body.

Your boyfriend rubbed your thighs as you finished, grinning like mad when he saw the state his actions had left you in.

Boneless and practically melting into the mattress, your chest heaved as you panted for air.

“You’re pretty,” Mattheo mumbled, his voice raspy and his chin smeared with spit as he looked down at you with a goofy smile.

You giggled at his debauched appearance. “You’re prettier.”

“Yeah? Shit, darlin’- think you could go for a round two? Help your pretty boyfriend out?”

You grinned, still trying to catch your breath. “…hit me baby one more time?”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

smut tag list — join by request ONLY

@jaythes1mp

[hp-hcs]

(Fine, I’ll do it my damn self: part 8 of my silly lil m! & enby! reader stories <3)

uniforms — nonbinary! blaise zabini & nonbinary! reader

tws: use of reader’s deadname, use of she/her pronouns and fem-specific language towards or about reader, use of he/him pronouns for blaise D/N = reader’s dead/given name Y/N = reader’s name

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Can I try on one of your uniforms?”

You look up from your book, blinking at Blaise. “What?”

“Your uniforms. Can I try one on?”

“Why…?”

He sighs loudly, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s just an experiment, no big deal.”

You look at him quizzically for a moment longer. “Uh, sure, I guess?”

You stand up from your desk, crossing over to your armoire and pulling out one of your spare uniforms, laying it out on your bed. “Here, go wild.”

He smiles at you, running his fingers over the pleats of the skirt with surprising gentleness. “Thank you.”

You shrug, still a bit puzzled, and go back to reading your book.

~~~

“Zabini? The fuck are you wearing, man?” Theodore asks quizzically as you all sit at the Slytherin table for breakfast.

You glance up, seeing Blaise setting his bag down and smoothing out your uniform skirt, sitting down on the bench with that kind of natural grace all rich purebloods seem to have.

“It’s D/N’s,” he says smoothly with an air of haughty indifference. “I’m just borrowing it.”

“You lose a bet or something?”

“Merlin, Nott,” you roll your eyes. “He’s just expanding his wardrobe. Not a big deal.”

Theodore looks at you with an oddly thoughtful expression for a moment before shrugging. “Alright. Pass me the syrup, will ya?”

~~~

Blaise went back to his usual uniform the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. Nearly a week from when he first asked to borrow your uniform, he tentatively knocks on the open door of your dorm room and peeks in.

“D/N?”

“Oh, hey, Blaise. What’s up?”

“Can you teach me how to put on eyeliner?”

You blink blankly for a moment before grinning. “Oh you could rock some eyeliner. C’mere.”

He grins back, bounding into your room with an unexpected amount of giddiness.

~~~

“Hey, Blaise?”

“Mhm?” He looks up from where he’s splayed out on your dorm room floor, setting his magazine—The Witch’s Weekly—down on his chest and waiting expectantly.

“Can I borrow one of your uniforms?”

“Sure,” he says, nonplussed, as he picks his magazine back up.

~~~

Theodore looks at you quizzically but says nothing as you sit down for dinner in the Great Hall wearing a boy’s uniform. When Blaise follows right behind you and sits down in his skirt, he just shakes his head a bit.

“Love today’s makeup, Zabini. Your eyeshadow game is on point.”

Blaise smiles.

“And you, L/N. I like the new hairstyle.”

You grin too.

~~~

“Pansy!” You call after her, jogging to catch up. She slows and turns around, smiling at you.

“Hey, D/N. I thought you couldn’t come to Hogsmeade?”

“Finished my essay last night.”

She nods, looping her arm through yours and marching towards your guys’ quick weekend destination, already chattering about any and all drama.

After a lull in the conversation, following a particularly juicy tidbit about Katie Bell, of all people, Pansy elbows you in the side gently.

“So what’s with the uniform? And you and Blaise, for that matter?”

“What? Nothing, I just like these uniforms better.”

“But you still wear makeup,” she points out.

“Yeah?”

“But you prefer to wear trousers?”

“So?” You ask, bristling slightly.

She pats your arm reassuringly. “No judgement, just curious. Are you trans?”

You pause.

“I’m not a boy.”

“Are you still a girl then?”

You hesitate.

“I think that’s your answer right there. Maybe you ought to talk to Professor Lupin’s spouse.”

~~~

“I’ll go make us some lunch. You can’t not eat, no matter how many tests you have to grade,” a voice says playfully but firmly as you hover uncertainly by Professor Lupin’s classroom door. You can hear footsteps from inside, then the door opens suddenly, nearly smacking you in the face.

“Oh! Sorry sweetheart, I didn’t see you there,” the culprit says apologetically.

“No worries,” you reply, a bit dazed. “I don’t suppose you’d be Tonks?”

“I am, in fact. What can I do for ya?”

“I had a bit of an odd question…” you trail off.

“Talk and walk with me, sweetheart. Do you like grilled cheese for lunch?”

~~~

“What is it called again?”

“Nonbinary,” you repeat, wringing your hands and cracking your knuckles nervously.

“Holy shit.”

“I know, right? That’s what I said! I didn’t even know that was an option!”

Blaise stands in the center of your dorm—the door locked and silencing spells up for privacy—and stares at you, mouth agape.

“Which means we’re not- there’s nothing wrong with us. There’s an actual name for it.”

“Huh,” Blaise murmurs softly.

“So what do we think? Yea or nay to they, if you will?”

“I say yea,” Blaise says with mock seriousness.

“Then it’s a unanimous decision. They it is.”

~~~

“Mx. L/N, Mx. Zabini, if you would pay attention,” Professor Snape all but snarls. “My class is more important than your discussions. Five points from Slytherin.”

“Wow, great job, guys,” Draco drawls, casting you both unamused glances.

“Hey- they started it!”

“Don’t listen to them, they started it!”

“Children, children, you’re both pretty. Stop fighting,” Pansy rolls her eyes.

“Obviously I’m pretty,” Blaise scoffs as they press their hand to their chest in a mock-offended manner.

You roll your eyes. “You wish.”

Blaise pouts, turning around in his chair to face the rest of the friend group. “Theo, Y/N’s bullying me.”

Theodore snickers. “Maybe they’re just jealous,” he suggests.

“That makes more sense,” Blaise snickers as they stick their tongue out at you.

You stick your tongue out back at them. “Hey, you can’t be mean to me! I loaned you my old uniform in the first place!”

[hp-hcs]

🄼🄰🅂🅃🄴🅁🄻🄸🅂🅃

male, nonbinary, & gender-neutral readers x hp characters

NOT UP TO DATE!!!

requests: open! (RULES)

join the taglist!

Do you hate it when you find a fic that says “x reader” only for it to have she/her pronouns, as if it’s some inherent rule that only fem people read fanfiction? WELL DO I HAVE A BLOG FOR YOU.

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。.・゜✭・.

am i reorganizing my masterlist for the 10,000th time? yep! i’ve finally written enough that i need to break this down into tinier masterlists!

key: 🚹 = male reader ⚧️ = nonbinary reader 🚻 = gender-neutral reader

☣️ = yandere tw 💥 = violence tw ‼️ = homophobia/transphobia tw 🩸 = blood/gore tw 🧨 = implied sexual content/sexual innuendos ❤️‍🔥 = smut tw

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・. .・。✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・.

mattheo riddle masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・. .・。✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・.

theodore nott masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・. .・。✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・.

polyamorous/non-monogamous masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・. .・。✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・.

“Splinched” masterlist • theodore nott 🚹🩸

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・. .・。✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・.

“Pansy’s Brother” masterlist • theodore nott 🚹 ☣️ 💥

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・. .・。✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・.

“lipstick” masterlist • enzo berkshire and draco malfoy 🚻 ☣️ ❤️‍🔥

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・. .・。✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・.

“watercolors” masterlist • tom riddle 🚹

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・. .・。✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・.

“The Doll” masterlist • enzo berkshire, regulus black, draco malfoy, theodore nott, mattheo riddle, and blaise zabini 🚻 💥

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・. .・。✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・.

“phoenix tears” masterlist • riddle brothers 🚹 ‼️💥🩸

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・. .・。✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・.

draco malfoy:

the audacity, i can’t believe this 🚹

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・. .・。✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・.

enzo berkshire:

shut up 🚹☣️❤️‍🔥

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・. .・。✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・.

ron weasley:

love triangle 🚹

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・. .・。✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・.

neville longbottom:

mr. green thumb 🚻

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・. .・。✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・.

weasley twins:

common room confessions 🚹

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・. .・。✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・.

blaise zabini:

uniforms ⚧️

fiendfyre 🚹

yandere! blaise zabini headcanons 🚻

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・. .・。✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・.

narcissa malfoy:

yandere! mother! headcanons 🚻 ☣️💥

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・. .・。✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・.

riddle brothers:

June 🚻

crystal 🚻☣️💥 (referenced attempted S/A tw)

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・. .・。✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・.

pansy parkinson:

paralyzer 🚻

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・. .・。✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・.

viktor krum:

sibling rivalry 🚻

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・. .・。✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。✭・.

slytherin boys hcs:

slytherin boys: gn! muggleborn! reader’s music taste is rather…unexpected 🚻

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。.・゜✭・.

random non-reader stories:

key:

❌= implied/referenced child abuse tw 🛑= graphic child abuse tw

“where have you been?”

molly weasley discovers the extent of the dursleys’ abuse ❌

the weasley family and their cinematic adventures

just some funky lil headcanons

Harry Potter and the Amount of Abuse He Suffered at the Hands of His Guardians That Doesn’t Get Mentioned Nearly Enough (aka LET THE POOR BOY BE TRAUMATIZED)

writing prompt: “…jegulus taking in teenage harry after he runs away from the dursleys” 🛑 ❌

untitled tomarry thingy (i just love them okay)

writing prompt: “Touch starved Tom / Voldemort” 🛑 ❌

two thousand words of pure marauders-raise-harry fluff

writing prompt: “regulus black becoming the best seeker ever and harry being his biggest fan and then he finds out that his dad use to date him and he tries (and plots with sirius) to get them back together just so he can call the regulus black his stepdad”

Children Don’t Belong in Cupboards (pt. 1/?)

synopsis: jily comes to the dursleys’ to get their son back 🛑 ❌

.・。.・゜✭・. ☾ ⋆*・。.・゜✭・.

[that-bi-bitch-writes]

The Rumor Around Hogwarts (prologue)

Hi everyone!! This is the prologue and it is pretty much exactly what the author wrote and I don't take credit for it. I made a couple of changes to the chapter but it is towards the end so if you want to skip through you can until about the last paragraph to find the part about Y/N L/N. Enjoy!!

Male reader insert for now, future addition of they pronouns as it will lean more towards a non-binary insert with the only change being less reference to Y/N as a young boy and more gender neutral terms. Still masc/male aligned.

Previous // Next

Prologue:

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had two small sons, too, but they had never even seen them. These boys were two good reasons for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with children like that.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls.

"Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar -- a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realise what he had seen -- then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive -- no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes -- the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt -- these people were obviously collecting for something... yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.

Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying. "The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard--" "-- yes, their son, Harry--" Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was called Harry. He'd never even seen the boy. It might have been Harvey Or Harold There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her -- if he'd had a sister like that... but all the same, those people in cloaks...

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drill that afternoon and when he left the building a five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside of the door.

"Sorry" he grunted as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realised that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary his ace split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passerbys stare,

"Don't be sorry my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating this happy, happy day!"

And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.

Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw -- and it didn't improve his mood -- was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly.

The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?" "Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early -- it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters...

Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er -- Petunia, dear -- you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.

"No," she said sharply. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."

"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.

"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... her crowd."

Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their son -- he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.

"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?"

"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me."

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something.

Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did... if it got out that they were related to a pair of -- well, he didn't think he could bear it.

The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind... He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on -- he yawned and turned over -- it couldn't affect them...

How very wrong he was.

Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again -- the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, I've been celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no -- even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent -- I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone--"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense -- for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't, said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too -- well -- noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what they're saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are -- are -- that they're -- dead."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..." Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder.

"I know... I know... " he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son, Harry. But he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke -- and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's -- it's true ?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore.

"We may never know." Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."

"You don't mean - you can't mean the people who live here ?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore -- you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son -- I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!?"

"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! He'll be famous -- a legend -- I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter day in the future -- there will be books written about Harry -- every child in our world will know his name!"

"Exactly." said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes -- yes, you're right, of course. But how is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing him."

"You think it -- wise -- to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore. "I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to -- what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky -- and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild -- long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir -- house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where -- ?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?" "Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map o

f the London Underground. Well -- give him here, Hagrid -- we'd better get this over with." Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house. "Could I -- could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "You'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it -- Lily an' James dead -- an' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles--"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall -- Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply. Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley... He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter -- the boy who lived!"

The boy who lived, however, was not the only threat to Voldemort's plans. There was another baby boy who would grow up to be extraordinary. His fame would not reach the height of Harry Potter, but he need not be the boy who lived for he will be the boy who decided to speak.

        "I heard a rumor"