#synoirdrabbles

[synoir]

Blaise/Theo + brewing amortentia in potions class? Thank you

I loved writing it. I know this is tiny, but I loved writing it soooo much.

Theo and Blaise are characters I adore, and never (yet) had a chance to write. Thank you!

Theo felt the warmth of Blaise’s breath on his ear. The idiot was doing it again: getting close to him while surrounded by people. He shivered, both with nervousness and excitement.

Blaise, as he usual, was completely unaffected by Theo’s anxiety over hiding what they had.

“I smell you.”

Words rang in Theo’s ear like a Chinese Gong, entrapping his senses and being in a singular moment.

I smell you.

I smell you.

I smell you.

It wasn’t and echo. It was a solid moment. Unmoving. Still.

One.

His face was red, and Blaise was already bottling their potion. Theo looked at him, unable to respond.

“At least we know it works,” Blaise winked.

Theodore stood still, as his lover staggered towards Snape and left the damned bottle, labelled with Theodore’s skilled calligraphy.

T.N & B.Z.

Amortentia

Send me a prompt with any pairing you’d like!

[synoir]

sirius x hermione - "do you have a lighter?"

I can’t help but feel like I’ve just opened a bag of candy! I love writing Sirimione!!! I hope you’ll like this love!

Sirius stopped talking to Sarah and watched as Hermione moved towards the door, sliding in between the crowd. Somehow no one noticed her silent disappearance.

“You okay?” the woman asked and he nodded his head, his mind already focused on Hermione’s disappearing form. He mumbled an apology as an automatic response and moved. He was not as gentle as Hermione as he pushed the Saturday night crowd apart so he could walk.

He took the fresh night air into his lungs with a deep breath and his eyes scanned the people outside, making phone calls or smoking. Although Hermione was easy to spot, with her wild hair and that muggle dress she was wearing.

“Do you have a lighter?” she asked a guy, whose smile was far too happy for being asked a lighter, and Sirius with his battle-ready reflexes lit her cigarette, cutting the other guy off.

Hermione looked at him startled and Sirius smiled. The scowl of the other guy was completely ignored, of course.

“Sirius, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“Exactly what you are doing, love,” he said, lighting his own cigarette. She puffed the smoke out of her mouth and laughed bitterly.

“I highly doubt that,” she said.

Sirius frowned, leaning on to the wall, and effectively cutting off other people’s vision of her, so their conversation could remain private.

“I thought you were fine,” Sirius said. He meant it too, they were having fun. He was flirting with her, as he’d been gradually doing for several months now, and he had thought they were on the same page. But there was a certain distance on her now, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe she was over-thinking things. He just hoped she wouldn’t lose her interest in him.

“I was fine, why wouldn’t I?” she said and huffed a bit.

“Was?” Sirius probed.

Hermione glared at him, and he knew he was being assessed by her vicious stare. Just that look was enough to make him ache.

“Why are you playing with me?”

The question hit him like a bucket of water. His lips went dry instantly.

“Playing with you?” he said, unable to form a unique sentence.

“Yes! And you know, you can I suppose, I mean you can flirt around, but I’m stupid and I think when someone flirts with me I assume they mean it. I suppose I shouldn’t, of course! I mean that’s awfully presumptuous and I must be misunderstanding, but -if you could stop it I would appreciate it!”

Sirius didn’t know what was happening.

No. Really. What was happening?

“Hermione,” he reached to stop her continuing. “I am flirting with you, what makes you think I don’t mean it?”

Hermione looked at him, seemingly confused. She never could hide her emotions, especially when she had drunk. And boy, did she drink. He could barely keep up with her.

“Well, that- that- woman you were talking to -I’d call her a bimbo but she wasn’t, was she, pretty  and gorgeous and beautiful and she made you laugh so she can’t be too bad- and it’s very wrong to assume bad about women that flirts with the man you want for yourself, like -I hate that I hate her-” Sirius wasn’t sure how could he stop her ramblings.

“Who? What girl? Sarah?” he asked, finally understanding what she was talking about.

“Whatever the hell her name is!”

The cigarette she was holding flew out of her hand and landed on the ground, and was smashed for emphasis by the heel of her dainty shoe. Sirius watched the whole thing as if everything was in slow motion, and he looked back at her.

She was angry with him.

She was jealous of him.

Sirius couldn’t help the grin forming on his face before he kissed her.

Send me a prompt with any pairing you’d like!

[synoir]

Sirimione. "The problem with pointing a gun to the love of your life is, Sirius thought, you don't know whether or not you want to pull the trigger." BTW, random shout that Seasons is amazing!

You are a treasure! So happy that you enjoyed Seasons (my little happy baby!) -This one, I must warn, is not much of that. I hope you’ll like it anyway.

How could everything get this fucked up?

Her eyes were full of fear and surprise as they looked at him. She was shaking like a leaf on a windy day.

And she was wearing the dress he loved so much, wet and heavy with the rain that was still continuing outside. How many times had he pulled it down of her shoulders? How many times had he wrapped his arms around her while she wore this dress?

Her hair was sticking on her face, tiny drops of water falling from their tendrils and creating wet paths, mixing with her tears. How many times had he dried her tears? How many times he held her in his arms as she mourned another lost life in this wretched fight?

The problem with pointing a gun to the love of your life was, Sirius thought, that you didn’t know whether or not you wanted to pull the trigger. He wanted to kill her.

He loved her.

How everything could get this fucked up?

“Was it you?” he asked, a question too late to ask.

Hermione’s eyes closed, and she took a deep breath. He watched as her chest rose trembling as if she was in pain. His knees shook.

“No,” she said shaking her head, her eyes still shut and her voice quivered.

“Who else?” he said. Who else?

Who else could do that? James was dead. Lily was dead. Harry, little Harry was missing and Hermione… His Hermione was to blame.

Who else?

Her eyes opened slowly, and when they land upon him they were cold. In their depths, he found a distance he had never witnessed before. And he’d used to gaze at stars so far away.

“You can kill me,” she said slowly. “But I didn’t do it.”

And he believed her, his mouth opened in a silent scream and for a moment he thought about pointing the wretched gun to himself. He thought about killing her anyway, because, did it matter anymore? He thought about not believing her.

Everything was fucked up.

He fell on his knees, feeling the sharp pain as they felt the weight of him.

He cried.

Hermione kneeled next to him, gently.

“It was Pettigrew,” she said to him, and Sirius knew it was true. Her whisper was like a drop of gold, and he inhaled her sweet scent. The taste of her skin came wickedly as a memory. 

She was his only remedy.

She started to rise, he stopped her. He took her small, cold; oh, so cold; hand into his and braved a look upon her face.

She didn’t stop. Her skin slid out of his hand, and his palm burned with the last feel of her flesh.

He listened as her feet took her away from him.

This time, there was no one else to blame.

Send me a prompt with any pairing you’d like!

[synoir]

In honor of Marcus May -- Marcus x Hermione - University AU. "Please help me study for anatomy. Coach won't let me play next semester if I don't pass all my classes." (Okay, not in love with that sentence, but I mean, you get the general gist of it?)

Oh-my-GOD!! My hero! I actually WANTED to write something for the Marcus May, and have been thinking about it FOR SO LONG and YOU JUST SAVED ME.

(I’m gonna butcher your sentence, forgive me -my courage comes from you saying you aren’t in love with it)

*cracks knuckles*

“Hi.”

He waited for her to notice him.

She didn’t, so he cleared his throat loudly, and spoke again.

“Hi, can I sit here?”

She nodded, distractedly. Mumbling a “Yeah, sure.”

Marcus sighed. She wasn’t making this easy. He cleared his throat again, now you are overdoing it, Flint, he thought. She flicked a gaze towards him, her eyes lingering on him only a fraction of a second and she turned back to her work again. He sighed inwardly, considering to give up already. She would never notice him.

She seemed to only notice her friends, anyway. He was sure she dated none of them. She still came to every game, and Marcus remembered how he had been jealous of Potter when she ran to him after a game.

Too bad that he found out Potter was not interested in girls after he made the younger kid hate him.

He realised he had forgotten to open the books he randomly selected to pretend he was studying when she lifted her gaze toward him then looked at his books pointedly. He coughed with embarrassment and she looked at him again, a shy blush on her cheeks. Marcus almost fell from his seat.

He had never thought of himself particularly smart, nor handsome for that matter. Girls liked him, enough, he thought, since he was a great football player. He doubted Hermione Granger cared about that. He doubted she even knew his name.

“Anatomy?” she asked suddenly, surprising him.

She was talking to him. It had been too long since he got this stupid over a girl.

“So what?” he barked.

Fuck.

She blushed, then her brows furrowed and her eyes sparked with anger. She huffed a breath and turned back to the pile of books in front of her.

“Sorry!” he said, feeling like an absolute imbecile. Lie, his mind supplied helpfully. “It’s just that, I’m gonna fail the class.”

She didn’t say anything for few seconds but didn’t seem as angry as before. “The coach said I can’t play next semester if I failed,” he added for good measure. The coach, of course, had not said such things.

He didn’t even take Anatomy. He prayed she didn’t know.

Hermione smirked, her eyes still on her workload. “Uh-huh.”

“Maybe you could help me study?”

She lifted her eyes, looking at him with a smirk.

“Help you study anatomy?” Hermione clarified, and she was, ugh -so hot!

“Yes,” he said, dazed.

She laughed, not loudly, but her face flushed with amusements and her eyes were sparkling making Marcus’ blood boil.

“Sure, pick me up at eight.”

Send me a prompt with any pairing you’d like!

[synoir]

I'm loving your stories. Maybe Regulus and Lily, to go on with the Regulus thematic? Would you ship them?

Thank you love, I’m glad you like them!

Yes, yes I’ll ship them together! I never read a story about them, but the Pureblood Prince and Muggleborn Girl is just… Perfection.

And Regulus just knows he should not even look at her. But he just can’t help himself. He doesn’t only look at her, he watches her, as if she is a puzzle and he wants to solve her. 

Mudblood, he thinks in his head -trying the word in his mind, wondering how a meaning can disappear from one’s mind. But it just does.

Maybe it’s because Lily smiles at him even though he is wearing green and silver. In that smile, Regulus finds courage, sitting on the same table with her in the library. He knows that if anyone would see him his mother would find out about it. But maybe that’s courage, and maybe that’s why other Slytherins say Gryffindors are not very smart.

It’s plain stupid to smile at her knowing this after all. It’s so very stupid, and dangerous, and he is risking his life and inheritance. He is surprised to see that he doesn’t care.

When he pulls her towards a hidden alcove in one of the many corridors of the castle and the fear in her eyes disappear when her eyes fell on him, he knows that stupid isn’t such a bad thing to be.

They greet each other stupidly, “Hi,” is the word that drops from her mouth, and he can only say the same thing back at her.

He tells her, then. That he is stupid, and it is probably the worst idea ever but even then, would she go to Hogsmeade with him?

And she agrees that t is stupid, and is he sure? Wouldn’t his parents hear of it? “We don’t have to,” she says. But he is sure. He chooses to be stupid. 

When Sirius sees them in Hogsmeade together, he steps between Regulus and Mulciber. When they look at each other he knows that once again they are brothers. He holds Lily’s hand in his, he feels her shake with anger and fear, and he promises to never let it go.

When the Samhain night of 1981 comes, and he feels their wards breeched, he grabs her hand one last time. “Kreacher!” he calls, a name that he didn’t utter in years, and as he runs down the stairs to meet Voldemort he hears the familiar crack of House Elf appearing. 

Regulus Black dies knowing his wife and son would be safe.

Voldemort sneers at his body.

“Stupid boy.”

I’m playing Would You Ship This? // Send me a ship and I’ll tell you if I’d ship them and maybe a little bit more

[synoir]

Ginny x Luna - "Why are you hiding under my table?"

Thank you for the beautiful prompt love! I hope you’ll like it!

Could sunset be put in a bottle?

Would it be beautiful if it was in a bottle?

Does constraining things make them lose their meanings?

Luna thought. It’s what she does. She thinks, but never particularly about one thing. She thinks about everything.

She slowly crawled under the table.

Am I constrained here, she thought, or am I free because it is where I want to be? Are boxes prisons, or can you be a star and be in prison as well.

“Why are you hiding under my table?”

Luna saw Ginevra’s red hair falling, almost touching the ground. Her face was on a horizontal line, and she was bending to see Luna better.

Luna smiled. As Ginny loved to see her, she loved to see Ginny.

She liked that Ginny tried to look at her, to see her.

Luna thinks because she sees. She sees the flames and lights, she sees the darkness and shadows. She sees how everything moves together, at the same time, towards the same direction -yet never going to the same place.

“To see you better, of course,” Luna said and Ginny smiled.

“Would I see you better if I’d join you?” Ginny asked, her lips strained, her teeth showing, corners of her eyes crinkling, her voice is full of light.

“You always see me better,” Luna said. She watched as Ginny slid from her chair, her robes opening up a little to show her milky legs and the small freckles adorning it like sparkles, and sat next to Luna. Their arms touching, and the smell of their bodies entwining.

Everything goes to the same place because everything reaches to Ginny. And she is the place only Luna will reach.

“Good,” Ginny said. “I don’t want anyone else to see you better.”

Send me a prompt with any pairing you’d like!

[synoir]

Remione. College AU. (Your writing is so good have a nice day okay bye *run

I hope you’ll see this dear Anon. 

First, this is not a genre I usually (ever) write, so… I tried? 

Second, I know you said College AU -and I might have taken it one itty bitty step further. 

Right. I’m nervous. 

I’ll be fine.

K, but let me know when u r at ur room.

Stop worrying Harry.

Famous last words.

Hermione grinned at the screen and frowned when it suddenly turned black. It probably died, she thought bitterly, although her battery hadn’t been that low. Thinking that she would have to take care of it, she dropped the phone in her back.

The streets were eerily empty for a Friday night on the campus. There was no one. She looked around to be sure. She spotted few kids far ahead, kneeling over something.

Her heart sped up. It’s not normal, she thought but she couldn’t spot what the anomaly was. She started to walk faster.

The lights flickered.

Hermione thought she was being stupid, but at that moment, between stupid and death, she’d choose stupid.

She ran.

It was there, her safe haven. Gryffindor was the safest House in the whole school. She’d find Wood, and tell him that she felt unsafe, and he’d gather his friends to patrol the surrounding area. It was the Gryffindor way, keeping the campus safe. She’d be fine, soon.

Two redheads jumped in front of her, and Hermione staggered back.

Skin, dried blood, tissue, dirt, the smell.

She screamed.

Their skin was falling apart, and their eyes were cold and hollow.

Fred and George.

GAH!

Hermione got up, angry and embarrassed. They were wearing make-up. Of course, it was make-up! It wasn’t like there were real life zombies!

“I can’t believe you would do such a thing! Do you have any ide-”

In the silence of the night, her angry shouts were cut off by two rounds of gun shots. Hermione froze, watching Fred and George fall down.

They were her friends.

I am angry at them.

They were her friends.

I was just angry at them!

She looked at the man with the gun.

“P-professor Lupin?” she asked. Why?

He didn’t answer her, instead, he shot the bodies of her friends again. It was only then Hermione saw that they were continuing to move. Crawling, moving, crawling, crawling, crawling towards her. Professor Lupin ran towards her and held her hand firmly in his.

“Run,” he said looking at her, although he didn’t even stop when he said that. They were already running. Hermione’s feet were falling down the ground one after the other, and the momentum caused by Professor Lupin’s unexpected speed was the only thing that kept her from falling down.

That, and his strong grip of her hand.

She looked at his face and remembered the times she watched him in class. He had looked shy, kind, and… normal. The man she had been dreaming about since the beginning of the school.

When did he turn into a soldier that could gun down his favourite pupils without blinking an eye?

Send me a prompt with any pairing you’d like!

So like. I probably shouldn’t even try my hand at this *shyly looks around*. But honestly, I enjoy using your prompts to write things I’ve never written before, to try new things and experimenting a little.

I hope this is interesting!

Low on romance, but like, IMAGINE THEM IN A YEAR YEAH?

ok ok.

bye. 

[synoir]

Theo & Draco. Bros out drinking.

You know when I first read your prompt as it was worded, I didn’t think I’d write in the tone I did. But this happened, and I hope you’ll like it. 

The place Draco Malfoy, one of my oldest friends, had invited me surprised me. It wasn’t that I found the place classless. Still, for a Malfoy, it was very casual.

The low light, velvet covered chairs, and the strong notes of a Jazz song created an atmosphere that was intriguing and strangely enticing. I immediately knew that Draco had changed, even before I laid an eye on him.

It had been five years since I last saw my childhood friend. He had escaped right after the Battle of Hogwarts, and rightly so. At first, neither of us had written. I was faced with the responsibilities of running the businesses of my once powerful House, while Draco was hiding from the judgmental eyes of the victors. Even after his name was cleared Draco hadn’t returned. It was I who wrote the first letter. I had told him about the life in the Kingdom after the Dark Lord’s demise, and he had written back, telling me about his travels in the continent, finally last year he had taken residence in France.

Even the Muggle Paris is less challenging than going back to the Diagon Alley, my friend had written. The things I miss of home are things that I have no chance of having. There is no reason for me to go back.

The words that I’ve read had broken my heart. Even though I knew Draco did not mean any ill towards me, and I understood his feelings towards the place he still called home yet did not wish to return, I was struggling with my own loneliness. I needed a friend, and maybe I had hope that he would return. The letter had proven that I was hoping for something unachievable.

That day, I had not considered that I could leave as well. I was chained by responsibilities bestowed upon me without my consent, and I’ve put the blame of my unwelcome solitude to Draco.

Coming to this strange bar in Paris, was the first step of taking the control of my life into my own hands. Even in death, my father’s decisions had chased me. I had almost gotten married to a young woman just to be able to have a proper heir to my name, created business endeavours that bored me, and socialised with people I despised.

In here, I was sure in my steps, and I did not flinch when people noticed me in fear of being noticed by someone unfavourable, and most importantly, my money, my name and my solitude was in my ownership. I saw Draco sitting on a dark green velvet chair, and motioned towards him with that confidence on my shoulders.

I was right to assume that Draco had changed. He was wearing a pair of black trousers and a deep purple vest, the latest fashion of the Wizarding Paris; my long black jacket was not entirely old-fashioned either, but I must admit that I regretted not following the modern trends. Still, seeing the person I had known to be the follower of the traditions in clothes inspired by Muggles was strange; if not entirely unwelcome.

“Theo,” he said when he saw me, and I could not stop the warm smile caused by the warm feeling seeing a friendly face gave me. Draco rose from his seat elegantly and welcomed me with open arms. I accepted the gesture by hugging him in a friendly manner. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you, Draco,, ” I said, and to acknowledge his pleasant demeanour I added: “You look well. Paris must be treating you well.”

Draco smiled and sat back on the chair motioning me to sit as well. I took the seat opposite him.

“And I see that you’ve been taking care of yourself, too,” he said. I wasn’t sure how genuine he was, I had felt horrible for so long. Still, I knew I was better than I had been in a long time, so I accepted the compliment with a nod of my head.

“It’s good to get out, sometimes,” I said. “I should have followed your footsteps immediately after the war, and travel. I feel like I’m a bit late in life.”

Draco laughed heartily. I found myself pleased to hear that sound, remembering the last few years of our friendship with the Dark Lord hovering above our shadows, tainting our every step with his presence.

“No, Theo. I ran because I had no choice. You, though…” Draco pointed at me with a small gesture of his hand. “This is your decision now. You aren’t escaping like I did.. You are moving on.”

The words, I must admit, had the effect of a healing potion. I was taken aback by the wisdom that I never had witnessed from Draco; a person I knew of being selfish and goal-oriented to the point of harming himself.

“Maybe so,” I said, unable to refute him. “It feels a little strange, realising the years I’ve wasted on things I never cared about.”

At this point of our conversation, we were interrupted by a server who asked me what I would drink, and I asked for some Cognac. When the younger man left, Draco asked:

“What are your plans now?”

“I plan to enjoy France, for a while,” I said. Draco seemed pleased with this idea. I grinned. “It seems to work out well for you. You even have a tan. How did you achieve that?”

Draco laughed softly at that. “My mother has a vineyard in the south. She convinced my father to take up permanent residence there, and I visit them whenever I can. That, and some potion she had developed after being burnt by the sun the first year she spent there. Narcissa Malfoy could never be seen with tomato red skin, after all.”

I joined Draco’s laughter upon hearing that. Imagining the horror of the woman I know to be quite vain when she’d seen herself in the mirror. After that our conversation flew by. It was as if the years hadn’t passed, and I found myself talking boastfully like I did back in the dungeons of Slytherin. I had heard people saying the distance of time did not matter when it came to old friends, and for the first time in my life, I had to agree. It didn’t take an effort to remember the companionship we once shared and continued our camaraderie from where we left off.

After few glasses of Cognac, I felt relaxed and more open than I had been in years. It was as if a mountain of anxiety had left my shoulders. I did not care where they went to, as long as they remained with whoever they chose after leaving me.

“I’ve seen Potter before I came here,” I said. I didn’t know why I mentioned Draco’s old rival, but perhaps it was because I needed some clarity on the issue. I had wondered about the intensity those two shared for years, hidden under the pretence of enmity. I knew though, that Draco had hidden Potter’s identity when he was caught as much as it was revealed during the trials. Potter had been adamant to clear Malfoy’s name, it had been an unexpected surprise. But, now older, I could see what was the reason behind all the tension and hatred behind the rivalry they shared much more clearly. Still, I expected Draco to avoid the subject, and since it was a sore topic, perhaps I should have avoided it as well.

Draco did not surprise me, of course. His famous sneer was quick to adorn his undeniably handsome face, twisting it into an ugly mock up. This expression on Draco’s face was something I remembered too well, in fact, this particular look was reserved for topics that included Potter himself. I probably was the only one who knew the lie behind it.

“What of him?” Draco asked his eyes on his drink.

“He asked how you were, which surprised me,” I said. I was watching my friend’s face unblinking in fear of missing a vital expression that would be useful for me to understand him better.

“No doubt asking if I’m up to something,” Draco said. His tone was bitter. “That man should learn to leave me be.”

“And are you quite sure this is what you want?” I asked.

Draco looked at me, his sneer still present.

“Why would I not want that?” he returned my question with another. I shrugged and took a sip from my drink to gain some time to collect my thoughts before answering him.

“Perhaps, it’s time to acknowledge the truth, Draco,” I said, trying my best to avoid hurting him. “Even if not to the world, to yourself.”

I saw as my friend lost his demeanour and slumped back into his chair.

“It’s no use, Theo,” Draco said in a low voice. “I’ve made too many mistakes and he witnessed the worst of it.”

“He witnessed the best of it, as well.” The words left my mouth swiftly, even I was surprised by my own boldness. But I decided to back them up. “He owes you his life, he admitted as such. Maybe it’s time to at least move ahead of the old squabbles. Even if it won’t end as ideal as you may wish…”

Draco shook his head and drank the rest of his drink at once.

“I’m here,” he said with a voice burned from the alcohol he forced down on his own throat. “He is there. It’s no use.”

I smiled, seeing the coward he knew so well. Draco had never been particularly brave, but I knew if he’d notice his cowardice caused by the inability to see the difference between real threats and the threats he imagined.

“I hear that he will quit his job, the Auror gig,” I said, grinning even though it would anger him. “He never married the Weasley girl like many of us thought he would either.”

“Who cares, Theo. Look at who he is. Look at who I am!” Draco said heatedly. “What do you think it’ll happen?”

“I know what won’t happen, Draco,” I said solemnly. “You won’t lose anything. You don’t have anything to lose.”

Send me a prompt with any pairing you’d like!

[synoir]

pansy x Harry

Would I ship them????

Hell YES!

Y

E

S

!!!!

Why?

Because Pansy Parkinson was the one woman that didn’t want to sacrifice herself for him.

Well, maybe not the only woman.

But the only woman Harry had noticed. And, oh boy, had he notice her.

He noticed her like a fist to the stomach. He noticed her like the rising sun that awoke him.

So when he sees her for the first time, three years after the war, he asks her how she’d been. It surprises Pansy, he can see it on her face, when he talks to her. She looks at him with big, round eyes.

“Why are you talking to me?” she asks. He doesn’t know why. How can one explain the relief he felt when he saw her? That it felt natural to smile at her, to greet her like an old friend.

Because what did enmity meant after a war ends? 

Because had they ever fought on different sides? Or was it just different angles, while wanting the same thing?

Harry shrugs because there is not one answer that he can give her. He asks her to dinner instead. When she accepts, Harry knows it’s because she doesn’t know how to say no.

Harry finds that he likes that.

She walks into the restaurant with a cloak as red as her lipstick and hands it down to the person waiting for her like a queen. When she starts to walk towards him, ignoring the curious eyes that follow her, Harry finds himself standing up. Because that’s what you do when a woman like her is walking towards you.

Harry had never been suave, but with her, he doesn’t even have to try. They talk, and they mock each other. And when their eyes met in between insults, they laugh.

It’s like a breath of fresh air. 

It’s like cool spring water when your throat is burning.

Gosh, I love love love them, and find this pairing immensely sexy! I hope I did it justice and you enjoyed reading this!

I’m playing Would You Ship This? // Send me a ship and I’ll tell you if I’d ship them and maybe a little bit more

[synoir]

Snape x James xD

Oh boy. OH BOY. No.

Yes? Ah -No??? YES! Okay, you know what, I’ll go with YES! Coz WHY NOT?

James Potter is capable of loving the greasy haired guy who is obsessed with hating him. It’s okay, though, because he is James Bloody Potter, and if Severus Snape hates him, he’ll hate him more. 

So he mocks him. He taunts him. 

Haunts him even. 

And the pain in his eyes, the shame, makes him feel good because if James has to feel it, so will Severus.

It’s fair.

But he is fooling himself. Because it doesn’t feel good. It eats him inside out. It chases him at night when he is alone in his bed and there is no escape from his feelings, no place to lie.

Because he’d rather kiss him.

And tell him that he’ll be alright, that he’ll make sure everything is okay. But he can’t. Because Severus Snape hates him.

Only he doesn’t. 

It’s unfair. 

Because when James Potter smiles people smile with him. He is nothing like Severus Snape. He is golden, and Severus never could afford gold.

So, Severus Snape tells the world that he hates him. He makes sure James Potter knows it best. Every time James sends him a jinx, Severus adds it to his list of victories. 

If they hate each other no one will know that Severus wants to kiss him.

“You disgust me!” James Potter shouts at him and he sneers. Good, he thinks. Maybe you’ll stay away from me.

“Get out of my way,” he tells him. 

But James Potter doesn’t move.

“Don’t join them,” Severus hears him say. 

It sounds like a plea.

“Why do you care?”

“Because I’d have to -because it’s not a game if you join them. It won’t be like it was for all these years.”

“And how it will be?”

“Worse,” is all that James Potter says.

“Good,” Severus Snape returns.

“I’ll protect you,” James says, and he says it like a child begging.

“You hate me,” Severus spits at him, for he knows it true.

James Potter laughs; it’s a bitter and hollow sound.

“I wish I did.”

Is this awful? My self-doubt is in full force! I hope you’ll like it Anon, whoever you are!

I’m playing Would You Ship This? // Send me a ship and I’ll tell you if I’d ship them and maybe a little bit more

[synoir]

Regulus x James

I am a big fan of Jily, I realised. But I think there is something so beautiful about Regulus and James together. So I would have to say yes, I would ship them.

It’s beautiful, because, first time James realises he has fallen for the younger Black he is on his broom, wearing his Quidditch uniform, scarlet and gold. As he watches Regulus diving for the snitch, he whispers “Come on,” and the prayer is not for the seeker he chose for the Gryffindor team, the little guy he trained every week so he’d be able to win against Regulus. He is angry at himself, because Regulus Black is a little shit who abandoned Sirius, and he tries to ignore the voice that tells him he didn’t have a choice. 

Second time James realises he has fallen for Regulus Black is when Regulus blames him for stealing his brother, and it breaks his heart to hear spite falling from his mouth. He goes to the common room. Lily comes to him, and he tells her that he has fallen for someone he shouldn’t have, and “Why do I always choose the wrong person, Lily?”. And Lily tells him that there is no wrong or right person, there is only wrong timing, that she believes at one point of time everyone becomes someone’s soulmate. The important part is to find the right moment.

Third time James realises he is in love with Regulus Black is the end of the seventh year, and he sees Avery looming over him, with a threat in his mouth. James knows before they are back in the Hogwarts Expresses, he’ll make sure Avery pays for it. But as Avery leaves Regulus behind, James gathers his courage to walk up to him. He falters only a second when Regulus gets wary when he sees him, and spits his name in anger. 

James kisses him, then, because he won’t be able to again. And Regulus steps back and looks at him in wonder. “Why,” he asks. “Because it was time,” James answers. 

It’s Regulus who kisses him then.

The fourth time James realises he loves Regulus Black is when a black envelope is dropped by an owl, sealed with the crest of House of Black. As Sirius reads the letter, James sees his face change with horror and mourning, and he knows the black envelope is for Regulus, for Sirius’ brother for there aren’t any other Blacks Sirius would mourn. 

And when James marries Lily, only a few months later they both know they’d be standing with different people if they had time. 

Still, the timing was right for both of them, and they love each other. Maybe they love each other because they had seen how they loved other people.

I’m playing Would You Ship This? // Send me a ship and I’ll tell you if I’d ship them and maybe a little bit more

[synoir]

//From a possibly discarded fic I began to write some time ago; moderately edited. Maybe used as part of another fic in the future.//

Sirius had loved his father when he was a little boy. He was a tall, charismatic man who could capture everyone's attention when he entered a room, he would gather people around his orbit like a planet does to its moons. Everyone would do what he wanted, everyone but Sirius. When he was a kid, his father liked Sirius' defiance. He had heard him say once, defending him to his mother, that Sirius was his own man, even as a young boy. Yes, Orion Black had been a blood purist, but there was a time that Sirius hadn’t known what that meant. There had been a time that his father was just that: his father. His father that patiently taught him how to play wizard's chess, his father that told him stories before bedtime. His mother never did that. Regulus was her little baby boy, and Sirius was the annoying one that woke Regulus up with his loud demeanor. At those times Orion Black would take his older son to his study and he would talk to him, show him the marvelous magical artifacts he had there and they would play with his chess set. So Sirius had gotten to act even louder and disturbed his mother so his father would take him to his study.

Sirius had loved it there, he’d loved the carpet with complicated designs and the portraits that only talked if Orion asked them a question or the mahogany desk that had wonders in its drawers, but especially the little box of candy that sat upon that desk. When Sirius had answered a question with the right answer, or if he’d manage to solve a complicated puzzle his father had offered him to do so Orion Black would give him a candy, sometimes even two, and those were tastier than any other candy Sirius had ever eaten. To this day he missed their taste. 

Sirius had spent many hours in the study. He would touch the snake carvings on the armchairs, follow their patterns with his fingertips and he'd cherish their beauty. They were, he supposed, that: beautiful. The room never had scary things like the things his mother had collected. No, the cursed objects in his father's study always felt smart instead. Like the cabinet with snakeheads for handles that would bite anyone with a curse that faked some poisonous snake unless you were Orion Black. Or the ornate music box that once opened it caused anyone who listened to fall asleep almost instantly. How many times had Orion Black turned it on so Sirius or Regulus would fall asleep? 

It had been the study of a strong wizard; the strongest wizard in Sirius’ young eyes; like the ones in his favourite stories. And only Sirius had been allowed entrance. Well, he supposed his uncles and his grandfather too, but that didn't count when he was a child. It was their secret place, and he had loved it. Like he loved his father.

Until one day Orion Black came home earlier than usual and had noticed Sirius' absence. Walburga had never been to notice him gone, even though she was always at home, so Sirius had developed the habit of running to the nearest playground to play with some other children his age. Muggle kids. He knew he was doing something wrong, but he didn't know that wrong thing was playing with those kids. When Sirius had seen his father pacing the room in fear and shouting at his mother for not knowing where his son was, Sirius had known he was in trouble: for running from home. He had known that he would be punished, he was rarely punished by his father but this time he had it coming so he entered the room eyes lowered to the ground and looking properly guilty.

His father had hugged him first. Then he had shouted and told him how irresponsible Sirius had been. He had reminded him that he was the heir of their House, and he should have been acting accordingly, something that Orion only told him when he was angry. 

Then he had learned what Sirius had been doing. Playing with muggles. There had been silence first. Sirius had felt the air going cold, and he shivered in even the memory of it. 

His father had hit him then. Had slapped his cheek so hard, Sirius fell on to ground as he had heard Orion telling him that he sullied himself with filth and he was ashamed of him. Sirius had thought, as his ears rang with the force of the slap and his cheeks burning like a hot cauldron, "they are not filth, they are my friends". His father's voice had been cold as he informed him that he was never to socialize with the filth again, that he was not to go out until he would realise what he had done, and why that was not allowed. From then on, he had gone to his father's study every day as Orion Black lectured him about the difference between him and the filth.

The trash.

Abominations.

Every fucking day.

Filth. Trash. Abomination. Blood.

He had hated the study after that.

He had hated his father after that.

He had hated House Black.

He had hated Slytherin.

Hated. Hated. Hated. If there was something Blacks could excel at; it was hate. He had excelled at it so well, he estranged himself from all his family. He became a Gryffindor. A Marauder. 

He excelled at hate so well, so very well, he went after Pettigrew, and got locked up in Azkaban so he could live in that feeling for twelve fucking years.

Hate. Fear. Cold. He mastered hate. He became hate and revenge and a bottomless pit full of loss. He excelled at it so fucking well.

[synoir]

Sybill x Regulus :)

Oh this is rather tragic, isn’t it?

I would ship them. 

Sybill had foreseen his death, but as her talent’s biggest curse dictates, she is unaware of it. It happens when she is alone in her home, and she is only left with the foreboding feeling of something just happened. She is used to it by now, but this time it somehow feels worse. 

And one day, Regulus disappears. And Sybill doesn’t know what happened to him. And she doesn’t know why she is suddenly afraid of going near the Black Lake, why she dreams of drowning as bony hands hold her down -making it impossible for her to swim upwards, to find air.

And she wakes up every morning as his voice whisper “Sybill,” -a voice coming from the depth of death, like a last breath. And she cries and hates to go sleeping. 

She drinks tea, instead, and keeps herself awake. Her mind gets hazier and hazier as the years pass by. The lack of sleep, haunting nightmares and drinking herbs that she should not be able to just continue on -and in the end she doesn’t recognise the woman that she sees in the mirror.

She misses the woman Regulus had loved, but she is gone.

But still, with every dawn, she hears his voice. Calling her.

“Sybill.”

I’m playing Would You Ship This? // Send me a ship and I’ll tell you if I’d ship them and maybe a little bit more

[synoir]

Peter and Narcissa?

You took the dare seriously! This is a hard one! Normally I’d say no, BUT I really want to write this for you. So, forgive me if I mock it up. (Although, I think that’s because I’m so all over the place about Peter’s character which is why it’s hard to ship him with anyone)

*Takes a deep breath*

Peter exhales slowly, as Narcissa Black passes him by. His eyes are following her her, her blond hair perfectly shaped, every step she takes making her hips move in perfect synchronisation. She walks as if she has a perfect rhythm that accompanies her.

She is music.

And music, Peter thinks, is untouchable. Narcissa Black is untouchable. 

He sees her laughing, once, and Peter looks around to see what made her laugh. When he notices that she is looking at him, Peter takes a moment to determine if that’s a possibility. Her eyes are soft as she looks at him, and on her lips, there is a smile: the ghost of her laughter. 

And it is the crescendo. 

I’m playing Would You Ship This? // Send me a ship and I’ll tell you if I’d ship them and maybe a little bit more

[synoir]

So I couldn’t sleep last night and wrote this little drabble. 

I think this may be another “to-write-later” stories. But as it is…

“Is it-“

“Oh Merlin, it’s-“

“Someone call-“

“-me get him up!”

“No, don’t move him you fool!”

“No,” he managed to choke out. “No, no!”

They were trying to hold him down.

Hands. Too many hands, touching him…

“Don’t touch me.”

The light was hurting his eyes. The air was hurting his lungs. The smell was hurting his nose. The noise was hurting his ears. Everything was too much. Too much...

Then he felt it. The tingling feeling of a spell washed over him and numbed it all.

Everything stopped.

Sirius woke up in a clean white bed, in a clean white room that took in clean white light. Everything looked so sterile it was disturbing.

“Sirius!” he heard someone say in a familiar voice. His heart constricted. He looked at the owner of the voice, and the man rose from the chair he was sitting on. The man, not the boy… Although he was sure he had heard the boy. Was he confusing James and Harry again? He did that, time to time, he couldn’t help it. His memories mingled, he lost control sometimes, and he slipped. He should remain in control, this time. So he looked at the person trying to decide.

Was he James? He was almost sure he had heard Harry, but Harry was fifteen. This man was not fifteen. He was James, but then again James’ glasses were rectangular, and this one was wearing round ones. Sirius couldn’t be sure.

He hated not being sure.

Not-James-and-not-Harry must have noticed his confusion because he hesitated for a moment and then in a gentle voice he spoke: “It’s Harry. Harry Potter. Do you know who I am?”

Sirius looked at the green eyes of Not-James-and-maybe-Harry. “Harry is fifteen. You are not fifteen.”

Maybe-Harry sighed, and it seemed relieved to Sirius, but what did he know? Where was his wand anyway? If this man were not Harry, how would he protect himself?

“You fell to the veil,” maybe-Harry said. “Do you remember the…” here maybe-Harry hesitated, and gulped. Worried. No. Embarrassed. No. Ashamed. Guilty. “The Department of Mysteries? Bellatrix stunned you and you… Ah… You fell. Into the veil.”

Sirius squinted and focused his eyes on the bangs that were falling and covering the place the real Harry’s scar should be. He moved his eyes over his figure. The man looked healthy. He seemed healthier than his godson was. He should have never listened to Dumbledore. He should have just taken Harry and leave, because then he wouldn’t do things like running to the Department of Mysteries with half-arsed information.

Oh, wait.

Maybe-Harry had said something, hadn’t he?

“I remember the stunner,” he said. His voice was dry. Maybe he should drink water. Was this thirst?

“Right,” maybe-Harry said. “Well, it was seven years ago.”

Sirius didn’t know what to do with that information. Seven years. Seven was better than twelve. The veil was better than Azkaban.

“Seven?” he asked unnecessarily. He had to fill the silence with something. Control was important. If you could control the silence, you could control the memories.

“Sirius, how do you feel?”

Probably-Harry’s voice was concerned, and it broke Sirius’ heart. He didn’t like that. “I- the light,” he began to explain. Not that he knew what to say, but silence was worse so he spoke. “It’s a bit too much. But nothing hurts, if that’s what you are asking, and…” he stopped. He looked at Harry. “Are you really Harry?”

He hated asking that. He wanted to ask a safer question. What was the first thing I told you? Would be a better question, but he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember anything worthwhile. Everything he remembered seemed superficial. Unimportant. Did he know his godson at all?

Had his godson grown up to be older than the age his father had died?

“Yes, Sirius,” probably-Harry said. “I’m Harry.” He felt the bed dip and Harry was closer now, sitting on the bed tentatively. He smelled right, not exactly like Harry but similar and right. He realised he was sniffing the air, like a dog, so he stopped. “And we met in the Shrieking Shack, but the first time I saw you was the day I escaped from the Dursleys. I was walking down the street and saw you as Padfoot. I fell down. Do you remember that?”

Something only he and Harry knew. He was Harry. Old. Older.

Older than James…

He could cry, if he hadn’t control his tears.

“The Knight Bus came,” he said, proving that he did remember. 

Harry; real-Harry, his godson Harry, James and Lily’s Harry, grown-up Harry; smiled.

Tagging lovely people. 

@calebski @kreeblimsabs @ashenrenee @mechengmama @ash-castle @sarazellman @littleredsiren3101

[synoir]

Sooooo…. I may have written a drabble coz @ashenrenee inspired me. So this is for her with lots of love. 

Charlie x Hermione Drabble

I wanna write about these two SO MUCH more… But for now this is all I can manage. 

Charlie didn’t know Hermione Granger so well. He had seen her, talked to her, knew that his brothers cared about her. Percy liked her because she took him seriously. Fred and George liked her because she was so easy to rile up. Ron liked her because there was a story about a troll, and punching baby Malfoy in the face… And of course there was the whole being the Golden Trio thing…

So when the bushy haired witch who had become too thin for her own health during the war approached him with worry, and squared shoulders he didn’t know what could she want from him. 

She bit her lip and took a deep breath.

“I know you are busy,” she began talking, making his eyebrows rose up. “And with Fred injured, and… but I really don’t know who to go to about this, you are actually the only person I know off that could have any idea about what to do… And I think it could wait; but probably it is not a good idea, I mean… Maybe there is nothing you can actually  do….”

The poor girl was rambling so bad Charlie considered letting her finish, just for a laugh or two but he felt bad for the witch.

“Hermione,” he gained her attention. “Just spit it out.”

She sighed.

“There was an incident,” she said, and Charlie nodded, meeting her eyes and prompting her to go on. “Well, during the war actually. An incident that involved breaking into Gringotts and escaping on a dragon…”

“What?” Charlie said dumbly; surely it wasn’t a real story. It was… Surely she was joking.

“Well, the dragon that was protecting the vaults in the Bank… It was barbaric how they treated him. They conditioned him to expect pain, and blinded him. It lived underground, and it’s a dragon! A creature that is supposed to fly. So when we had no other option; Ron, Harry and I… Well… Long story short that dragon is free now, but I imagine after years of imprisonment and conditioning… I’m not sure if he could find food, or if it would be possible to rehabilitate it? I was thinking if there was anything I can do, you’d be first-“

“You… You want to make sure the dragon is fed and healthy… That’s what you-”

He stopped and stared at the young woman before him. Had he ever met such a person? She was right in front of him, with jeans two sizes too big for her, bags under her eyes, her hair matted, her lips chapped… She had been on the run for a year and fought in a battle, and wasn’t it just yesterday he overheard her making plans to help with rebuilding Hogwarts, and going to Australia for some reason that involved her parents… And among all that she still thought and worried about the dragon she already had saved. She already had the best she could possibly dream of doing. She had already managed the thing that people in the dragon reserve in Romania argued and dreamed about. She did it while saving the world.

She was nervously waiting his response, worrying her lip with her teeth and probably thinking if her questioning was stupid, and uneducated… Surely worried that she was bothering him. And Charlie Weasley was sure she had never seen such a beautiful thing in his life.

“I don’t know if we’d be able to find it…” Charlie started, and she took it as him refusing by the way her shoulders sagged. “But we could definitely alert the Dragon Reserves around the world and find out where it ended up. There is a great chance that it is already found by someone works in one. And if not, we could track it down together. If… if you are interested? Or I could do it myself. Without you, if you are busy… But-,” he stopped himself as he felt he was beginning to sound incoherent. 

He instead focused on her face as it lit up and she smiled at him, making him wonder how she would look with healthy and full cheeks. 

“I would love that…” she said with passion. “We would have to calculate where it could end up, considering it didn’t have exercise, and we know its initial starting point. With your knowledge, arithmancy and a map… It can be possible to figure out possible routes…” 

She was talking animatedly, her arms moving with excitement and Charlie found himself fascinated with her enthusiasm, her mind and her heart. 

At that point he knew he would find that dragon for her if it was the last thing he would have to do. For the first time since the war had begun he felt as though everything would be alright, as long as Hermione Granger was in the world.

And if he was very, very lucky he would be right by her side.