#who’s name starts with H and ends with Arry | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

messers-moony · 3 years

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Hope 2 | R.L

Paring: Remus Lupin X Wife!Potter!Reader

Summary: Life is unfair in numerous ways but it seems like it’s out to get the Potters in every way shape and form.

The huge eight-foot man who introduced himself as Hagrid was bringing Harry around London. It was amusing to see Hagrid turn his cousin - Dudley - butt into a pigtail after trying to eat his birthday cake. It was the first birthday Y/n, and Remus hadn’t shown up. Harry didn’t blame them. Of course, to be fair, they didn’t know where Harry was.

“Um, excuse me, Hagrid?”

“Yes, ‘Arry?”

“Where- Where are we going?” Harry questioned hesitantly, and Hagrids lips curled into a smile, “‘Er gon’ meet with som’ of yer folks.” Hagrid answered.

Harry wanted to jump with joy, “Moony and Y/n?”

Hagrid nodded, and Harry smiled brightly. It took a couple of minutes and walking of a couple more blocks. But eventually, they were coming up on an old-looking building made of black stone bricks. In front of the door was a familiar sandy-haired male with green eyes. He was accompanied by his wife with h/c hair and gleaming e/c eyes.

“Y/n! Remus!”

Y/n turned to see her little nephew running up to hug her tightly, “Hey Harry.”

Remus ruffled his hair while Harry hugged his aunt, “Hey there, mini Prongs.”

“I missed you.”

“Awe, I missed you too, Harry.” Y/n replied, pulling apart from Harry, “I’m sorry we didn’t show up right away. But we’re here now. I hope that’s okay. We wouldn’t miss your birthday for the world, okay?”

He nodded, “I know. I can always count on you.”

“Good.” Remus stated, “Now c’mon mini prongs. Gotta get your school supplies.”

Walking into the Leaky Cauldron with Hagrid, they were greeted by multiple people. Many people were flabbergasted by meeting the famous Harry Potter and were welcoming to see Y/n Potter. In the back of the Leaky Cauldron, Hagrid tapped his wand against the brick wall, causing it to open into Diagon Alley. Harry’s mouth was agape at this new form of Magic.

It was astonishing. The narrow alleyway was packed with people. Clusters of them walking in groups. Some were carrying animals, or brown-wrapped items Harry could suppose were books. Y/n smiled and intertwined her hand with Remus’. She could remember the first time she stepped into Diagon Alley. James was acting like such a prat.

“Woah!” James gasped, “Look at all the cool stuff!”

Fleamont chuckled, “Yeah. Isn’t it cool, sweetheart?”

Y/n nodded, completely entranced in the stonework in the alleyway. It was littered with different shops, and the roads were an uneven stone. Euphemia and Fleamont shared a look of pure glee. Their children were magical born, and they were finally experiencing it first hand. Of course, they had their incidents where Y/n would make lights flicker or James blowing plates.

As they began walking, James began to run off, bumping into people left and right, “James! Get back here!” Fleamont scolded, but he was out of sight.

Euphemia sighed, “He’s gonna be a handful.”

“Definitely.” Fleamont agreed, running a hand through his dark brunet hair, “Perhaps he’ll be even worse than me.”

His wife glared at him. Despite James disappearing, they took Y/n into Flourish and Blotts to get their books. They needed books such as The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1), A History of Magic, Magical Theory, A Beginners’ Guide to Transfiguration, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, Magical Drafts and Potions, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and finally, The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection.

They didn’t find James until they reached Quality Quidditch Supplies. He was already eyeing the new broom on display. His mouth seemed to be salivating at it. Y/n rolled her eyes at James, drooling over a piece of wood. Euphemia chuckled and motioned Fleamont to reel him back in. It seemed that Euphemia would never get a break, and her heart would be in a constant attack of worry. They had a mischief Quidditch player on their hands.

“C’mon Harry,” Y/n beckoned, “Lots of stuff to get.”

His smile faltered just a tad, “But I don’t- I don’t have any money.”

Harry’s embarrassment made the tips of his ears red, “That ain’t true. ‘Course ye got money.” Hagrid replied bluntly, making Y/n nudge him harshly, “Hagrid!”

“What?” Hagrid queried, confused, “‘S not like ‘m lyin’.”

“Yes, but you don’t just say that.” Y/n scolded, laughing lightly.

“Oops?”

Harry looked up at his flustered aunt, “Come on, Harry. We’re going to Gringotts.”

They began walking to the bank of wizardry. The goblin at the front allowed them to the vault, where Harry was able to pocket a couple of handfuls of galleons, sickles, and knuts. Hagrid made a separate trip for Dumbledore as the other three waited patiently. When they exited Gringotts, Harry began to buy all his supplies.

Their first stop was getting him a wand at Ollivander’s. Harry pushed the door open, and it sounded a bell off, but no one appeared the be in the shop. Remus and Y/n stood behind him as he let out a hesitant, “Hello.”

It took a minute, but then an older male appeared with hair as white as snow and wispy as whiskers. Ollivander smiled brightly at the familiar people in his shop and at the little boy who resembled the older female greatly.

“Ah, Y/n Potter.” Ollivander said, “James broken his wand again?”

Y/n released a shaky breath, “No, not this time.”

“We’re here actually for Harry here.” Remus motioned to Harry, “He’s getting his first wand. He starts at Hogwarts this year.”

Ollivander's lips quirked, “He yours?”

“No, sir.” Y/n shook her head, “He’s James and Lily’s son.”

“Where are they? I’d love to see them, you know.”

Remus shifted awkwardly, “You haven’t heard?”

Ollivander shook his head, “My parents are dead.” Harry informed, “Someone killed them.”

Everything clicked into place in Ollivanders mind. How stupid could old age make him? He had just sounded terribly insensitive, “‘M so sorry. Pardon me and my old age. I didn’t mean-“

“It’s perfectly fine, Ollivander.” Y/n smiled reassuringly.

The older man smiled and began giving Harry wands. The first one was horrid. It made wands on the shelf fall onto the ground, making a vast clatter noise. The boy smiled sheepishly and placed it back in the box. The next wand caused a shatter of a vase which Harry cringed at. It took a couple of minutes until Ollivander came out with the following wand. It was 11 inches long, made of holly, and possessed a phoenix feather core.

Harry waved the wand, and nothing disastrous happened. Remus and Y/n smiled with joy. Ollivander charged him seven galleons for it, and Harry placed down the golden coins with glee. Ollivander could remember the way James had done the same while Y/n beside him. Their identical toothy grins as Fleamont paid the man.

“My wands cooler than yours!”

“No way!”

James nodded in triumph, “You’re just lame.”

“And you’re boring!”

“No way!” James gasped, “I am far from boring!”

Y/n crossed her arms, “And I’m not lame.”

Euphemia chuckled, redirecting her children to look at the counter while the two parents stood behind them, “Ignore them. They like to try and be better than the other.”

Ollivander grinned, “Ah, siblings. What amazing pairs they make.”

Fleamont scoffed, “Yeah, try having two at the same time. Felt like the crucio curse.”

“What do you say?” Euphemia beckoned, and both twins turned to Ollivander, smiling gleefully, “Thank you!”

“They’ll be a handful.” Ollivander informed Euphemia and Fleamont, “But they’ll change the world, and they’ll do it together.”

The older man smiled at Remus and Y/n as Harry went outside to see Hagrid carrying a giant golden cage with a beautiful snowy owl inside, “That boy is something else.”

Remus chuckled, “We know. Little mischief-maker, just like James.”

“Perhaps he is,” Ollivander replied, “But he’ll change the world.”

The rest of the day went by blissfully. After getting all his school supplies, they retreated into the Leaky Cauldron to eat dinner. The tavern was practically empty as they sat at a long narrow table. Hagrid at the head, Harry to his left, Remus across, and Y/n beside Remus on the other side. They were eating in silence before Harry spoke up.

“What happened to my parents?” Harry questioned, and before anyone could answer, he continued, “Truthfully. No lies.”

Hagrid and Remus turned to the female at the table who swallowed thickly, “Something horrid, Harry.”

“How horrid?”

“Harry-“ Remus began.

“A death I wouldn’t wish upon anyone, even my worse enemy.” Y/n answered, staring at the soup in front of her, “The way they died doesn’t matter.”

Harry crossed his arms, “I believe it does.”

“In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t.” Y/n replied, taking deep breaths in and out, trying to stay calm, “It doesn’t matter how they died. They’re dead, and they aren’t coming back.”

Tears collected in her eyes when she muttered, “No matter how badly I want them to.”

Hastily Y/n wiped her face and placed her napkin on the table. She sniffled before standing and pushing her chair in. Y/n leaned down to kiss Harry on the forehead before retreating to the room they got upstairs. Harry sighed and stared at his bowl of soup that remained steaming hot. Remus rubbed his face with his palms.

“Harry,” Remus called, and Harry’s green eyes met similar ones, “Your parents died at the hands of a very evil Wizard. He went as dark as one could go.”

Harry looked intrigued, and Remus continued despite his throat beginning to constrict, “His name was Voldemort, but most people call him ‘You-Know-Who.”

Hagrid flinched at the actual name being said, “James risked everything to try and save you and your mother. When he died, Lily tried to save you. In the end, it all worked out because you were saved. You didn’t die like you were supposed to.”

“Why did aunt Y/n leave the table?”

“Talking about this is still hard for her.” Remus replied, and Harry could see the tears in his eyes too, “It’s hard for me too, but- but you need to know.”

“What were they to you?”

“James and Lily were everything to me, Harry. Everything and so much more. Your mother saw the good in people when they didn’t see it themselves. Your father? Well-“ He chuckled, “He was a trip and a prat. But he cared for those around him. Treated me like family and took care of me like a brother.”

Harry fiddled with the sleeve of his sweater, “James was a mischief-maker that one.” Hagrid said, “Always up to no good.”

“Him and that Sirius boy.” Hagrid chuckled, “Dynamic duo those two.”

Remus let out a tearful chuckle, “Yeah, that was Padfoot and Prongs.”

“Always up to no good.” Remus whispered.

The following day Remus had waken up to what he swore was the most perfect sight. Y/n was still sleeping beside him. Her head was nestled under his chin, drinking in his body heat. Her hair was laid against the fluffy white pillow. Their legs were intertwined together. Gently Remus kissed her forehead before seeing the clock read about nine o’clock.

Remus took five more minutes to admire her before waking her up. He began to kiss all over her face, and Y/n scrunched her nose, waking up as his lips kept attaching to a new place on her face. He smiled as she opened her eyes to meet his green ones.

“Mornin’ love.”

His Welsh accent was to die for, “Morning, Rem.”

“You ready to take Harry to Platform Nine and Three Quarters?”

Y/n shook her head, “No. Not really.”

“Hey,” Remus said softly, stroking her hair, “You’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

“There are so many memories there, Rem.” Y/n replied, “Like- Like meeting Sirius for the first time.”

“Or seeing you come back after fourth year with an entirely new style.” Remus chuckled, “Or- Or seeing James almost fall out of the train.

Remus caressed her cheek with his thumb, “We’ll make it through, love. Harry needs us today.”

“Yeah.” She replied breathily, “He does.”

They both ventured out of bed into the cool air of London. Remus, Y/n, and Hagrid walked Harry to Kings Cross. When they arrived, Hagrid had departed from them to do something for Dumbledore. Harry was bluntly confused when his ticket read Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Last he checked, that wasn’t a platform.

As they reached the main floor of the train station, Remus and Y/n recognized the Weasleys almost instantly. Molly had embraced them tightly as they all went through the platform. Harry gave his trunks to the man at the end of the train and turned to the only family he had left. His eyes glistened with tears, and he tried to hold them back but failed.

“Harry,” Y/n knelt to his level, “You’re gonna be okay. I promise. James and I made lots of friends at Hogwarts.”

He smiled at the mention of his father, “Do you think… Do you think he’d be proud of me?”

“They’d be beyond proud, Harry.” Remus replied, smiling, “You’re everything they wanted you to be.”

Harry turned back to Y/n and hugged her tightly, “Please make sure you write to us.”

“‘Course, Auntie.” Harry replied as they pulled apart, “Love you guys.”

Y/n stood beside Remus, “We love you too, sweetheart.”

Harry smiled and wiped his cheeks before hopping on the train. He found a compartment alone and watched out the window as the train began moving. Y/n and Remus watched as the train hauled by. Kids who started waving their last goodbyes to their parents.

“Mum, dad!” James exclaimed from inside the compartment, “We love you!”

Euphemia and Fleamont chuckled tearfully, “We love you guys too!”

Truthfully James never wanted to leave his parents. They were his entire world. When Kings Cross was no longer in sight, he plopped down in the seat beside Y/n, who put her head on his shoulder. His left arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her tightly to his side.

“We got this, sis.” James assured, “We always have each other.”

It didn’t take long for Harry to get in trouble. As a matter of fact, it made Y/n laugh that within the first month, he had already managed a detention. She had settled for a letter rather than a Howler. Remus had made sure to tell him his fair of scolding words (“Say hi to Minnie for me!”). Harry smiled when the letter arrived in the morning.

Harry definitely made sure to say hi to “Minnie,” which made McGonagall smile like an idiot despite her usual strict nature. She could see and hear James saying the name when she gave them detention or Sirius’ pouty face begging her to have some form of mercy on them, for they had just turned the Slytherin robes red. Ever the dramatics that Black.

When he arrived back at the Platform, he nuzzled into Y/n and Remus’ arms before departing to the Dursleys. But all was good because in just a month he’d see them again for his birthday, which he did. They took him to Diagon Alley to get his second-year stuff along with some ice cream to celebrate his twelfth birthday.

He spent a week of his summer with them in their little house in London. It was far better than Privet Drive, and he felt a lot safer. But after the week was up, he was forced to return to the Dursleys. Within a week of being back, he’d managed to screw everything up. A thing named Dobby had quite literally dumped puddling all over one of the Dursley’s guests, and that got him trapped in his room.

Thankfully, Ronald Weasley, who had become his close friend, had saved him. Harry went to the Burrow for the first time and met everyone else. Molly had notified Remus and Y/n of his entrance. Sadly, they couldn’t make it to the Platform for reasons. Molly wouldn’t tell Harry, but he was okay with it.

Until Ron and he smashed into the brick wall, making them late for the train. It was then Ron had a brilliant thought of taking the flying car to Hogwarts. It did work until they got stuck in the Whomping Willow and then got caught by Severus Snape. A letter was sent home to Y/n and Molly. Both of which made two very different Howlers to their children.

Molly’s howler was scolding them, and it made Ron’s ears turn pink. Y/n and Remus’ howler was a different story. The moment it opened, laughter rang through the Great Hall. Familiar laughter of Remus and Y/n. It made McGonagall furious and happy at the same time.

“Merlin Harry!” Remus’ voice rang out, “You’re brilliant, aren’t you!”

“Remus, we’re supposed to be scolding him!” Y/n retorted jokingly, “I’m scolding myself for never thinking of it!” Remus replied.

Y/n chuckled, “Obviously, you shouldn't have done that, Harry; however, as long as you’re not harmed, we aren’t mad. Just be more careful next time.”

Remus was still dying of laughter, “Remus is still dying of laughter. We love you, Harry. Stay safe.”

Ron looked appalled with the coolness of the howler, “Bloody hell, you have a cool family.”

“They’re pretty cool.” Harry shrugged, smiling.

Y/n and Remus would be lying if the whole petrifying thing didn’t scare them. They were worried for Harry’s safety but weren’t surprised when Harry ended up saving them all like last year. When they were on the Platform, Remus began getting on the train with him after kissing Y/n goodbye.

He was grunting and groaning at every movement. The bags beneath his eyes looked more prominent than usual. Remus moved sluggishly, which was very unlike him. But Harry didn’t question it until he began to get on the train at Harry’s side.

“Uncle Moony?”

“Yes, Harry?” Remus replied after sitting in a compartment, his cloak covering most of his body.

“Why’re you on the train?”

He chuckled, “I’m your new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.”

Harry smiled, and Remus fell into a dreamless sleep after a rough full moon the night prior. Hermione and Ron joined them not too long after as Harry began telling them about Sirius Black. The year went by as eventful as usual. Harry found out the accurate way his parents died along with Remus and Y/n. Peter Pettigrew being the culprit and then leaving before someone could catch him.

Afterward, Sirius had been staying in the guest bedroom at Y/n and Remus’. He didn’t want to go back to Grimmauld Place. That was the last place he wanted to go. So despite not wanting to be a burden, he took the position that Y/n offered him. Ever so kind, just like James. When he walked through those doors, Y/n had hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek.

“It’s good to have you back, older brother.”

Sirius could’ve cried on the spot, “It’s nice to see you again, little sis.”

The next couple of years were a trip. Fourth-year Harry had managed to get his name pulled out of the Goblet of Fire, leading to a new adventure of challenges. After finishing his fourth year, Cedric Diggory had died, marking the return of Voldemort, which had traumatized Harry in more than one way. That summer, he decided to stay with Y/n, Remus, and Sirius. They were all fantastic help throughout the entire thing. Through his nightmares, Y/n would make him hot chocolate and sit on the couch with him as he talked.

Fifth-year was dreadful. Delores Umbridge had come into the office as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, and the Order of the Phoenix reformed. Her detentions were terrible and horrid, especially for the first years. They were just kids, for Merlin’s sake. It made Y/n fume when she saw the back of Harry’s hand. The night they ventured to the Department of Mysteries was almost the worst night Harry could have dreamed of.

Sirius had almost died if Y/n wasn’t as quick as she was. Bellatrix was stunned to see her spell deflected but kept firing nonetheless. When they got home, it was silent. Remus had made tea for himself and Sirius while making hot chocolate for the other two. Harry had laid his head on Y/n’s shoulder and fallen asleep.

Truth be told, sixth year wasn’t any better. Dumbledore had died, and Harry was left to find the rest of the Horcruxes. It was then Sirius learned the actual death of his brother, making him mourn him all over again. Seventh year Harry, Ron, and Hermione ventured out to find the rest of them.

When Harry returned to Hogwarts through the passageway to the Room of Requirement with Snape as headmaster, the war had officially started. In the end, everything had fallen into place. When Harry used the resurrection stone, he saw them. He saw James, Lily, Remus, and Sirius. Harry almost wanted to laugh at seeing them all together. They looked so happy.

“Where- Where’s Y/n?”

Remus gave a solemn smile, “She made it. She’s still out there. Waiting for you.”

“Does that mean…”

“Turns out my sister is a tougher cookie than I thought.” James stated, and Harry turned to him, “She misses you.”

James chuckled, “As I do her.”

Harry turned back to Remus, “Does she know?”

“She was there when it happened.” Remus replied, “I had to give her one last ‘I love you’ and kiss goodbye, right?”

A noise rumbled from a distance, “It’s time, sweetie.” Lily stated.

Harry released a shaky breath before dropping the stone on the ground. He had to do this for Y/n, for Ron, for Hermione, for everyone. He was ready. When he stepped in front of Voldemort to die, all he could think about was his Aunt's eyes. The way they glittered with tears when she let him go for the first time. The way they creased when she smiled at his first Christmas. The way they gleamed with mischief when she gave the Weasley twins new prank material.

His last words would be ones he’d never regret, “Thank you, aunt Y/n, for everything.”

Because through everything, she was the only constant. She was the only one to hold him through anything. Through every nightmare, every battle, every tear, every smile. She was there with her radiant smile and caring nature.

When Harry defeated Voldemort, the world stopped. It was done. It was over. But the pain wasn’t gone. The trauma wasn’t bypassed. This was more than a war. Harry walked into the Great Hall to see crying parents, kids, and siblings mourning their dead loved ones. His eyes zoomed on Y/n sitting crisscross beside her husband, holding his hand tightly.

Wordlessly Harry sat beside her and leaned his head against her shoulder. Y/n tilted her head onto his. No tears fell from her eyes despite everything she had gone through, two wars, friends dead, parents dead, brother dead, and now husband dead.

“His last words were- they were,” She choked, and Harry rubbed her shoulder, “I love you more than Moony loves the moon.”

Harry smiled, “Dad said you were a tough cookie.”

Y/n chuckled, and Harry relished in the sound, “He said that if anyone could get through this, it’s you.”

“Damn it, James.” She said to no one, still holding Remus’ hand.

“We’ll get through this.” Harry said, “And we’ll do it together.”

“Together.”

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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years

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“I know you, Harry Styles”

Summary: Your boss asks you to quarantine at his house to watch over the place and his dog. He then calls you let you know a friend of his has gotten stuck in Los Angeles and needs a place to stay, so he has offered his friend the home that you are also going to be staying at. His friend is Harry Styles. Harry and you get to know each other while you both navigate through this uncertain time.

I’ve had this idea for awhile and im sorry if it’s a little late now, since strict quarantine has ended (lowkey might be coming back since california has been getting bad again), but still i really liked this and wanted to write it. Also look at how cute this sidelook from Harry is in this gif ^^ :) his nose is so slopey

It hasn’t been the easiest write so no worries if y’all hate it. I might do a part 2, but def no part 3 this time, unless it gets easier to write.

Word Count: 4.5k | Warnings: mentions of quarantine and Coronavirus (pls take care if the situation is triggering to you), language, drinking

Enjoy! (Feedback appreciated as always)

You weren’t sure what to say, you didn’t want to break that bliss of him not knowing you knew. “I,” you took a sip of wine, trying to gather a bit more courage, you then laugh meekly, “I, uh, know what you do.”

“Damn…” he said. Harry also took a sip of wine, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed the gulp. “I was still debating whether I’d say that I was a musician or an accountant, y’know, something random.” You smiled, Harry was funny, you decided.

“You’d lie to me?” you said, a hint of flirtation behind your words.

“Oh no, never.”

You were living in Los Angeles when the Coronavirus outbreak first arrived in the United States and California went into quarantine. You lived in a pretty small apartment in Silver Lake and you weren’t excited to be cooped in there, alone for at least the two weeks they had just announced. The governor issued that everything would be shut down by morning and you had to admit you were a little stressed. Just as you were about to walk into your apartment and lock the door, ready to shelter in, your boss and friend of yours called.

“Hey Y/N,” David said quickly over the phone, “You know how I’ve just left for England two days ago and I’m already here. Well, since I’m not a U.S. citizen, I can’t come back. Which is fine, but I was just wondering if you’d mind quarantining at my house and just watching over it? Until I can get back?”

You sighed, “Oh my god, David. I’m so sorry.” “The U.S. announced their border closure so strangely, I couldn’t have known...But it’s fine, really, I’m actually kind of happy to be home.” You nodded as if he could see you.

“So do you think you can do it? I’ve been having my neighbor check in on my dog, daily, but I’d prefer a friend to be at the house with him right now.”

“Oh! Yeah of course, I’ll pack a bag and head over right now. I’m honestly relieved you’ve given me this offer. You’re house is fucking huge and my apartment is tiny.” David chuckled at your slow response but happy tone.

You were right, David did have a nice house. His place was up in the Los Angeles Hills, a place he’d inherited from a wealthy grandparent. It was definitely going to be an upgrade for quarantine. David’s place would make it easier to be alone because of his cute little dog around, a swimming pool, a beautiful kitchen, literally anything you could have asked for. You drove up the long driveway, to the rustic house, David refused to call a classic 70’s mansion as much as you insisted upon it.

“Guess it doesn’t matter what I call it now, huh.” You said to no one. You pulled out your spare key, David had given to you for emergencies when you had started working directly under him. You opened the door and stepped inside to the empty mansion. Checkers, David’s dog came running up to you, pawing your legs and howling his tiny voice at your arrival. You smiled, setting down your bags and grabbing Checkers from the ground. “Hi, baby!” You swung him around and he licked your face adoringly. You ruffled his fur and then placed him back on the ground, he wasn’t more than eleven pounds.

Then you went to find your bedroom. You heard your footsteps echoing throughout the empty house and it definitely felt weird. Being alone, in this big house. You wondered why you had to keep convincing yourself it was so great. Then your phone rang for the second time today. David again. You threw your bags at the foot of the guest bed and walked back through the house to the main room adjoined to the kitchen, near the front door.

“Hello?”

“Ah, Y/N, thanks for picking up! And thank you for agreeing to watch the house -”

“Yeah, of course, I’m just settling in.”

“That’s great! But, I hope you don’t mind, a friend of mine has similar luck to me. He was just supposed to be in Los Angeles for a couple days, but he’s gotten stranded there and has nowhere else to go. He’s a good friend of mine and the house is most definitely big enough for two…” He trailed off, slightly anxious to put you out, when you had already been generous enough to leave the comfort of your own place during this stressful time. “So, I told him he could stay at mine, if he didn’t mind living with a stranger.”

“I’m the stranger?” You asked, slightly confused from what David was saying.

“Yeah, yeah I mean, I told him you were a friend and that you worked with me, obviously.” You laughed with some relief, “Ok, I’ve got you. That’s fine, more than fine, he’s got nowhere to go, it’d be rude of me to say no to him joining me in this mansion,” You got a little excited and emphasized the mansion.

David groaned, but finished, “Well, great! Because I’m pretty sure he’s already on his way. Bye!” The line went dead.

You wouldn’t say you were unhappy that you were going to be sharing the house. The loneliness of the empty house had grown daunting the minute you heard your footsteps. But you realized David hadn’t even given you the name of the man you were going to be living with for supposedly the next two weeks. As well, what if you and the man didn’t get along and were at each other’s throats for two weeks.

You shook the thoughts from your mind, trying not to make any presumptions. Then, you began to put away the groceries you had brought with you from your apartment and refilled Checkers’ water bowl.

Maybe twenty minutes after your phone call with David, informing you of your quarantine housemate, the doorbell rang and you jogged lazily to the foyer with the grand front door.

In front of you stood, a man with mop of dark brown hair on his head, some large green eyes, a nice outfit, and an array of tattoos peeking out from under different parts of his clothing. Wait- you thought - this isn’t some random tall, good-looking white guy. And then it dawned on you. David would be close friends with Harry Styles. This is so typical of that man. And for him to never tell you that before. That is especially David, trying to keep this guy all to himself.

“Hi, I’m David’s friend, he said he’d call ahead and let you know, I’m ‘Arry,” he rested one of his bags on the ground and reached out to shake your hand. You blinked your eyes, still a little surprised at who your roommate was going to be, but determined to be chill about it. You then reached out your hand to meet his. You took note of the largeness of his hands and how soft they were. His hand slid perfectly in yours and his eyes intensely gazed at you in the hallway.

“Yeah, he called, I’m Y/N.” You released his hand after realizing you still had hold of it, just a touch too long. You stepped aside to let Harry bring his things into the house. “Do you need any help with your bags?” You asked quickly, not wanting to seem rude. Harry turned to you as he had just stepped into the house and was exactly beside you, he quirked his head, “Oh no, I’m alright, no need to worry about me.”

“Okay,” you simply responded and walked back into the kitchen. You had left your phone in there and still had some things to organize, David didn’t keep his house as clean or organized as you liked it. You always set to work around his house whenever you came by, no matter his protests. Music was playing from your phone over the bluetooth speakers David had in the house, a mix of random songs for the month that you had compiled a couple weeks ago. It was a mix of your favorite artists: oldies and some newer stuff. You turned it up as you got to work.

Your music played loud enough that you didn’t hear Harry walk into the kitchen. “Hey,” he said. Startled, you flipped yourself to face him, discarding the box of cereal you were moving to be with the other cereals.

“What’s up?”

“I know we don’t know each other,” Harry started. You weren’t exactly sure where he was going with this. “And I’m fine if you don’t want to really interact, but I was actually kind of excited to find out that I wasn’t going to have to be all alone in this house for two weeks.”

Your lips quirked up in about a half smile as a soft chuckle came out. You rested back on the countertop behind you, feeling more relaxed at the rest of Harry’s statement. Harry stared at your figure still taking in the stranger in front of him. You seemed fairly laid back and he liked the music he heard from the speakers, assuming it was your selection.

“Oh. Yeah,” you began, scratching your head, “I know, I was excited to not have to be in my apartment, but then when I got here I got lowkey scared of being here with just myself and Checkers.”

“Wait, Checkers is here?” Harry’s mood and tone immediately picked up, looking excitedly around for the little dog. “I think he’s outside,” you said, crossing to one of the many back doors. You called for David’s dog, you and Harry’s third roommate, and he came leaping through the door.

He ran to Harry and Harry knelt to grab the dog and pick him back up. He twirled Checkers around over his head and kept repeating “Who’s a good boy” before placing the dog on one of the couches. On the couch, Harry playfully flipped the dog on his back and scratched his belly. Checkers wiggled and opened his mouth trying to nip playfully at Harry. Harry in turn put his head right near Checkers’ and shook his own fluffy hair in the dog’s face. Checkers went wild, loving the attention he was receiving.

After a bit, Harry let Checkers go and stood up, you had been watching on amusedly, “God, I love this dog, so fucking cute,” he said. You were surprised Harry knew David well enough to know his dog, but you dismissed it. Then, you laughed and agreed with him.

“Well, do you want to get to know each other over dinner tonight?” Harry inquired as you walked back into the kitchen, still trying to finish your self-given task of cleaning it up. “Sure, why not?”

It was the dinner time you and Harry had agreed upon. You had showered and unpacked over the past few hours. Harry, from what you knew, had done the same. You two hadn’t talked much more since he had suggested the dinner. The guest room he had chosen was on the second floor, like yours, just down the hall. After checking the time on your phone, you left your room and went downstairs. You found Harry on the couch with Checkers, reading a book. You tapped his shoulder from behind the couch and he turned his head to look up at you. “We said 7, right?” He snapped his book shut after raising her brows, coming out of a reading trance. “Oh, yeah,” he responded, rising from his seat and heading to the kitchen. You followed after him, “So what do you want to eat. I brought some groceries with me so we could cook something or there’s always take out.”

Harry opened the fridge, “Let’s make something, yeah?” He leaned back from the inside of the fridge and threw a smile to you over his shoulder. He was very confident and charismatic in person you had noticed just from the few odd moments you had spent with him already. You liked his music and felt like you should tell him you knew who he was, but you also liked the feeling you got that you were just two normal people living together for a little.

“Alright,” you began, walking to his side to look into the fridge as well, “Any requests, Harry?”

You looked up at his face, he was quite tall, taller than you had really thought. He was a really big figure up close, slightly intimidating if you were being honest. He simply demanded attention just with his presence, something strong emanating from him. You could see that strength in the lines of his jaw, lined in stubble, his green eyes set deeper in his head, the sinews in his neck. In every part of his body, there was strength, yet he spoke with a kindness about him. You were extremely interested in getting to know more about him, for this very reason. How could such a big, intimidating man in size and presence be known for being so kindhearted and in touch with himself and the world? What was his secret?

Harry simply began to remove various items from the fridge, placing them down on the island behind the two of you. He only said in response to your previous question, “Like Mexican?” You nodded and laughed, you’d grown up on Mexican food.

“I was thinking fajitas would be good, what do you think?”

“Yeah, absolutely, how can I help?”

Harry grinned at your attitude, he could tell you were the really fun, easy-going type of person. He was glad you weren’t being weird with him, even if he was a stranger. He finished taking the ingredients from the fridge and then gave you instructions on what he needed help with. The two of you set to work, this time it was Harry’s music playing over the speakers.

You sat at the dining table in the next room over from the kitchen and seating area. Harry had told you to go ahead as he finished your plates of food. Moments later, he walked into the room holding the plates. “Ta-da!” He exclaimed while presenting the two plates of food, that looked admittedly, very tasty.

He had changed his outfit from earlier and you were just now noticing. Earlier, it had been a striped dress shirt that he had dressed down with rolled up sleeves and half of the buttons undone, revealing a nice string of pearls, with navy high waisted trousers that cinched at his slender waist. Now, he was in a simple purple knit sweater and brown corduroy flares, still wearing the pearls around his neck. Neither of you were wearing shoes, both wearing only socks. And while Harry might consider that to be a more casual outfit, you were in leggings and a hoodie with a sun on it that you had thrifted awhile ago.

He sat down across from you after placing one plate on the placemat in front of you. The dining table was huge, meant for dinner parties and entertaining, not a traveler and a young employee. You took a bite and hummed in appreciation, but then said, “Wait.”

Harry stopped eating and looked at you, concerned there was something wrong with his cooking. “Red wine,” you stated. Harry’s worried face grew into a grin. “Red wine,” he echoed in agreement and nodded his head. You hopped up from your seat and ran into the kitchen, looking for the cabinet David kept his wine in.

After finding a reasonable Malbec, a favorite red of yours, you grabbed an opener, two glasses, and went back into the dining room where the munching Harry awaited. He was happily chewing his food as he gazed at you as you placed the glasses between your plates, uncorked the bottle with ease, and grabbed the glasses once more to pour the wine.

Finally, you sat down and said, “To whatever the fuck we are about to get ourselves into.” Harry laughed and offered a “Salud” in response. The two of your glasses clinked and you both drank, afterwards setting off to eat your food.

As you ate, you began to talk. Harry started, “So, you work with David?” while taking his fork and stabbing at a cooked bell pepper slice. You finished chewing, “Ah, yeah, he’s my boss. But we work pretty closely, I’m kind of like a personal assistant, but I do more than just his scheduling and errands.” Harry nods.

“Oh no, never. I would’ve definitely just told you who I was if you didn’t know, but it’s nice to pretend for a little.” He grinned as he said the words, his elbow resting on the table with his wine glass in hand. You ate some more, letting his words linger in the air. It’s nice to pretend for a little.

“Well,” you finally said, “I won’t give you any special treatment, if that’s what you’re implying. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a guy staying at the same house as me. Doesn’t matter to me what you do to pay your bills.”

Harry liked that. You were very intriguing, the way you spoke to him. Especially now that he was sure that you knew about his music and celebrity. “You make it sound like I’m a sex worker or something naughty!” he said, feeling more comfortable with you with the more time that passed and the more wine he had.

“It’s kind of the same thing...providing a service - that your body is an essential part of providing it properly.” You stated smugly, looking over at Harry from behind the rim of your glass. “And there’s nothing wrong with sex workers,” you added.

“You’re right,” he stopped, wanting to continue the conversation, but confused how to move on from sex workers. “So what do you think of my music?”

“I thought you wanted to be treated like you weren’t a celebrity,” you countered.

“That’s out the window, c’mon,” he said, leaning forward.

“You just want me to boost your ego,” you smirked, liking the banter that was coming so easily between you two, “Like I said, I know you, Harry Styles.”

He scoffed at your teasing and rolled his eyes. He wasn’t actually annoyed, he was enjoying this. “Then you’re a fan, huh?” Not letting it go without you saying how you felt about his music.

“Fine,” you sang slightly, shifting in your seat. “Your music,” you paused again, enjoying Harry eager to hear your opinion and you being in control, “is better than a lot of other modern stuff considered good by today’s standards.”

“So you like it?” He said slowly. That was probably the most roundabout, vague compliment he had ever heard. He picked at his almost empty plate, still staring at you.

You tilted your head and placed it on your palm, looking to the sky as if you were thinking about his question hard. Finally, you shifted your head in your palm so you were looking at Harry wearily. Then you shut one eye and said, “I guess,” before shrugging your shoulders as if you didn’t care at all. Harry let a single blow of air out of his nose, like a short laugh, before standing and taking both of your plates. As he walked out of the room he whistled lowly, “You are such a tease, Y/N.”

He disappeared into the kitchen and you heard him cleaning up. You were about to call out to him and say how he didn’t have to do the cleaning since he did the majority of the cooking, but then your eyes fell to the half drunk bottle of wine. Normally, you’d re-cork it and drink the rest at a later date, but it was still early in the evening and you and Harry literally had nowhere to go. Also, the two of you hadn’t gotten past the work question of getting to know you. There was still a bit more to learn about each other and you were happy to continue to discuss over wine.

Harry reemerged from the kitchen and you held up the wine bottle to him and waved it, “We need to finish this.”

“Have I told you yet that I like the way you think?” Harry walked over and grabbed the bottle from your hand. He quickly poured both your glasses much fuller than the usual standard glass of wine. When you eyed him curiously about the heavy pour, he only shrugged practically saying it’s just us drinking it who cares if we fill up our glasses extra full.

“No you haven’t, but I like the way I think too! I’m very smart you know,” you said with some play in your voice as you walked through a doorway that led to the sitting room. Harry trailed behind, bringing the now less than full bottle with him. You both sat yourselves on the couch, a fair amount of space between the two of you, not too close, but not too far apart either.

You both took long gulps of the wine. You were starting to feel a little warm from it, but you enjoyed where the wine was taking your conversation so you weren’t planning on stopping. Harry’s big green eyes squinted slightly at you from behind his wine glass, similar to how you had done earlier. He lowered it and licked his lips. There was definite tension between the two of you right now. Maybe you both had realized the implications of being alone with a stranger for two weeks with no interruptions and no distractions. Whatever it was, it was intoxicating because all you wanted to do was keep teasing Harry and have him keep baiting you.

Harry asked a question suddenly, breaking the silent staring that had been going on. And the tension was broken the two of you continuing your getting to know you for the rest of the night. By eleven, the bottle was empty and forgotten on the coffee table and you and Harry had scooted closer. You had similar likes and dislikes when it came to music. You talked about fashion and what it was like to get to wear top designers all the time - Harry being the wearer, not you sadly. You asked him what it was like to tour and he asked you more about your job and living in Los Angeles, how it was to not walk around the place and be bombarded with people. Then, you circled back to travel.

“I’ve been lucky enough to travel a lot in my life, too. I traveled with my family as a kid and I made sure my job would have me traveling around, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” Harry took the last sip of his wine and set the glass down, readjusting himself to lean on his arm on the couch, looking at you.

“Was supposed to be with David in England, actually, but I got held up and was going to join him next week,” you mused, finishing your wine as well and leaning your body so your back was fully against the back cushion.

“No way, I was supposed to leave next week, too. Who knows, maybe we would have been on the same plane and crossed paths like that without even knowing,” Harry said excitedly.

You rolled your head to the right and looked at his face, how it had lit up at that unlikely prospect. “You probably wouldn’t have known, but I’m sure I would’ve been able to tell, probably have a whole crowd of fans there waiting for you, end up having to delay the plane for ya’. And I’d be sitting there like ‘which famous prick is holding us up?”

“Oi!” he swatted at your leg closest to him, “Has anyone told you you’re a bit mean.”

You raised your brows at his physical contact and his words. You shifted to your side again and slid your legs beneath you, looking directly at Harry. “Yes,” you said seriously.

Harry laughed at that. At least you were honest, and you were funny, too. You joined his laughter, it felt contagious, the way his voice was so loud, but so jovial. His eyes managed to twinkle even as he squinted, his smile taking over his entire face.

Without either of you noticing, the two of you had shifted extremely close to one another. You finally realized because you felt Harry’s breath fanning over your face. His breath smelled of Malbec, but his over scent mixed with it and turned it into something enticing. You wanted to lean in more, but the only place further to go was his lips.

Harry’s eyes flickered to meet yours, confused yet delighted about the situation he had somehow gotten himself in. The two of you breathing in each other, chests heaving from laughter, hearts beating from wine, and bodies ready to ignite the minute they touched. You remained there for a few moments more, basking in his glow.

And then you whispered, “I should go to bed.” You pulled away and retreated upstairs to your room. Harry was left there, sitting stunned at the whole situation. How had that happened? And what had you just stopped from happening? You were thinking the very same things as you sat down on your bed and calmed your breathing.

This was going to be a long two weeks.

Part 2

taglist: @cronias13, @theresthingsthatwellneverknow, @harrys-cherrry,

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfic #my writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles is domestic #harry styles slow burn #i hate this title #first long fic with no quote #nothing was strong enough #jk i had to change it #i couldnt handle it with out #enjoy

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twoidiotwriters1 · 4 years

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Written In The Stars CV (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I’m so lost idk in which day of the week I’m living and the posting schedule for this thing is a mess in wattpad and Ao3 h e l p -Danny

Words: 5,117

Series’ Masterlist

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Listen to: ‘I Wanna Get Better’ -By Bleachers

Chapter Three: The Order of the Phoenix.

"Hold it!" Ron stopped them before they could continue their walk towards the kitchen. "They're still in the hall, we might be able to hear something —"

The gloomy hallway below was packed with witches and wizards, including all of Harry's guard. They were whispering excitedly together. In the very centre of the group, Harry saw the dark, greasy-haired head and prominent nose of his least favourite teacher at Hogwarts, Professor Snape. Harry leaned farther over the bannisters. He was very interested in what Snape was doing for the Order of the Phoenix...

A thin piece of flesh-coloured string descended in front of Harry's eyes. Looking up he saw Fred and George on the landing above, cautiously lowering the Extendable Ear toward the dark knot of people below. A moment later, however, they began to move toward the front door and out of sight.

"Dammit," Harry heard Fred whisper, as he hoisted the Extendable Ear back up again.

They heard the front door open and then close.

"Snape never eats here... Thank God. C'mon."

"And don't forget to keep your voice down in the hall, Harry," Hermione whispered.

"We're eating down in the kitchen," Mrs Weasley told them in a hushed voice. "Harry, dear, if you'll just tiptoe across the hall, it's through this door here —"

CRASH.

"Tonks!"

"I'm sorry! It's that stupid umbrella stand, that's the second time I've tripped over —"

"Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers —"

"Ah yes, that's the evening bell to announce dinner," Mel said with an ironic smile.

"Shut up, you horrible old hag, shut up!" Sirius grabbed the curtain and attempted to hide the portrait unsuccessfully.

"Yoooou!" The woman shouted. "Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!"

"I said — shut — UP!"

Lupin grabbed the other end and both men closed it tightly.

"Hello, Harry," Sirius said, more calmly this time. "I see you've met my mother."

"Your— ?"

"My dear old mum, yeah. We've been trying to get her down for a month but we think she put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of the canvas. Let's get downstairs, quick, before they all wake up again."

"But what's a portrait of your mother doing here?"

"Hasn't anyone told you? This was my parents' house," said Sirius, looking at Mel briefly. "But I'm the last Black left, so it's mine now. I offered it to Dumbledore for headquarters — about the only useful thing I've been able to do."

It was scarcely less gloomy than the hall above, a cavernous room with rough stone walls. Most of the light was coming from a large fire at the far end of the room. A haze of pipe smoke hung in the air like battle fumes, through which loomed the menacing shapes of heavy iron pots and pans hanging from the dark ceiling. Many chairs had been crammed into the room for the meeting and a long wooden table stood in the middle of the room, littered with rolls of parchment, goblets, empty wine bottles, and a heap of what appeared to be rags. Mr Weasley and his eldest son, Bill, were talking quietly with their heads together at the end of the table.

Mrs Weasley cleared her throat. Her husband, a thin, balding, redhaired man, who wore horn-rimmed glasses, looked around and jumped to his feet.

"Harry! Good to see you!"

"Journey all right, Harry?" Bill called, picking up some parchments before Mel could see what was written in them. "Mad-Eye didn't make you come via Greenland, then?"

"He tried," said Tonks dropping a candle onto the last parchment. "Oh no — sorry —"

"Here, dear," said Mrs Weasley, fixing it quickly. "This sort of thing ought to be cleared away promptly at the end of meetings..."

"Evanesco!" Bill exclaimed, and the papers vanished.

"Sit down, Harry. You've met Mundungus, haven't you?"

"Some'n say m' name? I 'gree with Sirius..." Mundungus mumbled in his sleep.

Mel and Ginny laughed, waking him up.

"The meeting's over, Dung... Harry's arrived."

"Eh? Blimey, so 'e 'as. Yeah... you all right, 'arry?"

"Yeah."

Mundungus fumbled nervously in his pockets, still staring at Harry, and pulled out a grimy black pipe. He stuck it in his mouth, ignited the end of it with his wand, and took a deep pull on it. Great billowing clouds of greenish smoke obscured him in seconds.

"Owe you a 'pology," grunted a voice from the middle of the smelly cloud.

"For the last time, Mundungus," called Mrs Weasley, "will you please not smoke that thing in the kitchen, especially not when we're about to eat!"

"Ah," said Mundungus. "Right. Sorry, Molly."

"Harry!"

Emily rushed over to the boy, smothering him with kisses and trying to brush his hair. Harry blushed furiously and tried to escape from her grip, but she kept him in place.

"You look so skinny! Don't worry, you'll be looking charming as a prince in no time," Emily tugged at his shirt. "We need to fix these– " When Harry stood up again, she gasped. "Merlin, you've grown!"

Harry was looking eye to eye at her for the first time in fifteen years. Least to say Emily didn't take it well.

"My little boy!" She teared up. "Not so little now... even taller than Mel! Oh, you look so much like James!"

"Mothers..." Mel rolled her eyes, but the woman ignored her.

"Never seen her like that before," Sirius whispered to her. "She used to be so tough... now look at her, crying over a kid's height!"

Mel grinned, catching the way Sirius was beaming at her mother.

"Mum, let him breathe," Mel stepped in, pulling her away gently. "I think you need a moment, sit down..."

"If you want dinner before midnight I'll need a hand," Mrs Weasley told them. "No, you can stay where you are, Harry dear, you've had a long journey —"

"What can I do, Molly?" said Tonks.

"Er — no, it's all right, Tonks, you have a rest too, you've done enough today —"

"No, no, I want to help!"

"I'll help, my mum's having a crisis," Mel teased.

As she started to set the plates on the table, she heard the adults continue their talk.

"Had a good summer so far?"

"No, it's been lousy," Harry retorted.

"Don't know what you're complaining about, myself."

"What?"

"Personally, I'd have welcomed a dementor attack. A deadly struggle for my soul would have broken the monotony nicely. You think you've had it bad, at least you've been able to get out and about, stretch your legs, get into a few fights... I've been stuck inside for a month."

"Didn't know my company was such a torment," Mel replied without looking up.

"How come?" Harry asked.

"Because the Ministry of Magic's still after me, and Voldemort will know all about me being an Animagus by now, Wormtail will have told him, so my big disguise is useless. There's not much I can do for the Order of the Phoenix... or so Dumbledore feels– I didn't mean I'm not having fun with you, little Em," He added out loud. "I just... yeah, I know I could be doing more..."

"At least you've known what's been going on."

"Oh yeah! Listening to Snape's reports, having to take all his snide hints that he's out there risking his life while I'm sat on my backside here having a nice comfortable time... asking me how the cleaning's going —"

"Snape's a twat," Mel said as she settled a plate in front of Sirius, "you shouldn't take it personally, it's like hearing a seven-year-old showing off."

"What cleaning?" Harry asked them.

"Trying to make this place fit for human habitation– No one's lived here for ten years, not since my dear mother died, unless you count her old house-elf, and he's gone round the twist, hasn't cleaned anything in ages —"

"Sirius? This solid silver, mate?" Mundungus said, examining a small goblet.

"Ye... Finest fifteenth-century goblin-wrought silver, embossed with the Black family crest."

"That'd come off, though," muttered Mundungus.

"Keep your filthy paws away from it, Dung," Emily kicked him under the table.

"Fred — George — NO, JUST CARRY THEM!"

Harry, Sirius, and Mundungus looked around and, a split second later, dived away from the table. Fred and George had bewitched a large cauldron of stew, an iron flagon of butterbeer, and a heavy wooden breadboard, complete with knife, to hurtle through the air toward them. The stew skidded the length of the table and came to a halt just before the end, leaving a long black burn on the wooden surface, the flagon of butterbeer fell with a crash, spilling its contents everywhere, and the bread knife slipped off the board and landed, point down and quivering ominously, exactly where Sirius's right hand had been seconds before.

Mel managed to retreat barely on time and hissed when the knife touched her skin briefly.

"FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE! THERE WAS NO NEED — I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS — JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW YOU DON'T HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT FOR EVERY TINY LITTLE THING!"

"We were just trying to save a bit of time!" said Fred, running into the room and grabbing the knife. "Sorry Sirius, mate — didn't mean to —" He stared at Mel, who was holding the patch of skin where the knife cut.

Emily and Sirius were laughing, not noticing she'd gotten hurt. Mundungus was on the floor. Harry, however, was touching his hand in the exact same place her cut was.

"I'm sorry, Lady!" Fred left the knife on the table and examined her hand. "Blimey– let me see..."

"What happened?" Emily stood up.

"I'm okay," She quickly pushed the boy and her mother out of the way to wash her injury. "Just a scratch..."

"Boys, your mother's right, you're supposed to show a sense of responsibility now that you're—"

"— none of your brothers caused this sort of trouble! Bill didn't feel the need to Apparate every few feet! Charlie didn't Charm everything he met! Percy —"

"Let's eat!" said Bill abruptly.

"It looks wonderful, Molly," said Lupin.

"Let me see, Mel!" Fred insisted.

The girl noticed Harry was staring and turned away hastily.

"I'm fine. Don't worry."

"Tough girl like her mother!" Exclaimed Sirius happily.

"I've been meaning to tell you, there's something trapped in that writing desk in the drawing-room, it keeps rattling and shaking. Of course, it could just be a boggart, but I thought we ought to ask Alastor to have a look at it before we let it out."

"Whatever you like," said Sirius.

"The curtains in there are full of doxies too, I thought we might try and tackle them tomorrow."

"I look forward to it," said Sirius sarcastically. Emily slapped his arm mumbling 'Behave!'

Mel was chatting with Mundungus, the twins, and Ron. Dung wasn't exactly of her liking, but the boys made him tolerable enough.

"...and then, if you'll believe it, 'e says to me, 'e says, ' 'ere, Dung, where didja get all them toads from? 'Cos some son of a Bludger's gone and nicked all mine!' And I says, 'Nicked all your toads, Will, what next? So you'll be wanting some more, then?' And if you'll believe me, lads, the gormless gargoyle buys all 'is own toads back orf me for twice what 'e paid in the first place —"

"I don't think we need to hear any more of your business dealings, thank you very much, Mundungus," said Mrs Weasley over Ron's cackles.

"Beg pardon, Molly, but, you know, Will nicked 'em orf Warty Harris in the first place so I wasn't really doing nothing wrong —"

"I don't know where you learned about right and wrong, Mundungus, but you seem to have missed a few crucial lessons."

Fred and George buried their faces behind their goblets, Mel sent an innocent smile to her mother. She didn't know why, but she was feeling keener to do mischief than years prior. Maybe that was the result of spending so much time around the twins.

"How come you're not all over Harry?" George asked her quietly. "You're sitting with us after so long without hearing from him..."

"Don't nag about that," She rolled her eyes. "Fred already asked me. Stop it or you'll wake up to a dead rat on your pillow."

"I'll stop asking if you promise that I'll wake up to you on my pillow," Fred winked at her, which caused her to blush.

"Don't even think about it," She replied, making a face.

"Nearly time for bed, I think," said Mrs Weasley.

"Not just yet, Molly," Sirius took a deep breath. "You know, I'm surprised at you. I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort."

Mel snorted, she felt the sudden change in the room, but she didn't care about being the only one who found it funny.

"You think he didn't? He went mad upstairs!" She exclaimed.

"I did!" said Harry, then threw a grumpy look her way. "Not the part about going mad, but I asked Ron and Hermione, they said we're not allowed in the Order, so —"

"And they're quite right. You're too young." Said Mrs Weasley.

"Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions? Harry's been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. He's got the right to know what's been happen —"

"Sirius..." Emily started.

"Hang on!" interrupted George.

"How come Harry gets his questions answered?" said Fred.

"We've been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven't told us a single stinking thing!" said George.

"'You're too young, you're not in the Order,'" Fred imitated his mother's voice. "Harry's not even of age!"

Mel looked around the table with disinterest, of course Harry was going to have all the answers he wanted. What was worse, she'd started to realize how much she'd felt his absence. And she hated that, she hadn't understood exactly how badly she was missing her best friend until he was standing in front of her.

"It's not my fault you haven't been told what the Order's doing. That's your parents' decision. Harry, on the other hand —"

"It's not down to you to decide what's good for Harry! You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?"

"Which bit?"

"The bit about not telling Harry more than he needs to know!"

"I don't intend to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly, but as he was the one who saw Voldemort come back he has more right than most to —"

"He's not a member of the Order of the Phoenix! He's only fifteen and —"

"— and he's dealt with as much as most in the Order, and more than some —"

"No one's denying what he's done! But he's still —"

"He's not a child!"

"He's not an adult either! He's not James, Sirius!"

Mel saw the way her mother's face paled at the remark, that had to be a sensitive subject.

"I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly."

"I'm not sure you are! Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!"

"What's wrong with that?" Harry pouted.

For the first time in weeks, Mel felt something else besides resentment towards the boy. Harry needed Sirius, he wanted to be as important as his father. She couldn't blame Sirius for seeing James in Harry, not when sometimes she would catch herself thinking of her own father when looking at Sirius.

"What's wrong, Harry, is that you are not your father, however much you might look like him! You are still at school and adults responsible for you should not forget it!"

"Meaning I'm an irresponsible godfather?"

"Meaning you've been known to act rashly, Sirius, which is why Dumbledore keeps reminding you to stay at home and —"

"We'll leave my instructions from Dumbledore out of this, if you please!"

"Arthur! Arthur, back me up!"

"Dumbledore knows the position has changed, Molly. He accepts that Harry will have to be filled in to a certain extent now that he is staying at headquarters —"

"Yes, but there's a difference between that and inviting him to ask whatever he likes! Emily!"

The woman gave a start, but she spoke with confidence.

"Harry is as smart as they make 'em. He's brave and he knows this is not a game. I've seen this kid grow and I like to think I've brought him up a little, I can give you my word that knowing won't put him in danger..."

"Personally," said Lupin, leaning further on his place. "I think it better that Harry gets the facts — not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture — from us, rather than a garbled version from... others. Emily's got a point, she's been with him for the longest time, if there's someone on this table that gets to decide apart from Harry, that's her."

"Well," said Mrs Weasley, positively fuming. "I can see I'm going to be overruled. I'll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has got Harry's best interests at heart —"

"He's not your son," Sirius mumbled under his breath.

"He's as good as!" Mrs Weasley yelled. "Who else has he got?"

"He's got me! He's got Emily!"

"Yes," said Mrs Weasley. "The thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him while you've been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it? And not too sound rude, Emily dear, but you had no control over Harry's life when he was a baby and you still have none. You have your hands full with Mel."

Sirius tried to stand up but Emily pulled him back down.

"Molly, you're not the only person at this table who cares about Harry," said Lupin, sounding a bit annoyed. "Sirius, calm down. I think Harry ought to be allowed a say in this, he's old enough to decide for himself."

"I think we've talked enough about him as if he weren't present," Emily nodded.

"I want to know what's been going on," Harry said immediately.

"Very well," said Mrs Weasley. "You six — I want you out of this kitchen, now."

"We're of age!" Fred and George.

"If Harry's allowed, why can't I?" Ron exclaimed.

"Mum, I want to!" Ginny demanded.

Mel and Emily shared a look, the woman knew there was no point attempting to send her daughter away. Mel knew she didn't have to ask.

"NO! I absolutely forbid —"

"Molly, you can't stop Fred and George... They are of age —"

"They're still at school —"

"But they're legally adults now," Arthur said tiredly.

"Mel can stay," Emily replied, then she added coldly. "I don't need to have control over anything my daughter does to know that she'll treat the information with discretion."

"I — oh, all right then, Fred and George can stay, but Ron —"

"Mel and Harry'll tell me and Hermione everything you say anyway!" Ron hesitated, looking at Harry with doubt. "Won't — won't you?"

" 'Course I will," Harry said casually. Mel nodded.

"Fine!" Mrs Weasley put the plates away angrily. "Fine! Ginny — BED!"

After a few minutes of putting everything away, Lupin asked him:

"Okay, Harry... what do you want to know?"

"Where's Voldemort? What's he doing? I've been trying to watch the Muggle news and there hasn't been anything that looks like him yet, no funny deaths or anything —"

"That's because there haven't been any suspicious deaths yet," said Sirius, "not as far as we know, anyway... And we know quite a lot."

"More than he thinks we do anyway," said Lupin.

"How come he's stopped killing people?"

"Because he doesn't want to draw attention to himself at the moment. It would be dangerous for him. His comeback didn't come off quite the way he wanted it to, you see. He messed it up."

"Or rather, you messed it up for him," Lupin smiled a bit.

"How?"

"You weren't supposed to survive! Nobody apart from his Death Eaters was supposed to know he'd come back. But you survived to bear witness."

"And the very last person he wanted alerted to his return the moment he got back was Dumbledore, and you made sure Dumbledore knew at once," Lupin looked at her. "With your help."

Fred and George looked at her without understanding. She hadn't mentioned to any of her friends the lifeline connection, how could she, without giving away the reason for her fight with Harry?

"How has that helped?" Harry asked.

"Are you kidding?" said Bill, answering Harry's question. "Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who was ever scared of!"

"Thanks to you, Dumbledore was able to recall the Order of the Phoenix about an hour after Voldemort returned," said Sirius.

"He doesn't know how, but he definitely knows you helped, Mel," Emily's face was grim. "Apparently, there are tons of rumours about you already, some are as far fetched as to say that you're the next Merlin, others just say you were at the right place at the right time– Either way, he knows there's more than one Dumbledore after him, and he thinks you're the easiest target to defeat."

Mel felt the urge to run and hide under her bed, but she remained still, her eyes fixed on her mum. She thought, kind of bitterly, that Harry's attempts to keep her safe were of no use, and taking away the only thing that was making them happy was a huge mistake. But she wasn't going to admit that out loud, she would pretend everything was fine on her side for as long as she could.

"So what's the Order been doing?" said Harry, after a moment of awful silence.

"Working as hard as we can to make sure Voldemort can't carry out his plans," said Sirius.

"How d'you know what his plans are?"

"Dumbledore's got a shrewd idea," said Lupin, "and Dumbledores shrewd ideas normally turn out to be accurate... as we've witnessed more than once."

"So what does Dumbledore reckon he's planning?"

"Well, firstly, he wants to build up his army again, in the old days he had huge numbers at his command; witches and wizards he'd bullied or bewitched into following him, his faithful Death Eaters, a great variety of Dark creatures. You heard him planning to recruit the giants; well, they'll be just one group he's after. He's certainly not going to try and take on the Ministry of Magic with only a dozen Death Eaters."

"So you're trying to stop him getting more followers?"

"We're doing our best," said Lupin.

"How?"

"Well, the main thing is to try and convince as many people as possible that You-Know-Who really has returned, to put them on their guard," said Bill. "It's proving tricky, though."

"Some others have also reached to a different area," Emily smiled at her. "Erick and Eliot have been writing to me, they're doing what they can with the pureblood families they know aren't as keen to see Voldemort's comeback. So far they haven't got lots of people, and of course, Erick tries to talk to the young groups, but they aren't that willing to believe him."

"Why?"

"Because of the Ministry's attitude," said Tonks. "You saw Cornelius Fudge after You-Know-Who came back, Harry. Well, he hasn't shifted his position at all. He's absolutely refusing to believe it's happened."

"But why? Why's he being so stupid? If Dumbledore —"

"Ah, well, you've put your finger on the problem," said Mr Weasley giving her a pointed look. "The Dumbledores."

"Fudge is frightened, you see," said Tonks.

"Frightened of Dumbledore?" said Harry incredulously. "And Mel?"

"Frightened of what they're up to," said Mr Weasley. "You see, Fudge thinks Dumbledore's plotting to overthrow him. He thinks Dumbledore wants to be Minister of Magic."

"But Dumbledore doesn't want —"

"Of course he doesn't– He's never wanted the Minister's job, even though a lot of people wanted him to take it when Millicent Bagnold retired. Fudge came to power instead, but he's never quite forgotten how much popular support Dumbledore had, even though Dumbledore never applied for the job."

"Deep down, Fudge knows Dumbledore's much cleverer than he is, a much more powerful wizard, and in the early days of his Ministry he was forever asking Dumbledore for help and advice," Lupin added. "But it seems that he's become fond of power now, and much more confident. He loves being Minister of Magic, and he's managed to convince himself that he's the clever one and Dumbledore's simply stirring up trouble for the sake of it."

"How can he think that? How can he think Dumbledore would just make it all up — that I'd make it all up?"

"Because accepting that Voldemort's back would mean trouble like the Ministry hasn't had to cope with for nearly fourteen years," said Sirius. "Fudge just can't bring himself to face it. It's so much more comfortable to convince himself Dumbledore's lying to destabilize him. He also somehow found out that Mel was having extra lessons with Dumbledore, though I guess that wasn't a secret. He thinks he's preparing her to be his secret weapon so they can take over."

"You see the problem," said Lupin. "While the Ministry insists there is nothing to fear from Voldemort, it's hard to convince people he's back, especially as they really don't want to believe it in the first place. What's more, the Ministry's leaning heavily on the Daily Prophet not to report any of what they're calling Dumbledore's rumormongering, so most of the Wizarding community are completely unaware anything's happened, and that makes them easy targets for the Death Eaters if they're using the Imperius Curse."

"But you're telling people, aren't you? You're letting people know he's back?"

"Well, as everyone thinks I'm a mad mass murderer and the Ministry's put a ten-thousand-Galleon price on my head, I can hardly stroll up the street and start handing out leaflets, can I?" said Sirius bitterly.

"And I'm not a very popular dinner guest with most of the community," said Lupin. "It's an occupational hazard of being a werewolf."

Emily reached for Lupin's hand and gave a gentle squeeze to it.

"I'm all right, I guess..." She sighed. "But my husband was a Dumbledore, they think I'm just trying to keep his name clean."

"Tonks and Arthur would lose their jobs at the Ministry if they started shooting their mouths off, and it's very important for us to have spies inside the Ministry, because you can bet Voldemort will have them."

"We've managed to convince a couple of people, though. Tonks here, for one — she's too young to have been in the Order of the Phoenix last time, and having Aurors on our side is a huge advantage — Kingsley Shacklebolt's been a real asset too. He's in charge of the hunt for Sirius, so he's been feeding the Ministry information that Sirius is in Tibet."

"But if none of you's putting the news out that Voldemort's back —"

"Who said none of us was putting the news out? Why d'you think Dumbledore's in such trouble?"

"What d'you mean?"

"They're trying to discredit him," said Lupin. "Didn't you see the Daily Prophet last week? They reported that he'd been voted out of the Chairmanship of the International Confederation of Wizards because he's getting old and losing his grip, but it's not true, he was voted out by Ministry wizards after he made a speech announcing Voldemort's return. They've demoted him from Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot — that's the Wizard High Court — and they're talking about taking away his Order of Merlin, First Class, too."

"But Dumbledore says he doesn't care what they do as long as they don't take him off the Chocolate Frog cards," said Bill fondly.

"It's no laughing matter. If he carries on defying the Ministry like this, he could end up in Azkaban and the last thing we want is Dumbledore locked up. While You-Know-Who knows Dumbledore's out there and wise to what he's up to, he's going to go cautiously for a while. If Dumbledore's out of the way — well, You-Know-Who will have a clear field."

"But if Voldemort's trying to recruit more Death Eaters, it's bound to get out that he's come back, isn't it?"

"Voldemort doesn't march up to people's houses and bang on their front doors, Harry. He tricks, jinxes, and blackmails them. He's well-practised at operating in secrecy. In any case, gathering followers is only one thing he's interested in, he's got other plans too, plans he can put into operation very quietly indeed, and he's concentrating on them at the moment."

Voldemort was after her, and Fudge was after her as well? She certainly wasn't afraid of the latter, but it worried her, she didn't like being watched at all times; if her uncle ended locked up in Azkaban, she and Harry would be the next.

Harry was known to be stubborn and unable to shut his mouth whenever he was strongly against something. She couldn't have that, she needed him to follow orders as much as her because if he were to break the rules, people would immediately assume she was doing the same, if she wanted to remain safe for the rest of the year, Mel needed to change that.

"What's he after apart from followers?"

"Stuff he can only get by stealth... Like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time."

"When he was powerful before?"

"Yes."

"Like what kind of weapon? Something worse than the Avada Kedavra — ?"

"That's enough. I want you in bed, now. All of you," Mrs Weasley demanded.

"You can't boss us —"

"Watch me! You've given Harry plenty of information, Sirius. Any more and you might just as well induct him into the Order straightaway."

"Why not? I'll join, I want to join, I want to fight —"

"No," said Lupin and Mel.

Harry stared at her, but Lupin spoke, catching his attention.

"The Order is comprised only of overage wizards– Wizards who have left school. There are dangers involved of which you can have no idea, any of you... I think Molly's right, Sirius– Mily... We've said enough."

"Time's up, kids," Emily stood up. "That's all you'll hear from us."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

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dezzymalfoy · 3 years

Text

The Descendant Part 3: The Letter

Harry slowly gets up, grabbing his glasses which he has placed next to the picture of his parents.

His only possession of them,

His parents on the left, his mum holding him while his father has his arms around them both. On the right, a similar family with a little girl, mother holding her and father wrapped around them both.

Harry looks to the back of the cardstock, and reads the words he reads oh so often,

"Her name in (Y/n) Ravenclaw"

The Raven haired boy slowly gets up and begins making breakfast for everyone, then goes to collect the post,

Grabbing all the post from the bottom of the door frame, scanning through and surprised to see something for him,

"Mr. H Potter

The Cupboard Under The Stairs,

4, Privet Drive,

Little Whinging,

Surrey"

As he gave his uncle the rest of the mail, he kept his letter and began to open it,

"Father! Harry has mail!" Dudley yells as he snatches the letter out of Harry's hand and taking it to his father,

"Give it back! That's mine!" Harry yelled at Vernon,

Vernon laughed, "Who would be writing to you?" He questioned, looking at the writing on the front, then the wax seal on the back to see four quadrants, a lion, a snake, a badger, and an eagle with an H in the middle. Looking at Petunia,

"Off to your rooms both of you, boys." Vernon says,

"But dad-" Dudley started

"NO! To your rooms!"

Harry was curious as to what that letter was, and why it brought such a reaction from his uncle.

Harry woke up the next day and yet again did his daily routine, made breakfast, served it, picked up the post,

And yet again. There's another letter.

The same exact one.

Vernon noticed there was yet another letter and threw it in the fire place.

As Harry was doing his chores, he happened to look outside and see a load of owls in the mailboxes, houses, trees, house number signs, everywhere. Harry thought this was strange, but thought nothing of it, over all.

This happened for days, the letters would come in, and soon they were the only things the Dursley's were getting though their drop box, five, ten at a time!

Every single one went into the fireplace.

Harry woke up today in a slightly sour mood, it was Sunday.

He walks into the kitchen and began breakfast, his uncle Vernon was quite chipper today, and he knew exactly why.

"Good day, Sunday, any idea why Dudley?" Vernon asks his son, to which he shakes his head

"Its because there's no post on Sunday's" Harry said gloomily,

"Right you are Harry! No post on Sunday. Not one blasted lett-"

The house had begun to shake. The fireplace roared, Petunia took Dudley into her arms to protect him.

All of a sudden, the fireplace shot out hundreds of the letters, Harry immediately going to get one of them, jumping onto one of the chairs in the living room, trying to grab one of the letters falling from above him, letters stacking up on the floor of the living room, and just as Harry almost had one in his hands, Vernon grabs the back of his shirt and drags him out to the car,

"Daddys gone mad hasn't he?" Dudley asks his mum, to which she nods.

They drove for hours on end, then rode the boat in the storm, out to a dingy cottage in the middle of nowhere,

"They'll never find us out here, never!" Vernon exclaims as they pile into the small house. Vernon and Petunia going to the room up the stairs, Dudley taking the moldy, moth eaten couch, leaving Harry with the dusty old floor and another moldy blanket.

Harry was unable to fall asleep, so, he drew a birthday cake with 11 candles and happy birthday Harry into the middle,

As soon as Dudley's watch started beeping midnight, Harry looked at the cake on the dirt covered floor,

"Happy Birthday Harry", blowing out the "candles"

As soon as Harry had blown out the last of the candles, there was banging on the door, and someone had knocked it down, Harry smartly hid beside the fireplace, out of view of the door.

Peaking around the corner, Harry saw a large figure in the middle if the doorway.

As the figure walks in, Harry heard his aunt and uncle rush down the stairs,

"Sorry 'bout tha'" said the large -man, as Harry knows now- as he proceeds to pick up the door, surprising everyone.

The fire lights up the faces of everyone in the room,

"Get out! You're trespassing on private property!" Vernon points a double barrel shotgun at the man, to which the large man bends the shotgun,

"Dry up Dursley, you great prune!"

The man looks towards Dudley,

"'arry! Been lookin' for ya! Of 'ourse you're a bi' more rou'ded since tha last 'ime I saw ya! Espec'ally there in tha 'iddle"

Harry then decided to walk out from his hiding spot,

"H-He's not Harry, I am.", making the large man turn towards him,

"Well o' course ya are! I'm Hagrid, Game'eeper at 'ogwarts, (Y/n)'s back ou'side waitin on us in tha boa'"

"Hogwarts?" Harry's curious as to what that is, and if this (y/n) is the same one from his picture.

"Well ye', where'd ya t'ink yer 'arents learnt it all? Which 'eminds me, I go' this for ya. Rec'on I may of sa' on it, made it me'self, 'ords an all, with some 'elp from (Y/n)" Hagrid hands Harry a box and a letter, the same one from the fireplaces and the post back at home.

Harry opened the box to see a bright pink cake with green icing with the words, "happee birthday haree", making Harry smile then frown, setting the cake down

"My parents?"

"Yer 'arents were wizards, 'arry, and yer one too, af'er a bit'o trainin o'course"

"I-I'm not a wizard, I'm just Harry."

"Well, just 'arry, 'as anythin ever happened, tha' ya can't explain? When ya 'ere mad or u'set?"

Harry thinks back to the zoo, to the glass and the snake, Dudley falling into the water of the enclosure, and everything makes sense,

Harry finally decides to open the letter Hagrid had given him earlier,

Dear Mr Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall , Deputy Headmistress

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

UNIFORM:

First-year students will require: 1.Three sets of plain work robes (black) 2.One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear 3.One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar) 4.One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings) Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Harry looked up from his letter as his uncle had yelled,

"We swore to put a stop to all this rubbish when we agreed to take him in!" Vernon argued,

"You knew? You knew all this time and you never bothered to tell me?" Harry was enraged that they had never told him of his wizard genes

"Oh! Of course we knew! With my perfect sister being what she was! I was the only one in the family who saw her for what she was! A freak! I knew you would be just like her. Then she had to go run off with that Potter and get herself blown up!" Petunia ranted,

"Blown up?! You told me my parents had died in a car crash!" Harry was enraged, they had lied to him! About his own parents, no less.

"Car 'rash killed 'ily and James 'otter! Cold'wap!" Hagrid yelled at the Dursley's,

"Enough! We're not paying for him to go to some school and get taught by some crack pot old fool!" Vernon yelled back

Hagrid points his pink umbrella at him, "never insul' Albus 'umbledore in fron' o' me!", then looking at Dudley, who was chowing down on Harry's birthday cake, pointing his umbrella at him and sending sparks, then making a pig tail form on his bum.

Hagrid walked out of the house as the Dursley's were freaking out about the tail that now rests on Dudley,

"Comin 'arry?" Harry smiled and runs out of the house, following Hagrid out to the boat, seeing a small girl laid down in the middle, sleeping.

"Ah, poor 'irl, must've fallen 'sleep, 'arry, tha is (y/n)"

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loulouflowerpower · 3 years

Text

Story Update/Status (19/5/2021)

(I apologise for being a day late, I did my very first night shift and was sleeping during the time I usually would have posted).

Doctor Who (The Hatter): The End is Where We Start From. Main story: The Name of The Doctor and Hatter, Part 2. Word count, 8,572. Last worked on 16/5/2021.

The Three Doctors and Hatters (Companion, Classic Who story): The Three Doctors and Hatters, Part 7. Word count 3,479. Last worked on 23/3/2021

Time and Space (One-Shot series): Pending time to write/motivation/inspiration.

The Doctor and The Hatter, When It All Started (Companion series): Pending time to write/motivation.

Doctor Who (The Envoy): Main Story: Title yet to be announced. The Empty Child, Part 1. Word count 7,557. Last worked on 16/5/2021.

Sherlock (Amelia Wilson): Hidden Truths (Main series): The Lying Detective, Part 3. Word count 3,332. Last worked on 4/5/2021.

Missing Pieces (One-Shot series): Denial, Mr Holmes (Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes.) Word count 2,107. Last worked on 3/4/2021.

Harry Potter (Theodora Earl): Story 3, Title yet to be announced. Chapter 7. Word count 12,276, as of 16/5/2021.

#doctor who #bbc sherlock #harry potter #the Envoy #the hatter #Amelia Wilson #Theodora Earl #OC #update #Loulouflowerpower

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bush-viper-cutie · 4 years

Text

“On the Run” || YEAR 3 – Ch.3 (HP au)

Chapter List

<-- Last Chapter Next Chapter -->

Day posted: 7/17/2020

Word count: 3,119

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

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A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

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~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

They had walked for a good thirty minutes before collapsing onto a bench under a light. They were sleepy, tired, exhausted, and starving now. The small meal they were allowed to have had now been burned and their bodies were begging for more sustenance. The night was cold and the wind cut like paper despite how hot it had been earlier that day. The moon was hiding behind clouds and the air was unusually silent for what they were used to.

Privet Drive was normally quiet, not silent, out at night. They could always hear the Dursleys and sometimes even the neighbors as they talked about their new fancy cars or how delicious their wife’s meals had been that night.

Now the street was empty, most lights were out, and things barely looked recognizable. Harry had run off in such a hurry she was sure they had taken a turn down a new area they hadn’t ever been to and the eeriness of the night was setting in.

She remembered the escaped prisoner and knew she needed to get them back, even if it was very unlikely that he’d be walking around Little Whinging – if that was still where they even were. She caught her breath and calmed her heart.

“Harry, we have to go back.”

“We can’t,” he no longer sounded mad and determined, but scared.

Heather put a hand on his shoulder, “Yes we can. We just need to get a hold of a wizard, make her better, and accept whatever punishment they give us.”

“Murder. The Dursleys will kill us,” Harry hung his head and pressed his hands to his face.

“They’re too boring for murder. If anything, they’ll give us up and we might end up with a new, much nicer family,” Heather leaned down and smiled, trying to catch his attention.

“Or we’ll be separated.”

She sat back and sighed, “I won’t let that happen. We’ll talk to people and – ”

“YOU CAN’T DO ANYTHING. You’re not going talk your way out of getting us separated – you think you can fix things and you can’t!”

She stood suddenly, towering over him, “You’re right. My job is KEEPING THINGS FROM HAPPENING. And YOUR job is BREAKING EVERYTHING AND HAVING IT ALL GO YOUR WAY.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he stood and pushed her back.

“You know exactly what,” she pushed harder.

Harry fell back, tripping over his trunk and winced in pain.

“Sorry! I – ”

He held up his hand, cutting her off, “What if… what if we fly to London? We could get our money and live somewhere else with it!”

She put her hands on her hips, “How would we fly there? Our trunks are heavy, we can’t use magic, and Muggles will see us.”

“Well for starters, we’re probably expelled so we can use magic just fine now – ”

Heather winced, not realizing how horrible the situation really was.

“Which means we can make our trunks light as feathers and mount them on the brooms. And last, well its night and dark and everyone’s asleep,” he dusted himself off and opened his trunk, searching for something.

“We can’t just – ”

Harry turned around, scanning the area behind them and she followed his lead, feeling like something was watching them. They both fixed their eyes on the rustling bushes on the other side of the street. They took out their wands and Harry cast Lumos, shining bright light ahead of them.

Heather’s hand went for Harry’s arm and squeezed tight as two large gleaming eyes came forward out of the bush. A large dark lump stepped out onto the curb, keeping its fierce eyes steady, and bared its large teeth. She pulled Harry back and they stepped slowly away from whatever black creature was inching towards them.

BANG

They jumped even farther back and both of them fell onto their trunks as a large purple object appeared in front of them before their eyes. She looked up at the glass doors of a giant triple decker bus as it swooshed open and a conductor in a matching purple uniform hopped down the stairs and looked down at them.

“’Choo two call for The Knight Bus?”

Harry stood quickly and walked around the side to where the beast was and came back shaking his head. The conductor looked at them funny and repeated his question slower.

Heather looked around and shrugged, and then nodded, “…Yes.”

“Then welcome! The Knight Bus will take u anywhere you wish, just say the place and you’ll be on your way! I’m Stan Shunpike, your conductor this night and that,” he jabbed his thumb back at the driver, “Is Ernie Prang.”

Heather turned to Harry and whispered, “We can go back now and – ”

“How much to get to London?” Harry picked up his trunk and walked towards Stan.

“’Leven Sickles,” he squinted at Harry’s forehead.

Heather coughed and directed Stan’s attention away while Harry fixed his hair to cover his scar, “No, sorry, we’re going to Privet Drive.”

“Well I’M going to the Leaky Cauldron in London,” Harry reached into his trunk and took out eleven sickles and handed them to Stan. “You can take her wherever she wants,” he boarded the bus.

Heather scoffed and kicked open her trunk, dug out eleven sickles and dropped it into Stan’s open hand. She kicked her trunk closed and dragged it up the steps. She stood next to Harry, looking at five beds on the floor of the bus, all empty but one, containing a snoring old man with a bright orange night cap.

“You can ‘ave that one, and you this one,” Stan pointed at the two closest beds. “Right, now it’s all settled – Do your thing, Ern!”

BANG

They fell back onto the bed behind the driver as the bus shot forward at incredible speeds. Harry and Heather pressed their faces against the window and watched the lights and cars zoom passed like lightning, street after street.

“H-how fast are we going? It l-looks really fast,” Harry gripped the metal rail tight as they turned a corner on only the left side wheels.

Heather gripped the bed frame to keep from rolling off the bed.

“Don’ know… fast. That’s for sure,” Stan leaned on the armrest of Ernie’s reclining chair. “Five seconds an’ we’re in Wales.”

They watched Stan walk to the wooden staircase and call out to a “Madam Marsh” before turning back to them. “So woss your names.”

“Er,” Harry looked at Heather.

She shook her head and shrugged at him.

“I’m… N…eville… Neville Longbottom.”

“Right… and I’m Heather… Longbottom,” she pressed her lips together and waited for a reaction from Stan.

“Wuh, siblings or somethin’?”

“Yes,” Harry grinned, “Twins actually.”

Stan grinned back and scratched at the few pimples on his chin, “Never met twins before, that’s coo’.”

They nodded and huddled closer on the bed as they narrowly avoided two red double-deckers on the street. Stan either had no regard for his life or had complete and utter confidence in the old man with thick round glasses squinting behind the giant wheel.

BANG

The bus stopped and the bed slid forward. They barely had enough time to bring their legs up onto the bed when the side crashed behind the small driver’s wall. Stan kicked them back and helped an older woman get off the bus.

BANG

They were sent back like a set of marbles trapped in a pinball machine. How the other wizard was still asleep was beyond Heather, but it was incredible seeing a whole new part to the wizarding world besides shoppers, teachers, and students.

“How old are you?” Heather call out to Stan.

He cupped his hands, “Nineteen.”

BANG

They were sent forward and bounced back, and two more wizards boarded and headed to the third floor. As Heather’s eyes followed them up she noticed a fancy chandelier hanging from the ceiling of the bus. It swung ominously over them.

BANG

They bumped the back bed and rolled forward.

“When are we getting there,” Harry held his stomach.

Stan took out a large pocket watch, “In a minute.” He sat on the armrest again and unfolded the Daily Prophet.

Heather gasped as the same escaped convict on the muggle news stared back at them from the front page.

“That’s… Who is that? He was on the Muggle news!” Harry pointed.

“Neville, where you been? That’s Sirius Black, that is. Only wizard to have EVER escaped from Azkaban,” Stan tisked them and turned back to the page he was on, “Woz a big You-Know-‘Oo supporter. An’ only murdered thirteen people…” he looked at them from over the paper, “You two know of ‘Arry Potter, don’t you?”

They nodded quickly and Harry flattened his hair again.

“Good, at least. Well when he defeated You-Know-‘Oo, Sirius Black thought he’d take over, well it took a whole team of Aurors to bring ‘im in and all he did was laugh… Mad fellow, innee, Ern?”

BANG

The bed shot forward and bounced back, knocking Harry and Heather against each other.

“Well, ‘ere it is, the Leaky Cauldron,” Stan dragged Harry’s trunk from under his bed and rolled it down the stairs.

“Harry, look, you can wait here and I’ll go back and sort things out. You have enough for a few nights stay right?”

Harry frowned at her, “Sure. Whatever. If you’d rather live with the Dursleys – ”

She sighed, starting to get frustrated, “We need to stay somewhere permanent. We don’t have jobs. And if we’ve been expelled, we’ll have our wands snapped like Hagrid which means no magic.”

Harry’s frown disappeared and his expression turned worried again, “F-fine… Get in touch with me… somehow. I have enough for a week without your help so, either come back tomorrow if you can’t fix things or send Hedwig to me when she gets back.”

She nodded.

“At least the Weasleys will be back in two weeks,” Harry walked off the bus and rolled his trunk through the barely noticeable doors on the street.

Stan jumped back on and turned to her, “You’re the last one. So where to then?”

“4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey…” Heather sat back down on the front bed and held on tight as they shot forward again.

If it took thirty minutes to get to the Leaky Cauldron in London from the street they had stopped at, then it took around ten to make it back to Privet Drive. The bus halted in front of the Dursley’s house, whose lights were all still on.

She could see figures through the closed curtains, moving about and a strange pink car parked on the driveway. She picked up her trunk and headed out, waving goodbye to Stan and Ernie. The gravel crunched under her shoes and the night air howled through the tree leaves. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Within seconds the door flew open and an extremely tall and slightly chubby woman with a flashy eyeshadow smiled down at her.

“Ah, Miss Potter, dear, come in!”

Heather stepped through and looked at her awkwardly as the woman looked around outside before closing the door.

“Where is that wonderful brother of yours, dear?”

“He… uh… who are you?” Heather reached for her wand and held it firmly behind her, just in case.

“I’m from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad – the Minister of Magic sent us, Cornelius Fudge,” she smiled and pushed her through to the living room.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were seated on the couch across from a much smaller – older than even Dumbledore – man with a blue-feathered hat, who sat patiently sipping tea while Marge deflated in the backyard. The Tall woman took out a measuring tape and walked through the kitchen and out the glass doors to Marge and measured her arms, legs, head, neck, and waist.

She walked back in with a big grin, “Just a few more inches.”

“What will she say after all this!” Uncle Vernon grumbled and looked over at her, “So you’re back now, are you? Couldn’t handle the real world out there, could you?”

“Now, now, a deal’s a deal,” the tiny old man sung, “We put everything back to normal and the wee Potters can stay as they were, right here in their home.”

“MY home,” Uncle Vernon grumbled again.

“Where is your brother, dear?” the tall woman looked around again and down at Heather’s trunk.

“Not here… At the Leaky Cauldron – ”

“Ah, well then he’ll see the Minister of Magic there – he thought that was where he’d go – only a shame we couldn’t meet him.”

“Shame,” the tiny man repeated and took a sip of tea.

“Is… he in trouble? Are we expelled?”

“Oh dear, of course not! For blowing up your Aunt?” she laughed.

Uncle Vernon made a disgruntled noise.

“So…” Heather was trying to wrap her head around everything, “But last year a house elf’s magic got us in trouble – ”

“We should leave the past in the past, unless you’ve got yourself the right permits” the tiny man laughed, “Your brother will be staying there for the remainder of your vacation and there should be a room there for you too, paid for by the Ministry of course.”

Heather blinked multiple times, trying to understand how it was possible for Harry to have blown up Marge only to get them free rooms at Diagon Alley. She excused herself and walked out of the room and made her way up the stairs. Dudley was sitting on his bed watching his tv when she walked by and saw him jump off the bed and hide under it.

She walked into the bathroom and locked the door. She took a deep breath and crumpled onto the soft lime green mat, mentally and emotionally exhausted. She rolled onto her back and winced, digging out from under her a sharp green letter.

“I forgot!”

She unfurled it and ripped it open, pulling out a nice thick green card from inside.

‘Potter. If you don’t want to lose your spot on the team then I suggest you practice. You can either do a mediocre job with those Weasleys or you can come over to actually train with an experienced player.

– Draco Malfoy.’

It had slanted writing but overall, it was pretty neat, neater than Harry’s at least. She ran her hands through her hair and sat there thinking. He was right about them possibly losing their places if they didn’t train like Marcus wanted, with specific drills and everything. She loved Quidditch, almost as much as potions and herbology, and way more than art… but not as much as Harry and not more than she liked her friends who would likely see her going over as betrayal.

She laid back down and thrashed about angrily before sitting up and accepting how things where. She opened the door, walked out – ignoring Dudley’s squeal – and passed their open bedroom door when she saw Hedwig standing on the windowsill.

She ran over and took the letter from her beak.

‘Heather! Everything’s ok we aren’t going to Azkaban and we aren’t expelled! The Dursleys have to take us back and we get our own rooms here! For three weeks! For free! Food too! No punishments! Can you believe it? Hurry back!’

She frowned and took out a pen from their desk drawer, flipping the parchment over to respond.

‘I didn’t know YOU could have gone to Azkaban. And good we aren’t expelled.’

She paused and thought some more about Draco’s letter. She hated how happy he was everything worked out. He should have at least gotten a stern talking to… Well maybe she could make him see that not everything turns out well. She continued writing:

‘But the Dursleys are still extremely upset. I told them it was me since I’m the one back, and they say if I clean up around the house and do all the chores for the rest of vacation, then they won’t make us sleep outside next summer.’

“There.”

She would be killing four birds with one stone now. He would see she was right to come back, that there WERE repercussions to his actions, he would feel guilty, and she’d be able to go train with Draco without Harry knowing. She looked at the letter for a bit longer, knowing how guilty she’d feel lying like this. Not to mention the fact that last year Draco was saying awful stuff about Hermione and all the other muggle-borns…

“But Quidditch…” she groaned.

It wasn’t fair lots of Slytherins had such bad attitudes and opinions. She hadn’t even made any friends in her house yet for fear they’d be bad people and Harry, Ron, and Hermione would disapprove. And it was even worse that the only person her age on the team was a Malfoy. But she didn’t want to lose her place. And for the moment, he was the only one who was willing to go through all of Marcus’ drills with her and knew what they were.

“It’s not like we can play Quidditch in Diagon Alley,” she smiled and tied the letter to Hedwig’s leg, “See you, Hedwig. Make sure Harry is keeping me updated, alright?”

Hedwig hooted happily and flew away into the night. She went back downstairs and watched as Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia got Marge into the house and up the stairs.

“Memory wiped and no harm done,” the tall woman smiled, “Shall we give you a lift?”

Heather smiled back, “That would be great, thank you… Do you know where Malfoy Manor is?”

The woman frowned, “My dear, are you sure you wouldn’t rather be with Harry Potter? The Malfoys – ”

“I’m sure, thanks,” Heather cut her off as politely as possible.

She knew everything she’d say. How could a POTTER go to the house or even be friends with a MALFOY, former Voldemort Supporters? Mortal enemies of famous HARRY POTTER? Well, multiple people have also asked how she, a Potter, could be a Slytherin and so it didn’t matter to her. All she wanted, was to be just as good at Quidditch as Harry – so long as it was still fun – and prove BOTH Potters were skilled and powerful. Not just Harry.

“I’ll put your trunk in the back then,” the tall woman exited the house.

Heather followed the other wizard to the car and got settled in the back. The woman closed the trunk and got in the diver’s side and started the car, pulled out and headed away from Privet Drive and to what Heather hoped was Malfoy Manor and not the Leaky Cauldron.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

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Harry Styles isn’t exactly dressed down for lunch. He’s got a white floppy hat that Diana Ross might have won from Elton in a poker game at Cher’s mansion circa 1974, plus Gucci shades, a cashmere sweater, and blue denim bell-bottoms. His nail polish is pink and mint green. He’s also carrying his purse — no other word for it — a yellow patent-canvas bag with the logo “Chateau Marmont.” The tough old ladies who work at this Beverly Hills deli know him well. Gloria and Raisa dote on him, calling him “my love” and bringing him his usual tuna salad and iced coffee. He turns heads, to put it mildly, but nobody comes near because the waitresses hover around the booth protectively.

He was just a small-town English lad of 16 when he became his generation’s pop idol with One Direction. When the group went on hiatus, he struck out on his own with his brash 2017 solo debut, whose lead single was the magnificently over-the-top six-minute piano ballad “Sign of the Times.” Even people who missed out on One Direction were shocked to learn the truth: This pinup boy was a rock star at heart.

A quick highlight reel of Harry’s 2019 so far: He hosted the Met Gala with Lady Gaga, Serena Williams, Alessandro Michele, and Anna Wintour serving an eyebrow-raising black lace red-carpet look. He is the official face of a designer genderless fragrance, Gucci’s Mémoire d’une Odeur. When James Corden had an all-star dodgeball match on The Late Late Show, Harry got spiked by a hard serve from Michelle Obama, making him perhaps the first Englishman ever hit in the nads on TV by a First Lady.

Closer to his heart, he brought down the house at this year’s Rock & Roll Hall of Fame ceremony with his tribute to his friend and idol Stevie Nicks. “She’s always there for you,” Harry said in his speech. “She knows what you need: advice, a little wisdom, a blouse, a shawl.” He added, “She’s responsible for more running mascara — including my own — than all the bad dates in history.” (Backstage, Nicks accidentally referred to Harry’s former band as “’NSync.” Hey, a goddess can get away with that sort of thing.)

Harry has been the world’s It boy for nearly a decade now. The weirdest thing about him? He loves being this guy. In a style of fast-lane celebrity that takes a ruthless toll on the artist’s personality, creativity, sanity, Harry is almost freakishly at ease. He has managed to grow up in public with all his boyish enthusiasm intact, not to mention his manners. He’s dated a string of high-profile women — but he never gets caught uttering any of their names in public, much less shading any of them. Instead of going the usual superstar-pop route — en vogue producers, celebrity duets, glitzy club beats — he’s gone his own way, and gotten more popular than ever. He’s putting the finishing touches on his new album, full of the toughest, most soulful songs he’s written yet. As he explains, “It’s all about having sex and feeling sad.”

The Harry Charm is a force of nature, and it can be almost frightening to witness in action. The most startling example might be a backstage photo from February taken with one of his heroes, Van Morrison. You have never seen a Van picture like this one. He’s been posing for photos for 50 years, and he’s been refusing to crack a smile in nearly all of them. Until he met Harry — for some reason, Van beams like a giddy schoolgirl. What did Harry do to him? “I was tickling him behind his back,” Harry confides. “Somebody sent me that photo — I think his tour manager took it. When I saw it, I felt like John Travolta in Pulp Fiction opening the case with the gold light shining. I was like, ‘Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t show this to anyone.’”

In interviews, Harry has always tended to coast on that charm, simply because he can. In his teens, he was in public every minute and became adept at guarding every scrap of his privacy. But these days, he’s finding out he has things he wants to say. He’s more confident about thinking out loud and seeing what happens. “Looser” is how he puts it. “More open. I’m discovering how much better it makes me feel to be open with friends. Feeling that vulnerability, rather than holding everything in.”

Like a lot of people his age, he’s asking questions about culture, gender, identity, new ideas about masculinity and sexuality. “I feel pretty lucky to have a group of friends who are guys who would talk about their emotions and be really open,” he says. “My friend’s dad said to me, ‘You guys are so much better at it than we are. I never had friends I could really talk to. It’s good that you guys have each other because you talk about real shit. We just didn’t.’”

It’s changed how he approaches his songs. “For me, it doesn’t mean I’ll sit down and be like, ‘This is what I have for dinner, and this is where I eat every day, and this is what I do before I go to bed,’” he says. “But I will tell you that I can be really pathetic when I’m jealous. Feeling happier than I’ve ever been, sadder than I’ve ever been, feeling sorry for myself, being mad at myself, being petty and pitiful — it feels really different to share that.”

At times, Harry sounds like an ordinary 25-year-old figuring his shit out, which, of course, he is. (Harry and I got to know each other last year, when he got in touch after reading one of my books, though I’d already been writing about his music for years.) It’s strange to hear him talk about shedding his anxieties and doubts, since he’s always come across as one of the planet’s most confident people. “While I was in the band,” he says, “I was constantly scared I might sing a wrong note. I felt so much weight in terms of not getting things wrong. I remember when I signed my record deal and I asked my manager, ‘What happens if I get arrested? Does it mean the contract is null and void?’ Now, I feel like the fans have given me an environment to be myself and grow up and create this safe space to learn and make mistakes.”

We slip out the back and spend a Saturday afternoon cruising L.A. in his 1972 silver Jaguar E-type. The radio doesn’t work, so we just sing “Old Town Road.” He marvels, “‘Bull riding and boobies’ — that is potentially the greatest lyric in any song ever.” Harry used to be pop’s mystery boy, so diplomatic and tight-lipped. But as he opens up over time, telling his story, he reaches the point where he’s pitching possible headlines for this profile. His best: “Soup, Sex, and Sun Salutations.”

How did he get to this new place? As it turns out, the journey involves some heartbreak. Some guidance from David Bowie. Some Transcendental Meditation. And more than a handful of magic mushrooms. But mostly, it comes down to a curious kid who can’t decide whether to be the world’s most ardently adored pop star, or a freaky artiste. So he decides to be both.

Two things about English rock stars never change: They love Southern California, and they love cars. A few days after Harry proclaimed the genius of “Old Town Road,” we’re in a different ride — a Tesla — cruising the Pacific Coast Highway while Harry sings along to the radio. “Californiaaaaaa!” he yells from behind the wheel as we whip past Zuma Beach. “It sucks!” There’s a surprising number of couples along the beach who seem to be arguing. We speculate on which ones are breaking up and which are merely having the talk. “Ah, yes, the talk,” Harry says dreamily. “Ye olde chat.”

Harry is feeling the smooth Seventies yacht-rock grooves today, blasting Gerry Rafferty, Pablo Cruise, Hall and Oates. When I mention that Nina Simone once did a version of “Rich Girl,” he needs to hear it right away. He counters by blowing my mind with Donny Hathaway’s version of John Lennon’s “Jealous Guy.”

Harry raves about a quintessential SoCal trip he just tried: a “cold sauna,” a process that involves getting locked in an ice chamber. His eyelashes froze. We stop for a smoothie (“It’s basically ice cream”) and his favorite pepper-intensive wheatgrass shot. It goes down like a dose of battery acid. “That’ll add years to your life,” he assures me.

We’re on our way to Shangri-La studios in Malibu, founded by the Band back in the 1970s, now owned by Rick Rubin. It’s where Harry made some of the upcoming album, and as we walk in, he grins at the memory. “Ah, yes,” he says. “Did a lot of mushrooms in here.”

Psychedelics have started to play a key role in his creative process. “We’d do mushrooms, lie down on the grass, and listen to Paul McCartney’s Ram in the sunshine,” he says. “We’d just turn the speakers into the yard.” The chocolate edibles were kept in the studio fridge, right next to the blender. “You’d hear the blender going, and think, ‘So we’re all having frozen margaritas at 10 a.m. this morning.’” He points to a corner: “This is where I was standing when we were doing mushrooms and I bit off the tip of my tongue. So I was trying to sing with all this blood gushing out of my mouth. So many fond memories, this place.”

It’s not mere rock-star debauchery — it’s emblematic of his new state of mind. You get the feeling this is why he enjoys studios so much. After so many years making One Direction albums while touring, always on the run, he finally gets to take his time and embrace the insanity of it all. “We were here for six weeks in Malibu, without going into the city,” he says. “People would bring their dogs and kids. We’d take a break to play cornhole tournaments. Family values!” But it’s also the place where he has proudly bled for his art. “Mushrooms and Blood. Now there’s an album title.”

Some of the engineers come over to catch up on gossip. Harry gestures out the window to the Pacific waves, where the occasional nude revelry might have happened, and where the occasional pair of pants got lost. “There was one night where we’d been partying a bit and ended up going down to the beach and I lost all my stuff, basically,” he says. “I lost all my clothes. I lost my wallet. Maybe a month later, somebody found my wallet and mailed it back, anonymously. I guess it just popped out of the sand. But what’s sad is, I lost my favorite mustard corduroy flares.” A moment of silence is held for the corduroy flares.

Recording in the studio today is Brockhampton, the self-proclaimed “world’s greatest boy band.” Harry says hi to all the Brockhampton guys, which takes a while since there seem to be a few dozen of them. “We’re together all the time,” one tells Harry out in the yard. “We see each other all day, every day.” He pauses. “You know how it is.”

Harry breaks into a dry grin. “Yes, I know how it is.”

One Direction made three of this century’s biggest and best pop albums in a rush — Midnight Memories, Four and Made in the A.M. Yet they cut those records on tour, ducking into the nearest studio when they had a day off. 1D were a unique mix of five different musical personalities: Harry, Niall Horan, Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik, and Liam Payne. But the pace took its toll. Malik quit in the middle of a tour, immediately after a show in Hong Kong. The band announced its hiatus in August 2015.

It’s traditional for boy-band singers, as they go solo and grow up, to renounce their pop past. Everybody remembers George Michael setting his leather jacket on fire, or Sting quitting the Police to make jazz records. This isn’t really Harry Styles’ mentality. “I know it’s the thing that always happens. When somebody gets out of a band, they go, ‘That wasn’t me. I was held back.’ But it was me. And I don’t feel like I was held back at all. It was so much fun. If I didn’t enjoy it, I wouldn’t have done it. It’s not like I was tied to a radiator.”

Whenever Harry mentions One Direction — never by name, always “the band” or “the band I was in” — he uses the past tense. It is my unpleasant duty to ask: Does he see 1D as over? “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t think I’d ever say I’d never do it again, because I don’t feel that way. If there’s a time when we all really want to do it, that’s the only time for us to do it, because I don’t think it should be about anything else other than the fact that we’re all like, ‘Hey, this was really fun. We should do this again.’ But until that time, I feel like I’m really enjoying making music and experimenting. I enjoy making music this way too much to see myself doing a full switch, to go back and do that again. Because I also think if we went back to doing things the same way, it wouldn’t be the same, anyway.”

When the band stopped, did he take those friendships with him? “Yeah, I think so,” he says. “Definitely. Because above all else, we’re the people who went through that. We’re always going to have that, even if we’re not the closest. And the fact is, just because you’re in a band with someone doesn’t mean you have to be best friends. That’s not always how it works. Just because Fleetwood Mac fight, that doesn’t mean they’re not amazing. I think even in the disagreements, there’s always a mutual respect for each other — we did this really cool thing together, and we’ll always have that. It’s too important to me to ever be like, ‘Oh, that’s done.’ But if it happens, it will happen for the right reasons.”

If the intensity of the Harry fandom ever seems mysterious to you, there’s a live clip you might want to investigate, from the summer of 2018. Just search the phrase “Tina, she’s gay.” In San Jose, on one of the final nights of his tour, Harry spots a fan with a homemade sign: “I’m Gonna Come Out to My Parents Because of You!” He asks the fan her name (she says it’s Grace) and her mother’s name (Tina). He asks the audience for silence because he has an important announcement to make: “Tina! She’s gaaaaay!” Then he has the entire crowd say it together. Thousands of strangers start yelling “Tina, she’s gay,” and every one of them clearly means it — it’s a heavy moment, definitely not a sound you forget after you hear it. Then Harry sings “What Makes You Beautiful.” (Of course, the way things work now, the clip went viral within minutes. So did Grace’s photo of Tina giving a loving thumbs-up to her now-out teenage daughter. Grace and Tina attended Harry’s next show together.)

Harry likes to cultivate an aura of sexual ambiguity, as overt as the pink polish on his nails. He’s dated women throughout his life as a public figure, yet he has consistently refused to put any kind of label on his sexuality. On his first solo tour, he frequently waved the pride, bi, and trans flags, along with the Black Lives Matter flag. In Philly, he waved a rainbow flag he borrowed from a fan up front: “Make America Gay Again.” One of the live fan favorites: “Medicine,” a guitar jam that sounds a bit like the Grateful Dead circa Europe ’72, but with a flamboyantly pansexual hook: “The boys and girls are in/I mess around with them/And I’m OK with it.”

He’s always had a flair for flourishes like this, since the 1D days. An iconic clip from November 2014: Harry and Liam are on a U.K. chat show. The host asks the oldest boy-band fan-bait question in the book: What do they look for in a date? “Female,” Liam quips. “That’s a good trait.” Harry shrugs. “Not that important.” Liam is taken aback. The host is in shock. On tour in the U.S. that year, he wore a Michael Sam football jersey, in support of the first openly gay player drafted by an NFL team. He’s blown up previously unknown queer artists like King Princess and Muna.

What do those flags onstage mean to him? “I want to make people feel comfortable being whatever they want to be,” he says. “Maybe at a show you can have a moment of knowing that you’re not alone. I’m aware that as a white male, I don’t go through the same things as a lot of the people that come to the shows. I can’t claim that I know what it’s like, because I don’t. So I’m not trying to say, ‘I understand what it’s like.’ I’m just trying to make people feel included and seen.”

On tour, he had an End Gun Violence sticker on his guitar; he added a Black Lives Matter sticker, as well as the flag. “It’s not about me trying to champion the cause, because I’m not the person to do that,” he says. “It’s just about not ignoring it, I guess. I was a little nervous to do that because the last thing I wanted was for it to feel like I was saying, ‘Look at me! I’m the good guy!’ I didn’t want anyone who was really involved in the movement to think, ‘What the fuck do you know?’ But then when I did it, I realized people got it. Everyone in that room is on the same page and everyone knows what I stand for. I’m not saying I understand how it feels. I’m just trying to say, ‘I see you.’”

At one of his earliest solo shows, in Stockholm, he announced, “If you are black, if you are white, if you are gay, if you are straight, if you are transgender — whoever you are, whoever you want to be, I support you. I love every single one of you.” “It’s a room full of accepting people.… If you’re someone who feels like an outsider, you’re not always in a big crowd like that,” he says. “It’s not about, ‘Oh, I get what it’s like,’ because I don’t. For example, I go walking at night before bed most of the time. I was talking about that with a female friend and she said, ‘Do you feel safe doing that?’ And I do. But when I walk, I’m more aware that I feel OK to walk at night, and some of my friends wouldn’t. I’m not saying I know what it feels like to go through that. It’s just being aware.”

‘Man cannot live by coffee alone,” Harry says. “But he will give it a damn good try.” He sips his iced Americano — not his first today, or his last. He’s back behind the wheel, on a mission to yet another studio — but this time for actual work. Today it’s string overdubs. Harry is dressed in Gucci from head to toe, except for one item of clothing: a ratty Seventies rock T-shirt he proudly scavenged from a vintage shop. It says “Commander Quaalude.”

On the drive over, he puts on the jazz pianist Bill Evans — “Peace Piece,” from 1959, which is the wake-up tone on his phone. He just got into jazz during a long sojourn in Japan. He likes to find places to hide out and be anonymous: For his first album, he decamped to Jamaica. Over the past year, he spent months roaming Japan.

In February, he spent his 25th birthday sitting by himself in a Tokyo cafe, reading Haruki Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. “I love Murakami,” he says. “He’s one of my favorites. Reading didn’t really used to be my thing. I had such a short attention span. But I was dating someone who gave me some books; I felt like I had to read them because she’d think I was a dummy if I didn’t read them.”

A friend gave him Murakami’s Norwegian Wood. “It was the first book, maybe ever, where all I wanted to do all day was read this,” he says. “I had a very Murakami birthday because I ended up staying in Tokyo on my own. I had grilled fish and miso soup for breakfast, then I went to this cafe. I sat and drank tea and read for five hours.”

In the studio, he’s overseeing the string quartet. He has the engineers play T. Rex’s “Cosmic Dancer” for them, to illustrate the vibe he’s going for. You can see he enjoys being on this side of the glass, sitting at the Neve board, giving his instructions to the musicians. After a few run-throughs, he presses the intercom button to say, “Yeah, it’s pretty T. Rex. Best damn strings I ever heard.” He buzzes again to add, “And you’re all wonderful people.”

He’s curated his own weird enclave of kindred spirits to collaborate with, like producers Jeff Bhasker and Tyler Johnson. His guitarist Mitch Rowland was working at an L.A. pizza shop when Harry met him. They started writing songs for the debut; Rowland didn’t quit his job until two weeks into the sessions. One of his closest collaborators is also one of his best friends: Tom Hull, a.k.a. Kid Harpoon, a longtime cohort of Florence and the Machine. Hull is an effusive Brit with a heart-on-sleeve personality. Harry calls him “my emotional rock.” Hull calls him “Gary.”

Hull was the one who talked him into taking a course on Transcendental Meditation at David Lynch’s institute — beginning each day with 20 minutes of silence, which doesn’t always come naturally to either of them. “He’s got this wise-beyond-his-years timelessness about him,” Hull says. “That’s why he went on a whole emotional exploration with these songs.” He’s 12 years older, with a wife and kids in Scotland, and talks about Harry like an irreverent but doting big brother.

Last year, Harry was in the gossip columns dating the French model Camille Rowe; they split up last summer after a year together. “He went through this breakup that had a big impact on him,” Hull says. “I turned up on Day One in the studio, and I had these really nice slippers on. His ex-girlfriend that he was really cut up about, she gave them to me as a present — she bought slippers for my whole family. We’re still close friends with her. I thought, ‘I like these slippers. Can I wear them — is that weird?’

“So I turn up at Shangri-La the first day and literally within the first half-hour, he looks at me and says, ‘Where’d you get those slippers? They’re nice.’ I had to say, ‘Oh, um, your ex-girlfriend got them for me.’ He said, ‘Whaaaat? How could you wear those?’ He had a whole emotional journey about her, this whole relationship. But I kept saying, ‘The best way of dealing with it is to put it in these songs you’re writing.’”

True to his code of gallant discretion, Harry doesn’t say her name at any point. But he admits the songs are coming from personal heartbreak. “It’s not like I’ve ever sat and done an interview and said, ‘So I was in a relationship, and this is what happened,’” he says. “Because, for me, music is where I let that cross over. It’s the only place, strangely, where it feels right to let that cross over.”

The new songs are certainly charged with pain. “The stars didn’t align for them to be a forever thing,” Hull says. “But I told him that famous Iggy Pop quote where he says, ‘I only ever date women who are going to fuck me up, because that’s where the songs are.’ I said, ‘You’re 24, 25 years old, you’re in the eligible-bachelor category. Just date amazing women, or men, or whatever, who are going to fuck you up, and explore and have an adventure and let it affect you and write songs about it.’”

His band is full of indie rockers who’ve gotten swept up in Hurricane Harry. Before becoming his iconic drum goddess, Sarah Jones played in New Young Pony Club, a London band fondly remembered by a few dozen of us. Rowland and Jones barely knew anything about One Direction before they met Harry — the first time they heard “Story of My Life” was when he asked them to play it. Their conversation is full of references to Big Star or Guided by Voices or the Nils Lofgren guitar solo in Neil Young’s “Speakin’ Out.” This is a band full of shameless rock geeks, untainted by industry professionalism.

In the studio, while making the album, Harry kept watching a vintage Bowie clip on his phone — a late-Nineties TV interview I’d never seen. As he plays it for me, he recites along — he’s got the rap memorized. “Never play to the gallery,” Bowie advises. “Never work for other people in what you do.” For Harry, this was an inspiring pep talk — a reminder not to play it safe. As Bowie says, “If you feel safe in the area that you’re working in, you’re not working in the right area. Always go a little further into the water than you feel you are capable of being in. Go a little bit out of your depth. And when you don’t feel that your feet are quite touching the bottom, you’re just about in the right place to do something exciting.”

He got so obsessive about Joni Mitchell and her 1971 classic Blue, he went on a quest. “I was in a big Joni hole,” he says. “I kept hearing the dulcimer all over Blue. So I tracked down the lady who built Joni’s dulcimers in the Sixties.” He found her living in Culver City. “She said, ‘Come and see me,’” Hull says. “We turn up at her house and he said, ‘How do you even play a dulcimer?’ She gave us a lesson. Then she got a bongo and we were all jamming with these big Cheshire Cat grins.” She built the dulcimer Harry plays on the new album. “Joni Mitchell and Van Morrison, those are my two favorites,” he says. “Blue and Astral Weeks are just the ultimate in terms of songwriting. Melody-wise, they’re in their own lane.”

He’s always been the type to go overboard with his fanboy enthusiasms, ever since he was a kid and got his mind blown by Pulp Fiction. “I watched it when I was probably too young,” he admits. “But when I was 13, I saved up money from my paper route to buy a ‘Bad Motherfucker’ wallet. Just a stupid white kid in the English countryside with that wallet.” While in Japan, he got obsessively into Paul McCartney and Wings, especially London Town and Back to the Egg. “In Tokyo I used to go to a vinyl bar, but the bartender didn’t have Wings records. So I brought him Back to the Egg. ‘Arrow Through Me,’ that was the song I had to hear every day when I was in Japan.”

He credits meditation for helping to loosen him up. “I was such a skeptic going in,” he says. “But I think meditation has helped with worrying about the future less, and the past less. I feel like I take a lot more in—things that used to pass by me because I was always rushing around. It’s part of being more open and talking with friends. It’s not always the easiest to go in a room and say, ‘I made a mistake and it made me feel like this, and then I cried a bunch.’ But that moment where you really let yourself be in that zone of being vulnerable, you reach this feeling of openness. That’s when you feel like, ‘Oh, I’m fucking living, man.’”

After quite a few hours of recording the string quartet, a bottle of Casamigos tequila is opened. Commander Quaalude pours the drinks, then decides what the song needs now is a gaggle of nonsingers bellowing the chorus. “Muppet vocals” is how he describes it. He drags everyone in sight to crowd around the mics. Between takes, he wanders over to the piano to play Harry Nilsson’s “Gotta Get Up.” One of the choir members, creative director Molly Hawkins, is the friend who gave him the Murakami novel. “I think every man should read Norwegian Wood,” she says. “Harry’s the only man I’ve given it to who actually read it.”

It’s been a hard day’s night in the studio, but after hours, everyone heads to a dive bar on the other side of town to see Rowland play a gig. He’s sitting in with a local bar band, playing bass. Harry drives around looking for the place, taking in the sights of downtown L.A. (“Only a city as narcissistic as L.A. would have a street called Los Angeles Street,” he says.) He strolls in and leans against the bar in the back of the room. It’s an older crowd, and nobody here has any clue who he is. He’s entirely comfortable lurking incognito in a dim gin joint. After the gig, as the band toasts with PBRs, an old guy in a ball cap strolls over and gives Rowland a proud bear hug. It’s his boss from the pizza shop.

In the wee hours, Harry drives down a deserted Sunset Boulevard, his favorite time of night to explore the city streets, arguing over which is the best Steely Dan album. He insists that Can’t Buy a Thrill is better than Countdown to Ecstasy (wrongly), and seals his case by turning it up and belting “Midnight Cruiser” with truly appalling gusto. Tonight Hollywood is full of bright lights, glitzy clubs, red carpets, but the prettiest pop star in town is behind the wheel, singing along with every note of the sax solo from “Dirty Work.”

A few days later, on the other side of the world: Harry’s pad in London is lavish, yet very much a young single dude’s lair. Over here: a wall-size framed Sex Pistols album cover. Over there: a vinyl copy of Stevie Nicks’ The Other Side of the Mirror, casually resting on the floor. He’s having a cup of tea with his mum, Anne, the spitting image of her son, all grace and poise. “We’re off to the pub,” he tells her. “We’re going to talk some shop.” She smiles sweetly. “Talk some shit, probably,” says Anne.

We head off to his local, sloshing through the rain. He’s wearing a Spice World hoodie and savoring the soggy London-osity of the day. “Ah, Londres!” he says grandly. “I missed this place.” He wants to sit at a table outside, even though it’s pouring, and we chat away the afternoon over a pot of mint tea and a massive plate of fish and chips. When I ask for toast, the waitress brings out a loaf of bread roughly the size of a wheelbarrow. “Welcome to England,” Harry says.

He’s always had a fervent female fandom, and, admirably, he’s never felt a need to pretend he doesn’t love it that way. “They’re the most honest — especially if you’re talking about teenage girls, but older as well,” he says. “They have that bullshit detector. You want honest people as your audience. We’re so past that dumb outdated narrative of ‘Oh, these people are girls, so they don’t know what they’re talking about.’ They’re the ones who know what they’re talking about. They’re the people who listen obsessively. They fucking own this shit. They’re running it.”

He doesn’t have the uptightness some people have about sexual politics, or about identifying as a feminist. “I think ultimately feminism is thinking that men and women should be equal, right? People think that if you say ‘I’m a feminist,’ it means you think men should burn in hell and women should trample on their necks. No, you think women should be equal. That doesn’t feel like a crazy thing to me. I grew up with my mum and my sister — when you grow up around women, your female influence is just bigger. Of course men and women should be equal. I don’t want a lot of credit for being a feminist. It’s pretty simple. I think the ideals of feminism are pretty straightforward.”

His audience has a reputation for ferocity, and the reputation is totally justified. At last summer’s show at Madison Square Garden, the floor was wobbling during “Kiwi” — I’ve been seeing shows there since the 1980s, but I’d never seen that happen before. (The only other time? His second night.) His bandmates admit they feared for their lives, but Harry relished it. “To me, the greatest thing about the tour was that the room became the show,” he says. “It’s not just me.” He sips his tea. “I’m just a boy, standing in front of a room, asking them to bear with him.”

That evening, Fleetwood Mac take the stage in London — a sold-out homecoming gig at Wembley Stadium, the last U.K. show of their tour. Needless to say, their most devoted fan is in the house. Harry has brought a date: his mother, her first Fleetwood Mac show. He’s also with his big sister Gemma, bandmates Rowland and Jones, a couple of friends.

He’s in hyperactive-host mode, buzzing around his cozy VIP box, making sure everyone’s champagne glass is topped off at all times. As soon as the show begins, Harry’s up on his feet, singing along (“Tell me, tell me liiiiies!”) and cracking jokes. You can tell he feels free — as if his radar is telling him there aren’t snoopers or paparazzi watching. (He’s correct. This is a rare public appearance where nobody spots him and no photos leak online.) It’s family night. His friend Mick Fleetwood wilds out on the drum solo. “Imagine being that cool,” Gemma says.

Midway through the show, Harry’s demeanor suddenly changes. He gets uncharacteristically solemn and quiet, sitting down by himself and focusing intently on the stage. It’s the first time all night he’s taken a seat. He’s in a different zone than he was in a few minutes ago. But he’s seen many Fleetwood Mac shows, and he knows where they are in the set. It’s time for “Landslide.” He sits with his chin in hand, his eyes zeroing in on Stevie Nicks. As usual, she introduces her most famous song with the story of how she wrote it when she was just a lass of 27.

But Stevie has something else she wants to share. She tells the stadium crowd, “I’d like to dedicate this to my little muse, Harry Styles, who brought his mother tonight. Her name is Anne. And I think you did a really good job raising Harry, Anne. Because he’s really a gentleman, sweet and talented, and, boy, that appeals to me. So all of you, this is for you.”

As Stevie starts to sing “Landslide” — “I’ve been afraid of changing, because I built my life around youuuu” — Anne walks over to where Harry sits. She crouches down behind him, reaches her arms around him tightly. Neither of them says a word. They listen together and hold each other close to the very end of the song. Everybody in Wembley is singing along with Stevie, but these two are in a world of their own.

#harry styles #rs #260819 #drug mention

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jvsminerose-moved · 5 years

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NAME: celine NICKNAME: n/a AGE: 21 FACE CLAIM: kiki from kiki’s delivery service PRONOUNS: she/her HEIGHT: 5′1 BIRTHDAY: june 13

AESTHETIC: flowers, pastel, warm summer days with a cool breeze, lazy saturdays where the sun is just peeking out of the blinds, palm trees, a softly babbling brook, jasmine flowers, the color pink

LAST SONG YOU LISTENED TO: monsoon by amber mark

FAVORITE MUSE ( S ) YOU’VE WRITTEN: jasmine, jacob, leo, mishka, luis, ad aris!

WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO TAKE ON YOUR CURRENT MUSE ( THAT YOU ARE POSTING THIS ON ): i think it started because i wanted i wanted to use h/arry s/hum jr. as a face claim and i wanted to write against endless amounts of m/atthew d/addarios out there LOL im shameless. i started with him just being a baker. but, while i was developing him, i actually had this great idea to insert him in this little found-family of muses that i have. so basically there’s a woman who owns a bakery and catering company (she was my michelle yeoh fc, i’m most likely gonna bring her back soon and by soon i mean tonight probably). my first muse jasmine is a cook and the manager for the bakery, so i decided add jacob there as the resident pastry chef. recently, i wanted to make the bakery’s youtube channel sorta like a bon appetit bc jasmine has a following on her youtube channel, and that’s where i imagined jacob being an internet famous pastry chef.

what i love about this little bakery fam is that the woman who owns the bakery both brought jasmine and jacob under her wing when their parents kicked them out after being outed. so yeah theyre such a supportive found family and i love them with my entire heart

WHAT ARE YOUR FAVORITE ASPECTS OF YOUR CURRENT MUSE: jacob is one of the sweetest human beings ever, but he’s not afraid to stand up for himself and become insanely protective of the things that he loves. like... if u cross him enough he gets s c a r y. it’s as a result of his past, though. he’s had to learn a lot growing up

WHAT’S YOUR BIGGEST INSPIRATION WHEN IT COMES TO WRITING: honestly, plotting with other people our character and relationship developments! i thrive on brainstorming ideas and it just gets me so excited to go forward and write for ppl who are just as passionate about the creative process as i am.

FAVORITE TYPES OF THREADS: i am a VERY fluffy person, so i love all the typical fanfiction tropes: pining, sharing the bed, meet-cute, hurt/comfort, that type of stuff lol. like i made my own damn bakery universe!! kfjsdlfs. but even platonic, i love fluffy stuff like people being fiercely supportive of each other. i do like the occasional angst, though, as long as it’s a happy ending!! (i don’t rly do like, pure angst bc i can’t handle it sdlfkdjs)

BIGGEST STRUGGLE IN REGARDS TO YOUR CURRENT MUSE: i’m not sure, actually!! jacob is one of my more fleshed out characters and i’m really content with where he’s at as a character right now

tagged by: @chingcna tagging: @brooklyn-musing (jude), @refcrmist (adri), @dolceclavier (alex), @ghostxn (jax), @phantomgalaxies (corey), @trashedrps (wyatt), @felixculpxx (nousha), @leftlipstick (ziram), @sercphvs and anyone who wants to do this!

#♡ ˙ * ✧ ━━ ❪ ooc. ❫

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stylesdimplefeelings · 7 years

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Whipped...Boyfriend...or not anymore??(PT.6)

GIF is not mine

How do you go from being around someone 24/7 to having to get used to their abrupt absence from one day to another?

Harry can admit he's felt the cold hands of loneliness clinging to him for far too long.

He'll refuse to complain about the sudden rise to fame he's gone through these past 7 years-he likes to think most of everyone knows that-and give into the idea that it might have stolen what might have been a normal life. It's given him everything he ever only wished for.

But he's not immune to the want...the need to have someone beside him he can love. And it's not the same as family love, or strong bonds of friendship for that matter-not that he'd ever complain about that either, he's been lucky enough to be surrounded with a genuine group of friends that will put him in his place if need be. But it's not the same as having someone he can give his heart to in a different way. Someone who he can wake up to, go to sleep next to, celebrate accomplishments with, and just love in a way every human longs to be loved like.

He's had relationships in the past, sure, but those didn't live to see...hear the words I love you. There was just always too much public interest in who he was dating. Harry knew though, so he couldn't ever reproach fame for that either. The few, and by that maybe two at the most, relationships that he was able to keep out of public eye never made it past the three month mark. What with having been on the road for the better part of his teenage years, he could never offer any of the girls stability.

But when he met Y/N, it was different. And he sometimes thinks it's because they were able to form a strong bond as friends before they became an item. The cliché friends to lovers if you will.

So the questions stands. How does one manage to lose all of it? He had the girl of his dreams at his side? She knew every kink and flaw there was to him. She made him laugh and did things for him without expecting anything in return, which he's come to the conclusion it's hard to come by when it seems all he's encountered is people wanting to be his friend to benefit themselves. Harry, at one point and he's not sure when, realized Y/N was someone he absolutely could not live without. It'd taken him so long-too long-to come into terms that it hadn't once crossed his mind that he didn't see Y/N as more than a friend not because he didn't have feelings for her, but because he knew how these things go and what steps follow the previous.

It goes, strangers to friends. Friends turn to best friends which turn into two people realizing they've had feelings for each other. If you're lucky and someone has the balls to say something, that turns into a relationship. And then after that, there's only two ways it could go. There'll be bumps in the road, yeah, but through communication and will, the relationship will see the day of marriage and kids and so on. But...if it doesn't. You lose a lover, and you lose a friend. So yeah, Harry had been oblivious to Y/N's love because he didn't wanna lose her.

So, again. How do you cope with losing your best friend...from one day to another?

It's the moment he opens the door of their previously shared room to nothing but a made bed and his bags where she'd left them after packing for him yesterday, that Harry realizes, nothing he can ever do or say, will ever make this better.

The wrenching feeling in his gut hits him like a train. Harry doesn't recall the last time he's felt this alone, not since Y/N. He could be thousands of miles apart from her, but just knowing that she was somewhere, maybe waiting for him, was always enough to remind him that he wasn't alone.

But that was then. That was yesterday, before he confessed.

Harry didn't have a hard time finding someone he could bunk with last night. There was really only one person who wouldn't have asked questions if Harry showed up at their door, emotions a mess and looking like shit. He'd apologized for waking his friend up, and didn't say much other than 'can I crash 'ere t'nite mate?' Grimmy couldn't say the state Harry was in didn't concern him, he wanted to ask what'd happened, but he didn't. He's known Harry long enough to know that he'll talk about his feelings when he's ready. No amount of coaxing will get him to spill anything no matter how much he would press. So he'd patted Harry on the back, making a joke about how he'd have to sleep on the sofa and hope it wouldn't fuck up his back more than it already was. And Harry was grateful that he hadn't asked about it, because in all honesty, maybe he deserved to sulk in loneliness.

What Harry did have a hard time with though, was falling asleep when all he could picture was Y/N's face. He knows her too well, enough that he can tell when she's trying to keep her emotions at bay. And it hurt that she wouldn't even look at him.

But he knows. Harry knows he couldn't ask her to not be mad.

He knuckles at his eyes, tired not from lack of sleep, but from too much crying. And the noise that erupts from his chest and breaks the silence in the room makes Harry want to break down all over again.

But he doesn't. As much as he wants to crawl into bed and wrap himself into the covers until he's a cocoon-like ball of fabric, he can't go another second without knowing Y/N's safe.

So for the next hour or so, he paces the room, his phone firm to his ear, calling everyone from Gemma to some of Y/N's coworkers, anyone that could possibly know where she's gone to. But it seems she hasn't reached out to anyone. And the thought of Y/N having to go through this alone makes him feel even shittier.

He's despondent after what feels like the hundredth call. Until his phone rings, Niall's name flashing across the screen.

"'Lo?"

"'Arry? Ye' a'right?"

Harry doesn't think he can really answer that, but he exhales audibly none the less, the heel of his palm rubbing at his newly glossy eyes.

"Yeh, Ni."

Any other day he would gladly made conversation, but he's got too much on his mind to even pretend to pay attention to whatever Niall's calling him for.

"Ye' sure, buddy?" Niall pauses for a moment, before continuing, "Picked up Y/N from the airport."

Harry's tired eyes open wide at that, "ye' did? How is she? Is she okay?"

"She seemed fine, H. Was pretty quiet, though. Everything okay with ye' two?" Niall's tone is cautious, knowingly, but cautious.

"Jus', stay with her, please?"

"Yeh, o'course, H."

"Thanks, Ni." He ends the call on that. A sigh falls from his lips. His body seems to ache, but he throws his head back in exasperation, both arms and heart defeatedly numb.

***

The plane ride back home was anything but settling.

Three hours. Approximately three long hours spent looking out of a plane window, mind wandering to the what if's.

What if Y/N forgives him? What if she gives him a chance to explain?

But what if she doesn't? What if she doesn't pick up his calls? What if she ignores his texts too? What if she does, only to tell him she doesn't ever wanna hear from him again?

What. If.

Harry feels utterly weak, his feet barely helping his body move. Every step feels heavy, every move forced.

He thanks the cabbie and hands him some money before exiting the car, bags in hands.

He sets them atop his doorstep to dig out his home keys from one of the pockets, thankful for the easy find, feebly unlocking the door.

He'd expected deafening silence. But when he leans further in, surprised at the faint noise he managed to hear coming from upstairs, he's all but tripping over his feet, two stepping up the stairs to find the source.

His heavy steps halt the ruckus, and when he opens the door, he feels his heart drop to the floor.

"Y/N." The name falls delicately from his lips.

If she was caught off guard any, she doesn't show. She looks him over once before wiping at her nose and continuing her search through his closet.

Harry's stands still at the doorway, eyes fixated on her as she patiently unhangs her shirts from where they hang on rods. Her movements are oddly unflustered.

He watches her walk to and from the bathroom, utilities in hand before shoving them into the same bag she's packed her clothes in.

He looks at how she goes to kneel in front of the dresser, opening and closing drawers, retrieving anything that belongs to her.

Harry’s rendered powerless, not knowing what to do, what to say- where to start.

It's when he hears her sniffle that he's brought back, the sight of his raggedy Rolling Stones shirt in her hands bringing back memories of her walking about the flat, doing chores in nothing but his shirt and a pair of panties.

She folds the shirt calmly, placing it back atop the rest of his shirt and closing the drawer.

"Y/N." Harry doesn't remember at what point the tears started to flow, his eyes sting and he's sure they're red, but he couldn't care less.

He takes a step forward, his hand instinctively reaching out.

She doesn't look at him, though. Instead, she kneels over the storage bench located at the foot of the bed.

"Y/N," he tries again, "please. Talk t'me pet."

Still nothing.

"I hope you don't mind me taking these," she mumbles, holding up a select handful of vinyls.

"Can take 'em all f'ye' wan'. But jus' look at me!" He's desperate, he thinks she can sense that by the way she nearly slams the top down.

"Just these."

The seconds pass by with Harry now standing over her, and Y/N motionless, her elbows on the bench and head in her hands.

He runs a hand through his disheveled hair and over his tired face.

"S'not what ye' think." His voice is soft as he kneels down next to her, eyes trying to search her hidden face for any sign that he can keep going.

"Didn't mean for it t'happen," he continues, testing the waters, "was so out of it, pet. I'd been drinking and I wasn't thinking and then next-"

"Harry." His name gets caught in her throat.

"Pet-"

"No Harry."

Her head whips up, tilting to look at him.

Harry lets out a slight whimper at the sight of a glossy eyed Y/N, features dejected.

She sucks in a breath, but it does nothing to mask her trembling voice. "You can't do what you did and expect me to willingly sit around and wait for you to justify it. I don't want to hear how much of a mistake it was. I don't want you to tell me that you didn't mean for it to happen."

She allows the tears to fall freely, wiping at her cheeks only once before tucking the strands that stick to them behind her ear.

"I know. I know there's nothin' I can say t'justify wha' I did. But, please, ye' have to let me make this up t'ye. I promise it won't 'appen again."

He looks at her with doleful eyes, the corners of his lips pulled down.

"No, Harry." It's almost a whine, a defeated whine that tugs at his heart and has her looking away from him.

"Y/N," he calls out, eyes begging to have her attention back in him, "I love you."

She looks at him almost painstakingly, chest heaving as she keeps the sobs at bay.

"I loved you, too Harry. I loved you to the point I let you go once if it meant you'd be happy. I loved you so much that sometimes I thought no one could ever understand it. I loved you too much to ever do anything that would jeopardize what we had. And I trusted you," she nods her head disapprovingly, "I trusted you with everything and honestly, you were the last person I could ever imagine would hurt me purposely."

"But I didn't-" he's shaking his head furiously, knowing every second that passes is closer to having her walk out of his life if he doesn't do anything about it.

"But you did. You did, and you hid it and it hurts." By this point, Y/N thinks it useless to try and regain control of her emotions.

He reaches out to touch her face only to have her abruptly stand up, palm landing at the side of her hip.

He could feel she would have walked away, if not for the touch.

He looks up at her pleadingly.

"I don't want to lose you." He admits, broken-heartedly.

And oh how Y/N wishes she hand never stepped foot in this place. She should have just sent someone to retrieve her stuff, hell she might have just left everything here all for the sake of forgetting.

But she knew it wasn't gonna be easy. She knew she would need some sort of closure.

"You lost me the moment you slept with her."

If you’ve stuck around this long, I owe you a massive thank you for putting up with having to wait so long between updates. I appreciate every single one of you! I cannot express how grateful I am that there’s people out there that like reading what I put out. I love you all too much!!(:

LouM xx

#Harry Styles #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles story #Harry Styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #harry styles dirty imagine #harry writing #solo harry #Whipped Series #Whipped Boyfriend #harry styles gif #harry styles imagine #harry styles preferences

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imjustthemechanic · 7 years

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The Stone Knight

Part 1/? - Two Statues Part 2/? - A Curious Interview Part 3/? - John Doe Part 4/? - Escape Attempt Part 5/? - Making the News Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - More Impossible Part 8/? - The Shield Thieves Part 9/? - Reality Sinks In Part 10/? - Preparing a Quest Part 11/? - The Marvelous History of Sir Stephen Part 12/? - Uninvited Guests

Because clearly what our heroes need at this point is more nasty surprises.

Natasha had met Dr. Yancy Hughes once or twice at university events, and had seen her on the news when she was interviewed in connection with the criminal cases she'd worked on. The woman's maiden name was Chandraprakesh, and she joked that she'd married a man named Hughes deliberately to get rid of it. She was tiny and plump, with dark skin and thick black hair that made her pale green eyes all the more striking.

When the party arried, Dr. Hughes was in her lab giving some students advice on electrophoresis gels. She looked up and smiled at her guests and said, “forget something?”

“I'm sorry?” asked Nat.

“Well, you're back,” Dr. Hughes pointed out.

Nat could feel her stomach sink clear down to her toes. “Was I already here?” she asked. She'd seen Zola take her shape in Inverness. There was no reason why he couldn't do it again.

“Yeah, about twenty minutes ago,” said Dr. Hughes, confused. “Are you okay?”

“Didn't I tell you to ask me for ID?” Nat asked.

“I did!” Dr. Hughes said. “You showed me your driver's permit! It had the little chip on it and everything.”

Nat felt cold. Why hadn't she specified the type of identification? “That would be my Scotland driver's permit?” she asked. Those had a chip in them, like a credit card.

“Yes...” said Dr. Hughes uncertainly. Her students had set their gels down and were watching, curious what was going on.

Natasha pulled a passport-sized booklet out of her purse. “I'm a foreign resident on a teaching visa,” she said, opening the booklet to . “I travel constsantly. I have an international permit, not a Scottish one!”

“Then why did you show me a Scottish one?” asked Dr. Hughes.

“Because that wasn't me!” Nat said.

“It looked like you!” Dr. Hughes protested. “You had ID!”

“Never mind,” Natasha decided. If she tried to explain Dr. Hughes would probably think she was crazy. “Twenty minutes ago, you said. Did you give me the shield?”

“Of course not. Just a sample,” Dr. Hughes said, thoroughly confused. “You said you needed one to get a date from, and you took it from behind the big metal bit in the centre so that it wouldn't...” she stopped talking when she saw her guests' horrified expressions. “Well, where were you planning to take it from? That's the only spot that we can be sure doesn't have any blood on it.”

She didn't even have to explain, Nat thought. Hughes already thought she was crazy. She turned to her companions. “Spread out,” she ordered. “Look for... he won't be me anymore.” How did you recognize a shapeshifter? “Look for anybody suspicious. If you meet with another of our party and you're not sure it's really who it appears to be, the code word will be Volgograd.”

“Got it,” Carter nodded.

“Wait!” Dr. Hughes protested, as they all headed for the door again. “What's going on?”

“We don't know,” Nat replied, which was in a large measure still entirely honest.

At the front door of the Life Sciences building they split up. Carter crossed the street to check around Belmont Flats. Dr. Wilson went to circle the building, Sir Stephen went south to try the car park there, and Nat headed north to check the other lot, outside the Institute of Sport and Exercise. There were three rows of cars there, with three or four people currently getting in or out, or looking for something in the boot. Nat ran up and down the rows, checking back seats and looking at each person and what they were carrying. She got some odd stares, but didn't find anything.

Of course she didn't. Zola had been smart. He'd only taken what he needed, rather than the whole shield, and there was absolutely no reason why he should continue using Nat's appearance after he had what he'd come for. Any one of these people might be him, or they might all be totally uninvolved. Once he was gone, there was no way to ever find him again, and he had a twenty minute head start. He could be halfway to Ediburgh by now.

Several people were staring at Natasha from various corners of the car park. A young woman, all dressed up for some special occasion in a sky-blue sari that kept blowing in her face. A tall man in a dark suit and green tie, frowning in deep disapproval of whatever it was he thought she was doing. A couple of students who had just gotten out of their car, looking worried that they might have done something wrong. Nat sighed, gave them a halfhearted wave, and turned to trudge back to the Life Sciences building.

Dr. Hughes was waiting there. “I had a look around the building,” she said. “Some people said they'd seen you come and go earlier, but nobody saw anything they thought was weird.”

“Password,” Nat prompted.

“Huh? Oh. Volgograd,” said Hughes. “Seriously, what's happening here? Do you have an evil twin or something?”

“Would you believe me if I said yes?” asked Nat.

Hughes thought about it for a few moments. “Maybe?” she admitted.

The others drifted back, one by one, and each gave the password when Natasha demnded. They all looked deeply disheartened, and none of them had found a thing.

“We don't even know who to look for,” Carter said. “He could be anybody.”

“Um... I'm sorry?” Dr. Hughes offered. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not really,” Nat said. “Don't worry about it, it's not your fault. As far as you knew, you were giving it to me. I mean, I had ID and everything, right?” Technically, Dr. Hughes hadn't done anything wrong.

“I guess,” Dr. Hughes said uncertainly, and Nat knew it was going to spend days trying to think of what she could have done differently. Natasha didn't like seeing people feel guilty for things that weren't their fault – that was a waste of guilt in a world where people who did do awful things did them without a qualm.

The group went back to their car, but instead of getting in they stood there leaning on the vehicle, trying to figure out what to do next. This time, it was Dr. Wilson who took charge.

“All right, Sir Steve,” he said. “You obviously had to see this map at some point. What did it look like? Where did you think it was leading you?”

Could they figure out where the Grail was based on a verbal description of the map? That seemed unlikely – after all, at the time Sir Stephen had been turned to stone, or whatever it was that had happened, he still hadn't found it despite having the map itself.

“It was engraved on the back of a piece of blue-green stone, the upper surface of which was carved as an Egyptian scarab,” Sir Stephen explained. “Or so its keeper told me, at least. I do not personally know what sort of beetles they have in Egypt. Has anyone a quill and some vellum?”

Carter passed him a pen and a notepad without a word.

“There were thirteen marks, or so we believe,” Sir Stephen said, drawing dots on the paper. “The stone was quite damaged and it was hard to tell if some of them were intentional parts of the engraving. Twelve were in an oval, and the thirteenth was here.” He drew a rough ellipse of dots, and then one at what seemed to be one of the foci.

“That looks almost like an astronomical diagram,” Natasha observed. She'd seen drawings in textbooks that were supposed to be planetary orbits – according to Kepler's laws, those were ellipses with the sun at a focus. But Kepler hadn't come along until the seventeenth century, well after Sir Stephen's time. Not to mention a scarab signet, which was what Sir Stephen seemed to be describing, would already have been over a thousand years old by the time anybody gave it to him.

“What did you think it meant?” asked Dr. Wilson.

“Supposedly there were at one time six such scarabs,” Sir Stephen said, “which together made a map to where the sorcerer Hermes Trimegistus had hidden objects too powerful for any human being to use. The other five had been destroyed or lost, but this was passed down by the Magi. It looked to us like one of the circles of stones you find in the north.”

“Like the ones near Gran's place in the Orkneys!” DI Carter said. She studied the diagram a moment, then pulled out her phone. “Google Earth, don't fail me now!” she said, and began typing something in.

Sir Stephen and Dr. Wilson moved closer to look over her shoulder, but then Nat's own phone rang. She pulled it out to see who was calling, and found that it was Sue. Hopefully it was something important – Nat didn't have time for frivolous stuff right now. She stepped away from the group and put the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” she asked.

“Natalie, oh, thank goodness!” said Sue. “Are you still on campus?”

“Yes,” said Nat. “I'm... I'm at Dr. Hughes' building. We're... trying to find an address,” she said, glancing at Carter and her google search.

“I need you up here in the office,” Sue said. “Quickly, please.”

“Why? What's going on?” asked Nat, as her imagination tossed out a dozen horrible possibilities. Was Zola in thre? Was a crazed gunman holding the department hostage? Had the row of fairy figurines Sue kept on the shelf above her desk come to life and started causing mischief? It didn't seem like today had room for anything else to go wrong, but at the same time, with the rules of the universe apparently out the window, the possibilities for what might go wrong were endless.

“Just come up,” Sue said. “Hurry!” And with that, she ended the call.

Nat groaned out loud.

“Now what's wrong?” asked Dr. Wilson.

At least he agreed with her that this was getting to be ridiculous. “I don't know, she wouldn't tell me,” said Nat. “Come with me, my office is this way.” She had a bad feeling about this, and wanted the others with her. That way if she ended up facing any more nonsense, she'd at least have somebody to share it with. She stuck her phone back in her purse, and took off at a fast walk across the campus.

The building was still standing – that was a good sign. Even so, Nat decided she couldn't risk taking the elevator and instead ran up the steps as fast as she could. Sir Stephen was right behind her, with Carter and Wilson bringing up the rear. The closer they got, the worse was Nat's sense of foreboding. What had been going on that Sue could make a phone call and ask her to come, but not tell her why? Nat thought back to the people she'd seen in the car park. Who had the man in the suit been? Was he involved in this? Was the woman in the sari really Zola in disguise?

By the time she reached the doors of the archaeology office, Nat was running. She burst into the room, startling Sue, who jumped up from her desk with a hand over her heart.

“Oh, it's only you, Natalie,” she said.

Nat looked around. Nothing was obviously out of place. The only other person presentwas a man with shaggy graying hair who'd been helping himself to coffee when Nat's entry surprised him, too. Everything appeared to be normal... which made Natasha's spirits sink yet further as she realized she'd been tricked again. Zola wasn't in here. More likely he was the one who'd made the call, mimicking Sue's voice the way he'd mimicked the reporter's when he called Dr. Wilson – and now Nat and the others were here while he escaped the campus.

Or perhaps not, because as soon as Sue had recovered from her surprise, she gave Nat a beaming smile. “Surprise!” she said.

She was looking at the man with the coffee. Puzzled, Nat followed her gaze.

“Hi, Ginger Snap,” said the man. He was not quite six feet tall, dressed in a camo-green down jacket over a sweater with a patterned yoke, and a pair of aged jeans. Though in his late sixties, he still had all his hair, and his eyes were pale blue, like Natasha's own – and he was holding out his left arm, the one he wasn't using to hold a paper coffee cup, as if he were expecting a hug.

Nat took a step backward, feeling sick. She knew who he looked like he was – she had a reasonably clear mental picture of the man – but he didn't exist. He existed even less than Sir Stephen of Rogsey existed. Sir Stephen was presumably a fourteenth-century compilation of earlier legends that probably had some basis in history, however unrecognizable that might be after three centuries of retelling. Allen Rushman, on the other hand, was somebody Natasha herself had made up out of whole cloth, to add some flavour to her biography.

She'd just about managed to cope with Sir Stephen, but how was she supposed to deal with her fictional father, standing in front of her in the flesh?

#fanfic #natasha romanov #black widow #captain america #steve rogers #sharon carter #agent 13 #sam wilson #falcon

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lodelss · 6 years

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Soraya Roberts | Longreads | November 2018 | 10 minutes (2,422 words)

Should I be married to a woman? If today were yesterday, if all this sexual fluidity were in the discourse when I was coming of age in the ‘90s, would I have been with a woman instead of a man? It is a question that “The Bisexual” creator Desiree Akhavan also poses in the second episode of her Hulu series, co-produced with Channel 4 because no U.S. network wanted it. Akhavan directed, co-wrote, and stars in the show in which her character, Leila, splits with her girlfriend of 10 years, Sadie (Maxine Peake), and starts having sex with men for the first time. So, Leila asks, if the opposite had happened to her — as it did to me — and a guy had swept her off her feet instead of a woman, would things have turned out differently? “Maybe I would’ve gone the path of least resistance,” Leila says. Maybe I did.

This is a conundrum that marks a previous generation — one that had to “fight for it,” as Akhavan’s heroine puts it, and is all the more self-conscious for being juxtaposed with the next one, the one populated by the fluid youth of social media idolizing the likes of pansexual Janelle Monáe, polyamorous Ezra Miller, undecided Lucas Hedges. Call it a queer generation gap (what’s one more label?). “I don’t know what it’s like to grow up with the Internet,” 32-year-old Akhavan explains to a younger self-described “queer woman” in her show. “I just get the sense that it’s changing your relationship to gender and to sexuality in a really good way, but in a way I can’t relate to.”

***

This Playboy bunny is chest out, lips open, legs wide. This Playboy bunny is every other Playboy bunny except for the flat hairy chest because this Playboy bunny is Ezra Miller. The star of Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald calls himself “queer” but it’s hard to take him seriously. What was it Susan Sontag said: it’s not camp if it’s trying to be camp? And for the past few months, while promoting the Potterverse prequel no one asked for, this 26-year-old fashionisto has been trying his damndest, styling himself as a sort of latter day Ziggy Stardust — the monastic Moncler puffer cape, the glittering Givenchy feathers — minus the depth. Six months ago, Miller looked like every other guy on the red carpet and now, per his own request, models bunny ears, fishnets, and heels as a gender-fluid rabbit for a randy Playboy interview. Okay, I guess, but it reads disingenuous to someone who grew up surrounded by closets to see them plundered so flagrantly for publicity. Described as “attracted to men and women,” Miller is nevertheless quoted mostly on the subject of guys, the ones he jerked off and fell in love with. He claims his lack of romantic success has lead him to be a polycule: a “polyamorous molecule” involving multiple “queer beings who understand me as a queer being.”

The article hit two weeks after i-D published a feature in which heartthrob Harry Styles interviewed heartthrob Timothée Chalamet with — despite their supposed reframing of masculinity — the upshot, as always, being female genuflection. “I want to say you can be whatever you want to be,” Chalamet explains, styled as a sensitive greaser for the cover. “There isn’t a specific notion, or jean size, or muscle shirt, or affectation, or eyebrow raise, or dissolution, or drug use that you have to take part in to be masculine.” Styles, on brand, pushes it further. “I think there’s so much masculinity in being vulnerable and allowing yourself to be feminine,” the 24-year-old musician says, “and I’m very comfortable with that.” (Of course you are comfortable, white guy…did I say that out loud?) As part of the boy band One Direction, Styles was marketed as a female fantasy and became a kind of latter-day Mick Jagger, the playboy who gets all the girls. His subsequent refusal to label himself, the rumors about his close relationship with band mate Louis Tomlinson, and the elevation of his song “Medicine” to “bisexual anthem”– “The boys and the girls are in/I mess around with them/And I’m OK with it” — all build on a solid foundation of cis white male heterosexuality.

Timothée Chalamet’s sexuality, meanwhile, flows freely between fiction and fact. While the 22-year-old actor is “straight-identifying,” he acquires a queer veneer by virtue of his signature role as Call Me by Your Name’s Elio, a bisexual teen (or, at least, a boy who has had sex with both women and men). Yet off screen, as Timothée, he embodies a robust heterosexuality. On social media, the thirst for him skews overwhelmingly female, while reports about his romantic partners — Madonna’s daughter, Johnny Depp’s daughter — not only paint him straight but enviably so. Lucas Hedges, another straight-identified actor who plays gay in the conversion therapy drama Boy Erased, somewhat disrupts this narrative, returning fluidity to the ambiguous space it came from. The 21-year-old admitted in an interview with Vulture that he found it difficult to pin himself down, having been “infatuated with” close male friends but more often women. “I recognize myself as existing on that spectrum,” he says. “Not totally straight, but also not gay and not necessarily bisexual.” That he felt “ashamed” for not being binary despite having a sixth-grade health teacher who introduced him to the range of sexuality suggests how married our culture is to it.

As a woman familiar with the shame associated with female sexuality, it’s difficult to ignore the difference in tenor of the response to famous young white males like Miller, Styles, and Chalamet and famous black women like Janelle Monáe and Tessa Thompson not only discussing it, but making even more radical statements. Appearing on the cover of Rolling Stone in May, Monáe said straight up (so to speak): “Being a queer black woman in America — someone who has been in relationships with both men and women — I consider myself to be a free-ass motherfucker.” The same age as Desiree Akhavan, 32, Monáe identified as bisexual until she read about pansexuality. She initially came out through her music; her album, Dirty Computer, contains a song called “Q.U.E.E.N.” which was originally titled “Q.U.E.E.R.,” while the music video accompanying “Pynk” has actress Tessa Thompson emerging from Monáe’s Georgia O’Keeffe-esque pants. While neither one of them has discussed their relationship in detail, Thompson, who in Porter magazine’s July issue revealed she is attracted to men and women, said, “If people want to speculate about what we are, that’s okay.”

The mainstream press and what appeared to be a number of non-queer social media acolytes credited Chalamet and Styles with redefining their gender and trouncing toxic masculinity. “[H]arry styles, ezra miller, and timothee chalamet are going to save the world,” tweeted one woman, while The Guardian dubbed Miller the “hero we need right now.” Monáe, meanwhile, was predominantly championed by queer fans (“can we please talk about how our absolute monarch Janelle Monáe has been telegraphing her truth to the queers thru her art and fashion for YEARS and now this Rolling Stone interview is a delicious cherry on top + a ‘told u so’ to all the h*teros”) and eclipsed by questions about what pansexual actually means. While white male fluidity was held up as heroic, female fluidity, particularly black female fluidity, was somehow unremarkable. Why? Part of the answer was recently, eloquently, provided by “Younger” star Nico Tortorella, who identifies as gender-fluid, bisexual, and polyamorous. “I get to share my story,” he told The Daily Beast. “That’s a privilege that I have because of what I look like, the color of my skin, what I have between my legs, my straight passing-ness, everything.”

***

When I was growing up sex was not fun, it was fraught. Sex was AIDS, disease, death. The Supreme Court of Canada protected sexual orientation under the Charter when I was 15 but I went to school in Alberta, Canada’s version of Texas — my gym teacher was the face of Alberta beef. In my high school, no one was gay even if they were. All gender was binary. Sex was a penis in a vagina. Popular culture was as straight, and even Prince and David Bowie seemed to use their glam sparkle to sleep with more women rather than fewer. Bisexual women on film were murderers (Basic Instinct) or sluts (Chasing Amy) and in the end were united by their desire for “some serious deep dicking.” I saw no bisexual women on television (I didn’t watch “Buffy”) and LGBTQ characters were limited (“My So-Called Life”). Alanis Morissette was considered pop music’s feminist icon, but even she was singing about Dave Coulier. And the female celebrities who seemed to swing both ways — Madonna, Drew Barrymore, Bijou Phillips — were the kind who were already acting out, their sexuality a hallmark of their lack of control.

“I think unrealistic depictions of sex and relationships are harmful,” Akhavan told The New York Times. “I was raised on them and the first time I had sex, I had learned everything from film and television and I was like ‘Oh, this isn’t at all like I saw on the screen.’” Bisexuality has historically been passed over on screen for a more accessible binary depiction of relationships. In her 2013 book The B Word: Bisexuality in Contemporary Film and Television, Maria San Filippo describes what has become known as “bisexual erasure” in pop culture: “Outside of the erotically transgressive realms of art cinema and pornography, screen as well as ‘real life’ bisexuality is effaced not only by what I’ve named compulsory monosexuality but also by compulsory monogamy,” she writes, adding, “the assumption remains that the gender of one’s current object choice indicates one’s sexuality.” So even high-profile films that include leads having sex with both genders — Brokeback Mountain, The Kids Are All Right, Blue Is the Warmest Color, Carol, Call Me By Your Name — are coded “gay” rather than “bi.”

Despite the rise in bisexual women on the small screen like Annalise in “How to Get Away with Murder,” Syd in “Transparent,” and Ilana in “Broad City,” GLAAD’s latest report on inclusion cited continued underrepresentation. While 28 percent of LGBTQ characters on television are bisexual, the majority are women (75 versus 18) and they are often associated with harmful tropes — sex is used to move the plot forward and the characters scan amoral and manipulative. This despite an increase in the U.S.’s queer population to 4.5 percent in 2017 from 3.5 percent in 2012 (when Gallup started tracking it). A notable detail is the extreme generational divide in identification: “The percentage of millennials who identify as LGBT expanded from 7.3% to 8.1% from 2016 to 2017, and is up from 5.8% in 2012,” reported Gallup. “By contrast, the LGBT percentage in Generation X (those born from 1965 to 1979) was up only .2% from 2016 to 2017.”

Here’s the embarrassing part. While I am technically a millennial, I align more with Generation X (that’s not the embarrassing bit). I am attracted more to men, but I am attracted to women as well yet don’t identify as LGBTQ. How best to describe this? I remember a relative being relieved when I acquired my first boyfriend (it was late). “Oh good, I thought you were gay,” they said. I was angry at them for suggesting that being gay was a bad thing, but also relieved that I had dodged a bullet. This isn’t exactly the internalized homophobia that Hannah Gadsby talked about, but it isn’t exactly not. My parents and my brother would have been fine with me being gay. So what’s the problem? The problem is that the standard I grew up with — in the culture, in the world around me — was not homosexuality, it was heterosexuality. I don’t judge non-heterosexual relationships, but having one myself somehow falls short of ideal. For the same reason, I can’t shake the false belief that lesbian sex is less legitimate than gay sex between men. The ideal is penetration. “That’s some Chasing Amy shit,” my boyfriend, eight years younger, said. And, yeah, unfortunately, it is. I have company though.

In a survey released in June, billed as “the most comprehensive of its kind,” Whitman Insight Strategies and BuzzFeed News polled 880 LGBTQ Americans, almost half of whom were between the ages of 18 and 29, and found that the majority, 46 percent, identified as bisexual. While women self-described as bi four times as often as men (79 to 19 percent), the report did not offer a single clear reason for the discrepancy. It did, however, suggest “phallocentrism,” the notion that the penis is the organizing principle for the world, the standard. In other words, sex is a penis in a vagina. “While bisexual women are often stereotyped as sleeping with women for male attention, or just going through a phase en route to permanent heterosexuality,” the report reads, “the opposite is presumed of bisexual men: that they are simply confused or semi-closeted gay men.” This explains why women who come out, like Monáe and Thompson, are considered less iconoclastic in the popular culture than men who even just make vague gestures towards fluidity — the stakes are considered higher for the guys. In truth, few feel comfortable being bi. Though the Pew Research Center’s survey of queer Americans in 2013 revealed that 40 percent of respondents identified as bisexual, this population was less likely to come out and more likely to be with a partner of the opposite sex. Famous women like Maria Bello, Cynthia Nixon, and Kristen Stewart have all come out, yet none of them really use the label.

“Not feeling gay enough, that’s something I felt a lot of guilt over,” Akhavan told the Times. It is guilt like this and the aforementioned shame which makes it all the more frustrating to watch the ease with which the younger generation publicly owns their fluidity. It is doubly hard to watch young white men being praised for wearing bunny ears in a magazine that has so long objectified women, simply because the expectations are so much lower for them. “I’m not looking down on the younger experience of being queer,” Akhavan said, “but I do think that there’s a resentment there that we gloss over.” In response, many of us react conservatively, with the feeling that they haven’t worked for it, that it is somehow less earned because of that. This is an acknowledgment of that resentment, of the eye rolling and the snickering with which we respond to the youth (ah, youth!). In the end we are not judging you for being empowered. We are judging ourselves for not being empowered enough.

* * *

Soraya Roberts is a culture columnist at Longreads.

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