#wand wars au

[dramioneasks]

Hey, I read a chapter a couple of weeks ago, and I meant to go back and read the entire fic from the beginning, but I lost my note on it. In the last chapter, Draco took Harry to Voldemort so that he could die and destroy the last horcrux. Draco remembered that he gave his wand to Hermione and when Harry revived, Harry told Voldemort that Hermione is owner of the elder wand. Voldemort summoned Hermione to him and Draco appear in front of her saying 'She Mine'. Thanks for everything.

Anyone?

Edit: Thanks!

wannabekitten16: This Bitter Earth? This Bitter Earth - ikorous - Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling [Archive of Our Own]

[caughtinanotherworld]

When in doubt, dann glaub nicht dem verrückten Plattenbaukind: Good boy Robin und die Suche nach einem Schwanz

Ich habe gehört… Es könnte sein… Mir wurde gesagt… Stimmt es, dass … I heard it through the grapevine. Ja, du blutest. Fehlt dir was? Aber bist du ein Marzahner Plattenbaukind? Mit mentalen Mängeln +? Mit ganz fragwürdiger Vergangenheit. Ganz fragwürdige Familie. Und im Besitz einer Vagina? Damn, you must be a whore. Ein Plattenbaukind dessen Glaubwürdigkeit regelmäßig von dem guten Jungen mit zittrigen, lügenden Augen untermauert wird? Er ist ein guter Junge. Wenn du blutest, bietet er dir ein Pflaster an und wenn du dich umdrehst, streut er Salz. Das ist kein Blut, es ist Dreck. Kleine, verrückte Plattenbaukinder bluten nicht. Robin hat seine Seite der Geschichte schon fertig, die Puzzleteile passen nicht immer, aber dann kann man sie sich zurecht brechen, so wie man z.B. labile Frauen bricht. Je schwächer, desto besser. Er sieht unscheinbar aus, aber er ist ein fucking Psychopath. Aber Papi ist bei der Polizei, also macht es alles wieder okay. Papi und seine starken Freunde. So ein guter Junge aus einer so guten Familie. Sein ganzes Leben, einfach so auf den Kopf gestellt. Für welchen Preis? Aufmerksamkeit? Uni fame? Mitleid? War es das wert? So eine labile Verrückte. Das war normales Verhalten, normal facts über Fremde, alles andere wird keiner glauben, alles andere muss keiner wissen. Klein Robi spielt gerne Spielchen mit Frauen und je mehr er sie unterbuttern kann, desto besser. Dann fühlt er sich ganz stark. Der Drahtzieher der Sekte, das allwissende mastermind. Er ist schlauer, sie ist offensichtlich dumm, weil manchmal tussig und marzahner Bildung und studiert kein Lehramt. Es ist so als ob Klein Robi im Spielwarengeschäft nach dem passenden Spielzeug Ausschau hält, er weiß nicht was er sucht, aber beim vorbeigehen stößt er gegen das hinterste Regal und eine kleine, gelbe Puppe fällt runter. Eigentlich spielt Klein Robi nicht mit Puppen, aber er mag wie sie am Boden liegt. Im Regal hat sie so eingebildet und selbstverliebt gestanden. Viel weiter weg. Außer Reichweite. Jetzt liegt sie im Dreck und ist viel näher dran. Bisschen verdreht, leicht angeschlagen. Vom Fall verwirrt und mit einem fetten Sale Sticker, den Robi vorher an der Sohle seines rechten Schuhs gefunden hat, -70%. Perfekt zum spielen. Und wenn man sie kaputt macht, kann man sie danach wegwerfen.

Manchmal weiß man gar nicht wie krank jemand ist bis man sein wahres, verlogenes Gesicht sieht. Siehe Robin, Paul ist einfach nur ein fucking Freak. Zu krank um wahr zu sein. Der Plan stand schon fest, aber der Verlauf war plötzlich ganz anders. Irrational. Paranoid. Verrückt. Diese DummE ist Robin Hoods Strategie nicht gefolgt, How to Get Away with Stalking war schon fertig geschrieben. Sie sollte es als erstes rumerzählen, random jeden anschreiben den sie kennt, ausrasten und dann hätten die gesagt, sie wüssten nicht wovon diese DummE redet. Sie hat sich das eingebildet, Drogen genommen, hat ein starkes Bedürfnis nach Aufmerksamkeit, introvertierter Weirdo, not to mention diese verklemmte, verbitterte Jungfräulichkeit, weil es keine Abnehmer gab, überall Spinnweben, diese Benutzerin von Binden im eigenen Bad, dieser Alpro Fetisch, dieser Plattenbau Hintergrund. Und diese mentalen Probleme, dieses gestörte Verhalten, auch wenn sie im eigenen Zimmer wie ein Zootier behandelt wurde, war so labil, ist einfach gegangen. Und die sind immer gefolgt, aber es war SoRgE. Dieser FaKE AnWalT. Sie sollte als erstes wie ein unzurechnungsfähiges Opfer dastehen, welches von dem Tulpen/Plattenbauhintergrund ablenken wollte. Diese tussige Rich Girl Fassade sollte aufrecht erhalten werden. Und dann hat einer gesagt, sie ist ungeschminkt hässlich 🥲, aber weggeguckt haben sie leider trotzdem nicht. Oder sich für ihr eigenes Leben interessiert. Aber mit Make-Up wäre sie sehr fickbar, sie war so erleichtert. Ein kleines Missverständnis, welches ausgeartet ist. Weil diese DuMmE dem Plan nicht gefolgt ist, musste Robin Hörny jetzt alles neu schreiben 🙄. Und Bro, ist der kreativ.

[deutsche-bahn]

Ich klammere hier ja 99% der Zeit ganz erfolgreich aus dass ich trans bin, weil's meistens auch einfach nicht weiter relevant ist. Aber lasst mich mal kurz verbal meinen Kopf gegen die Wand schlagen:

Dadurch, dass ich die letzten acht Jahre einen, uh, turbulenten Lifestyle hatte und zwischenzeitlich zb wahllos durch Europa flatterte hatte ich nie die Möglichkeit, den bürokratischen Abfuck einer offiziellen Diagnose etc etc über mich ergehen zu lassen. Weil man dafür vielleicht mal für mehr als sechs Monate irgendwo sesshaft werden müsste.

Fine, ok, mein passing ist zwar so gut dass ich, seit ich 15 bin, erfolgreich ein Doppelleben führen kann (wie altmodisch von mir). Aber irgendwann wurde mir klar dass der Stresstremor und die allgemeinen Paranoia vielleicht, ganz vielleicht etwas mit dieser abgefuckten Catch Me If You Can Lebensrealität zu tun haben könnten. Also, nur vielleicht. Just a thought.

Also überlegte ich mir, das doch mal anzugehen als wär's ne Garage, die es zu entrümpeln gilt. Und dann folgten 11 Monate des puren Grauens. Nein, schlimmer. Es folgten 11 Monate tägliches Armdrücken mit der deutschen Bürokratie, und dem überlasteten Gesundheitssystem. Zwischen "Patienten wie Sie nehmen wir nicht" und "Warteliste haben wir, bitte melden Sie sich dafür im 4. Quartal 2025 wieder" war nur in Sachen Therapeutensuche alles dabei.

Ich landete letztendlich nach ein paar Monaten des in-der-Mittagspause-herumtelefonierens bei einem Ausbildungszentrum für Psychotherapeuten, die nach vier Monaten auf der Warteliste entschieden, dass ich ein schwieriger Patient sei, mich dann aber doch unterbringen konnten. Namentlich bei einer Therapeutin-to-be die erst nach fast zwei Monaten bei genauerer Recherche feststellte, dass sie doch noch gar nicht qualifiziert sei um mir ein Indikationsgutachten auszustellen. Schade, Johanna, ich hätte das halbe Jahr gerne anderweitig genutzt. Holy shit.

Das Ding ist, ich würde wirklich ungern dieses Doppelleben weiterführen, bei dem ich im Beruf noch mit falschem Namen etc herumlaufe und peinlichst mein Privatleben geheim halte. Ich würde mich genauso ungern bei jedem Bewerbungsgespräch erklären müssen, und dann in der weltverschlossensten, Arbeitnehmerrechte-fernen Welt des Handwerks auf's Beste hoffen. Johanna hat vollstes Verständnis. "Sie könnten ja vielleicht in verschiedenen Betrieben hospitieren gehen, und-" und schauen wo man mich nicht diskriminiert, mit blendendem Optimismus, als ob das nicht die erniedrigenste Lösung sei die dir einfallen könnte? Und sie nennt es "hospitieren", was ja noch nicht mal das realitätsfremdeste an der Aussage ist. Niedlich. Ich kratz' mir gleich die Augen aus.

Johanna sieht zwar selbst ein, dass sie kaum Ahnung von dem Thema hat ("Das ist ja alles etwas... dschungel-artig" sagte sie, nachdem sie sich nach der ersten Sitzung selber informiert hatte). Dafür schlägt sie mir vor, dass wir doch eine gemeinsame Lernerfahrung daraus machen könnten. Ich möchte ihr auf die Packung Taschentücher zwischen uns kotzen. Nachdem ich ihr erklärt habe dass ich gegenüber eines studierten Psychologen wirklich, wirklich ungern in einer aufklärenden Rolle sein möchte starrt sie mich ein bisschen hilflos an. Dann wüsste sie nicht, was ich noch von dieser Therapie erwarte.

Und ich möchte nicht wütend auf sie sein. Aber als ich ihr meine Ausgangssituation nach sechs Monaten verschwendeter Zeit erkläre schaut sie mich mit großen, verständnisvollen Augen an, professionell apathisch, als wäre sie stille Beobachterin eines ungerechten Systems, und nicht eines der gottverdammten Rädchen, welches sich in besagtem System fröhlich um sich selbst dreht. Egal.

Als ich mich nach unangenehmer Stille von ihr verabschiede fragt sie, ob ich wenigstens irgendwas positives aus diesen wenigen Sitzungen mitnehmen könnte. "Wenn's vorbei ist wird's bestimmt eine gute Geschichte" sage ich.

Warum ist es eigentlich einfacher, sich einen falschen Perso zu besorgen, anstatt einen gottverdammten Ergänzungsausweis mit Wunschname, der dann aber auch nur in Kombination mit dem eigentlichen Ausweis gültig und somit irgendwie eh für die Katz ist? Junge, es war einfacher durch den off-duty Sozialarbeiter meines Vertrauens an Testosteron zu kommen anstatt erst einen Psychologen, Psychiater und Endokrinologen zusammenzuscheuchen und zu überreden mich doch einfach eine Hormontherapie machen zu lassen. And this goes without saying, aber macht das nicht, das wäre ja vollkommen irre und so. Wer macht das schon

[unconventional-lawnchair]

" But daddy, I love him "

Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Potter!Reader

Masterlist

Part 2

Summary: Harry finds out his sister is dating Mattheo Riddle Ft. James, Lily, Remus, Sirius - No war au }

Wc- 5178

Cw: Use of {Y/N}, a lot of people saying a lot of mean things, sexual themes cussing}

A/n: Possible part 2 later

Mattheo Riddle had a reputation for himself. Everyone knew him bloodied before they'd seen him presentable. A Hotwire, fizzling and popping, just waiting for the next person to cross him in a way he deemed punishable, ‘the muggle way.’

He never truly had a distaste for muggles or muggleborns, but they stayed clear of him regardless. Voldemort's son was like a cautionary tale told through the halls, of just how ruthless and unhinged death eaters could be. His mother, Beatrix Lestrange, in Azkaban for life for such cruelties, his father had a name no one dared to say. That left very little to the imagination, or maybe just too much? 

Another thing about Mattheo Riddle, he never said what he was thinking, he only acted. So no one knew the true boy outside of his blinding rage, insatiable flirting and the horrid legacy his parents so carefully wove for him. No one, aside from you.

It wasn't supposed to be this way, truly, it was just an assignment.

“I have a student, he is failing in my class, but I know he has so much potential to do better.” McGonagall began. “If you tutor him, I will give you credits towards one of your less favorable classes.”

Was it bribery? Yes, was it technically against school policy? Most definitely. Were you going to say no to free credits for the history of magic? Absolutely not.

You should have been clued in, when she didn't tell you who you were tutoring, but like your father and brother, your eye was on the prize. Instead of a snitch, however, yours were the new napping opportunities in your least favorite subject. 

You were told by the professor that the study sessions would take place during dinner, and you were allowed to request food from the house elves before or after the meetings. You had to wonder; why was this student getting all these special treatments? And what did you have to do with it?  Imagine your surprise when you walked into the library when dinner was taking place, only for your eyes to land on the candle lit silhouette of Mattheo Riddle himself.

You knew him, of course you did, his father had tried to kill your entire family, while you didn't endure the worst of it, Merlin, you were still in your mothers stomach at the time, your fathers horror stories of the DeathEaters and the recounting of the night was so etched into your brain you could likely recall it as if you stood in that room. The day your father saved the wizarding world, by simply, picking up his wand from the couch when he opened the door. 

Despite it all, you tried not to judge him by the actions of his father, so that the only thing you had left were the numerous bloodied fights he'd been a part of since he walked through the doors of Hogwarts. Not to mention the amount of broken hearted witches that clung to his heels.

Though, now, as you stared at him across the empty Library, he seemed so… peaceful. Calm and reserved, maybe it was the yellow light, or maybe it was the way he seemed to be genuinely enraptured by whatever he was reading. Sitting patiently, just waiting. Waiting for you. You quickly snapped out of your daze, walking forward to stand in front of him.

Mattheo lazily glanced up before his eyes widened slightly and his mouth opened a bit in slack shock. “Potter.”

“Riddle.” You acknowledged him. He didn't seem offended or bothered by your presence, more, confused. There was an easy silence between you two before you gestured to the seat beside him. “May I?”

“... be my guest.” 

That's where it all started. Mattheo was nothing like who you thought he'd be. He was respectful, kind, studious and incredibly clever. You had to admit, Minerva was right, he had incredible potential beyond what he seemed to think of himself. He just needed time to sit down and work, instead of his usual activities, and whatever impression he was trying to make for himself.

Your meetings were frequent, and his grades started to improve. As you got closer, the change in his behavior in class was the first thing you noticed. He began to actually work in potions, probably the only class you shared being a year younger and a Griffondor. You heard from Harry that he had actually scored higher than most of their shared class in Transfiguration. Though, it was a comment out of malice, you couldn't deny how it made you preen with pride.

In the halls you were strangers, but in your personal nook of the library, you were a deadly dynamic. He was a flirt, you knew that before, but he never said the raunchy things he'd say to the girls in the halls he'd flirt with, to you. The occasional comment on your eyes or your calligraphy, maybe some that toed the line of platonic study buddies. You figured that was how he showed affection, but you had no real reference point for it. 

If it was another thing that you knew about Mattheo that not many others knew, it was that he adored praise. All forms of it. He would get bashful and try to hide away from it, but you would see how much harder he tried to impress you everytime. You found it amusing, you would hear the teachers praise him and he'd simply shrug it off, trying to play it cool. But in those private moments between.. friends, when you were revising his essay, with mutters of, “That's a spectacular way to look at it, Riddle.”

And 

“That's brilliant. You're brilliant.”

He would turn as red as a tomato. It made you smile. This was the version of him no one else could or ever would have. It made you cocky, it made you want more of the secret Mattheo, the one he only showed to the closest people.

~~

You had gotten so used to Mattheo’s presence. He had stayed out of trouble, been doing wonderfully in his classes, and he still insisted on your study dates. Said they were the only thing keeping him interested in the classes he took. Ever the flirt.

You guessed being used to Mattheo Riddle of all people was the first part to an awful downward spiral. You had fallen for him. Hard. 

You first noticed when he had to cancel one of your meetings. He was passing you in the hall, two Prefects had him by his forearms, and Snape was rattling on about a proper punishment for him. He had a cut lip and a gnarly battered nose. You were on your way to the library to meet, but when you made eye contact with him you visibly deflated. He had that stupid cocky look on his face, teeth stained red as he winked at a few girls he passed, focusing on anything but Snape’s words.

When his eyes met yours, however, his lips twitched and his eyes lost their twinkle. Like a puppy being told no. Or properly, a boy ashamed. And he should feel ashamed.

You had forgotten who he was when you weren't buried in your books. So for the first time in weeks, you were at the Gryffindor dining table, across from Ginny and Seamus, poking at your food in disinterest. Surrounded by friends and family, and yet so incredibly lonely. Ginny eventually caved to your moping, looking over with a loud click of her tongue. 

“{Y/N}?” She called over and your eyes flicked up and an easy smile took over your face. “Ginny?”

“It's good to see you, you've been avoiding the dining hall for a while now.” She teased and leaned her legs forward to lock her ankles around one of yours to keep you in place. You couldn't help but give a cheeky grin at this.

“Well, I would argue anything is better than being forced to watch you make heart eyes at my brother.” You shot back and Harry looked up from his plate curious, met with the view of you being smacked in the face with a bun. 

“Hey!” You challenged and grabbed your own bun before you heard your head of house clear her throat behind you. Slowly, you set down the bread and looked back at her as she gave you a quizzing look. Clearly confused by you being there, asking with her eyes. Not even having noticed the gluten assault.

“Rain check.” You remarked and shrugged before she let out a simple ‘ah’ and walked off. This just set off Ginny’s and now Harry’s curiosity. 

“What was all that? Thought you were meeting a boy, if I'm honest, now I'm not sure.” Ron mumbled and Harry tilted his head at you. 

“Ew, don't say that, that's my baby sister.” Harry huffed and looked over at you. His expression said it all. “What have you been getting up to?”

You stared at him before slowly smirking, leaning your chin on your palm. “Huh, well, me and Ginny are the same age-”

Then, another bun, to your face, courtesy of your brother. “That's enough out of you.” He huffed.

~~

That's how you got here. Sitting in the forbidden woods, trying to demonstrate to Mattheo how to use a patronus, something your parents showed you when you were younger. Your study rendezvous has long since become time to study more than just your core classes. No one else was around, just you two, while everyone else was hidden away in the grand hall eating. 

“So, firstly, this is a spell that most wizards and witches cannot use. So don't be afraid if you never come to pass.” You explained and he rolled his eyes playfully.

“Right, if I'm not past the level you were at as a toddler, end my misery early.” He teased and you gave a playful scoff and crossed your arms. “Not a toddler, just 12.”

He rolled his eyes with his own smirk playing on his lips. You found yourself staring at the peak of his teeth, threw his lips, you felt your entire body respond in kind. “To be fair, you don't need to feel self conscious, I mean, I am leagues above you, even now.”

He gave an offended gasp and put his hand on his chest. His smirk turned wolfish as he walked up to your side. “Is that a challenge, Potter?”

“Define a challenge, I usually just call it confidence.” You quipped and he gave you a once over, you rolled your eyes fondly. 

“Okay, minx, I get three tries. If I summon my patronus, you have to go to Hogsmeade with me this Sunday.” He mused and leaned into your space. You smirked and stood taller, wetting your lips before you glanced from his eyes to his lips then back. “Let's hope you prove me wrong then, Riddle.”

He did not. Prove you wrong, that is. 

Once you told Riddle about the happy memory clause, he seemed less confident. He wasn't even able to produce sparks, and got increasingly agitated with each failure. Usually, he would pull out a smoke and take a break, and you were curious as to why he didn't.

Every other day before you grew close, you would spy him smoking with his friends in the courtyard, but when you mentioned you hated the smell in the library, he started to hold off until after to smoke.

At least, that's what he told you. He would not tell you the truth, that the moment you told him you hated the smell he chucked the last box he had into the black lake.

Mattheo went through his life without any real care. He only ever experienced fear, anger, and disappointment directed at him. He had his friends, Draco, Theodore, Pansy, even Blaise but none of them were particularly affectionate. Past his playful flirting with Pansy, that he now used as a reference for your friendship, he didn't truly have positive influences on his emotions.

Usually, that would result in him using a poor girl or two to get over whatever he was hung up on. Then, he met you. 

Out of everyone, he figured you had reason to hate him most. His father tried to kill your family, his mother killed your parents' friends, his current friends bullied your brother, and he was assumed a death eater before proven one. But that night, he was proven wrong for the first time, when you sat down next to him and smiled. He had never seen something so breathtaking, something that was meant for him.

He had felt for women before, physical and emotional, but never had he experienced you. In all honesty, he never truly looked at you before. You were Harry Potter’s sister, that was enough reason to stay away. Merlin, did he fuck up.

Being friends with you was hardly acceptable, but falling for you? It made him feel all the more pathetic. Knowing he was falling for someone who would never think of dating him. Here he was, making the worst mistakes of his life over and over again.

“Don't get in your head about it.” Your voice called him from his thoughts. He snapped out of it and looked at you. You tilted your head and smiled, hands on your hips in determination. You had taken off your robe, as if to say you meant business. Sleeves rolled up to your elbows and wand brandished. “Just think about something that makes you happy. Happy enough to smile at nothing.” 

“Smile at nothing?” He muttered in an amused tone. Breathing you in like fresh air.

“At. Nothing.” You insisted and waved your wand. “My memory is when my dad took me to visit my grandparents' graves.” You hummed and he gave a startled laugh. 

“Morbid, darling.”

“Oh, not like that.” You laughed. “I listened to my dad talk about them, like, all the time. Mum too.”

You gestured to the pond and his eyes followed yours. “My dad made it easy, it felt like I was really meeting them, ya know? He talked about me and Harry like we were the most important things in his life. I think I felt his love for them in me too, but towards him. I just felt so lucky.” 

Mattheo stared at your awe filled eyes and he gave a small sigh through his nose. It was out of fondness, of course, but he couldn't deny the bit of jealousy that perked up in his chest when she said that. “Yeah.. lucky.” He mumbled.

You looked back at him and your face fell a bit. You had just spent the last two minutes rubbing your fathers love in his face- Merlin. You slowly gave a cautious smile, considering he was still staring at you like you hung the stars. It maked your ears grow hot and your nerves light up.

You reached over to graze his hand, and he seemed to snap out of his trance, slowly, he wrapped his hand around yours, his calloused fingers covering your hand fully. You guys sat like that for a moment, before you raised your wand higher and stepped closer. Leaning your head against his chest and waving it. 

Your patronus whipped out of your wand, the fox wiggling its nose in greeting before she ran around you two in circles. You began to laugh at her enthusiasm, and Mattheo even gave a chuckle. Your eyes on your patronus, his eyes on you. How was he going to win anyway? He was making his happiest memories now.

“I think I can try again.” He whispered and you looked up at him, your patronus vanishing behind you as you lost your focus. He was giving you a look you had never seen before, it was almost dangerous, how easy it was for him to make a mess of you. 

“You think?” You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything above a whisper. He pulled you flush against him, taking the dazed look you were giving him as confirmation. You wanted him too. He could have fainted. 

“Want to help me?”

“How?” 

You got your answer, in the form of his lips pressing so gently against yours. It was electric, your entire face grew hot and you forgot how to breathe for a moment. His hands found a firmer grip on your waist and you slowly wrapped your arms around his neck. You lost yourself in the kiss, letting him lead as he clearly had more experience.

Mattheo couldn't help it, maybe this wouldn't be a mistake. Maybe it was only fair. Being with you made him feel human, like just another boy falling for just another girl. He wanted to feel like this forever. Normal, with you.

He did not try again that night, far too distracted.

~~ 

You met him like that several more times, dinner study bled into evenings, innocent touches became intimate, and bold teases became hushed whispers in his dorm room. The very dorm room you were coming back from now. Walking back just after curfew. 

When you made it back to the common room the first thing you noticed was your own reflection, your hair was frazzled and your uniform was creased. You found yourself wondering how all of that could happen from just a kiss. Followed by a few more. And then some more,, you could completely understand how it happened, actually. You’ll remember it forever.

Once you fixed your appearance, the second thing  you noticed was Harry sitting on the couch with a parchment on his lap, next to him was a nervous Ron and a shockingly ridgid Hermione. Harry’s eyes were on you, Ron’s was on his hands, and Hermione was faking reading a book. You pause before you made it to the stairs, slowly walking over to the three. “Hey you guys! What are we up to?”

“Nothing, just been waiting a few hours.” Harry snarked and you narrowed your eyes in confusion. Suddenly you remembered, you had agreed to meet the trio out for Quidditch practice, they had managed to just get enough people for two full teams, guilt filled your chest. 

“Shoot, Harry I am so-” Before you could even start to grovel he stood up and Hermione sighed, Ron quickly speaking up.

“Where were you?” Harry demanded.

“Come on, Harry.” Ron tried to interrupt. “At least not in the common room.”

“What?” You whispered and Harry shoved the parchment in your hands. It wasn't just any piece of paper, it was the map. Your fathers map. 

Your jaw went slack and you looked up at Harry, Your guilt was quickly overturned by anger. “Were you stalking me!?” You exclaimed and thanked Merlin the common room was empty this late.

“I thought something had happened! Don't deflect! Where were you?!”

“None of your business you slime!”

“You come out of the Slytherin dorms with Voldemort’s son and it's none of my business?” He whisper hissed, You scoffed. 

“Yes, none of your business!” You snapped back and threw the map on the ground. “I don't have to answer to you! And his name is Mattheo!” You hissed back and stepped on the charmed paper, dragging it under your heel. “You’d do best to remember that. I'm not a bloody kid, Harry!”

“You're my sister!” He challenged and you scoffed.

“He's a monster! A Slytherin, his parents are horrid, and our-”

“Do not say another word, Harry.” You threatened as you began to stomp off to your dorm and he huffed. Kneeling down to pick up the parchment and dust it off. 

“I’ll make it easy for you.” He called over and you turned to face him with a glare. “You break up with him, or I’ll tell father over the summer.”

Your face fell and your heart stopped. Harry had this look about him, like he didn't want to be doing this, but yet, he was. 

“You wouldn’t-” You spoke slowly and Harry sighed. 

“Two days.”

~~ 

Those two days were blissful hell. You weren't going to break up with Mattheo, there was no way in muggle hell you were going to willingly give him up.

You did try to talk to him about it, however, several times. At least to warn him why he may have a war hero Auror setting a bounty on his head soon. Your father was protective, far more than you thought was necessary, but he treated everyone as black or white. Usually, everyone was allowed his love and care, that being said, Voldemort was a sore subject.

You would say you were trying your best, but Mattheo was so… Mattheo. He was hard to talk to. A very… physical person? He would complain about how you would be leaving the school in mere days for summer, followed by you being drowned in kisses and wandering hands.

Merlin two days was not enough. Next thing you knew, you were home, in your room, counting the minutes until your mother called you down for dinner.

You began to bite your nails, scrunching up your face when you bit down too far. You sighed as you heard Lily call you and Harry down.

You walked into the hall to see Harry waiting at the top of the staircase for you. He looked regretful, but stern. “Harry-”

“I’ll give you the chance. To tell them yourself.” He mumbled before he walked down the stairs. You mentally prepared yourself and walked as slow as you could down the stairs. Not noticing as Harry glanced at your neck.  

When you walked into the dinning room, your heart dropped. Your mother, father, Uncle Moony, and Uncle Padfoot were all at the table. You cursed and clenched your jaw, Harry stared down at his plate and you sat beside him by Remus. You gave your mom a small thank you as she served you. Sirius and your father were making jokes about their Quidditch days after Harry bragged about their most recent win. You relished in the moment, before all hell broke loose.

You asked your father a question about the story, just trying to seem engaged. He lit up at your interest, turning to face you fully. “Well! When you're a beater, there is this unspoken rule that everyone follows and.. what the bloody hell is that?” 

You narrowed your eyes at his sudden tone change. “What?” You whispered as you looked around the table, all eyes were on you. You took a shaken breath and bit your cheek. “I-”

“That's a hickey, dad.” Harry muttered and took a bite of his food. Your face fell and all the blood left it.

“A what!?” He exclaimed and fixed his glasses on his face, you quickly covered your collarbone. Sirius gripped his silverware, hard, taking a steady breath. “How old are ya, hun?” He asked and you snapped your attention to him. Stuttering and stammering for a moment.

“I think the better question is, who did that? It's bloody horrific.” Remus muttered and you stared up at him with wide, horrified eyes. “U-uncle Moony!”

“Boys, calm down. She's 16, and James, we talked about this. Our kids will be dating soon, I mean, Harry has that Ginny girl and you never fuss at him.” Lily tried to defend and James scoffed. 

“This is hardly the same! I raised him! I don't know a thing about this boy!”

“Or girl.” Remus smirked and James felt his face fall in shock and you groaned, slowly covering your face.

“Remus.” Lily hissed out. “James.” She warned before Sirius spoke up. 

“Fine, fine, it's all fine. I mean, what harm could he do? We've taught her everything she needs to know about the world. Probably some Hufflepuff boy.” He tried to dismiss, and Remus, ever the instigator tonight, spoke up again.

“I'd be shocked if a Hufflepuff did that to my nieces neck.” He mumbled and James began to breathe quicker and heavier.

“Right, right, fine. You're being safe, right?” He asked bluntly and you groaned, melting into your seat. “Please, anything but this conversation right now.”

Lily gave a small fond smile and tutted at the boys. “Well honey, you should invite him over this summer break. I'd love to meet him.” She offered and then Harry gave a laugh. You shot him a look. “Don't you dare.”

“Dare. Very much dare, Harry.” Sirius quipped and Harry looked at you with a pursed lip before he sighed and spoke up. “Don't think you'd want him here is all.”

“Harry.” You warned, Lily sighing. “Harry, you stop that right now.” 

“What? I'm just being honest, dad and padfoot hate Slytherins.” He mused plainly, and James dropped his silverware. 

Sirius gave a laugh, throwing his head back before it slowly died out as he saw your red face. “No-”

“Why does his house matter?” You scoffed. “Not all Slytherins are the same.”

“Yeah, just so happens that he's just the type dad hates.” Harry muttered before he took a sip of water. “Happens to be one he particularly-”

“Harry James Potter!” Lily shouted at him and he had enough sense to seem guilty. He looked down as you tried to sink deeper into your seat. 

“I had a feeling.” Remus spoke up and you looked at him in shock. He gave you a side eyed glance. “You had a quidditch jersey in your bag. You don't play and certainly not for Slytherin.”

You looked down at your hands on your lap as your father shouted. “Why didn't you tell us, Remus!”

“This,” He gestured with his fork towards his husband and best friend. “You're terrifying the poor girl. I saw the name, I have to agree with Harry, you'd lose it.”

“What?” James snapped and Lily slammed her hands on the table. “Will you cut it out? All three of you! Do you want her to hide things from us forever? She'll tell us in her own time.”

Sirius groaned and began to pick at his food. “Whatever. As long as it isn't Malfoy.” He huffed and you shyly shook your head. Sirius gave an exaggerated groan of relief. “Thank Merlin.” 

“Who did that, sweetheart?” James prodded with a warning glare from Lily. “James.” She whispered and they locked eyes. They held that look before he clicked his tongue. 

“I asked you a question, niffler.” James prodded, and Lily slowly closed her eyes, covering her face.

“Dad, I really think-”

“Your dad asked you something.” Remus suddenly spoke up and you looked over at him to meet his eyes. Then it hit you. What he had said moments ago. He knew. 

“I-”

“Y/N.” Sirius prodded and Lily gave you a sympathetic look. She could command your father on a lot of things. But never about you and Harry.

“Mattheo. Mattheo Riddle.” Harry suddenly spoke up, and your blood ran cold. You sunk as deep as you could into your seat and Lily gave a squeak of surprise, before covering her mouth. Remus thinned his lips and clenched his jaw. 

“No you aren't.” James said simply and you covered your face.

“{Y/N}. No you aren't.”

“Dad, please.” You sniffed, overwhelmed. You sat up and straightened yourself. “He isn't some, bad guy-”

Remus scoffed and Sirius slammed his fist on the table. “His father-!”

“He isn't his father!” You challenged, shooting up from your seat and glaring at your uncle. “You of all people should understand that!”

“Watch your mouth.” James hissed and stood up as well. You scoffed and threw your hands up. “I don't understand! He's done nothing wrong! Nothing to any of us! I get that he's not this image you had in your head of what you wanted for me-”

“Dorcas.. Marlene.” Your mother whispered and your body stiffened. You looked over at your mother and your heart broke at her distress. You reached out and she sniffled, dismissing herself. Your shoulders fell and you looked back to your father. 

He was staring at you with a look you've never seen.

“Dad-”

“Your room. Now.”

“Dad! That's not fair in the slightest I-”

“Room!” He boomed and you sniffled before running off. Slamming the dining room door behind you as you walked upstairs. 

It would be a long summer.

~~~

Mattheo was missing you. He had been missing you for days now. You said you would write to him, but he didn't get a single letter. He figured it was likely you were busy, you did have a family to distract you after all. 

So, he wrote you a letter instead. He didn't want to think about how desperate it sounded, how desperate he was for you. He didn't look over it more than once before he sent it.

Little did he know, the second James heard an owl outside, he shot to his feet and hurried to intercept it. You were ever oblivious, in your parents room as you and Lily shared one of many heartfelt conversations over the brief summer. Your mother was doing her best to understand, but it was trouble, trying to believe he wasn't doing this for some master plan down the line. You both went quiet when you heard your father call you both.

When you walked into the parlor room, you sat down on the couch, You looked at the table in front of you and grimaced, You'd know that parchment anywhere. 

There was a long pause, before James spoke up. “The last time I saw this parchment, it was a letter Beatrix Lestrange sent us in our third safe house. Telling us she knew where we were, and that she was coming. Coming to kill your family, {Y/N}.” He leaned forward and picked up the letter and you refused to look him in the eyes.

“It’s nostalgic, really. But these words? ‘I yearn for you. I look at my textbooks from over the years and I wonder what it would be like to have you read them to me’.” He declared. “ ‘You made even the most complex of spells doable. You made things doable’.”

Your mother couldnt help but smile a bit at his words. You grimaced.

“Charming, isnt it? If only the rest of the letter wasnt riddled with innuendo of what this fuck wants to do to my daughter.”

You winced and sighed, the grimace not leaving your face. Mattheo that.. Idiot.

Then,, your mother began to laugh, and James looked at her from the corner of his eyes. “What? Is this funny?”

“Quite.” She smirked. “Sounds like the letters you would send me in school. I used to burn them.” 

He scoffed and leaned back in his seat. “That makes me feel fantastic. He’s a bastard like I was in school.”

“Well.” Lily spoke slowly. “Look at us now.” 

Lily looked over at you just in time for you to glance up and meet her eyes. She smiled sweetly before she continued. “I think its sweet.”

[iamnmbr3]

just imagine a drarry au where draco and harry meet again after the war because they're both in the auror program. the first time they have to practice dueling everyone thinks it's going to be super dramatic between of their history of rivalry at school and the fact that Draco was a Death Eater and Harry defeated Voldemort

But the thing is, a lot has changed for them. Harry spoke at Draco's trial and saved his life and he knows Draco risked everything by not identifying him at the Manor. They don't want to hurt each other anymore. They're not enemies now, but they also don't really know how to be around each other yet.

And there's too much history around the other times they've fought. Harry can't stop remembering the duel in sixth year and how he almost killed Draco by mistake, can't stop picturing him just sixteen, lying gasping in a pool of his own blood. And he can't bring himself to strike first.

Meanwhile Draco's trying to make amends and redeem himself. The last thing he needs is for everyone to think he intentionally cursed the Boy Who Lived Twice, Savior of the wizarding world. And even worse than other people thinking it, is if Harry thinks it, if he has to see those green eyes looking at him with disappointment, thinking he hasn't changed. So he doesn't want to strike first either.

So after all this buildup and even though they're both formidable duelers with seeker-fast reflexes, they just both kinda end up awkwardly standing there with their wands at their sides.

After an uncomfortably long pause this actually breaks the tension between them because it's so ridiculous. Draco's all 'go on then' and harry kinda mumbles something about how draco should go first and draco rolls his eyes and is all 'yeah im really going to curse the "Savior" in front of everyone. that will do wonders for what's left of my reputation' and harry's like 'oh so u think you're fast enough to actually hex me then' but draco doesn't rise to the bait and just insists that harry go first, though he's starting to sound annoyed now for all he tries to control it.

but now harry's set on being stubborn and finally draco does Rictusempra just to shut him up and as a callback to when they were children. So of course Harry has to counter with Serpentsorsia. (Draco insists to himself that he absolutely does NOT find the fact that Harry can still speak Parseltongue attractive at all. Really. He DOESN'T.)

Afterwards things are easier between them. they find themselves gravitating towards each other. and sitting together. and chatting. and eventually even spending time together outside of training and starting to consider each other friends. and then more than friends.

by the time the 3 year training program is over all of their classmates are tired of how soppy and in love they are. they still get silly when they duel though and throw ridiculous, juvenile spells and bait each other. but now it's more playful.

[hoshinasblade]

presenting: king of swords | hoshina soshiro

description: a multi-chapter fic inspired by this; royal prince au.

pairing: prince!hoshina soshiro x f!reader genre: angst, comfort, fiancees to enemies to friends to lovers trope snippet: prince hoshina soshiro was never meant to inherit his father's throne, but he refuses to accept his fate of being wed to you, a woman who he has just met. you were not given the right to choose who to take as husband, yet you had decided long ago that you may forego love but never respect. trapped in a marriage where the currency is hatred, you and the prince would rather wage war against each other than wait for love to bloom. CHAPTER ONE: KING OF SWORDS CHAPTER TWO: FIVE OF WANDS CHAPTER THREE: THREE OF SWORDS CHAPTER FOUR: TWO OF CUPS CHAPTER FIVE: QUEEN OF SWORDS

upload of chapters will commence on july 15th. i might not write other fics in the meantime while this is in the works, but one-shots and drabbles from requests i receive in my asks are still fair game. as always, i appreciate any interactions on my works but please do not repost them anywhere. feel free to drop by my asks and leave me prompts - i always reply though there might be delays, so if you sent me something and i haven't answered, im just taking my time.

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

[cassiopeiasdaughter]

invisible string

Theodore Nott x fem!reader

summary: you get married in the middle of the night during the war

warning: this is a complete AU and doesn't follow the events of the books, just use your imagination and go with the flow :) also in case you hadn't already guessed it !not proofread!

Theo masterlist & this is part of the midnights series

small blurb that was inspired by Finnick & Annie’s wedding iykyk

@tencrushesperday @lovergirlie14 I told you I would make it happen

"Marry me.", he whispers in the dark.

His hand going through your hair and the other one drawing circles on your back had been sending you to sleep; along with the steady beat of his heart.

His words however, managed to wake you back up, "What did you say?”

You both stand up and he takes your hands in his; holds them to his face and kisses them.

“Let’s get married, right now.”, he says with a smile

“Theo, we- we can’t just get married right now.”,

“Why not?”, he asks playfully

“What’s gotten into you?”, you ask

“Well, we may die tomorrow for all we know and before; there were many things I considered a total waste of time, like marriage, but now-“

“That we are in the middle of a war and could die at any moment?”

“No, now that I love you and I know that something terrible could happen”, like losing you he thinks but doesn’t say it, buries it deep down, not even wanting to imagine what that would be like. “I want to do everything with you.”

“Let’s get married.”, he says slowly; full of love and promise.

Marry me, and be with me forever, let’s survive this and then go away together. Build a home of our own just how we like it and make love in every room. Let’s do all the boring things we once made fun of. I will buy you flowers every Sunday, and you’ll  kiss my forehead before leaving for work. Let’s have kids eventually and teach them what it is like for their parents to love eachother like we do. 

Let’s say I love you a million times a day and never let eachother go.

“Alright.” You say and he kisses you.

“But it is very late now.”, you add 

“Don’t worry, I will figure something out, get ready and I will wait for you in the garden, in twenty minutes?”

“-Thirty!" you say and jump out of bed in a hurry to get ready.

When you decided to join the Order you didn’t think to bring a wedding gown with you, so the best thing you could do is put on a white shirt, a flowy one, that ties beautifully in the front and has two detailed off the shoulder sleeves. You think back to transfiguration class and extend the shirt with a spell, turning it into a dress. McGonagall should be here to see this you think and move on to do your hair.

You tie your boots, muddy and old, but the only pair of shoes you have with you; and then head downstairs.

As you walk to the garden you see lanterns on the trees lighting up the space, just enough for you to spot Draco and Hermione; the first with an annoyed look on his face and the latter scolding him; as usual

Moving further you can make out Professor Lupin talking to Theo; who is waiting for you nervously.

“Here comes the bride.”, exclaims Draco with a tired voice.

Theo turns his head at that and looks at you with a smile that you quickly return.

“Come on Granger, prepare your wand so we can get this circus over with.”

“Quiet Draco, be patient, this is a beautiful moment that we should all cherish.” said professor Lupin with a calming smile

“I am sorry professor for bothering you this late at night.” , you quickly say

“Call me Remus, dear, we are in the middle of a war, there is no room for such courtesies I am afraid.” He replied “And don’t worry about the time, I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

“I was sleeping just fine by the way not that you cared, Nott, if we survive this war you are in serious debt.”, Draco said with an eye roll

“If we survive this war Malfoy, I will personally make sure-” said Hermione

“Enough children.” Theo cut her off “Draco, if we survive this war I will give you whatever’s left of the Nott heritage.”

“Shall we get started now?” , professor Lupin said with a clasp of his hands

Remus began the ceremony by reading out loud what it meant for two magical beings to entwine their souls forever a bit dramatic if you asked me you thought.

He began reciting the spells and asked Hermione and Draco; the witnesses of the ceremony to join in, as it was mandatory for at least three witches or wizards to engage in the soul binding spell.

To complete the spell it was required for the married couple to join in, by connecting their hands and their wands.

And as you did that you could feel Theo, his energy, feelings; his soul in you as could he.

That is why this is so special you thought. With this matrimony you and Theo will be entirely bound to eachother, a part of you will live inside Theo and a part of him inside you.

You could see him as he realized that too, the way he looked at you, how his mouth was half open, surprised by this newfound sensation inside him; there were chills all over your body and then everything stopped.

The ceremony was over and the spell was finished. You felt the same as before, just warmer inside, more safe.

“You may kiss eachother, now”, whispered professor Lupin.

You smiled at eachother and Theo took your face in his hands, carefully as if holding something of great value. He leaned in slowly and you turned your head to him as you closed your eyes. As your lips touched for the first time you felt everything connect. A thin glowing string tying the two of you together. He kissed you fully then and the string started tying around you two, holding you together, protecting you.

You broke the kiss and he leaned down to rest his forehead on yours, with his arms looping around you protectively.

You didn’t notice Hermione crying at that or Remus looking at you sadly as if missing the other side of his golden string. And you definitely didn’t notice Draco smiling for his best friend and resting his arm on Hermiones shoulder comforting her.

fin

Also, if you would be interested in reading a series about the events that lead to this story and how their relationship came to be lmk, I’d be interested in expanding that into a series

divider by the wonderful @saradika

If you notice any mistakes, I am terribly sorry, let me know

Going on vacation so see you next Monday xx

[drawlfoy]

benefits of journaling p.2

read p1 here!

pairing: diary!tom riddle x ravenclaw!reader

summary: you pick up an unassuming journal in diagon alley during an antiques sale without knowing that it's actually a part of a late dark lord's soul. sort of no voldy AU, set in the golden trio era where voldemort was defeated in the first war and thus harry has parents still.

warnings: recreational drug use, language, mild gore, snakes, a mouse gets eaten (thoughts and prayers), tom is a little bit gaslighty, the quality of my writing declines sharply

a/n: note that this is not finished at all, but i'm not planning on finishing this series unfortunately :/ i just have too much going on. this is unedited, unrevised, unoutlined, etc. so adjust your expectations accordingly. i just kind of want to get this out so i've given u guys at least *some* semblance of closure for this series. (UPDATE: now that i’ve written this i’ve changed my mind. i will be working on the next part. i forgot how much i love tom)

wc: 6.7k

enjoy !

This time you were unceremoniously dumped into a hard wooden library chair. You gasped as you braced yourself against the hard table in front of you, drawing in shaky breaths as you gathered your bearings. 

 A loud bang startled you into wrenching your gaze up. Tom had dropped a thick book with an ebony cover right next to you, nearly atop your hand. 

“Here you are,” he said pleasantly. “Happy reading.” 

“Do you think I can take this back with me into my world?” you asked. The cover was smooth under your fingertips. 

“Unlikely,” said Tom, dropping elegantly into the chair beside you. “You’ll have to read it here.”

You gulped. “Alright.” 

The papers were yellowed and fragile against your touch, and you couldn’t help but wonder just how old it was. 

“Any section you’d recommend starting with?” 

The book was around 700 pages with tiny, fine print.

“Perhaps the beginning.” Tom waved his wand and wordlessly summoned a stack of books, lifting one up and beginning to read for himself. 

You’d thought that you’d be less intimidated knowing that he was also doing something besides staring at you reading, but the back of your neck still prickled as you pulled the book to the edge of the table and began to dig in.

It was bizarre, reading next to a boy like this. The only one you ever studied with before had been Ishan, and he hardly counted. It was different with Tom. His presence hung in the air around you, a tension so tangible that it wasn’t unthinkable that you might feel something if you let your fingers sift through the space between you.

Despite all you’d told Tom, spending time around him made you unfathomably nervous. He was too good-looking to feel even remotely normal around him, and it was all you could do to hope that he didn't notice how much you blushed whenever he spoke to you.

The book he’d given you was dense and horrific, detailing magic so ugly and foul that you felt dirty just reading it. It covered topics you’d heard of before, like cases of the Imperius curse or the misuse of love potions or the nature of dark magic. 

But there was nothing pertaining to Tom’s situation.

“Can’t you at least point me towards a chapter? Or…a general section of the book?” you asked him. 

Tom lifted his gaze from his work, quirking a brow. “Having trouble?”

“This is going to take me forever to read.” You motioned at the width of the book. 

“Then I guess I’ll be seeing much more of you.” 

You couldn’t fight back the flush that spread across your face. “Well, this is an easily solvable problem. You really ought to just point me to the most relevant part.”

“And here I was, thinking I was doing you a favor,” said Tom. His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment you thought you saw the slightest suggestion of a smirk on his lips. “Given that you’re such a glutton for knowledge and not at all singular in your academic pursuits.”

“That’s not—” You paused when you saw the amusement on his face. He’d been playing with you. “I’m flattered that you remembered. I suppose you’re right.”

And since you refused to let him win, you flipped the book back open and picked up right where you left off. 

It was really stupid to feel so light at the fact that Tom had remembered a sentence you’d said verbatim, because even if it implied that he’d thought about your last interaction enough to commit it to memory, it was hardly a surprise. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do in his empty version of Hogwarts except read books he’d probably already read many times before.

You snuck another look at him a few chapters later. A few waves had fallen across his face, dangling over his brow. For a moment, all you could do was keep yourself from reaching out to tuck them back into order, to know what it felt like against your fingers.

But that was a boundary you hadn’t crossed yet—if you even could. Who knew how the rules worked in this dimension?

You resolved to believe that you couldn’t touch him. That it was impossible. Because if you believed that, maybe you’d stop wanting to. 

“You never ended up telling me if you were a Parselmouth,” you realized aloud after you’d completed another gruesome section about ritualistic Dark Magic. 

You watched him closely but didn’t detect even a glimpse of surprise. 

“I didn’t,” he agreed smoothly. He didn’t look up from his page. 

“So? I gave you a secret. Many, actually.”

“I think you already know.” He turned the page, dark eyes darting across the next. 

“Well—” You paused, worrying your lip between your teeth as you realized that he was right. “What’s it like?” 

That was what prompted him to finally lean back in his chair and lift his gaze from the book to your eyes. 

“What’s it like?” 

Repeated back to you, it did sound very silly. 

“I mean,” you said, cheeks hot, “What do you even talk to snakes about? The weather? Whether or not there’s enough mice in the area?” 

“It’s unlikely to find snakes that do more than listen to me,” he said. “Most aren’t very good conversationalists.”

“A boy in my—our, I guess—year has a pet ball python,” you told him. “I just don’t understand why he’d want one. They don’t seem like very good companions.”

“Why not?”

“Because they have no emotional depth,” you said. You could feel your voice slipping into the tone you used when you tutored younger students, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You’d researched this extensively in the library after the Incident in third year when you were looking for any good academic reason for how terrified you were of Malfoy’s pet. “They have no limbic system, so everything for them is about survival. There’s no—no mutual concern or love like you’d get from something normal, like a cat or an owl. As their handler, you only matter because you’re what keeps them alive. I don’t think I’d ever be able to get over that.” 

“So all your companions have to love you?” Tom was resting his chin in his palm now as he looked at you. “They’re worthless otherwise?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you responded. “But I like my company to see me as something more than an avenue for survival or a means to an end.”

“Their companionship isn’t enough?”

You blinked. Everyone else that you’d given your reptile spiel to had completely understood. You couldn’t quite figure out why Tom wasn’t agreeing. “It’s just nice to be cared about, don’t you think? And it’s…it’s nice to care about something without it feeling meaningless.” 

“I imagine that that’s true,” Tom said evenly. 

Something deep inside you twisted at the implications of his answer. You’d sort of forgotten that he grew up in a muggle orphanage and likely didn’t have any sort of emotional closeness during his early childhood. But he was so pretty and sharp and witty that it was hard to imagine no one caring for him. Perhaps that had changed upon his admission to Hogwarts. He had said that witches and wizards found him charming. You could attest. 

~

You passed the following Potions lab with flying colors and a perfectly brewed Draught of Peace that made even Snape nod approvingly. It was thrilling. It was incredible. All you wanted to do was get Tom’s diary out right then and there and document it as it happened—as if he were right beside you—but you refrained. You told him that night instead, when you were back again for another reading session.

You were falling into his world on a daily basis, devouring as much of the book as you could without forgoing any conversations with Tom. He’d been impressed to hear about your potion in his own very Tom way. He didn’t tell you outright that he thought that you were brilliant or smart or incredible. Instead he seemed entirely unsurprised, like he thought you capable of nothing less. Somehow that made you glow more than any explicitly stated praise that he could’ve offered.

When you weren’t reading, you were walking around the grounds with Tom and just talking, much like you used to write to him. At first you’d been nervous and uncomfortable with being as open with him in person as you’d been in writing, but Tom had a funny way of making you feel seen. Despite his slight aloofness and obvious air of pretension, he listened to you and appeared genuinely interested in your life by way of remembering things you’d said months ago.

Like when you’d told him off-handedly that it was raining back in the real world and that it was your favorite weather, and ever since the Hogwarts you were transported to was constantly overcast with torrential downpours unless you two were walking outside. 

You still never dared to touch him, though. That was a line that you refused to cross. Tom seemed to hold the same opinion, keeping a wide berth around you whenever tactile contact was in the realm of possibility. 

“How did you become a Parselmouth?” you asked him one day while you were taking a break from reading and walking through the Transfiguration Courtyard. 

His eyes narrowed as he turned to you. “Do they not teach you about Parseltongue in Defense Against the Dark Arts anymore?”

“No,” you said. “I’ve only ever heard about it by reading a book from the Restricted Section. It was very vague. All I know about it is that it’s the language of reptiles.” 

“No one becomes a Parselmouth.” Tom turned his attention back to the walking path, adjusting the cuff of his robes for just a second. “All Parselmouths are born. It’s entirely hereditary.” 

“So did you have to learn it?” you asked. Your interest was piqued—you’d never heard of a language that was passed through genes.

Tom shook his head. That one rogue strand of black hair had escaped its orderly wave, just like how you remembered him from his yearbook picture. “I’ve never had to think about it. I’ve just always known how to say what I want.” 

“Do you think that you could…” Your voice trailed off and you swallowed thickly. You weren’t even sure why you’d started asking him that question. Of course he couldn’t teach you Parseltongue. You didn’t even really want to know it, either. You’d never use it. But you hated being told that you didn’t know something. That you couldn't know something. 

“We can give it a try,” he offered. 

You dared to glance back up at him and found him already looking at you. “How did you know what I was going to say?”

“I don’t know.” He appeared to be making a valiant effort to quell a grin. “I suppose it has something to do with your approach to acquiring knowledge. One could almost call it…gluttonous in nature.”

You sent him a glare.

Tom shrugged, properly smiling now for the first time in front of you. He had shallow, almost perfectly circular dimples. “Anyway. I’ve never taught anyone before. I actually don’t believe it to be possible, but we might as well give it a go.”

“You’ve never tried?” you asked. “None of your friends at Hogwarts asked you to teach them?”

“No,” he said. “No one knew I was a Parselmouth. I kept that a secret.”

“Why?”

He shrugged again. “I enjoy my privacy. Right, then. Serpensortia.”

A large, hissing snake appeared at your feet, thrashing about in the grass as it unhappily acclimated to its new environment. 

You yelped, leaping nearly a foot in the air. Tom simply stood still, watching you with an amused expression on his features.

“Having second thoughts?”

“No,” you said through gritted teeth, refusing to let your eyes move from the wriggling snake in front of you. “I’m just—surprised.”

“It won’t hurt you.” His voice was low, gentle. “Don’t be afraid.” 

“I’m not,” you said, but the slight wobble in your tone betrayed you. “Just—get on with the lesson, alright?” 

He stood silently, his head tilted in concentration.

“What’s it saying?” you found yourself asking. “Is it—I dunno—threatening my life or something?”

Tom sent you a look that you couldn’t quite decipher. “It’s scared of you.”

“Really?” A spark of smugness lit up within you.

“No.”

“Oh.”

“It’s expressing how upset it is at how suddenly I’ve conjured it. Apparently we’ve interrupted the start of its meal.”

“What do I say if I want to apologize?” 

 He appeared to consider your request for just a moment before opening his mouth and making a hissing noise that you didn’t think you could replicate if you had a thousand years. 

The snake immediately quieted and stopped its thrashing, its tiny head lifting from the ground to regard Tom curiously. 

He looked back at you, expectant.

“Again, please,” you said. “A little slower this time. I didn’t quite catch it.” 

He obliged, going through each syllable separately.

You felt very much like you were back in muggle school before you’d found out you were a witch, being forced to read out a passage in French. The sounds that came out of you were clumsy and not at all what you thought they’d sound like.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you accused. “For the record, I know it was bad.” 

He didn’t address it beyond just the slight upward twist of his lip before he repeated it again, syllable by syllable.

You tried once again with the same outcome. 

“Your tongue should be a little behind your teeth,” he said. “You have yours too far back on the roof of your mouth, which is why you’re losing control. Try again.” 

This time, it came out much cleaner. The snake took notice of you for the first time, its dark scales glistening under the cloudy sky. It hissed something back. Tom’s mouth split into a grin.

“What did it say?”

“It wants to know if you have any food,” he told you. 

“What’s ‘yes’?”

Saying yes in Parseltongue was much easier than saying sorry—it only took two syllables, both of which were made up of sounds that you were pretty sure you had in the English language.

The snake was giving its full attention to you now. Its forked tongue stuck out for just a second. 

Gulping, you accioed a small stone into your palm and cast a quick charm to transfigure it into a mouse—something that you’d learned years ago. 

You set it on the ground and watched the snake lunge.

“Gross,” you said under your breath, wincing as it began to swallow it whole, its body twisting and contorting as it shoved it down.  “I—I think I’m done with the lesson now. I’ve learned enough.” 

“You really didn’t need to feed it,” Tom pointed out helpfully. 

“Yeah. I know that now. I just felt like it deserved something for the trouble.”

Once the snake had succeeded and the only evidence of the mouse was a bulge in the adder’s scales a little past its head, it lifted its head again to meet your eyes, its tongue slithering out as it made a sharp hiss. 

“What’s it saying?”

“It thanked you,” said Tom. He was giving you that look again—like he was reconsidering you. 

“And if I wanted to say ‘you’re welcome’?”

“I thought you said you were done with the lesson.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Consider this my last request. I’d like to be polite.” 

Tom let out a sigh, then made a sound that glided from a long S to a few sharp, pointed consonants. 

You clumsily mimicked him, feeling like your tongue was much larger than you’d ever bothered to notice. 

To your surprise, the adder slithered towards you, dragging itself onto the rock of the courtyard and in front of you. It coiled around your shin, slowly pulling itself up your body.

“Tom!” you whisper-screamed through your teeth.

“It’s alright,” he said. 

“Do something!” 

The snake continued up your leg, looping once around your waist as it continued its ascent up to your shoulder. It was cold and oddly heavy, its scales clammy against the bare skin of your neck.

For one terrifying moment, you thought that it was going to coil around your neck and squeeze until you asphyxiated. Your breath caught in your throat as it came around behind your neck, both ends dangling around your neck as you were paralyzed with fear. 

Then it did the most peculiar thing; it stopped, just hanging in a loose hold around the base of your neck, its face nestled into the collar of your robes. 

“What’s it doing?” you whispered. You tried to ignore the lump in its body that you could feel at the side of your neck.

“It’s resting on you,” said Tom. 

“Why?”

“Because it likes you.” 

You stared at him, floored. “It does not.”

He hissed something to the snake around your neck. It responded with something you couldn’t even begin to understand. 

“It just told me so,” said Tom.

“How do I know you didn’t just make that up?” you said, mentally crossing your arms across your chest but refraining since a snake was taking residence there at present. 

“You don’t trust me?” asked Tom. “I’m hurt.” 

Before you could respond, you felt the slow, languid movement of the adder as it lifted its head from your collar. Without thinking, you offered it your hand, watching in quiet fascination as it slithered around your wrist.

“Hi,” you said shyly, like you’d speak to a nervous cat.

“It won’t understand—”

“I’m aware, Tom,” you interrupted, sending him a look before turning back to your wrist. “We’re bonding. Bugger off.” 

He held his hands up in exasperation. “Bonding? Are you going to take him back to the real world as your familiar?” 

For a moment, you actually considered this.

“Because that’s a terrible idea,” continued Tom, crushing your dream right then and there. “Adders are venomous. Once you don’t have me around, you won’t be able to communicate with it. It’ll probably bite someone.” 

“Then perhaps we should start brainstorming ways to bring you back,” you said. “For safe snake handling, if nothing else.” 

Tom didn’t say anything to this; instead, he reached out and gently unwound the adder from your wrist, his skin not brushing yours once. 

“Surely there’s someone wondering where you are,” he said once the snake had been deposited on the ground. “You’ve been here longer than usual.” 

“Do you not want to get out of here?” you asked, frowning. “It hardly seems like you’re trying.” 

“I’ve been doing research when you’re not around,” he said simply. “I think I just need to theorize for a bit longer—figure out the best course of action.” 

“The process would be sped up significantly if you let me help.”

“I won’t ask that of you. It’s very complicated magic—” He paused for just a moment, noticing the derisive curl of your mouth. “—Not that I think you incapable, of course. But you’ve better things to do. It would distract from your exams, and I tend to work better alone in this stage of research.”

“Oh,” you said, hoping the hurt wasn’t showing on your face. It made sense that he would want to work on this alone. You understood not wanting to have to explain things to people when you could already be going down a rabbithole that you’d deemed important. Plus, your current Tom rendez-vous schedule was eating enough time as it was. But it still stung. 

“You’ll be the first to know if I stumble across anything conclusive,” said Tom.

You snorted. “Obviously.”

“Well—” Tom stopped himself. You thought for a moment that you detected the slightest flush across his pale skin, but that was likely because of the chill outside. “That was more clever in my head. Sorry.”

“I imagine that being in solitary confinement for half a century might addle your mind a bit,” you offered diplomatically.

“My mind is not addled.”

“I was very graciously giving you an easy out.” 

“Someone is probably wondering where you are,” he repeated, his jaw tense. “So I’m going to send you back now.”

Without giving you another chance to argue, you were catapulted back into your desk chair.

~

“You look like you could do with a night out,” Lucy observed as she watched you storm into your dorm and send your satchel flying through the air to land messily on your bed.

“Casting my first and last Unforgivable on McLaggen would be preferable,” you said through gritted teeth. 

He’d been your partner today in Arithmancy to work on a partner problem set. It apparently wasn’t enough for him to be dreadfully stupid and slow—he had to be an absolute chauvinistic arse about it. Whenever you attempted to correct him, he’d look at you with so much amusement that it made your head pound.

He didn’t even need to say anything—the look in his eyes told you that he didn’t even see you as a person. 

The last person to treat you so dismissively had been Pansy Parkinson, but at least she’d been smart. And a witch. McLaggen dripped with conceit and smugness and was disgusting towards the most pureblooded witch on a good day. 

It’d been nearly 3 hours and your blood was still boiling. 

“Well, I can’t arrange that,” said Lucy. “But I can tell you that Hufflepuff is throwing tonight. McLaggen probably won’t come—Ernie hates him, and he’s the one who put it all together.” 

You considered this, looking longingly once at the bag on your bed. You hadn’t done anything with your friends in forever; nearly all the time you had was spent either studying or with Tom. 

The Hufflepuffs were always gracious hosts, too. The last time you’d gone, they’d given you something to smoke that had smelled like a meadow on a sunny spring day and made you feel like you were floating. You’d giggled all night with Lucy, clinging to one another. You’d gone on some tirade about how much you loved her, touching her face and tearing up as you said something about how you didn’t know what you’d be without her. Lucy’d beamed back at you, her face wide open with raw gratitude. 

It had been sappy, but it had been fun and one of the few positive memories you had from the disaster that had been O.W.Ls season. 

“You know what,” you said slowly, watching Lucy’s face light up, “I think that’s just what I need.” 

Tom could wait. 

Lucy squealed and got right to work. In seconds, all the clothes you’d brought from home were strewn across her bed as she scrutinized each one. 

“I thought this was just going to be, like, a chill thing,” you said. 

Lucy picked up a sequined top, held it up to your chest, and wrinkled her nose. “Too loud.” 

“Lucy—”

“I never get to go out with you,” she interrupted, yanking a black slip dress from the pile that caught the warm overhead light. “Thoughts? We could do some fun earrings or something to dress it up.” 

“Are we not just going to sit in a circle and smoke again? This feels a little overkill.” 

“Well, it’s not,” said Lucy, throwing it at you. “This is hardly a ballgown. Plus, this is your annual outing. Dress to impress.” 

You rolled your eyes and slipped the straps off the hanger, throwing it over your shoulder as you turned around to change.

Lucy continued her rampage, ooh-ing and aah-ing upon seeing it on you and immediately cornering you with a scary looking brush.

“For your eyes,” she said, like that made you feel any better. 

“What?” 

“Close them.” 

You squeezed them shut, willing this to be over. You’d had your own experience with muggle makeup, which was tame and not at all exciting. The Wizarding World always had interesting takes on beauty tools, like charmed kohl that could turn your entire eye black if you weren’t careful enough. 

Something cool and wet swiped across the corner of your eyes. Lucy mumbled something under her breath, and there was a slight ruffling at the end of your lashes, like a light breeze had swept through them. 

“Open.”

You blinked, your lashes feeling a little heavier. 

“Pretty,” said Lucy, nodding seriously. “Hang on. Do you have a lip color preference?” 

You stared. A lip color preference? “Er—whatever you think makes the most sense with my undertones.” 

“You would say that,” Lucy replied, already holding a wand of lip gloss. “Put this on.” 

When you turned to look into the mirror she was holding out, you nearly started at your reflection. Lucy had done something insane with your lashes, curling them up and adding length that didn’t look too obvious. That weird tool she’d used on your eye had created a sharp, clean line that followed the contour of your lashline and licked out at the end. 

You looked really pretty. Not quite Tom Riddle level pretty, but pretty nonetheless.

“Thanks,” you said, turning back to Lucy after you’d applied the gloss she’d given you. It smelled faintly of something that you couldn’t quite place—like old parchment and the memory of walking through the library in the middle of the night. It was the strangest scent you’d ever encountered in a lip product. 

Ernie and the rest of the Hufflepuffs did not disappoint. They’d bribed house elves into bringing an entire spread of food that was fragrant and under a constant stasis spell to keep an optimal temperature. You spent the evening chatting with your Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff friends and feasting on ripe slices of pineapple and bites of strawberry that stained your already glossy mouth a vibrant pink. 

Then Hannah Abbott reached into her pocket and pulled out a stash of corked bottles. 

“Party Potions,” said Lucy in wonder as you both stared at the swirling liquids.

You’d heard of them before but had never personally had one. You weren’t entirely sure what they did, in all honesty, and that stressed you out enough to keep you from giving them a whirl. 

They were different vibrant colors—one an opalescent pink, one a vibrant orange, one a blood red, one a deep, midnight blue that reminded you of your house colors. 

“Anyone want one?” asked Hannah, motioning to her pile. Terry Boot raised a hand and plucked the orange one from the table, uncorking it and downing it in one go. 

“What do the different colors mean?” you asked. The longer you looked at them, the more you were mesmerized. 

“I don’t remember,” admitted Hannah. “Nothing crazy, I don’t think.”

“You don’t think,” you repeated.

“Just because I don’t remember why I bought each color doesn’t mean that I would’ve purposefully bought something that did bad things,” Hannah told you. “Here. Take one. It’ll help you relax.” 

The midnight blue potion sat on the fingers of Hannah’s outstretched palm. 

“Oh, I couldn’t—”

“I promise it’s nothing too intense,” said Hannah. “You’ve smoked before, right? I’ve had one and it was honestly just like getting crossed. You’ll be fine.”

At the mention of smoking, common sense flew out the window. The last time you’d been offered an illicit substance in the Hufflepuff Common Room, things went really well. Who were you to deny that again?

“If you’re sure it’s alright for me to have it,” you said. The bottle pulled easily from Hannah’s hand and into your grip.

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” Lucy was grinning at you widely. 

Up close, the midnight blue wasn’t solid—there were specks of silver in there, like thousands of stars littered across the night sky. It was stunning. You felt almost bad uncorking it and downing it, but you didn’t give yourself a chance to second-guess.

It tasted like lavender and honey and something burnt that was horribly gross but faded away with time and went down like water. 

“You didn’t save anything for me?”

“Sorry, Luce,” you said, swiping the back of your hand across your lips. 

You weren’t feeling anything yet. Or were you? Was this how you normally felt? The ceiling of the Hufflepuff common room definitely didn’t move, right? And Lucy typically wasn’t outlined in a fuschia pink. That you were sure of.

“Whoa,” you said dumbly.

“I think Y/N’s feeling something!” called out Hannah. “What’s it like?”

You stared at her, watching as a warm brown that reminded you of English Breakfast tea with milk stirred in surrounded Hannah’s edges. 

“You’re such a good person,” you said, feeling tears prick at your eyes, because Hannah Abbott truly was. “And so are you.” 

You turned to Lucy, trying your best not to cry. “Did you know that you’re the color pink?”

Lucy nodded gravely. Later she would laugh about this, but not now. “That’s very kind of you.” 

You spent the evening in a daze, staring open mouthed at your friends as you saw different colors swirl around, some overlapping and blending. 

It was beautiful. Then the sadness kicked in. It wasn’t clear to you exactly what caused your sudden rush of melancholy—but all of a sudden you were staring at the happy people dancing around you, the colors blurring and mingling, and all you could think about was Tom. Tom, who was all alone. Tom, who might never get out. Tom, who was destined for an eternity of loneliness. 

“I’m going to go back,” you said to Lucy, tugging at her sleeve to get her attention. 

She frowned. “Aw, why? Are you not feeling well?” 

“The potion Hannah gave me is making me feel really tired,” you said. It wasn’t a lie. Your eyelids were heavy and the thought of curling up under your blankets sounded better than anything. Well, almost anything. There was something you needed to take care of first. 

“Booooo,” said Lucy, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Do you want me to walk you back?” 

“No! I mean—” You gulped. “You’re having fun. I’ll be fine getting back. I think Ron’s on the rounds in our part of the castle. He’s not going to write me up.” 

“You sure? I’d be happy to take you.”

You started pushing her in the direction of the other party-goers. “Very. Go have fun. I’ll see you when you get back.” 

By the time you’d burst back into your room, your chest was heaving with exertion from sprinting up the stairs as you wrenched open your desk drawer and pulled out the journal.

Tom you wrote. Can you let me in? 

He didn’t answer; instead, you were falling through space and into the warmly lit Hogwarts library from the 40s. 

“Tom!” You couldn’t stop the grin that came across your face. 

“Oh—hello.” Like always, Tom was standing tidily a polite distance from you, his hands tucked neatly behind his back. Unlike always, he was staring at you like you’d just shot his dog. 

“Is everything okay?” The potion you’d taken was definitely still in effect. An inky blackness was hanging around his shoulders—a stark contrast to the paleness of his skin. 

He swallowed, his eyes darting up and down. “Yes. Sorry. You just look a bit different.” 

“Oh. Yeah, I was at a party. Did you know you have a black aura?”

“What?”

“Your aura is black,” you repeated, slower this time. 

He just stared at you. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, averting your eyes. Maybe he was insecure about having such a lame aura color. It had been a bit rude of you to point that out all willy-nilly. 

“I’m not—” Tom stopped, pressing his lips together before continuing. “I’m sorry, is there a reason why you asked to see me? Surely you don’t mean to read after you’ve just stepped out of a party?”

“Oh,” you said, and suddenly you remembered why you’d come. A somberness dropped over you. “I was just…I was having so much fun tonight. And then I thought about you.”

He stayed silent.

“What’s going to happen to you if I can’t get you out?” Your voice wobbled as tears pricked at the back of your eyes. “Are you just going to be stuck here forever? Won’t you be lonely?” 

When he didn’t immediately answer and opted to stare at you in shock instead, you continued.

“Because I keep thinking about what might happen if something happens to me or I lose your journal,” you confessed, now ardently choking back tears. “I really worry about you. I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t help you leave.” 

“Are you…” His eyes darted up and down you again. “Drunk?”

“Hardly,” you said, swiping angrily under your eyes as you collapsed onto the loveseat that you so often read on, pulling your knees to your chest. Then, quieter: “It was just some potion a friend gave me.”

“If you’re so worried about something happening to you so that I’m left alone…” You weren’t looking up at him, but the increase in volume told you he was coming nearer. “...May I suggest not taking mystery potions?”

Before you could issue a retort, the loveseat cushion shifted to accommodate the weight of a second person, sending you toppling over to the other side. 

Right onto Tom. 

Your hands went flying to the opposite armrest, fingers digging into the worn blue velvet with a death grip as you righted yourself, pushing your knees from where they’d landed sprawled in Tom’s lap.

Which you could actually touch, by the way. The implications began rolling in once you were back on your respective side. He’d been solid and warm and completely void of any attributes that may suggest he was a ghost. Which meant that it was probably possible to…

No. No. You weren’t going to think about that right now. 

“I didn’t realize I could touch you,” you heard yourself saying, staring at him in wonder. “I just assumed I couldn’t.” 

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Oh.” 

And for purely scientific purposes (no reputable academic came to a firm conclusion based off of a single trial), you reached your hand out and experimentally poked his forearm again. 

“Wow,” you said.

“Will you stop that?” said Tom. 

“Yes.” You retracted your hand and placed it firmly in your lap. Then, because your manners hadn’t completely abandoned you: “Sorry. That was rude of me. I just sort of assumed that since you’re—well, whatever you are—it’d be like touching a ghost or something.” 

“Whatever I am,” he echoed, looking off into the distance with what you could only describe as a very harrowed expression. 

“I’m sorry,” you said again, but you weren’t entirely sure what you were apologizing for. 

Instead of responding, he buried his face in his hands, heaving a heavy sigh as his fingers tangled into his hair. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. 

He just shook his head, scrubbing his face with his hands once before he let them fall. 

“Er, all right then,” you said. “Would you like me to leave? I’m sorry for bothering you.” 

“You really shouldn’t worry about me,” he finally said. The awkward, slight pauses between his words gave you a sneaking suspicion that he was choosing his words very carefully. 

“Of course I’m going to worry about you.” Now that you knew that you could touch him, nothing stopped you from reaching out to flick his arm indignantly. “We’re friends, and I like to think that my friends would worry about me if I was stuck in journal jail. Or whatever this is.” 

He was still staring at where you’d touched his arm. 

“...Unless you don’t want to be friends,” you added, suddenly feeling a little silly for jumping to such rash conclusions. “Which I’d understand. I can give your journal to someone else. A Slytherin, maybe. Someone a little more your speed.” 

You decided to blame the potion for the obvious hurt that had seeped into your voice at the prospect that there was someone else who was better suited as his confidant. 

“I don’t want you to do that,” Tom eventually said. He wouldn’t meet your eyes. 

“Then what do you want?” The strength in your words surprised even you. “I don’t understand you. You tell me you want to get out, but you still won’t let me help you. You let me talk to you and come visit you and read with you, but then you expect me not to care. It doesn’t make any sense. You don’t make any sense.” 

“It’s more complicated than that,” said Tom, thumbing the ring he always wore around his finger. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“So help me understand!” Your voice rose sharply, echoing off the walls of the empty library. 

Tom finally turned to you, his face split open with something so uncharacteristically raw and open that it takes everything within you not to gasp. 

“No.”

“What?”

“No.” He drew in long breath. “Not right now. I need more time.”

“Oh, a half century wasn’t enough?” you retorted. “Need another?” 

“It doesn’t work like that,” said Tom, an edge of franticness in the way he spun the ring around his finger quicker. “I never thought that I’d—I didn’t think I’d ever be found. I wasn’t supposed to be found.”

You didn’t know what to say to this. Instead, you sat there with your hands clasped tightly in your lap, eyes set on the floor, your mind racing with all the implications of everything you’d learned.

A moment passed. Then another. Once it appeared clear that you weren’t going to say anything back, Tom spoke up again. “You’re angry with me. I understand that this is…” He paused. “Unconventional. But I am grateful you’ve found me, and I’d really rather prefer that you don’t give me away to another student.”

You were just about to respond when—

“But of course I’d understand if you did,” he added hastily. 

It was the most unnervingly emotional speech you’d ever seen come from Tom, ever the stoic, and under the influence of the potion that Hannah had given you, it was almost enough to make you give in and move on. But not quite.

“You said ‘supposed to’.” Your eyes still didn’t move from where they were trained on the scuffed wooden floor of the library. “You said ‘I wasn’t supposed to be found.’”

“That’s right.”

You turned to look at him, inky black aura spilling over his equally dark hair. “‘Supposed to’. Like you knew this was going to happen. Like this wasn’t an accident.”

And the change you saw in him was so miniscule that if you hadn’t been spending enough time studying his face, you might not have noticed it. But you had, and the slight dilation of his pupils and twitch of his jaw was enough to betray his panic. 

Then his mouth split into a smile and his face smoothed over, his eyebrows furrowed with just the right amount of concern. The shift was startling, like he’d slipped on a mask. “Of course this was an accident. Do you really think that I’d choose to be stuck here for eternity?”

“That’s—” You paused, shaking your head. “I don’t know. I’m not sure.” 

“I wouldn’t,” he pressed, and this time his arm came up to drape over the back of the couch. You tried your best not to think about how you could feel warmth radiating from it, how if you tilted your head back, you might brush against it. “Are you sure you’re well?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’ll send you back,” he said, a polite smile set on his lips. “You should really get some rest.”

And for the first time since you’d first discovered the journal, you fell asleep feeling a little bit afraid of Tom Riddle.

[petrifiedperi-au]

Uehrueheu this au got my in a choke hols!! Imagine when Peri comes back to Dev and does his little ghost mode act in front of Dev by mistake. Do you think Dev would think Peri died again!

Dev gaining confetti ptsd xD what if he tried to hide it from Peri (his worry that is) but everytime he saw Peri and confetti he starts making simple wishes. Worried for a second go at magical back up.

The worry of “have I been making enough wishes? Is Peri gonna have to die again? Is he ok? What do I do?” Kinda thoughts.

Can’t remember if you said Peri will randomly cough up confetti still or if im thinking of another au but I imagine if that was this one then Dev goes into a panic over Peri when it happens. Kids getting war flashbacks to the war he started.

~hollysfairyhell (sorry it’s my side hoe blog)

[AU info here!]

WHAAA EHEHE I'M SO GLAD YOU'RE ENJOYING THE AU!!! It's also got me in a chokehold, HAHAHA. These are GREAT questions! >:D

Peri DOES randomly cough up confetti sometimes, yeah— same with rainbows! Which makes everything extra fun and silly. AND YEAH... DEV DOES FREAK OUT. It takes him a WHILE to get used to it, and even then, it's still a LOT. CAUSE... I MEAN... Peri exploded. In front of him.

Dev definitely suppressed the FUCK out of that, sure, but like... the kid is still traumatized. He watched his PARENT die. The only one that cared about him. While he was ALONE with him...

AND. YES. DEV DOES FREAK OUT AT THE GHOST MODE. Especially because it leaves a bit of confetti after— it freaks BOTH him AND Peri out, especially since they PROBABLY end up doing it the first time in front of him/near him. Dev ABSOLUTELY hides it though.

Him thinking he's alone in the room and being all emotional and then Peri shows back up/makes himself visible and Dev is like "WHERE DID YOU COME FROM?!" and Peri is just... "Haha I uh, I've been here the whole time, actually." It's funny silly but also the ANGST.

ADDING ONTO THAT, Dev absolutely makes a comment at some point about how their magic is all fucked up. "Why isn't your magic WORKING?!" While gritting his teeth and Peri just rattles their clearly cracked wand around ad they try to get it to work. He's CONCERNED but there's no way he'd let that show... but Peri probably already knows, honestly. This IS their Godkid, after all!

I haven't figured out the extent of "slightly broken slightly messed up" magic yet... but wish granting doesn't ALWAYS go as planned. Think of it maybe like how Cosmo's magic wasn't working well in the first episode, when trying to change Hazel back from being a fly. Exceppttt... it's like that almost ALL the time. And it extends to everything and not just blasting stuff LMAO, if that makes sense!

I HOPE THESE ANSWERS ARE GOOD RAGGHHH I LOVE LOVE ANSWERING QUESTIONS SO MUCH!!! Please never stop sending them I can never get enough HAHAHA!

[smehur]

Some Harry/Draco Fic Recs

There is so much great fic in this fandom, I'm struggling to keep track of everything I read and like. I already mentioned some of my early favorites here, but I have since found several more.

In no particular order:

Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run by waspabi

In which Harry did not go to Hogwarts, but is instead found by a group of seventh year students led by Hermione, and recruited for the war at the ripe age of 17.

I'm not usually a fan of AUs, but this charmed me within the first few paragraphs with irresistible characterization. Harry is a little different than how I imagine him, but the premise allows for it. And the Harry/Draco romance is possibly the sweetest, softest I've seen so far. 10/10 would read again.

In Pieces by dysonrules

Harry returns to Hogwarts as the new DADA instructor, only to find his teaching efforts thwarted by a very familiar ghost.

When I got this rec myself, I wasn't sure I would like it, because, well, the summary spells it out, doesn't it? But I ended up loving it. It's incredibly sweet and tender and sad and hot. I couldn't put it down.

An Emerald In The Sky by corvuscrowned

The hardest part about shagging an Unspeakable is that they’re not allowed to speak of anything. All Draco knows is that Harry works in Time. Harry works in Time, and while he’s out there in all of that time, it is as unforgiving to him as it is to anyone. Somewhere along the way, Draco realizes he's been thinking in lines, when he should have been thinking in circles.

This story moved me like few others. It's a masterpiece of 'show, don't tell' in that elusive way I have never been able to tap in my own writing. It speaks in images, and the images capture incredibly specific, perfectly chosen details that paint years and decades of slowly fading hope. Just the thing for one who considers their own aging and mortality increasingly often.

Take You Home by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)

Everybody’s a little fucked up after the war, Draco especially. What starts as hate sex after a night out, eventually turns into something else, something more like comfort. And even though his friends all tell Harry he’s just being used, all Harry’s doing is making sure Draco gets home in one piece. He’s not falling helplessly in love.

From the author of one of my early favorites (Right Hand Red), a hugely enjoyable read that makes love to a post-war Draco (and his long hair in a man-bun that he fastens with his wand). I gulped this down in one sitting.

Hey, Potter by SunseticMonster

Harry returns to Hogwarts for his 8th year, determined not to let Malfoy get to him. But when the snarky teasing starts up again, Harry finds that returning the jibes with compliments has a far more interesting outcome.

I am in love with this premise. It works so well? While I wished for a bit more shipping and a bit less collateral, I still enjoyed this story immensely and went on to read almost everything the author wrote for the pairing.

An Issue of Consequence by Faith Wood

Draco has woken up in an alternate universe. Or he has woken up utterly insane. Nothing else can possibly explain why Harry Potter suddenly seems to think he's Draco's boyfriend.

The light-hearted summary belies the gravity of the plot of yet another favorite tale from the pen of my favorite author. The POV immersion is so deep that I absolutely did not see the resolution of the mystery until it was revealed, and then I was just as shocked as Draco. Fabulous stuff.

A Doll's Tale by Faith Wood

Harry/Draco, as observed by Draco's childhood doll. Please note, this doll is very self-absorbed.

This... broke me a little, lol. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing (too) heavy, angsty or dark about this story. It's as innocent as they get? But it just clicked so well with the idea I've been brewing in my own (yet to be published) writings, of Draco as this... sensitive boy hiding under the guise of confidence and cruelty. And the plot-twist, Merlin. Was it obvious? Maybe, but not to me! It struck me like a (fluffy toy) train and days later, I'm still recovering. I want to take this fic and hug it when I go to sleep.

Actually, I'm in a bit of a pickle, as my instinct is to list pretty much every single thing written by Faith Wood that I've read so far. But that would be silly, so I'll list only one more, as a treat.

Beholden by Faith Wood

Draco Malfoy might not be a killer, but it turns out he's an effective painkiller. If stopping pain was all Draco's touch did, things might not be so complicated, but either way Harry can't afford to be choosy.

I already mentioned this one in that inaugural post I linked at the very top, but: 1) it's now completed and can be safely binged on; and 2) the only thing I said about it back then is that it deals with chronic pain, which was particularly relevant at the time because I was at the peak of sciatica and could relate to poor Harry all too well. But that's just one of the many merits of this incredible story. Now that I'm feeling better, I'd praise it first and foremost for the patient exploration of the characters' inner worlds and the gradual, methodical and inexorable buildup of their feelings and convictions that eventually leads to falling in love. A masterpiece of slow burn. I plan not only to read this again, but to study it in the hopes of improving my own craft.

Tagging the authors I found on here: @dysonrules @faith2wood @corvuscrowned @lqtraintracks and also my friend @kuraiummei who helped me find some of these gems.

Thank you for enriching my life. ❤️

[jokeringcutio]

The Grabber x Hufflepuff (f) Reader [1] (Explicit, warnings)

Because I noticed an astonishing amount of my Grabber readers have this one thing in common. It's the house. Hufflepuff. They all have Hufflepuff on their profiles. Summary: You're a Hufflepuff student and you get caught by the Dark Lord's infamous snatcher known as The Grabber.

Fandoms: The Black Phone, Harry Potter Rating: Explicit Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, clad touching, non/con or dub-con touching, Reader is a Hufflepuff, Reader is Innocent. Reader is a virgin, Reader is a Mudblood/Muggle-born, use of little witch/littlegirl/little one, Reader is of age, Grabber has an innocence corruption kink, Reader gets kidnapped. Harry Potter 2nd Wizard War AU.

Grabber x Hufflepuff [ 1 ]

The Room of Requirement shimmered with the focused intensity of young witches and wizards, secretly preparing for the fight against the Dark Lord and his followers. You were among them, your wand tracing arcs in the air as you practiced defensive spells like all others. Some students here were younger than you, some slightly older. But everyone was practicing with the same passion. The air was thick with concentration, punctuated by the occasional crackle of magic gone awry.

"Hey," Ginny's voice cut through the hum of activity, pulling you aside. She was in the same year as you, although you hadn’t truly talked until you joined Dumbledore’s Army. Her eyes held an edge of urgency. "I need you to fetch some Hellebore Herb from the Forbidden Forest."

You nodded, a quick, sharp motion. "I can do that," you murmured, feeling the weight of the task settle on your shoulders. Slipping out of the school was a grizzly task nowadays. Students weren’t allowed to leave as it was said to be too dangerous out there now that the Dark Lord had returned. But you knew danger lurked inside the walls of your school as much as it did outdoors. Most of the staff at Hogwarts was sympathizing with the pure-blood radicals. If one of them caught you sneaking out of the school, they’d be taking their time punishing you with heavy torture spells.

Luckily, you were quite skilled at being silent, always alert, and excellent at not being noticed. Ginny knew this. It was why she usually asked you or Clementine Felley, a Ravenclaw with similar skills but a year below you two, to do these sorts of assignments.

Because you’d been doing this for a while, you had grown confident in your skills. In the shadowy corner, you slipped into your school robe to protect yourself from the cold outside. You made sure to flip your hair from underneath it before donning the hood and hiding it again.

The yellow and black of Hufflepuff covered you, and you were glad you belonged to that house. Somehow, the yellow became just another shade when you were out in the dusk or dark, resembling green or brown and adapting to your surroundings. You ran your fingers over the emblem, feeling the rough embroidery against your skin, before you grasped a wicker basket, its weave tight and firm.

Creeping out of the Room of Requirement, you clutched the fabric of your robe close. The corridors loomed silent and watchful. You knew the stakes — capture meant punishment, Crucio, or worse if the Carrow siblings got their hands on you.

As the doors groaned closed behind you, you drew a deep breath. Every shadow could hold a spying eye, a guard, or an enchantment meant to betray your step. But like so many times before, you made it out of the school with practiced ease. The Forbidden Forest loomed, a dark maw ready to swallow you whole. Your heart thudded against your ribcage, but you pushed forward, feet whispering over fallen leaves and twigs.

Like you had hoped, nothing happened. You weren’t spotted. There was no alarm raised. And the deeper you got into the forest, the more at ease you started to feel. Not that there weren’t countless of dangers here, but with your wand and your knowledge of spells, you felt you could handle the forest’s creatures.

The underbrush crunched beneath your knees as you knelt, fingers sifting through the damp soil. You found the Hellebore — a sinister beauty with its deep green leaves and delicate blooms that belied the poison lurking within. Your breath came in careful puffs, visible in the twilight of the forest.

"Aren’t you a brave girl?" The voice was like gravel, grating against the hushed whispers of the trees. It struck a chord of fear, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your gaze lifted, heart beating high in your chest. There, a few feet away from you, a devil's mask leered down at you, eyes hollow pits of malice. You instantly recognized the foul creature from pictures in the newspaper. Moving images of the same mask, two hands raised next to it, showing the same rings you saw now glinting on his fingers in the light of the moon.

The Grabber.

His name slithered through your mind, conjuring images of snatched souls and vanished faces. His jacket hung open, revealing a swath of bare chest, skin pale in the moonlight, betraying he was just another man.

“What are you doing, lovely?” The voice was so deep and low that you felt it deep in your core. You squeezed your legs together uncomfortably, hoping the man didn’t notice the gesture, as you slowly rose from your knees.

Even standing, the man was at least a head taller than you. If not more.

“Well?” He tilted his head, the mask mocking you as it slanted.

"Collecting herbs," you managed, voice a mere wisp of sound. You tucked the Hellebore behind your back discreetly.

"Oh,” the man made a mocking sound that was almost called gentle. “Sweet thing, aren't you? Voice like honey." The Grabber cocked his mask, angling it in such a way that his eyes could trace you up and down. You could feel it, felt his gaze as it roamed over every inch of your body. It felt intimate, the way he studied you.

He stepped closer, the scent of earth and something darker emanating from him.

“Well, aren’t you going to tell the big bad man what kind of herbs you are collecting out here, on your own, at the cusp of midnight?”

You knew he had you there. No student was allowed in this part of the forest or indeed allowed to roam outside at night. In fact, no students were allowed out at all. And by your robes, he could easily tell you were still a student, that you belonged to the school nearby.

A man like him, working for the Dark Lord himself, would not let you go unpunished. He would either hand you back to the school, or he would dish out the punishment himself. But with his reputation for being a man who tortured his victims and made innocent people disappear, you had a feeling which one it would be. The others wouldn't get their herbs today. You had failed them. For a short moment, you wished one of the Carrow siblings had caught you on your way out instead.

“I-I will,” why was your voice trembling? Why did you stutter? Were you truly this scared of the legendary snatcher who was said to be more demon than man?

“Very cute all the stumbling,” the man interrupted you. “I don’t care what you came here to collect. All I care about is that you are being naughty. Being out here, on your own, late at night. There are all sorts of bad men prowling about. Hadn’t you noticed?”

You blinked, clearly confused by his words because he obviously was one of these bad men himself. Why else would he trod around wearing a demon’s mask, bare-chested, in the middle of the night? He was out here, hunting.

Did that mean that others were nearby? That you somehow had been unlucky enough to cross paths with the ones he was chasing. People the Dark Lord wanted to see dead.

“I-I am s-so sorry. The H-herb I needed only grows at night and I thought-" you lied.

“Hellebore Herb,” he interrupted, cutting you short yet again. Of course, he must have caught sight of it. You nodded, realizing that although you had been trying to hide it behind your back, there was some more Hellebore near your feet. It would have been an easy guess.

"Well, well” he muttered, and you watched as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. The way his jacket swayed about revealed a hairless stomach with trained abbs, slightly pudgy but you supposed that came with age.

“Are you a full or half-blood?"

Huh? It was a sensitive question, but you could guess why he would ask it. The Dark Lord wasn’t keen on anyone not considered pure. You could lie to him. You knew you should. But something about the glint behind the dark holes of eyes in the mask told you he already knew the answer.

"Neither,” you reluctantly admitted, hanging your head in defeat. The herb dropped from your hands, fingers outstretched behind your back. “Muggle-born," a reluctant whisper and most definitely a death sentence. To lie was folly; he would know. To think all your bravery and good intentions would end here, tonight. That your defiance would be squashed down by one man and an unlucky encounter. Fear danced along your nerves, yet you forced stillness upon your frame.

"Charming," he murmured, surprising you as he closed the gap between you. The brush of his fingertips against your hair sent an unwanted tingle down your neck. "I would love to take you home."

You stiffened, the words wrapping around you like chains. There was no mistaking the implication, the threat veiled as a compliment. He wanted to snatch you the way he had done so many others. But there was something else underneath, something thick with arousal.

His presence loomed, a specter of dread. His breath grazed your cheek, slipping out from underneath the mask as he studied you with a sidelong glance. You let him touch your hair, let him believe he held sway. Inside, your thoughts raced — plans, strategies, hopes all tangled in a desperate knot.

"Would anyone miss a sweet little muggle-born witch?" he cooed, playing with a lock of your hair. His closeness disgusted you, but you tried to use it to fool him. Your hand slipped into your robe, ever so carefully, and searched for your wand, mentally preparing to knock him back with a spell.

"Everyone is missed by someone," you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

"Ah, but will they look for you?" The Grabber's tone was a taunt, a predator enjoying the quiver of his prey.

They would. They had to. Ginny and the others would notice if you didn’t come and deliver the herb. They would alarm the others, start a search for you, make sure your parents were informed. And then, the true search would start. No matter how influential the Dark Lord was, he couldn’t stop your loved ones from searching for you. They would, you just knew it. You were loved. You clutched your wand in your fist, preparing to attack.

"Let's find out," the moment the whisper reached your ears, his hand left your hair. You felt how his hand slipped into yours, disarming you by taking your wand. How had he known that you'd reached for it? That you held it? "You don't need that, little girl. Wands are for grown-ups," he teased, voice sing-song. And you silently fumed because you were an adult. Even if it hadn't been for that long. How belittling the man sounded, how he seemed to take pleasure in making you feel small. Then, his mask came closer again, forcing you to lean a little more backward.

"Run, little girl," the Grabber hissed, and without a second thought, you spun on your heels and you ran. With a twist of your body, you broke free from his grasp, feet pounding against the forest floor as you sprinted toward safety.

You could hear him, the laughter that bubbled up from his throat, rich and deep and terrifying.

"Run, little witch, run," he taunted, delight evident in each syllable. "I do so love a chase."

Branches whipped against your face, leaving hot, stinging trails in their wake. Your lungs burned with exertion, the distance between you and the safety of the school shrinking with every desperate stride.

You could reach it, you had to. At this point you didn’t even care if any of the guards spotted you and if they crucioed you until you wished you had never been born. Anything was better than this. Anyone was better than this man. This demon who you’d read about.

Kidnapping. Torture. Unethical spells.

If he got you, you’d never see the light of day again. You’d be done for. You'd die a horrid death.

The outline of the school loomed into view. Just a little further. You pushed yourself beyond your limits, limbs stretching, going faster than you ever had, before your freedom was snatched away. An arm snaked around your waist, making you tumble. His hands clamped over your mouth, stifling the scream that tried to escape. Together, you crashed into the underbrush, his chest, a wall of heat and hardness, pressed against your back. The scent of him enveloped you—earth and sweat and something darker, unnamable.

You fought to breathe, feeling the strain of his fingers against your lips, pushing tightly so they couldn’t even part. You tried to wiggle out of his grip but he only tightened it, hissing in your ear as something hard poked against your butt and you instantly came to a still, eyes wide open. That wasn’t…?

"Shhh," he hissed as a guard's lantern light flickered in the distance. "Not a sound."

You had no choice but to wait in his embrace, feeling his chest heave rapidly up and down behind you. His palm warm against your lips, his heart hammering against your spine. Sweat from his naked chest brushed against your robe.

The moment stretched, an eternity wrapped in seconds, until silence returned and the light of the lantern disappeared into the dimness of the night. Then he rose, pulling you with him, his grip ironclad and unyielding.

"Be silent. Don't make this difficult," he commanded, his hand was upon your arm, gripping you tight, as a wand was raised by the other. It took less than a second for you to realize what was about to happen, but you didn’t have time to counter his spell or try and get away.

You knew what came next—the sensation of being squeezed through an impossibly tiny space, the world blurring into darkness. Apparition. A forced journey to an unknown hell.

You now stood somewhere else, in someone’s living room by the sights of it, too busy taking in your surroundings to stop how the Grabber replaced his hand from your arm to your neck. The squeeze was painful, bringing tears to your eyes, and your hands darted up to try and alleviate his grip. But to no avail.

The man forced you to walk from the living room to the kitchen. Standing in front of a white door, you couldn’t distinguish the soft muttered words that were muffled by the mask, but it was clear he was using some kind of magic to unlock and open it.

A deep and dark room appeared, a staircase leading down to it. Like a basement full of concrete. Then he pushed you through the door.

The grip he had on your neck was firm enough that it became difficult to breathe, as he guided you down the stairs and into what seemed to be a grey and mostly empty room.

The basement was a tomb of dampness and decay. You were thrown onto a mattress that reeked of rot, each spring groaning in protest. He loomed over you, a shadow stripped of humanity.

"Let me have a look at you," he demanded, settling before you and reaching out without expecting an answer.

You felt like a trapped animal and tried to crawl away, but your robes obstructed your movements. And where would you go? There was only a wall behind you, the grey concrete looked chipped and filthy, but also sturdy. You’d need your wand to get out of here.

The man’s hands were already untying your robe, pushing the cloak aside at both sides. Fear twisted inside you, a serpent coiling tighter with every passing second. Veins were visible on the male’s hands. He must be an older man, you thought. And strong.

You tried to struggle and pushed your hands against his arms in an attempt to stop him. But he only stopped his movements to shush you, angling his mask your way before his hands slid past the fabric of your clothes once more.

"Yellow and black," he mused, fingering the edge of your school robe with a touch that was both reverent and mocking. "I always had a thing for Hufflepuffs... loyal, kind, innocent. Wouldn't harm a fly." His voice dripped with sarcasm even as his fingers delicately parted the fabric to reveal your uniform beneath.

You held your breath, trying to shrink away from his probing gaze, but here there was no safety for you. He leaned in closer, heat radiating from his body as you deliberately tried not to look at the bulge he was sporting in his pants. "But innocence is often just a facade... physically they are pure. But mentally," here he chuckled.

"Please..." The word escaped your lips as a whisper, a feeble attempt to preserve some dignity.

A low growl rumbled from the depths of his chest and his nails pressed into your skin as his grip on you became more bold. “I like it when you beg. Makes you look cute, honey.”

You whimpered sadly, realizing that begging wasn’t going to save your life.

"Quiet now," he murmured, his voice a velvet threat. "You won’t need this."

The robe was pushed down your shoulders without a fight.

"Shh," he hushed you, his fingers sliding up the sensitive flesh of your bare thigh, just above your stockings, causing an involuntary flinch.

His coarse fingertips traced dangerously close to your skirt now. You couldn’t help it. You weren’t a fighter like the Slytherins or Gryffindors were, but you had your boundaries. With a sharp movement, you brought your elbows down to harm the man, but the Grabber was quicker. He caught your wrists with just one hand. A sad realization that his hands were large and strong enough to subdue you. You wiggled ineffectively, feeling the grip around both your wrists tighten.

"Cute," he chuckled darkly, taking pleasure in the shiver that coursed through you.

"See," he breathed out, his hand venturing beneath the pleated skirt, touching you where no one had ever touched before. "You are going to love this." His words were poison, staining the rawness of the moment with vile certainty.

"Stop," you tried to command, but it came out as a whimper, your own body betraying you under his invasive touch.

His fingertips stroked past your covered folds, the crotch of your panties dampening with each intimidating stroke. The pressure was just right, pressing down tightly enough to stimulate your clit through the soft cotton layer until he had you squirming. Soft mewls escaped your lips instead of pleas while he still held your wrists up with one hand, making it impossible for you to fight him off or crawl away from his touch.

"Ah, there it is," he whispered triumphantly as his finger traced over your damp core. "Your mind's as filthy as they come, little witch."

Panic clawed at your insides, yet amidst the terror, a spark of rage ignited. You hated him, hated his touch, his violation of all you held sacred. You loathed the way he made you feel; exposed, vulnerable, and worst of all, responding despite yourself.

"Doesn't this prove your point?" you spat out with venomous defiance, despising the trembling of your own voice. You were wet, you could hear it now. You felt your nipples peak underneath the fabric of your blouse, their tips pressing through the layers of clothes you were still wearing. But you had no doubt he had caught sight of it.

“Who said I wanted to prove anything?”

For a moment the two of you sat in complete silence while his fingers still rubbed your clothed core. Slick sounds emerged from between your legs while the Grabber stared at you. Was he waiting for an answer?

You tried to control your breathing, thankful when he finally lowered his other hand and with it your wrists. Your arms were starting to feel sore. Yet, that didn’t distract you from the warmth that was slowly building up inside your core. A tight coil was inside your tummy, your legs started to tremble. Whatever function your panties were supposed to have was rendered nihil as he flicked and fondled your clit through the now-soaked-through piece of garment. The fabric clung to your folds, making it easier for him to brush his fingers and the cloth deeper inside, even being as bold as to try and dip a fingertip in until you moaned and thrashed against him.

You turned your head aside, unable to look at him and his devilish mask as an orgasm was rapidly approaching. Your body trembled under his touch as the finger pushed against your entrance once, twice. And then suddenly withdrew.

Shaking, you sat there, blinking confused before you turned your head to face him. Your body felt hot, between your legs, it was burning with desire. The orgasm was so near that you could feel the first tremors already racking through your body. But he had stopped on the cusp of it, withdrawn as a form of pure torture. Leaving you undone, a trembling and whimpering mess on the dirty pale mattress.

You looked up at him, cheeks red and eyes full of arousal. Even forgetting to lower your arms now that his hold on you was gone. Not that you wanted him to have sex with you, but you were the epitome of a woman on the cusp of ecstasy - eager to have your bodily desire fulfilled. You wanted to feel good. Your mind was now conflicted, torn between wanting him to finish and wanting him far away. You looked at him, flushed, eyes begging him to finish what he started. No wonder a low groan escaped him while he squeezed the bulge in his pants as he rose to stand tall again.

“So innocent,” was all he announced before trying to run a hand through his shoulder-length hair. It must be a habit, you realized, mind still hazy with lust, because the movement had no purpose. The man’s mask was clasped behind his head with several bands. His fingers couldn’t properly run through his hair, and he had to halt his movement and lower his arm again.

You smirked up at him, as if you’d just found out a secret about him.

If you could undo those clasps, you could see his face. If you could escape, you could pass that information to the others. He’d finally be an easy prey.

A sudden movement shook you out of your thoughts when he suddenly dipped his hand inside the pocket of his own jacket. Your wand slid out, the hand in which he held it still glistening in the dark from your juices.

"M-My wand," you whispered, the sound barely escaping your lips.

"Shhh, little Hufflepuff," he cooed mockingly before holding your wand up high, seemingly to study it.

And you finally propelled into action. Your wand was an extension of yourself, of your magic, and it shouldn't be in his possession. You scrambled onto your hands and knees in an attempt to jump up and snatch the wand out of his hands, even if he was that much larger and even if you probably couldn’t reach it when you jumped anyway. But you had to try it. You had to get it back.

Your wand was the only thing that could get you out safely.

The Grabber seemed to have predicated your move. It only needed a whisper of his lips, and you sat frozen.

“It works well,” he muttered, words muffled by the mask. And you had no choice but to watch as he lowered his arm. Your breath caught as his fingers, rough and calloused from years of unforgiving work, slipped into the pocket of his dark robes, taking with them your wand—your lifeline.

He patted the pocket of his jacket as if to taunt you, the jacket smacking against his hip as it still hung open to reveal his naked chest. You could see his belly roll with each deep breath taken. He was still aroused, taking delight in playing these games with you.

A whimper escaped your lips, unbidden, raw with the fear of helplessness.

"Isn't that just adorable," the Grabber mused, his voice a low rumble that resonated through the cavernous basement. You watched, heart pounding, as he prepared to leave, the satisfaction in his stride unmistakable. "Don't worry, pet. You won’t be needing that while you’re here."

You watched him as he made his way to the door. If only he hadn’t put that spell on you and you could still move… But as it was, all you could do was sit and watch as he carried your only hope for survival with him.

“I think I’ll just add your name to the list of deaths," the low husky murmur of the Grabber surprised you. It came unasked, just another way he was mentally manipulating you, you guessed. "No one’s gonna ask for you. But you know, future reference. In case anyone decides to start prowling,” he paused, turning his mask to face you from over his shoulder. “It'll just be another whoops. My hand slipped. Killed a pretty little girl out in the forest. Mud-blood witch. I had my orders.”

Anger raged inside of you, boiling under the frozen surface. You wished you could grit your teeth, curl your hands into fists, growl even. But you could do nothing.

He'd report you as another casualty, another life claimed by the darkness he served.

"It’s a cheap trick, but it works every time," he said casually. "Mostly had boys before you. This will be new." The implication hung heavy in the stale air, a sentence without an end, and it was suffocating.

Why? You wondered. Why not just kill them? Why take them home?

The Grabber paused, the mask changed direction until it almost looked like the demon grinned. "I like to play a game. Only with the cute ones though.”

Panic seized you and you felt like you suddenly couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t just read your mind, had he? Merlin, please don’t let him be a Legilimens.

The Grabber fully turned back to you, the demonic mask’s expression seemed to have changed. But surely, that must be your imagination. Or had he cast a spell on it?

“Want to know what it’s called?” he taunted. And you thought. No. No, I don’t want to know what the game is called.

But instantly after, a different voice inside your head said otherwise. What game did he play with his victims, you wondered?

You almost heard the smirk that was hidden underneath the mask. “Since you asked so nicely,” he murmured, confirming your fear that he was someone who could read minds.

“It’s called the naughty game.”

Then he smoothly turned on his heels while a thousand thoughts clouded your mind. You watched him, his back to you as he ascended the stairs, leaving you to contemplate the twisted rules of his game. What happens if you're naughty? you wondered, a desperate plea for some semblance of understanding.

He halted, his silhouette framed by the dim light at the top of the staircase.

"You lose," he answered, the words echoing ominously off the walls.

And with that, he disappeared from sight, leaving you alone with the chilling silence, your wet panties, and your racing thoughts. ~ AN: More? ~

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[delirium1217]

There's no need to hide

Word count: 1009 words James/Regulus. First wizarding war AU (they're both stuck together in the same safe house)

⋆｡°✩˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗⋆｡°✩

“No, this won’t do.” James stands up, “We are not spending today of all days moping.”

“We’re not moping, we’re just talking.” Regulus replies, slightly indignant.

“All we ever talk about are big, sad, mushy feelings.” James dramatically flails his hands around, almost as if shooing the sentiment away.

“Big, mushy, feelings.” Regulus repeats, he tries to sound offended but the tug on his lips says otherwise.

“Well yeah, everyone you know thinks you’re dead, terribly sorry we can’t do anything about that by the way. And me, well, where the fuck do we start, you know?”

Regulus looks back at him, slowly blinking. the sickly yellow lightbulb casting down its shadows.

He doesn’t need to think about that right now.

He just needs something to fill the noise.

The air was filled with the sense of slight delirium. Nothing felt real. Nothing had consequence. James felt like he could run away, sprint off into the fields and pretend the last twenty two years of his life were a lapse of chemicals his mind made up in a haze.

The depression that hung over him all week threatened to spill into hysterical exuberance. But James didn’t care, it’s been so long since he had someone near him, someone that wasn’t decades older than him. Someone that talked to him, not just through him. Someone that didn’t expect him to be something he wasn’t.

He’ll let himself get drunk on whatever endorphins his body, for whatever reason, was dishing out.

He just needs something to fill the noise.

“Look James, maybe we should call it a night-“

“Nonsense! It’s your birthday, we’re staying up. We’re transforming some stale bread into equally stale cake. We’re playing music your obnoxious little self wouldn’t be caught dead listening to, and we’re dancing.”

He taps his wand. The tinny radio spluttered to life. The glittery synths were scratchy and soft. It filled the room instantly.

Regulus looks back horrified, his eyes widened.

He stretches his hand out for Regulus to take.

Regulus stares down at it, then back at James’ face “Oh no, absolutely not.”

“Oh c’mon, I used to do this all the time with Peter.”

“Is that all what you four did all day? dance around with each other?”

“Mostly, amongst other things. The worst of us was Remus, man had two left feet and fingernails like talons.” he fondly remembers the way Remus’ grip dug into his shoulders and ‘Moony, can you for the love of everything try and be less rigid’ while everyone else in the common room cheered them on, well, mostly Sirius.

Regulus snorts, “I should’ve known. And to think of all the time I wondered what on earth you people did.”

“Well, we had to, the marauders couldn’t embarrass themselves in front of the ladies.”

James’ hand was still outstretched. He wiggled his fingers again, “Come on. Can’t you just humor me?”

“You know it’s my birthday, you should be humoring me.” Still, something in his expression softens - he sighs, unfolds his arms, and carefully places his hand into James’ own.

The soft music and layered vocals had filtered throughout the room. The noise of it seemingly amplified in the tiny living room.

James slowly put his hand on Regulus’ shoulder - the unexpected warmth that rushed through him made him pause. He realizes, this was the first time he’s touched another person in months.

(Eight months to be exact, the last time he saw Marlene, drenched in black hoods at an Order meeting. She gave him a full body hug and squeezed all the oxygen out of him.)

Still, he slides his other hand across Regulus’ palm. The song playing was by a muggle band he didn’t recognize - a ditzy little number, all dreamy sounds and far away vocals. The shimmering effect the night held seemed to surge as they swayed.

It was awkward at first, as it always is. Clutching to each other’s shoulders in a frigid way that even Remus would realize was painful. That was until James, in his delirious state of glee started adding twists and turns left and right, loosening both of them up.

Regulus followed his every move, surprisingly fluid and confident in a way his posture never was. They both slowly started to laugh with every unnecessary kick or turn they flourished as they moved across the kitchen floor. This wasn’t a formal dance in any sense of the word, bouncing around like fools across the linoleum tiles.

It’s been a long time since he felt like this. Young, stupid, and full of bravado. Of course, now it was tinged with the haziness of all what’s broken his heart over and over, night after night. But it was still there, a flickering light in the dark. On and off. He silently pleaded with whoever was handling it to not click it off just yet.

“Okay, you have to stop before I start to vomit,” Regulus raises his voice over the bellowing music, a woman singing about hot stuff.

“We’ve both had nothing all day, nice try though!”

“Have you ever seen a cat dry heave?”

James laughs. He slows his tempo down back to a sway.

“Alright, we’re slowing down, only because it’s your birthday. Otherwise we would’ve been spinning off the patio,”

Regulus promptly ignores him. “Wasn’t there a promise of cake during your little speech?”

“Stale cake.” James corrects. “and i can only manage sweetened white bread, with bits of frosting.”

“I’ve had worse meals,” Regulus replies

“I bet you did,” James smiles back.

They come to a stop as the last seconds of the song play, another already fading in.

They both found themselves a few moments later hunched over a piece of incredibly stale, possibly moldy bread. Both throwing every bit of transfiguration spell they had in their arsenal. The result was a dried-out, but surprisingly pretty piece of yellow sponge cake. James had taken bits of milk and transfigured it into real looking icing, which coated the sides in swirls and peaks.

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

so, i started writing this fic, and i think i'm going to continue it, but i would love to get some reactions to the idea i had so much fun adapting a romcom to the marauders in my 10 things i hate about you fic, then i was rewatching life as we know it for the first time in years and was surprisingly still into it and thought it could be a fun one cos of some of the parallels, so here is the set up:

in an au where voldy is destroyed, sirius never sent to azkaban, and reader and sirius have to raise harry together after james and lily die even though they hate each other... initially ofc

pairing: Sirius Black x reader word count: 1.9k

You’re surprised to hear a knock at your door this late. Exhausted after another Order mission, you resent whoever is on the other side of it. When you open it, lowering your ready wand just behind the door with an exasperated sigh, the feeling heightens. 

“What the hell do you want?” you ask a smirking Sirius Black leaning on your doorframe. 

“What kind of a greeting is that, love?” he retorts seemingly unfazed.

You say nothing, glare harder. 

He rolls his eyes and begins, “Dumbledore wants you to tell me about your mission. He has something he wants me to do soon — won’t tell me what exactly yet, you know how he is — and he thinks whatever intel your mission provided will be relevant.” 

“Can’t it wait till tomorrow? I’m exhausted, Black.” 

“He told me to come tonight,” he says firmly, shrugging. “Look, I don’t want to be here any more than you want me to be here, but there are more important things right now than resting” — he gestures to you — “or keeping good company,” he finishes, gesturing at himself.

“Oh I’m bad company? Have you met yourself? And you’re one to talk about important things, Black. All you ever do is joke around. And —” you go to continue, but he cuts you off, gently pushing his way past you and into your flat.

“Choose a line of attack, L/N. You’re rambling.”

You groan but follow him into your living room. He’s making himself comfortable, putting his boots up on your coffee table to settle in. 

“Fucking hell, Black,” you whine as you kick his legs off. “I know there’s a war going on, but I’d prefer for my home not to become a pig sty, thank you.” 

“Leave it to you to worry about shit like this now,” he sighs, rolling his eyes at you for the second time in mere minutes.

His critical comments are nothing new. The two of you had gotten into it over nothing since your school days, your best friends eventually getting together doing nothing to make you hate each other less. Lily had been your best friend since first year, James his. 

With your current exhaustion, even this little comment had you practically seething. Knowing him, though, you knew anything you said back would just give him more ammunition to mock you somehow. So, you just stood and stared angrily at him. 

“Well?” he looks at you infuriatingly nonchalantly. “The faster we do this, the faster I’m out of here.” 

“Fine.” You sit next to him begrudgingly and relate the events of the last few days to him, falling into “official” mode the only thing that made dealing with Sirius Black any easier.

~

This message wasn’t right. There was no possible way it was right. It had to be wrong. A mistake. A trap. A cruel joke. Anything but the truth.

You’re standing there, staring at the spot where a fellow Order member’s Patronus has just vanished after delivering its message to you. Your jaw is slack, your eyes wide and quickly brimming with tears. Tears at the mere idea that your best friend and her husband were dead, not the reality. It couldn’t be reality. 

After what might have been several minutes, though your mind is stuck, your body moves to action and heads immediately to Order headquarters. 

When you get there, you’re surprised at how many people are here. Such gatherings are usually reserved for the most important of meetings only; it’s too dangerous to have so many members together in any one place, lest the enemy find out and root out what little resistance remains. 

Oddly enough, it’s in crowds like this that you most notice the absent. You miss them when you are alone, too, of course, but there is something about looking around and not seeing Marlene’s beautiful — even if haunted toward the end — face amongst the others. Not feeling Dorcas’s head coming to rest on your shoulder. Not hearing Alice’s sweet giggle at something Frank has just whispered to her, bringing joy even in the darkest of times. Their voices are devoid of joy now, shut away at St. Mungo’s. 

Lily can’t be gone too. Please not Lily too. 

You’re not sure how to gauge the expressions of your friends and comrades around you. There is such a strange intermingling of emotions lingering on their faces. James and Lily couldn’t be dead if there was a look of such relief on Emmeline’s face, if Elphias was busy chattering away to a few other members. 

But then you see him. You see Sirius Black, and you know.

He’s sitting in a corner. He isn’t crying. He doesn’t look sad. He looks hollow. There aren’t tears in his eyes because his eyes are dead. 

You gravitate toward him without thinking, and when you’re close, his empty eyes meet yours. Sirius stands. You look at each other for a long moment, understanding crossing between you, and without a word from either of you, you embrace.

A few long, shaky breaths later, with Sirius Black’s warm, firm arms around you, you break down. You can’t see his face from where you have yours burrowed into his chest, but his arms tighten around you as your sobs shake your whole body. He holds you through the entire episode, until your body has drained itself of all the tears it could possibly produce in this moment. Only when you’ve been still for a minute does he loosen his grip, stepping back slightly.

You already know the answer, but you ask anyway, “Both of them?” He just nods. You immediately follow with, “Where’s Harry?” Fear shoots through you at the thought, but before you lose yourself in it, Sirius grabs your shoulders and says, “Harry’s fine.” Another bout of fear oozes through your body, but this one is slower, eerier. It takes you a moment to discern its cause: it’s Sirius’s voice. It’s never sounded like this before, and you hear in its dullness a pain you’d think unimaginable if you weren’t feeling it too. 

You nod slowly and ask where your godson is. Sirius tells you he’s with Remus. 

“What’s going to happen to him?” you whisper. 

“I don’t know,” he responds. “Dumbledore said he’d talk to us once we were both here.” 

~ 

It’s much later in the night, almost morning you reckon, when you find yourself and Sirius sitting across from Dumbledore, finally alone. He’d had to handle a million and one things already, the scope of the night’s events incomprehensible to your grief-stricken mind. 

Dumbledore doesn’t wait at all before saying, “I am truly sorry for the loss you both have experienced tonight and will continue to experience for the rest of your lives. The loss of someone so close is a loss from which one never truly recovers.” 

You both nod, saying nothing, and he continues. 

“I’m certain both of your main concern at this point is Harry. Firstly, let me provide you the comfort of informing you Harry is perfectly safe. How exactly, none of us know, and perhaps will never know. But young Harry survived Voldemort’s attack tonight, and somehow destroyed him in the process. Harry is currently with Mr. Lupin, but you can sort for yourselves how you wish to go about the transition in the following days. I have not spoken to either of you about it personally, but I imagine, given the arrangement, that you will be moving into the Potter’s home in Godric’s Hollow?”

You’re sure your face betrays your utter confusion, and on instinct, you look to Sirius for some sort of clarification. The look on his face tells you he’s as lost as you are. 

“Arrangement, sir?” you finally manage after some awkward silence.

“Yes. It was Lily and James’s wish that in the event of their deaths, Harry should be raised by his godparents.” He looks between you and Sirius. “You, of course.” 

A pregnant beat. 

“I’m sorry, what? ‘You’ as in who? ‘You’ as in me? Or him? Not ‘you’ as in us?” you ramble. 

“‘You’ as in both of you, yes. You and Mr. Black.” You give a mirthless chuckle. 

“There must be some kind of misunderstanding, sir. We,” you gesture unnecessarily aggressively between you and the man sitting next to you, “are not together. We’re not a couple; we’re not even friends; how are we supposed to raise Harry together?” 

“There is no misunderstanding. And I do feel the need to add that this is in fact one consideration in bestowing — and accepting — the role of a godparent, I’m sure you know.”

You turn toward Sirius, who is just sitting there completely dumbstruck. You smack his chest and urge, “Say something, for Godric’s sake.” 

“Ummm… I… Well… I… She…She…,” he looks to you briefly, “I and… and she… I and she… she and I —” He can’t string even a phrase together, and Dumbledore gently raising a hand mercifully puts an immediate stop to his ridiculous attempt.

“It is unfortunate that your friends did not discuss this decision with you before its effect was rendered necessary. I imagine they dreaded such a conversation and suspect they never found it the ‘right’ time. However, I am certain it was what they wanted. After all, it was at my behest that they made a decision at all. Few of us ever want to think about our own deaths, but when I realized what danger the Potters were in, I knew it was a necessary consideration. I am devastated to have been proven correct.” Dumbledore was always calm and collected, but you know him well enough to know he meant those words.

“If you choose to reject this arrangement, we can see about other options. Though, as I have said, it would be going against his parents’ wishes. There is of course his aunt and uncle, the Dursleys I believe they are called. Alternatively, there are orphanages for such occasions, but they are dreadful places, and I would wish that fate upon no child, especially if he could be raised with family.” 

“The Dursleys aren’t his family,” you say immediately, a strength to your voice that had not been there in the entire conversation thus far. Dumbledore looks at you. “They’re not, sir. I’ve met them. They’re horrid people. They hate wizards and witches, were terribly cruel to Lily. I can’t imagine how they’d treat her wizard son.” You grimace at the thought. “They’re not his family… We are.” This sits heavily in the room for a moment, and it is Sirius who speaks first. 

“We’ll take care of Harry,” he whispers. His voice is quiet but certain. “We’ll figure it out.” He looks to you inquisitively, and you nod. 

“I’m gladdened to hear it,” Dumbledore says. “You don’t have to stay there long term, but I imagine it will be good for Harry to be in a familiar place as he adjusts to such change, so I will have him brought to his house in a few hours. Can you collect yourselves and meet him there?” 

You both nod; he adds a curt, “Good,” and before you know what’s even happened, you’re left sitting in a room with Sirius Black, a man you’d always hated, a man who is suddenly your co-parent to Harry. 

[iamnmbr3]

Canonically how do you think postwar drarry's romance and dynamics would be?how much things change btwn them?they become cute and fluffy or they keep fighting? how they behave together and how they start meeting when there's no reason for them to meet, chain of new events or accidentally?(do not write fanfic or anything but simply your assumption of absolute canon drarry)

As usual you come into my inbox with yet another delightful and interesting question. I tend to think if Harry and Draco actually got together postwar their relationship would be pretty good. (Of course everyone is free to write/headcanon whatever they want and you can make pretty much any type of AU scenario work if you tweak the circumstances just right). I love a good toxic, twisted dark 'enemies to enemies who are also lovers' twisted romance but that just isn't drarry in canon.

Both characters tend to shy away from true cruelty - despite being placed in some very trying circumstances that encourage the opposite from them - and even when they are enemies on opposite sides of the war they can't seem to bring themselves to hate or hurt each other. I think they are genuinely extremely compatible - emotionally and intellectually as well as in terms of having some pretty important life experiences in common despite their radically different upbringings. They also have complimentary interests, senses of humor, personalities and magic (ding ding ding wand compatibility!). Not to mention they've both been fascinated by each other since day one.

So all that is to say, when they finally get together (which definitely takes some work given they were on opposite sides of the war and enemies before that and all that happened between them wouldn't just vanish overnight) it works surprisingly well. I think they might banter/bicker playfully because they both enjoy each other's wit but they wouldn't actually truly argue or fight. They did enough of that. But I do see them having a much softer, gentler version of their original dynamic. I think they enjoy each other's sass (now with proper boundaries so no one is actually getting upset).

As for how they meet again. Let's be real. This is drarry. They always, always find each other. These 2 cannot stay away from each other. Harry definitely testifies for Draco so he doesn't go to jail. And Draco probably contacts him at some point to thank him. Maybe they start writing letters back and fourth. Or if they go to 8th year together they are immediately pulled back into each other's orbit the same as they always were - except now Draco's trying to make amends and Harry can't stop watching him (maybe at first he thinks he's up to something or maybe not) and is strangely insistent on helping him. Or maybe they meet later, out in the working world. They both have lived rent free in each other's heads since the age of 11. After the war neither would forget the other. They find each other.

Awkward conversations and apologies and possibly some left over hostility (because let's be real - Draco tends to lash out when he's feeling vulnerable and Harry tends to meet fire with fire) turn into easier conversations and a growing sense of that nameless thing that always lay between them that neither has ever acknowledged and realization that what they miss most about Quidditch is playing against each other (and a Seekers game that turns into friendly bickering) and a growing appreciation for each other and increasing sharing of confidences (because so few others really understand what facing Voldemort was like - how he moved, how he reacted, how he killed) and somehow it doesn't feel as vulnerable or isolating talking about it with someone else who just understands and isn't going to act like a shocked and pitying outsider. Not to mention that they both have to come to terms with how fit each thinks the other is. And well. One thing leads to another. The path doesn't run smooth. Harry worries what his friends will think and Draco worries about it even more. But in the end things are alright and they are happy.

[lady-anne-90]

Halloween Überraschung

Ich kam nach Hause und mein Keuschling durfte sich direkt vor mich knien, mir meine Schuhe ausziehen, meine Füße küssen und mir meine Hausschuhe anziehen.

Ich ließ Jacke und Tasche einfach fallen, wie immer.

Ohne ein weiteres Wort verschwand ich im Bad und anschließend im Schlafzimmer. Da das an sich nichts neues für ihn ist, wunderte er sich auch nicht.

Ich kam nochmal nackt aus dem Schlafzimmer, warf ihm einen Ballknebel und Augenbinde zu: „Ausziehen und anlegen.“

Er fing es und sagt noch: „Ja, meine Herrin.“

Ich machte mich in Ruhe fertig, dann ging ich zu ihm.

„Heute ist ja Halloween, da gibt es eine ganz besondere Überraschung.“

Ich schon ihn zur Wand und fixierte seine Hände über seinen Kopf. Wir haben an allen möglichen Stellen dafür die Möglichkeit geschaffen.

Sein Schwanz zuckte und ich packte seine Eier und drückte etwas fester zu: „Zuckt da etwas jemand vor Vorfreude? Ich muss dich enttäuschen, heute wirst du nur für mich leiden.“

Damit zog ich ihm die Augenbind vom Kopf. Er bekam große Augen bei meinem Anblick. Ich trug einen Lederbody, im Schritt mit Reißverschluss und Brüste frei, dazu eine Netzstrumpfhose mit kleinen Spinnen drauf, neue hochhackige Stiefletten und ich hatte mich auf alt geschminkt und trug einen Hexenhut.

„Ich koche dir heute eine feine Suppe, die du dann schön alleine auslöffeln darfst.“, dabei strich ich mit den Fingern über seine Haut. Ach ja, ich hatte Krallenaufsätze an und hinterließ direkt leicht rote spuren.

Ich holte einen gusseisernen Top, den ich extra dafür besorgt hatte und stellte ihn vor meinen Keuschling.

Zuerst schüttete ich einen Liter Wasser hinein und stellte ihn auf den Herd, bei kleiner Flamme.

„Das wird ein ganz besonderer Zaubertrank, den ich da für dich braue, damit du richtig demütig wirst.“

Ich holte eine Tüte hervor mit einem Paar Socken von mir.

„Riech mal, die hatte ich die ganze Woche jeden Tag beim Joggen an.“. Er verzog die Nase und sie landeten im Kochtopf.

Es folgte mein Slip. „Den habe ich auch eine ganze Woche nur für dich getragen, Tag und Nacht und ich war nicht ganz gründlich, wenn ich auf Klo war, der duftet schon etwas streng.“

Erst unter seine Nase und bei seinem Gesicht musste ich lachen und er kam auch in den Kochtopf.

„Ich war aber noch viel gründlicher mit meinen Vorbereitungen.“, ich holte ein paar Lorbeerblätter hervor. „Immer wenn ich beim Sport war und richtig durchgeschwitzt war, habe ich die ein paar Minuten unter meine Achseln gelegt.“

Ich packte seine Erektion, meinen Schwanz und massierte ihn samt Käfig, oh was wurde der prall und mein Keuschling stöhnte auf.

„Das lohnt sich ja schon für dich, aber wir sind noch lange nicht fertig.“, kicherte ich.

Ich holte einige Möhren heraus und schälte sie. „Na, denkst du, die schmecken in deinem Zaubertrank?.“, er nickte. „Ich glaube aber nicht ohne eine gewisse würze.“, damit drehte ich mich um, beugte mich vor ihm auf einen Stuhl und öffnete den Reißverschluss von dem Body im Schritt.

Durch die Netzstrumpfhose konnte er direkt auf meine Löscher schauen. Ich nahm eine Möhre und schob sie mir in die Spalte. Er stöhnte und keuchte und sein Käfig war kurz vorm Platzen.

Dann schob ich die Möhre allerdings in meinen Arsch und fickte mich regelrecht damit. Nun klang sein stöhnen etwas gequälter. 6 Möhren fickten nacheinander meinen Arsch und wurden dann kleingeschnitten und landeten im Kochtopf.

Ich ging mit einer weiteren Möhre zu ihm und befahl ihm, dass er sich umzudrehen hat.

„Wir brauchen ja auch noch ein wenig andere Würze, oder.“ Damit schob ich die Möhre langsam in seinem Arsch und fickte ihn eine Weile damit. Da wurde die Spitze von seiner Eichel schon etwas feucht.

Die Möhre landete auch kleingeschnitten im Topf. Er fing an durch seinen Knebel zu sabbern und ich holte einen Löffel: „Sehr gut, da kommt ja die nächste Zutat.“ Ich sammelte seinen Sabber und rührte den Löffel immer wieder durch den Topf.

Ich spielte mit seinen Nippeln, massierte ihn noch etwas, dann nahm ich ihm den Käfig ab. Eine Erektion sprang mir entgegen.

„Du bist und bleibst ein kleines perverses Schwein. Ich kann mir noch so fiese Sachen überlegen, es macht dich dennoch geil. Aber warten wir mal ab.“ Ich ging zum Topf und spuckte hinein, was ich immer wieder machte, wenn ich etwas Speichel angesammelt hatte.

Nun holte ich zwei Zucchini hervor, machte es mir auf einen Stuhl bequem und fing an mich mit den Zucchini in meine Spalte zu ficken. Ich fickte mich, bis ich kam. Ich stöhnte und schrie, da es mich doch ziemlich Geil machte, so mit ihm zu spielen. Ich ließ sie noch einen Moment tief in mir dann zog ich sie raus, sie war von meinem Saft und Schleim bedeckt war.

Kleingeschnitten landete sie auch im Topf. Ich setzte die 2 Zucchini an meine Spalte und als mein Keuschling wieder gierige Augen bekam lachte ich, ließ sie auf den Boden fallen und zerquetschte sie mit meinen Schuhen.

Ich wischte alles mit einem Tuch auf und es landete komplett im Topf.

Wieder war ich bei meinem Keuschling: „Das hättest du gerne gesehen, wie ich mich auch noch mit der Zweiten so richtig schön ficke. Wie du dir vorstellst, dass es du es bist, der mich so fickt. Aber das wird nichts.

Ich holte einen Vibrator hervor und setzte mich mit einem Glas vor ihn, ich zog ihm die Vorhaut fest nach hinten und hielt den Vibrator an seine Eichel.

Nach wenigen Sekunden lief er aus. Ich achtete darauf, dass er keinen Orgasmus bekam und sein keuchen und stöhnen wurde immer gequälter, mit jedem weiteren ruinierten Orgasmus.

Als kein Saft mehr kam, spielte ich die Enttäuschte: „Na da war ja schon mehr drin, ich muss dich wohl länger keusch halten, wenn ich dich melken will.“

Aber ich war zufrieden und sein Saft landete im Kochtopf. Wieder sammelte ich seinen Speichel mit dem Löffel und gab es dazu.

Ich holte die Socken, Slip und Tuch aus dem Topf und ließ den Rest leicht weiter köcheln.

„Ich glaube da fehlt noch etwas Salz, oder was meinst du?“, damit nahm ich ein Glas und ließ meinen Natursekt hineinlaufen und gab es in die Suppe.

Nun fing ich an das Ganz zu passieren und es war ein richtig schöner flüssiger Brei.

„Dann lassen wir ihn mal abkühlen und solange werde ich mich um dich kümmern.“

Er hatte sich wieder umzudrehen und ich fing an ihm mit Paddle, Flogger, Rohrstock und Peitsche zu bearbeiten. Immer wieder wichste ich ihn bis kurz vor dem Orgasmus oder fickte ihn mit meinem Strap-on in den Arsch. Er war mittlerweile fern ab von Gut und Böse.

„Zu einem richtigen Hexentrank gehört halt auch die richtige Ektase.“, neckte ich ihn.

Ich selbst wurde auch immer feuchter zwischen den Beinen und irgendwann wollte ich einfach nur noch gefickt werden.

Er musste sich hinknien und ich fixierte seine Hände hinter seinem Rücken an seinen Knöcheln, dass er sich kaum bewegen konnte.

Ich wechselte den Ballknebel zu einem Knebel mit Trichter, schaute nach dem „Zaubertrank“. Der war nun kalt genug aber noch etwas fest, also pisste ich nochmals in den Topf, rührte alles um und schüttete es ihm in den Trichter und flüsterte ihm ins Ohr

„Wenn nur ein Tropfen daneben geht, wird das richtig hart für dich.“

Ich holte einen langen, dicken Dildo mit Saugnapf. Machte ihn am Schrank fest und schob ihn mir von hinten in meine nasse Fotze. Ich presste den Vibrator zwischen meine Beine und fickte mich hart, während ich zusah, wie er langsam den Trank schluckte.

Es machte mich so geil, dass ich laut schreiend zum Orgasmus kam, zweimal, dann dreimal. Ihm liefen die Tränen die Augen runter und ich sackte auf den Boden, musste mich aber noch ein weiteres Mal mit meinem Vibrator zum Orgasmus bringen, erst dann war ich so richtig befriedigt.

Nach einer Weile stand ich auf und sah, dass er artig den Trank geleert hatte. Ein paar Reste klebten noch in dem Trichter und ich stellte mich darüber und machte Anstalten nochmal da rein zu pinkeln. Er bekam große Augen, blieb aber artig sitzen.

Ich lachte: „Leider muss ich gerade nicht mehr.“

Ich öffnete Fesseln an seinen Händen und er musste zu seiner Enttäuschung den Käfig sofort wieder anlegen.

„Der Trank muss ja erstmal wirken und ich bin gerade mehr als befriedigt. Dein Pech. Vielleicht später.“

Damit durfte er die Küche aufräumen und putzen, ich war mit den zermatschten Zucchini nicht ganz so ordentlich gewesen. Und ich nutzte die Zeit und zog mir etwas Bequemes an.

Er kam zu mir und ich kuschelte mich an ihn und wir schauten Fern. Dabei bin ich dann eingeschlafen und für ihn war dann nichts mehr drin. Er durfte mich ins Bett tragen, meine Füße küssen und mich zudecken.

Da er so sicher nicht sofort einschlafen konnte, musste er gleich ganz auf der Couch schlafen, kann ja nicht mein Problem sein, wenn er seine Geilheit nicht im Griff hat.

[knomis4u]

** Still adding things 🤣*

~ Music AU ~

Now wishing for a fanfic where Harry travels back in time and becomes a classical magic musician, having learned music after the war to cope with the trauma. He meets Tom in some gala, and Tom wants Harry to play music for him.

Tom most likely will hear him play at the Malfoy mansion. At an exclusive event. Malfoy trying to help his lord establish himself more or what have you.

More on this, the music that Harry learns is a combination of healing music and entertainment. Wanting to help himself and others over what happened after the 2nd world war. Help to try to live again. He learns a variety of instruments. In the new time he keeps to himself and composes and teaches children. Not wanting to be involved in any politics or conflicts. So his performances are hard to book and very exclusive just for the sole purpose of raising money for his orphan kids.

He would teach orphan children, muggles, and magical children. Also, he would help fund the orphan kids. Give them the needs that some never got. Damn it, he would build a place for them a home. So no one ever experiences the feeling of not belonging like he did when he was forced to go back to the Dursleys every summer. Magical kids who are rejected or abandoned would have somewhere to go. He would use all the money he would earn on his music records, private sessions, ect, to make this happen.

Also, he would hire elves to help take care of his orphan kids.

This is getting away from me. Harry turns the elder wand into a bow for violin. Also, with the amount of magic he has, he can play more than one instrument at once.

Harry would have a violin that Draco made for him as a thank you for helping him with his trauma. And once Tom finds out that Violin comes from another man, he will burn it. 😌 Petty Tom.

Oh my god, what if he uses the resurrection stone to ask spirits to play music with him?! 🥺 I wonder if he can do that? Though Harry asking a bunch of different musician ghosts to come and play with him from different countries who go about insulting the other musician ghosts would be hilarious.

Also, Tom has to fight a bunch of magical little orphans for Harry's attention.

Also, Harry whistling modern songs amuses me.

The electric guitar was invented in 1931. The world of possibilities 😍

I'm not saying Harry won't be playing the One-Winged Angel Advent Children version, but the possibility is high.

Also, the song "Epistle" from Yoko Kanno would be a high possibility of the music he would play to those fancy pure bloods. All the soft music would be for the kids. 🥹

*Heavily inspired by all the background music of the Escaflowne soundtrack, plus a million other background songs 🤣*