#[ maybe it's gobstones ]

[ghostedgwen]

inside her fantasy | s.black

notes : so, finally a very long 8.6k words fic for Sirius. I had scrapped this many many times, changed plots like 4 times and even tried to just eat my keyboard while writing this but FINALLY I finished!! Thank u for 900 followers, ily all!!! somuch!!!!!

warnings : reader has an ancient blood curse with no cure, based on sleeping beauty- loosely, LOTS and LOTS of angst, the first wizarding war plot line, character death(s), mention of war and grief and loss, marauders angst (yk the rest)

Sirius Black never thought he would ever stop playing and offer his heart to someone else until he met her, but how does a man out of time keep a girl awake and within his reach? In which a girl is cursed to fall asleep, never to wake, and Sirius is hopelessly in love with her.

. . . Trends change, rumors fly through new skies but I'm right where you left me.

It starts with a dare, like all good stories involving the Marauders do.

You swap a fellow Hufflepuff's pumpkin juice for firewhisky before breakfast, right under the nose of three Prefects and a hovering ghost. You flash your friends a triumphant grin, and the moment the poor bloke takes a gulp and splutters across the table, you let out a laugh that makes heads turn.

One of those heads belongs to Sirius Black.

He doesn't laugh like everyone else. No, he watches for a moment, assessing, then leans over to James with a smirk. "Think we got ourselves another pranskter."

You catch it. Of course you do. You raise an eyebrow across the table and say, loud enough for him to hear, "You say that like you own the rights for pranks, Black."

James snorts. Sirius pretends to be wounded. "And here I was, thinking I was being complimentary."

"Don’t strain yourself," you say. "You might pull a muscle patting yourself on the back."

Something flickers behind his eyes. Interest, maybe. Or the thrill of not being immediately adored - he was too deep in his and his friends' adventures to truly notice everyone else. Specially that you wore a yellow robe, too forgetable for him.

James grabs his arm. "We’ve got practice, mate. Come on."

He stands, but he throws one last glance over his shoulder before he leaves. Right at you, you give him a mocking wave and you get a shit-eating grin in return.

You were caught sneaking back in from the Owlery.

He was caught hexing Filch’s office door so it screamed every time someone knocked.

Now you’re side by side, polishing trophies that haven't seen the light of day since 1903. Your fingers are smudged with Brasso. The room smells like lemon and resentment and old.

"So," he says, halfway through a plaque commemorating a Gobstones champion, "what’s your best detention story?"

You grin. "I once convinced McGonagall that Peeves framed me. Drew a whole diagram and everything."

Sirius lets out a laugh that bounces off the marble. "That’s impressive. I usually just take the blame and try to look roguish while doing it."

"That explains the ego," you reply, smirking.

He narrows his eyes, mock offended. "You’re not as clever as you think you are."

You pause, toss him a sideways glance. "And you’re not as clever as you think you are."

There’s a beat.

Then he grins. Wide and wolfish. "Then I’ll have to try harder, won’t I?"

And just like that, the dynamic begins.

The pumpkins explode in perfect sequence: one after the other, like a line of golden-orange fireworks down the centre of the Great Hall.

Everyone cheers. The Marauders look vaguely shocked, for once caught off guard by a grand prank -

Because the original plan wasn't supposed to work that well. And definitely not with the added effect of floating bats that shriek "Boo!" in different languages.

You had overheard their plotting. Tweaked a few spell matrices. Subtle improvements. You're not a glory-hog, but thought to add your own flair.

Sirius corners you near the staircase hours later, after the chaos has started to die down - he looked like he had been hunting you since it all went off.

"You meddled."

You feign innocence. "I improved. There’s a difference."

"You should join us."

You raise your brow. "I work alone."

Nevermind the fact you just tinkered with their pranks, you decided against joining their little band of Marauders as you didn't fancy being the only girl in their little boys group.

You'd rather do your own thing.

Moments later, Filch comes stomping down the corridor, waving a list of suspects. You grab Sirius's hand without thinking.

"Hide."

He doesn’t question it. He lets you drag him to the small, tight place between walls where a statue was located, you squeezed yourselves behind it.

He whispers, "You really are a menace."

"Takes one to know one, Black."

Your breath fogs in the silence. His eyes catch yours. For a moment, the world shrinks. Just the sound of your heartbeat and the feel of his coat brushing your arm.

He doesn’t kiss you.

But he wants to.

He asks you like it’s nothing. Like it’s a joke, and perhaps it was. He had insisted so, justifying it in his head.

"Fancy a trip to Hogsmeade? I hear Honeydukes has a new licorice wand."

You smirk. "Only if you’re paying. And I want a scone. With clotted cream."

He blinks, not expecting you to say yes. He half-expected you to make fun of him for it or perhaps hex him at his audacity.

He broke into a grin at that, unbelievably successful. "Done."

You go. It’s cold and overcast and perfect. Sirius has managed to shrug James off who whined non-stop about being left alone for yet another date.

James Potter ever the brat was complaining that, "Mates before dates!" but Sirius left him.

You tease each other the whole way there, and the whole way back.

Inside the tea shop, he stares at the way you scrape the jam across your plate and says, "You’re not like anyone else, you know."

You tilt your head. "That sounds suspiciously like a line - am I supposed to swoon now?"

He sighs, knowing you'd respond with a bite like always. He leans back. "It’s not. I just meant - "

"I’m not interested in being Sirius Black’s next conquest," you interrupt, quiet but firm.

For once, he has no retort.

For once, something cracks in his expression. Just for a second, that you barely caught it.

Then he masks it with a grin. "I’d never break your heart."

You don’t believe him. But you wish you could.

The tower is asleep - but as always, one Gryffindor is out of bed.

Sirius sits on the edge of his bed, candle flickering low beside him. His parchment is blotchy with crossed-out lines.

He thought about practising it first, writing down his thoughts and feelings and words he dared not say on parchment before he blurts them out to you.

In fear that he'd say it wrong - or you wouldn't take it too well. He resorted to writing his feelings down, it made him feel almost embarrassed. Almost.

I don’t know why I keep thinking about you.

Maybe it’s because you don’t make it easy.

Maybe it’s because when I’m around you, I’m not just ‘Sirius Black’ - I’m something I don’t hate.

He finishes the letter at that after many revisions, numerous lines crossed out and ink droplets staining the edges of the texts. He stares at it, blinks once -

Then he folded it, tucked into the bottom of his trunk. Probably not to be seen ever again by any other soul, specially not the person it was written for.

He went to bed with a heavy weight on his chest.

Your friends surprise you with a pile of sweets and a stack of cards. Someone charms the banner to say Happy Birthday, You Absolute Legend. There’s music, and dancing, and laughter that lights up the whole room.

You were against them throwing a whole party but they insisted. Your dormmates had birthdays outside of school, right during holidays and summer breaks so they insisted on celebrating yours.

You couldn't dodge out of it any longer and it soon turned into a big thing with other people from the other houses piling into your common room, all invited, to celebrate your coming-of-age.

Sirius gives you a wrapped package the size of a wand. Inside is a quill - you eye it with distrust as it couldn't be that simple with him.

"What does it do?" you ask, raising a brow with a coy grin.

He smirks. "Try it."

You scribble your name across a napkin. The quill shimmers, then begins writing compliments beneath it: Wittiest girl in the castle. Eyes like midnight mischief. Dangerous in the best way.

You laugh so hard at the words that you felt tears in your eyes.

During the festivites, you decided you have had enough and snuck out so effortlessly, you climb the stairs to the Astronomy Tower.

Sirius follows, wordlessly, you didn't even mind him following you in there. Much too happy by everything that had happened to feel anything but pure happiness.

The stars are out, constellations drawn out to scatter across the night sky. You can feel the cold wind brushing past you, but you’re warm.

Must've been the Firewhiskey.

He stands beside you, watching how the moon illuminated your face. How the white light cast an almost blue hue across your features, like you were a painting come to life.

He leans in, despite himseld and you immediately caught it. Pressing a hand to his chest to stop him, your palms staying flat against his jacket. You give him a small smile.

"Not yet," you whisper.

He doesn’t push, he just slowly nods, accepting the rejection.

"Seventeen feels. . . big," you say, eyes on the sky, turning away from him before you could reject pushing him away before he could even close the distance.

"You’ve got time," he tells you.

You smile, soft. Sad, somehow.

"I know."

The library was unusually silent for a Thursday evening. You knew that most students had already left to their common rooms or gone to dinner, escaping the biting chill that had settled over the castle.

Even the ghosts, those eternal spirits who haunted the halls, seemed to have retreated into their own restless slumber, leaving the space in a fragile, almost sacred silence. Rows of towering bookshelves stretched into the shadows, their dark wood and brass fittings gleaming faintly in the low glow of the lanterns, like silent sentinels guarding ancient secrets.

You sat curled in one of the oversized armchairs near the far window, your legs tucked beneath you, a pile of books and loose parchment spread across your lap.

Your ink-stained fingers moved furiously, scribbling notes, ideas, or perhaps just trying to clear your mind. Your quill tapped rhythmically against your lips as you thought, lost in the world of your own making, unaware of anyone else’s presence.

The truth was, you weren’t supposed to be here. You hated the library on principle - so quiet, so organized, so full of reminders of work you’d rather avoid. But tonight, it was a refuge of sorts, a quiet space where you could escape the chaos of school and the pressure of exams.

Besides, you liked the solitude. It was easier to think when no one was around.

Until you felt that familiar, restless energy stir within you.

You weren’t sure what it was exactly - maybe boredom, maybe the need for distraction. Maybe a desire to defy the dull routine of school life. Whatever it was, it made you glance around and contemplate your options. Perhaps a little mischief. A quick prank to liven things up.

You shifted slightly in the chair, lifting your quill and preparing to scribble a note to yourself or perhaps an amused doodle. That’s when you noticed him.

Sirius Black.

He was leaning casually against one of the bookshelves, his dark hair falling into his eyes, a crooked grin curling on his lips. His eyes flicked over you with a teasing glint, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. You tried to ignore him, but you knew better.

He sauntered over, boots silent on the stone floor, a devilish smirk on his face. You could see the glint of mischief in his eyes, the way he always looked at you when he was about to do something he knew you’d hate.

"Well, well," he drawled, voice low and amused. "What do we have here? A little angel hiding in the library after hours?"

You rolled your eyes, pretending to ignore him. "Not your concern, Black."

He chuckled softly, leaning down slightly so his face was level with yours. "Come on, don’t be like that. I thought we were friends."

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at your lips. Sirius always knew how to push your buttons - in the worst and best ways.

He reached out, fingertips grazing the spine of a dusty, leather-bound tome on the table next to your chair. His eyes gleamed mischievously. "Thinking of a little prank, are we?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly looked away, trying to hide your grin. "Not this time, Black."

He leaned closer, voice lowering to a whisper. "Come on, I know you’re dying for some trouble. Just one little thing."

You hesitated. You knew he was right - your usual impulse was to stir up chaos, to shake things up. But tonight, you felt something different. A flicker of unease, maybe. Something about the way you were feeling - restless, distracted, almost jittery - made you pause.

Sirius, however, was relentless.

He reached for the nearest book on the table - an enormous, dusty volume - and grinned wider. "How about I give this a little shove? Bet it’d make a hell of a noise."

You rolled your eyes. "You’re hopeless."

He chuckled again. "You’re just afraid I’ll beat you to it."

You shook your head, trying to focus on your work again. But then, something caught your eye. You felt it before you saw it: the strange stillness in your body, the way your fingers suddenly refused to move, the sensation that your mind had gone quiet, almost as if you’d fallen into a trance.

You didn’t realize until a moment later that you’d gone completely still, your eyes fixed on a point far away.

Suddenly, Sirius’s voice broke through your concentration. "Oi, princess," he said softly, crouching down beside your chair. "You’re gonna fall asleep in the library like that? Not exactly the look you’re going for."

You didn’t respond. For a moment, you didn’t even blink. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive.

He nudged your shoulder gently. "Come on, wake up. Hey."

Nothing.

Your heart fluttered - an odd, sinking feeling you couldn’t quite place. You were alive, weren’t you? You felt your chest rise and fall. But something was wrong. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak.

Sirius’s brow furrowed. "Oi, what’s going on?" he asked softly, reaching out to shake you more firmly. "This isn’t funny."

Still, you remained frozen, eyes staring blankly ahead. Your head lolled slightly to the side, your body slack in the chair’s embrace. A shiver ran down your spine; a primal instinct told you that something was terribly wrong.

He reached out, fingers trembling slightly, and gently shook your shoulders. "Come on, talk to me. Wake up."

No response.

His heart hammered in his chest. You weren’t responding. Your body was limp, unnaturally still.

"No, no, no," he whispered, voice cracking. Panic rising. His mind raced - what was happening?

He pressed his ear as close as he dared to your chest, listening desperately for a heartbeat. There it was, faint but steady - faint, slow, like a distant drum. You were alive, somehow, but not present. Not really.

His breath hitched as he stared at you, helpless.

"Please, no," he muttered, voice thick with emotion.

Without thinking, Sirius slid his arms under your body, lifting you carefully, cradling you against his chest as if afraid you’d shatter. Your head lolled against his collarbone, limp and unresponsive. His heart pounded harder now, pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it.

He sprinted through the rows of books, knocking over stacks in his haste, ignoring the startled shouts of Madam Pince, who hurried after him.

"Help! Somebody, I need help!" Sirius shouted, voice echoing down the corridor as he burst out into the hallway.

The hospital wing smelled like lavender and antiseptic, a familiar blend that didn’t bring comfort tonight. Madame Pomfrey was at her desk, meticulously organizing vials and bandages, when the doors swung open with a gust of wind and Sirius burst in, clutching you carefully.

Her eyes widened in alarm at the sight of you, unconscious and limp in his arms. "What happened?"

"I don’t know," Sirius gasped, pounding his fist against his chest as he tried to catch his breath. "She was just sitting there. She wouldn’t wake up."

Pomfrey hurried forward, her hands deft and sure. "Bring her here," she ordered, taking you from Sirius’s trembling grip and laying you gently onto a bed.

"She’s alive," Pomfrey said, brow furrowing. "But she’s not sleeping. This is . . . different."

Sirius clenched his fists, helpless and desperate. "What do you mean? Is she hurt?"

Pomfrey shook her head slowly. "It’s not a physical injury. This is magical. Or perhaps. . . something darker."

He looked at her, eyes wide with disbelief. "A curse?"

She nodded grimly. "Most likely. A very old, very powerful one."

Sirius felt the ground shift beneath his feet. "A curse? How? Why? I - "

Before he could finish, the door swung open again, and Professor Dumbledore entered with his usual calm grace, his robes flowing behind him like a gentle wave. His blue eyes, however, were sharp with concern.

He moved swiftly to your bedside, examining you with quiet precision. His fingers hovered over your brow, then traced down to your wrist.

"Leave us for a moment, Sirius," Dumbledore said softly, voice calm but firm.

Sirius hesitated, his jaw tight. But he nodded, stepping back into the corner, watching helplessly as Dumbledore’s gaze flicked over your still form.

He could hear the whispering of Pomfrey’s concerned murmurs, see the way her brow furrowed as she studied you.

Finally, Dumbledore turned to Sirius, his expression grave. "This is no ordinary sleep," he announced.

"You said it’s a curse," Sirius pressed. "Can you fix it?"

Dumbledore’s expression darkened, the lines around his eyes deepening as he folded his hands in front of him. “I wish I could. But some magic was forged not to be broken. This is a blood curse - ancient.”

Sirius stared at you. At the way your head lolled to the side, still tucked in close to your shoulder like you’d just drifted off mid-sentence. Your hand was still curled around your quill, ink smeared at the base of your palm. You looked so alive. Too alive to be cursed. Too alive to be gone.

But you weren’t breathing right. Not deeply, not the way you did when you fell asleep in the Common Room after a long patrol. He would’ve teased you for it, if this were different - how you snored just a little when you were really knackered, how your mouth always parted like you were in the middle of some secret dream. But there was none of that now.

Just stillness. Just silence.

“She was fine,” he said again, voice quieter this time. "She was laughing at McGonagall’s robes in Transfiguration. Making that bloody stupid joke about animagus hats. She was fine.”

Dumbledore looked at him, and there was no comfort in his eyes - only something impossibly old. “These curses often lie dormant until they are triggered. A moment of emotional intensity. Prolonged exhaustion. Sometimes even something as simple as turning seventeen. We don’t always know what wakes them.”

Sirius blinked hard. His throat was starting to close. “And now what? What do we do now?”

Dumbledore sighed. “We wait.”

“No,” Sirius snapped, too quickly, voice breaking on the edge of it. “That’s not- that’s not good enough.”

The air around him tightened, buzzing beneath his skin like he was about to explode. He’d lived his whole life under someone else’s control - his family, his bloody name, the rules of the castle, the limits of what magic could and couldn’t do - but this was different.

This was you. You weren’t supposed to fall asleep in a library and never wake up.

“This isn’t happening,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair, pacing like he might wear a hole through the stone. “She’s not some fairytale. She’s not some . . . cursed maiden locked in a tower. She’s her. She’s stubborn, and she hates studying, and she always steals the last bit of toast when she thinks I’m not looking - she’s real.”

“I know,” Dumbledore said, quiet as ever.

“She can’t just - ” Sirius’s voice cracked again. “She can’t just go.”

“She’s not gone.”

“But you don’t know when she’s coming back.” The words scraped out of his throat like they’d been broken inside him. “You don’t know if she ever will.”

Silence.

And then, Dumbledore spoke again - gently, but with the weight of someone who had seen too much. “This curse runs in her family. Passed through generations. Few survive it more than once.”

Sirius’s hands curled into fists. “She didn’t even know.”

“Perhaps not,” Dumbledore allowed. “Or perhaps she did. But she hoped, as many do, that it would skip her.”

Sirius stared down at you, at your fingers, still ink-stained and human. “So what now?”

“Now we care for her,” Dumbledore said. “We wait. And we love her, even if she doesn’t know we’re here.”

“No,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “No. That’s not enough. That’s not me. I’m not going to just sit and watch her fade. There has to be something. Anything.”

Dumbledore hesitated.

And that hesitation - that split second - was all Sirius needed.

“There is something, isn’t there?” he said, stepping closer. “You’re holding something back.”

“It’s not something that can be done,” Dumbledore said slowly. “Not the way you think. This curse. . . it only yields to love. Not infatuation. Not obsession. Something older. Something that holds its shape even when time doesn’t.”

Sirius’s chest burned. “Then I’ll do it.”

“You don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I don’t care.”

“You would have to remain, Sirius,” Dumbledore said. “Through months. Years. Decades, perhaps. And never know if she’ll wake. Or if she’ll remember. You’d have to love her in silence. Without promise. Without return.”

“I already do.”

The words were out before he could stop them.

The air felt different after that.

Dumbledore didn’t speak for a long time. Then he said, “If that is true, then you may be the only hope she has.”

Dumbledore sent word to your family within the hour.

Sirius wasn’t in the room when they arrived - Dumbledore had gently, firmly suggested he give them privacy - but he could hear the voices. Muffled through stone and spellwork. Raised. Bitter. Desperate.

They’d known. Not everything, but enough.

It had happened once before - a great-aunt, long dead, whose name had been scrubbed from the family tree out of shame or grief or maybe both. You were supposed to have been spared. A healer had sworn it dormant. A ritual had been done when you were a baby. There’d been no signs. You were bright, brilliant. Uncursed.

They’d believed in the lie because it was easier than preparing for the truth.

You woke up just after 4 days. Those 4 days were spent with Sirius visiting you in between classes, meals, Quidditch practices. His friends were growing worried for him as they also worried for you.

He looked changed in just a span of 4 days. 4 cruel days spent on your bedside begging you to wake up, begging you to come back to him.

Promising you grand pranks you could pull together, more alcoholic concoctions to throw up in the morning. He offered everything to see your eyes flutter open.

It wasn't fair. He was just beginning to know you, to love you - it all felt to fresh and raw and real - this cannot be happening to him.

When you woke up, it was so sudden.

Just a sharp inhale that jolted your whole body and the whisper of your name as Dumbledore caught your shoulder before you could fall out of the bed in shock.

You blinked at the light, slow and sluggish, as if waking from years instead of days. You reached for your wand first - you did not find it. Then your face. Then the necklace under your collarbone. None of it had changed. But everything had.

They cried - your parents. But not the way Sirius thought they would. Not relief, not love, not wild, stupid joy.

No, they cried like cowards. Quiet, ashamed, as if your waking made it worse. As if the confirmation of the curse meant the whole thing had been real all along. Like you were some buried secret they couldn’t keep hidden anymore.

Sirius watched it all from the hallway, fists clenched, pacing outside the Hospital Wing like he was about to be sick.

The door creaked open. Madam Pomfrey slipped out. “She’s awake.”

He didn’t wait. Didn’t even think.

He was inside the room before anyone could stop him, blood still thrumming in his ears. You were sitting up in bed, hair a tangle, voice raw as you said his name - confused, hoarse, like you hadn’t said it in years. “Sirius?”

He didn’t answer. He crossed the room and pulled you into him like you were drowning and he didn’t care if he sank too.

You tried to push him away after that.

It started the moment you woke up, dry-mouthed and weak, in the Hospital Wing. Four days. You'd lost four days of your life to a sleep you hadn’t meant to enter, and everything had changed.

You saw it in your parents’ eyes first. The shame. The quiet devastation. You saw it in the way Pomfrey didn’t scold you for trying to stand, and in the way Dumbledore couldn’t quite meet your gaze.

But most of all, you saw it in Sirius.

When he ran to you and pulled you into a hug, like holding you meant that it was all real. He just breathed like he'd finally surfaced from drowning.

You couldn’t look at him too long. Because the guilt hit harder than the fear. You hadn’t meant to become a problem. A burden. A question mark in someone else’s future.

So you did what you always did. You joked.

"You should probably date someone with a better track record for staying conscious," you said over breakfast the next morning, stirring your porridge like it might give you answers.

He didn’t laugh.

You tried again in the corridor. "Seriously, Sirius, you don’t have to do this whole loyal boyfriend routine. I know it’s been a weird month. I give you full permission to run."

He didn’t even blink - not even when you finally addressed him by first name. A progress to your now, very complicated, relationship.

"You think I’m staying because I feel bad?" he asked one night, voice low and raw. "You think this is pity?"

You shrugged, but your fingers clenched around the edge of your sleeve. "I think I wouldn’t blame you if you left."

And that was the truth. The quiet, aching part of it. That you didn’t think you deserved someone who stayed. It was a burden you could never ask of anyone.

He stepped closer then, close enough that his words landed right against your ribs.

"Don’t you get it?" he said, voice shaking with something bigger than anger. "I'm not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you wake."

It should’ve comforted you. It only made your chest ache harder.

Because you didn’t want him waiting around like some tragic romantic figure. You didn’t want to be the girl people wrote poems about after she vanished too soon. You wanted to be solid. Reliable. Here.

But you weren’t. And he's decided to stay anyway.

Even when you stopped meeting his eyes.

Even when you flinched in the middle of a sentence, panicked that a yawn might spiral into something worse.

Even when you stopped touching him entirely, afraid that if you reached for his hand, it might be the last thing you ever did.

Still, he stayed.

And he started leaving you things.

A tiny mirror charm on your nightstand, bewitched to show cartoon dog ears on your reflection when you frowned.

A chocolate frog with a note tucked inside the box that said, Still here. Always here.

A prank exploding parchment that poofed glitter in your face during a Charms study session and made you laugh until you nearly sobbed.

Sometimes it was just small things. A folded jacket over your chair when you forgot it was cold. A sugar quill tucked into your books.

It should have been too much. But it never was.

Because you missed him. Desperately.

You missed the ease. The banter. The feeling that you were someone he chose, not someone he pitied.

You missed before.

But there was no going back.

One afternoon, you found him outside the library, sitting on the floor with his head tipped back against the wall.

He wasn’t doing anything. No mischief, no plotting. Just staring up at the ceiling like he was trying to stay still. Like the world had moved on and he was trying to figure out how to follow it.

You hadn’t seen him all day.

And somewhere in your chest, the idea that he’d finally given up had lodged itself like a splinter. The relief that washed through you at the sight of him was nauseating.

He looked up when your footsteps stopped.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then, finally: "I’m sorry."

Sirius blinked. His expression shifted from surprise to something softer.

"For what?" he asked, sitting up straighter.

"I don’t know," you said honestly. "Everything. Pushing you. Making you wait around for someone who can’t promise anything."

You hesitated.

"I wish you could love someone with less complications."

He stared at you for a moment, like you’d just said the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. And then, suddenly, he laughed.

A real, full-bodied laugh. Like it startled even him.

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden bark of laughter that escaped him out of nowhere. "What?"

"If this were easy," he said, still laughing, "I’d think it was some grand prank. I’d assume Moony and Prongs were hiding behind a tapestry ready to jump out."

You snorted despite yourself.

"Merlin, you’re so stupid."

And then you kissed him. Not planned. Not careful.

Just raw.

You kissed him like you were terrified and desperate and alive. Like if the curse took you tonight, you wanted this to be your last memory.

He didn’t pull away. Just froze for a breath. And then he was kissing you back with that same terrified urgency.

You pulled away after a second, just enough to murmur: "Just in case I don’t wake up tomorrow."

Sirius cupped your face with both hands then, thumbs brushing under your eyes like he was trying to memorize them.

His voice was soft. So gentle it hurt.

"Don’t worry about tomorrow," he whispered. "You’re awake right now."

You nodded. But your lip trembled."I’m so scared of falling asleep."

There. You said it. Finally voicing out the thought that haunted you at night. Bags hung under your eyes from nights you desperately tried to stay awake.

Your dormmates have all tried their best to offer any help they could. The whole castle knew your predicament by now - nothing ever stays a secret at Hogwarts.

You appreciated them, but nothing helped.

And when you finally said it, he didn’t flinch.

He just pulled you in again. Wrapped his arms around you like he could protect you from the unknown. From the curse that ran through your veins, as old as your magic.

"I know," he said. "I’m scared too."

And then he kissed your temple. Your forehead. The corner of your mouth, he wished he could kiss every inch of you.

"Don’t worry, love," he murmured. "I’ll be here when you open those pretty eyes."

And the thing is, you believed him. Even if it still hurt.

Even if you still woke every morning unsure if you'd made it through the night or it was some dream you have landed into.

He was always there.

And slowly, you started reaching back.

They didn’t have forever - so they started pretending like they did.

By late February, your hand had found a permanent place in Sirius’s.

He joked that the skin might fuse together if you weren’t careful, and you’d laughed - really laughed - for the first time since you’d woken from that cursed sleep. He’d grinned like a fool then, pride blooming in his chest just for being the reason your shoulders weren’t tight with fear, just for chasing the shadow from your eyes, even for a moment.

You’d made it through March. Barely. Some days your legs dragged beneath you like your body already knew the sleep was coming. Some nights Sirius had to shake you awake from dozes you didn’t remember falling into. But you were still here. And so was he.

Hogsmeade in spring felt like a stolen miracle.

He took your hand outside Honeydukes, lifting it to his lips with a boyish smile. “So, what’ll it be, darling? Chocolate frogs or a full day of snogging behind the Shrieking Shack?”

You rolled your eyes. “If I die in the Shrieking Shack, Sirius Black, you better be ready to fight off some angry ghosts.”

He beamed. “Then it’s a date.”

You weren’t hiding anymore. He’d told everyone. James had fist-bumped you and said it was about time. Remus had congratulated you as well, making a sarcastic remark that "Pads can finally stop moaning about how much he wants you now that you can snog him into silence." Even Peter had hugged you with the kind of gentleness that meant he’d heard. That he understood.

And the pranks - oh, the pranks.

It started with your idea, actually. A tiny hex that made Filch’s boots click like tap shoes. The look on Sirius’s face when you suggested it - pure, lovesick awe.

“Marry me,” he said, half-joking.

You tilted your head. “Better wait until I survive the school year.”

The boys had welcomed you into their chaos without question. You were a natural. A little louder than James, a little sharper than Remus, and exactly Sirius’s brand of reckless.

When you came back one night covered in soot and giggling from a dungbomb gone wrong, Sirius tugged you close on the couch in the Gryffindor common room, kissed your temple, and whispered, “You’re brilliant, you know that?”

But he was the brilliant one. The constant. Every night, after curfew, he would draw the curtains of his four-poster and you would curl beside him. The other boys never said a word - not one complaint, not even a tease.

You were terrified to sleep alone. And they understood.

Some nights you fell asleep tangled together, his arms around your waist, your breath uneven against his neck.

Other nights, sleep wouldn’t come. You’d lie awake listening to his heartbeat and whisper nonsense into the dark. Sirius would hold you tighter, thumb brushing lazy circles into your spine.

And every single night, he would say, without fail:

“Tomorrow will come for you, love. For us. I’ll be here, handsome as ever when the sun rises.”

You pretended to believe it. Most nights, you even did.

April crept in like a thief. The scent of rain on stone, blossoms blooming beside the lake, the castle lit with gold and promise. Exams were approaching. So was the end.

So was the sleep.

And then - you didn’t wake up.

It was a Thursday.

You’d said goodnight. You’d kissed him. You’d whispered your usual lie: “See you in the morning.”

And then - nothing.

The Healers said it was the curse reasserting itself. That your body was fighting to stay, but the magic was older than any potion. There was no way to stop it. No one knew how long it would last.

Sirius didn’t move from the Hospital Wing for a week.

James brought food. Remus sat with him in the early mornings. Peter left chocolate frogs on the table beside your bed. But Sirius - he stayed. He barely slept. He wrote letters and folded them beneath your pillow. He spoke to you like you were just resting.

“You’re not gone,” he said one night, voice cracking. “You’re just late. You’ve always been late to things, remember? You’ll wake up and tell me I’m being dramatic.”

But you didn’t wake.

You missed the N.E.W.T.s. Missed the way Remus clutched his results in trembling hands. Missed James and Lily getting into a blazing row about the future and making up in the courtyard two hours later.

You missed the last Gryffindor breakfast, the daisy chain crowns, the class photo with everyone laughing too hard to stand still.

You missed graduation.

Sirius didn’t walk. He refused. Said he wouldn’t cross a finish line you hadn’t.

By July, he was different. Gaunt-eyed. Brittle-tempered. The war had begun - the real one - and he joined the Order like his blood was already boiling for vengeance.

But still, he wrote you letters.

He left them at St. Mungo’s when you were transferred there in August. Left chocolates, enchanted notes, silly doodles. He threatened the mediwitch who tried to call you a lost cause.

“She’s not gone,” he snapped. “She’s just waiting.”

And then - autumn came.

And you woke up.

The world smelled different. Crisper. More distant.

You were eighteen now. But the world had moved on without you.

Your body was slow to respond. Magic flickered in your hands but didn’t sing the way it used to. You blinked against the sterile light of St. Mungo’s, head pounding, heart aching.

And then the door opened.

Sirius stood in the frame.

Older. Sharper. Shadows under his eyes, jaw tighter, arms crossed like he’d forgotten how to relax. But still - him. Still yours. Always yours.

He stared at you for a moment like you were a ghost.

And then he was at your side, sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing your hair back with shaking fingers.

“You missed a war,” he said, voice rough.

You tried to smile. “Did we win?”

He didn’t answer that. Just leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours.

“And I missed you,” he whispered. “Every damn day.”

You moved in together. Shared a flat with creaky floors and mismatched furniture, patched together like your hearts. You tried to build a life between sleep and fear - fleeting moments of normalcy suspended in the quiet before sirens, the hush before screams.

The flat became a fragile sanctuary. You lit candles during power outages and cooked dinner over the radio’s static updates. Some nights you danced in the kitchen just to remember joy. Other nights, you held each other in the dark, neither speaking, just listening to the wind press against the windows like a warning.

You kept a journal now - small and leather-bound, pages inked with memories of what you missed, what he told you, and what you dreamed when you were gone. You wrote down things like: his laugh this morning, like something untouched by war. Or: he said “stay safe” like he meant “stay alive.”

You lived like it might all vanish again. Because it would. Because war takes everything, even the things you think are untouchable.

You both tried to power through it, despite the raging war around you and the brewing danger that curled like smoke under your door. Each day was a risk. Each night, a relief.

You were worried for him - for the way his name appeared in whispered conversations, for the work he did in shadows. But you knew it was right. He was trying to change the story.

Sirius sometimes talked about stopping. Once, after a long silence over cold tea, he said quietly, almost ashamed, “I barely get enough moments with you, with all this happening - what if I just get less and less time?”

You reached across the table, grabbed his hand like it was the only steady thing in a world falling apart. You shook your head, firm. “No. You don’t get to give up. You’re fighting for a good cause. Let’s be on the good side of history when people look back on this time.”

His eyes searched yours - tired but still burning - and after a breath, he nodded. “You’re right. You always are.”

So you both joined the Order.

Not because you weren’t scared, but because you were. Because fear can hollow you or harden you - and you chose to fight.

Then one night, in a small and quiet gathering of Order members - tired, battle-worn, but still fighting to hold onto something human - Lily stood up.

She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and smiled - truly smiled, not the brittle one she'd worn through grief and fear, but something bright and real, like the girl she used to be before the war.

“I’m pregnant,” she said.

For a moment, the room was still - stunned into silence. And then it erupted like spring breaking through frost.

James laughed so loudly it startled the portraits on the walls. He beamed like the sun - the kind of joy that doesn’t ask permission. Remus stood and clapped him on the back, his eyes glassy with tears he wouldn’t let fall. Sirius made a strangled noise, like a laugh and a sob at once, and buried his face in his hands.

When he looked up, his grin was crooked and wild. Peter smiled too, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes - there was something distant in his expression, like he was somewhere else entirely. You noticed. But you hadn’t been around long enough to know what was normal for Peter anymore, so you let it slide.

The Marauders buzzed with pride, their joy loud and golden, filling every dark corner of that war-battered room. Your found family, in all its ragged glory, clung to joy wherever it bloomed - because joy was a form of resistance too.

Later that night, after the toasts and the storytelling and the laughter worn thin from overuse, the others drifted away. Candles burned low. The room emptied, settling into silence.

That’s when Sirius pulled you aside.

He looked different in the low light - softer somehow. His usual fire had banked into something slower, more careful. There was a tremble in his hand as he reached for yours, not from fear, but from urgency.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” he said. His voice was low, stripped of bravado. “I don’t want to wait. Not with everything going on. Not with how time keeps. . . stealing you.”

Your heart caught. Because he was right. Every day was a borrowed page, every goodbye heavy with the question: will there be another? Will tomorrow really come?

He pulled something from his pocket - a ring, simple but quietly extraordinary. It shimmered like starlight, charmed with a magic that whispered permanence in a world that promised none.

“Marry me,” he said.

There was no speech, no preamble. Just those two words. And then more: “I know it’s selfish. I know you’re scared. But I don’t want anyone else. It’s you or nothing. It’s always been you.”

You opened your mouth, the beginnings of protest forming. You wanted to say he might regret it. That the war could tear you away, again. That love like this didn’t always get a happy ending, not with your curse anyway.

But he saw it all in your eyes and stopped you before the words could shape.

“All we have is now,” he whispered. “Say yes. Say yes while you’re here.”

And something in you - some quiet, aching truth - answered him before your lips did.

So you said yes.

You were so afraid but you said yes despite yourself and the clawing fear. Because love, in this world, wasn’t a promise. It was a defiance, and in some fairy tales, love is how you beat war.

Your wedding was held shortly after his proposal and it wasn't big at all.

There were no grand halls or gilded arches, no glittering lights or towering cakes. Just a windswept clearing in the woods near Godric’s Hollow, with wildflowers bowing in the breeze and magic humming softly through the air like it recognized something sacred.

Only friends were there - the people who mattered, who had bled and laughed and fought beside you. The ones who’d become family when bloodlines stopped meaning anything.

Remus officiated, because of course he did. He stood in worn robes, clutching a piece of parchment he barely needed to glance at, his voice steady despite the tremble in his hands. He kept it simple, heartfelt. There were no flowery vows, no overly rehearsed speeches - just truth spoken between people who knew how precious time had become.

Lily cried, openly, beautifully - tears glinting in the sunlight as she clutched James’s hand. James looked at her like she hung the stars, then raised a glass and made a toast full of wit and warmth, ending with, “To love that fights, even when the world’s falling down.”

Sirius kissed you like a vow, like he could stitch you into the present with just his mouth on yours. There was no audience in that moment, no war, no future - just the weight of his hands on your face, the steady rhythm of his heart beating beneath your palms. A promise sealed in the kind of silence that means everything.

Afterward, when the sky began to burn gold and purple at the edges, and laughter floated over shared food and spiked cider, you pulled him aside. Looked him in the eyes.

“Don’t regret this,” you said.

He smiled at you - not the cocky grin he gave the world, but something gentler, quieter. A smile made just for you.

“Never,” he said. “Not in any lifetime.”

And for a while, things were good. The war kept brewing but you stayed awake, greeting him like it's the best surprise every morning. Only, he greeted you now as his Wife.

Then Harry was born - tiny, wrinkled, and loud enough to shake the walls of the cottage with his arrival. The kind of scream that said, I’m here. I survived.

You were there. In the still-soft hours after, Lily handed him to you, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion and something fierce and unbreakable.

She placed him in your arms like it was the most natural thing in the world - like she was giving you hope in human form.

He was beautiful. Small fists curled in sleep, a shock of black hair, his father’s stubborn chin already making itself known. And those eyes - not James’s, but hers. Green and bright and knowing.

For a moment, you all forgot there was a war. Just long enough to believe in a future.

You and the Marauders became the babysitters.

It wasn’t official, but it was understood. Harry would grow up surrounded by magic and mischief and unbreakable love - even if the world outside was falling apart. You rocked him to sleep in Lily’s favorite chair, humming lullabies that didn’t quite belong to you.

Remus read him stories in soft, calming tones, changing his voice for each character until the baby would babble back in delight. Peter would bring sweets and toys, always a little awkward, like he was trying to earn a place in a world that had started to drift just beyond his reach.

And Sirius - Sirius made him laugh. Real, belly-deep baby giggles, the kind that echoed through the house and made even the darkest thoughts scatter for a while. He barked like a dog, of course. Poked his tongue out. Pulled ridiculous faces that turned Harry red with laughter and left James wheezing from the couch. Harry adored him.

One night, after the baby had worn himself out and fallen asleep curled in James’ arms, the fire crackling low and quiet in the hearth, Sirius turned to you. His hair was mussed from Harry’s tiny fists, and his smile was soft - the kind that only came out in quiet moments like this.

“He’s so bloody cute,” he whispered, watching the baby’s chest rise and fall. “I think I want one of my own.”

Your breath hitched.

The air felt too still, too sharp. “Sirius - ”

You didn’t have to finish. He saw it instantly - the fear blooming behind your eyes. Fear of the future. Fear of hope. Fear of losing again.

He reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours like he was anchoring you.

“It’s alright,” he said gently. “It’s just a thought. We don’t have to. I just. . . I love this. I love you. And I’d never let anything happen. You hear me?”

He touched your cheek then, eyes full of that same vow he’d made the day you married. “If you ever fell asleep again, I’d hold the world steady until you came back.”

You nodded, even as your heart clenched. Because that’s what Sirius Black did - he made impossible promises and meant every one.

And time passed. Quietly, quickly. Like a thief.

Then came the mission.

Just another assignment with the Order. Nothing you hadn’t done before. Nothing worth fearing, not really. But Sirius was tense. He lingered at the door, kissed your forehead too long. Held your hands like they were glass.

You kissed him that night, trying to lighten the mood, trying to be brave for both of you. “If I don’t wake for a while,” you whispered, smiling softly, “tell me you’ll wait again.”

He kissed you back like he was sealing a spell, like he could pour every ounce of magic he had into your skin.

“Always,” he said. “Tomorrow will come for you, love. For us. I’ll be here - handsome as ever - when the sun rises.”

It did not go well. You encountered a death eater and was severely hurt, still alive and fighting but through your fight to stay alive - you slipped into the darkness.

Tomorrow came, and you didn’t wake.

Not the next morning.

Not the next week.

Not when Lily and James were murdered in their home, his body in the hallway leading to the nursery, her body found crumpled over a crib that somehow still held a crying child.

Not when Sirius found them first. Not when he fell to his knees on the floor, screaming James’ name so loud it broke something inside him forever.

Not when Peter turned traitor and vanished in the smoke of his own destruction.

Not when Sirius was blamed - framed - and hunted like a beast. Not when they cornered him on that street and stripped him of everything.

Not even when they dragged him to Azkaban.

You didn’t stir.

He screamed your name in that prison cell. Whispered your promises to the cracks in the stone. Waited for the sunrise that never came.

And still, you didn’t wake.

Not until three years into his sentence, when the war was over, the dead buried, and the child orphaned.

You had promised to be there when the sun rose.

But this time, time didn’t keep its promise.

you left me no, you left me no choice but to stay here forever. . .

end. masterlist

[traceyc-uk]

Beast Class Bullies

- I would’ve liked to see these two again, but then what could’ve happened to them? maybe it’s like that saying ‘One good turn deserves another’

Flying Off The Shelves

- if you return Cressida’s books

Mer-Ky Depths

- Returning Nerida’s gift

Hall of Herodiana

- Sharing Herodiana’s outfit with Sophronia

Gobs Of Gobstones

- returning Zenobia’s gobstones

Alt

Alternatively forget all that and give them a ruddy good hiding after huffing on the corrupted baddie magic juice

[lorainelegacy]

Professor Ronen's Chambers

I've read that a lot of people are unhappy that Ronen is in Slytherin because he's too cheerful and colourful. Guys, that's precisely why I'm so happy that Ronen is from my House, because he's the perfect example that not all Slytherins are dark people who are only interested in the Dark Arts. We are also happy and fun-loving people! So stop saying that Ronen would be better off as a Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw. He himself is very proud to be a Slytherin!

Anyway, I was able to go back to Hogwarts Legacy for a little while and I wanted to take pictures of Ronen's quarters, because they really are one of my favourites and they are full of details.

First we can see that his favourite colour might be green, followed perhaps by purple or even pink, as he has such a cheerful and eccentric personality.

Above the fireplace we see some trophies, Gobstones perhaps? And a sort of badge with the Slytherin House symbol, perhaps because he is Head of Slytherin House. In fact Ronen is the only officially confirmed Head of House, the rest are guesses.

On the right we can see Honeydukes sweets and posters. On the ceiling there are some… balloons? And a sculpture of a horse with a hat because why not.

In the third picture we can see how much he likes games with a magic chessboard and of course, a set of Gobstones.

More balloons on the ceiling, even furniture that gives me Alice in Wonderland vibes (I'm sure it's a book he would read to his kids) We also see a lot of Slytherin flags because he's so proud of his house ♡.

Tea cups, lots of them, because of course he drinks a lot of tea. Under the table more boxes of sweets or joke items. On the right a sculpture of a man with a hedge on his head and an umbrella inside a vase. Eccentric decoration for mr. eccentric.

More colourful posters and of course joke items from Zonko (he's the best customer I'm sure). Upside-down paintings!

More boxes of sweets and colourful posters (This man really loves sweets). I love the detail that the wallpaper simulates the skin of a snake.

I don't know exactly what that cauldron with money and a rainbow is, but it fascinates me. Doesn't that cupboard look familiar? It's true that this cupboard design is in more parts of the castle, but it looks exactly like the one in the film where the students face the boggart! I'm almost imagining Snape coming out of one in Neville's grandmother's clothes.

Can we appreciate that Ronen has a teddy bear in bed? Does it mean that our beloved Charms teacher sleeps with a teddy bear? This really has got me sobbing 😭. Or maybe Ronen lost a child and still keeps the stuffed animal. This is too sad so I prefer to imagine Ronen sleeping in a pair of brightly coloured pyjamas hugging the teddy bear.

[paperback-parchment]

"Kiss me better.."

You become sick, bedridden, snotty and sneezing all over the place. However your wonderful boyfriend is here to cheer you up..

Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Warnings: None :) Fluff!

Word count: 441

You usually enjoyed being in your bed, it was nice and cozy. You could relax and read your books. But now since you didn't have a choice, it was a nightmare.

The room is stuffy, it's either too hot or too cold and your body can't decide which way it wants to go. Eating hurts, coughing hurts. Assume everything you normally do hurts.

Professor Hecat keeps sending you things to do via owl and you just want to be left alone to suffer.

After being in bed all day, you attempted to get up and socialise with your classmates down in the common room. Blankets wrapped tightly around you, you made your way downstairs.

"Good gods you look terrible!!" Imelda says when she sees you, "I hope you recover quickly and don't give me whatever you've got!"

"I'll try not to Imels," you reply, smiling and sitting on the settee with her, staying a suitable distance away. "I just needed to get out of the room, getting too claustrophobic in there for my liking."

"That's fair enough, my love," Sebastian grabs both of your shoulders, making you jump. "Missed you in class, and in the common room. I felt like coming up to see you, but then changed my mind in case anyone was there."

He leans over your shoulder and tries to kiss your cheek, you turn away warning him he's going to catch it. He grabs your face and kisses you, making you smile.

"I don't care if I catch it sweetheart, we can suffer together then..Fancy joining me in the undercroft tonight? Got a lovely warm set up for you, blankets, pillows, a big warm fire. and some soup, your favourite!! We can play gobstones too and maybe watch a film?"

"I'd really like that Sebastian thank you..." You leaving backwards into him, his hands moving below your chin and holding your face gently. "You care about me so much Seb."

"Well...I am your boyfriend, so that is my job." He jokes.

"You're official now? How much have I missed??" Imelda's jaw drops, "Congratulations!!"

a week later

"Oh I hate you!!" Sebastian sniffles from his bed, eyes puffy.

"I did tell you not to kiss me!! Especially when we got to the undercroft where it's cold!!" You defend, he knows you're right. It is his fault.

"Whatever...Can I have a kiss, and a hug, and for you to stay here I'm dying." he asks, reaching out for you. You take his hand and climb into bed with him, cuddling up with him

"Oh you are not dying, but yes I'll stay, just for you.."

"Kiss me better please."

[perciverthoughts]

This is hell.

Dust hangs heavy in the air, a greyish, choking smog, and the castle is half rubble, like a child’s brick tower carelessly kicked over by an older sibling. A girl Percy recognizes vaguely as someone he was once on the Hogwarts Gobstone team with rushes past, wailing and carrying with her the smell of burnt flesh, her left arm a gristly mess of mangled black flesh. Further down the hallway two people in auror uniforms are struggling to shift heavy pieces of stone off one of their comrades who’s half pinned under the rubble. 

He steps over the corpse of the death eater he was just duelling- who also happens to be one of his coworkers- and spends five minutes heaving with his nonexistent strength alongside the aurors before he remembers that magic exists and his wand is not just a tool for killing, despite the world that would have them believe otherwise. He casts a quick wingardium leviosa and the aurors quickly rush forwards, lifting their half dead comrade between them and rushing off in the direction of the hospital wing with a desperation Percy knows with one look will not be enough to save him. 

The battle is over, supposedly, but the chaos is only just starting. The last of the death eaters are being rounded up, bound in full body bind curses and apparated to holding cells at the ministry to await trial. People are rushing around frantically, trying to find family, friends, or maybe just a familiar face. A few brave souls are collecting bodies, bringing them to the great hall which, Percy learns from the snippets of conversation  he hears as he stumbles along, has been turned into a makeshift morgue/triage centre- a grim amalgamation if he’s ever heard one. 

Fred will be there. Or rather, the body that used to be Fred will be there, along with the rest of his family that he separated from months ago and then got separated from again when Fred died and the whole world ended. Fred will be the only corpse though. He has to be, because Percy does not think he can survive if he isn’t. 

“Perce,” suddenly Ginny is beside him, soot streaked on one cheek and dozens of scratches on her arms, wearing a concerned look that is stitched together from their mother’s frown and their father’s furrowed brow, “there you are.”

“Here I am,” he agrees. He is here, he thinks. 

Something in Ginny’s gaze sharpens.

“C’mon, everyone’s in the great hall.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he hears himself say, something he’d said a million times when he wanted to finish his chapter before dinner at the Burrow.

“Percy,” Ginny’s sharper, more insistent. Mum must be in a mood because dad’s working late- but wait, no, they’re not home, they’re at Hogwarts and Fred is dead, “C’mon, you’re in shock, mum’s worried-”

“I said, I’ll be there in a minute.” 

She doesn’t know what she’s talking about but he doesn’t know what he’s thinking about, so it doesn’t really matter. He keeps going, past the door to the great hall she’s attempting to shepard him through, past the throng of people that is noticeably larger here, out onto the grounds. Where he’s going he doesn’t know, just knows he cannot go to his grieving family yet. Not yet. 

Somewhere along the way to the greenhouses he’d managed to lose Ginny and somewhere a corner of his mind is surprised his family didn’t send anyone else after him. 

He’s sure he must look mad considering he seems to be getting further and further away from where the people who are still here are gathering, but he can’t go to the great hall yet, can’t face Fred’s body, can’t let himself mourn, because there is someone else here, someone who is supposed to be here. A girl whose patronus had reached him five minutes before Aberforth’s, who didn’t know he was a spy and still hadn’t lost faith in him for a second, who had messaged him even though she was supposed to be in hiding and he was supposed to be in the ministry, and he cannot- will not- go to the great hall without her.

She might be there already, the traitorous, logical part of his brain whispers as he opens the shattered door of greenhouse five, but that can’t be true because Penny hates crowds, always has, and he knows she’d be looking for him too, and would know he’d know to avoid the great hall- so if she’s there then she’s dead and Penny cannot be dead because Percy has no plans to live in a world without her, can’t even fathom it. The months she’d been in hiding had been horrific enough, but for her to simply cease existing would mean the last part of him that remembered how to be human would be dead as well. He is not truly good, never has been, but Penny makes him better, always has, and he will not let himself descend further into madness her absence has hastened, will not become the truly twisted creature losing her would doom him to. 

The longer he searches the more frantic he gets, until he’s nearly in tears when he pushes open the door of greenhouse seven, paralysed by his waning hope, rushing towards nothing. He tears through the room of shattered glass and dirt, checking every corner for a fallen body or hiding place and finds none. The greenhouses cleared he whirls with a roar, tossing a shard of a pot at the ground so it bursts into a hundred tinier pieces of plaster. 

If he cared at all he might realize he looks deranged as he marches back across the grounds, back to the castle he hadn’t searched well enough because she should be here- but he doesn’t. He doesn’t care about anything right now except finding her.  

He rounds the corner and stops dead in his tracks. 

They see each other at the same time. Penny’s long hair has been cut short, curls wild and frizzy around her chin. She’s always been skinny but now she’s skin and bones, arms like twigs and her cheeks gaunt, eyes sunken and tired looking, the mischievous twinkle they once held replaced with a wary, suspicious look. The war has not been kind to any of them but it has been especially cruel to her, and Percy is left wondering if the any of it- the spying and the fighting and the lying- was worth it at all when it meant his best friend in the whole world disappeared and she had to do it without him. 

For a second he is frozen, relief and worry and a potent dose of self-loathing warring in his chest. Then Penny’s face breaks into a relieved smile, the same grin he’s known for almost a decade now, different in her new face but unmistakably her, and the next thing he knows he’s being hugged so hard his ribs creak.

He hugs her back just as hard, needing the reassurance that she is really truly here, even if she does look like breathing on her too hard might break her. 

She’s crying, or maybe he is, huge heaving sobs that shake them both, that feel like an earthquake, like falling apart and crashing down , like being broken down and finally, finally put back together again.

“-was looking and you weren’t here, but I was looking, and I couldn’t find you but you couldn’t be gone again, so I kept looking but you weren’t here, you were gone, I needed you and you were gone-”

He only realizes he’s talking when Penny cuts him off.

“I’m back,” she promises, “I’m back, I swear, I’m back, I’m back, I missed you so fucking much and I couldn’t even send letters and-”

They’re blubbering and talking over each other, both saying nothing and everything and they understand each other completely anyway, the way they always have, and the part of him that was going crazy feels somewhat sane now that she’s back even though he looks the craziest he’s ever been.

When the tears have dried on their cheeks and he finally feels like he can let her go and she won’t disappear again, they walk side by side back to the castle and into the great hall.

Penny is back. He can face anything with penny by his side. Anything. Even his family. Even whatever they are without Fred. 

Penny is home, she is home, and she is his home. Everything will be ok. Penny is home. Everything will be ok.

Penny is home.

[ravenelyx]

I Love You In Every Timeline - Sebastian Sallow

The Repertoire Of Memory is Worn

Fic masterlist

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, Harry Potter characters appearance, no name appearance for the reader

Themes: angst, temporarily unrequited love, pining, some form of transference¹, developing relationship, slow burn, explicit (eventually)

Summary: "He turned around, and the world seemed to stop around him. She had followed him: into another timeline, into another universe." In which Sebastian, in his search for a cure in the Dark Arts, finds himself 100 years into the future and meets his most trusted companion's descendant (who looks far too similar to the girl he was once secretly in love with).

A/N: The last edited chapter before we get to the real new stuff, right after ONE YEAR OF ILYET! Happy brithday to this fic!!

AO3 - Wattpad

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Perhaps Sebastian should have given the Gryffindor Prefects less credit after all. He should take back the bonus sapphires he had reluctantly given to the red gryphon for his "hospitality."

Because at that moment, it felt like anything but.

He remembered the look Hermione had given you when you were about to tell him your secret. Maybe a deep and dark one, the kind of secret that can only be shared through hushed whispers and damp breaths. The kind of secret that you’d only disclose to a trusted person.

Or, well, perhaps that was too far-fetched.

In any case, your tone of voice and the look in your eyes clearly showed that whatever you wished to disclose to him wasn't something you would have told Umbridge — or any other less preposterous teacher. And he wasn’t worthy either, apparently.

Sebastian wasn't looking for validation, nor was he fishing for pity; but maybe he did wish to be seen.

All things considered, no one in his new circle of friends — which looked more like a segment and a dot, given he didn't yet know where he stood with you — knew of his his deep and dark secret: his misadventure, nor of the reason he occasionally tugged at his sleeves when the cardigan itched at his wrists.

Sebastian didn’t know what to make of that burning longing sliding up and down his throat.

He wanted to tell Daphne.

He wanted to tell you.

He wanted to tell everyone.

Hell, he'd have even told Draco Malfoy if it meant that at least someone would acknowledge his standing, no matter how asinine and annoying their comments might be.

"...unless it's absolutely necessary," he recalled, echoing in his mind like an eerie consciousness. But where was it that he could draw the line between necessary and extremely-and-idiotically-self-indulgent?

It had been, reluctantly, two weeks since the Artefact had brought him there. Two weeks in which he hadn't seen Ominis or Anne — not that they wanted him around anyway. Two weeks without hearing her voice. Two weeks since he’d basked in a short wave of comfort that almost bordered friendship with you that day. Two weeks in which you hadn't visited the Undercroft, not even once.

Sebastian was there all the time, much to his dismay. If he sat there long enough, he could almost pretend nothing had really changed. He could almost trick himself into waiting for her to walk in and practise Confringo with him. He could almost hear Ominis and Anne's laughter as the Gobstones splashed him with their juice.

Almost.

Sebastian wanted to ask you to practise some spells with him there. Maybe, just maybe, if you placed your body at a certain angle and shrugged off your Gryffindor robes, he could have seen her.

But your hair was shorter. Just a little.

He had noticed it the day before when you'd turned around to collect your potion ingredients, and it had been eating at him ever since. Stupid, really, because your hair should have been the last, meaningless point on his list of discrepancies between you two.

As demonstrated by your escapade in the Library, it was quite obvious that, aside from some physical features and your last name, you two were like chalk and cheese. He recalled it all with tears prickling the corners of his eyes, because as much as he wished he could mould and fix and shape, he couldn’t. It was a mismatched proposition he was being lured into like a lake of sirens; showing him exactly what he wanted, before the real trick came out.

He wasn’t the guide.

"I can be sneaky, let's go," she had said, naively.

"Hold on, now," he had answered her with a small, knowing smile.

"Is it always this easy to sneak in?" he heard his voice say again.

"The Library is closed at this hour, so no. It's not."

He wasn’t the protector.

"You said the librarian would be gone by now!"

"I said usually!"

"It's five to eight. That means we have twenty minutes, at max, before Madam Pince returns," and he had nodded in understanding.

He was nothing he used to be and everything he loathed the most. Just as he had been that day in the Catacombs.

Sebastian took a loud, deep breath that sounded more like a choked gasp.

Everything felt wrong. Everything was wrong. It felt like the Universe (or that damn Supreme Being that had been toying with him since he arrived in this world) had swapped your places. And the more he looked at you, the less he saw her.

And that scared him, because if one thing was true about Sebastian Sallow, it was that he was a selfish, heedless bastard when it came to matters of the heart, and if the only way to have her back by his side was to love her vicariously through you, he wasn't going to budge.

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[thequeenofneverland1]

James Potter///Echoes of Love and Loss

Anonymous Request: James Potter and Y/n Evans first meeting and she doesn’t like him since he keeps bugging her and keeps calling her his future Mrs potter and months go on she and James end up dating leaving her best friend Snape heartbroken who has loved her since childhood and her sister Lily, is not happy about it about her sister relationship with James and tells her about Snapes feelings but she tells her that she only loves James and only sees snape as a brother But months later at graduation, James asks Y/n marry him leaving Snape sad and Lily mad as the wedding approached Lily nor Snape show up but Lily regret it when she finds out about the death of her sister and James

Warnings: unrequited love, characters deaths and lots of angst

The sunlight streaming through the large, dusty windows of the Hogwarts Great Hall was sending ever-changing patterns of light and shadow across the tables as you joined your sister Lily at the Gryffindor table for lunch.

"Anyone I should be aware of, Lily?" You asked, eyeing the bustling crowd.

"Hmm," Lily chewed her lip, thinking. "Well, there's Potter and his group of troublemakers," she said, pointing towards a group of four boys. Amongst them, one boy was louder, with untidy hair and circular glasses, his hazel eyes twinkling under the sunlight.

"He seems fun," you commented, your eyes twinkling at the boyish charm reflected in James Potter's eyes.

"He's a menace, more like," Lily shot back, with an irate frown creasing her forehead. "All he does is flaunt his Quidditch skills and annoy Snape."

"Ah, Severus," you said, rolling your eyes softening at the mention of him. Lily rolled her eyes at you, for not being a big fan of Snape's blatant favoritism for darker magic.

Just as you finished your conversation, James himself bounced over to your table with a cheeky grin. "Ah, Evans! And other Evans!" He laughed at his own joke.

You frowned at his extremely familiar tone but still asked politely, "You need something, Potter?"

"I need a lot of things, but right now, I just wanted to confirm our Astronomy study session. At eight," he said, looking at Lily but addressing you.

"We don't have any Astronomy study session, Potter," Lily irritated says

"But future Mrs Potter and I do," he winked towards you as you felt a hot flush climbing up your neck from this comment made you explode, "Keep dreaming, Potter, because that's the closest you'll ever get."

"Oi, Evans! Have you seen my Invisibility Cloak? I swear it was here just a minute ago," James said, his messy hair sticking out in all directions.

You sighed, a trace of annoyance in your voice. "For the hundredth time, Potter, I haven't seen it. Maybe you should learn to keep track of your things."

From the very beginning, James seemed determined to capture your attention. However, his relentless pursuit of hulk only served to irritate you even more James would cheekily call you his future Mrs. Potter, much to your annoyance. Months went by, with James persistently trying to win your affections, but you remained uninterested.

"Hey there, Mrs. Potter-to-be," James said, flashing a mischievous grin. "I've got a feeling we're meant to be together."

"Potter, I've told you a thousand times. I am not your future Mrs. Potter. And stop following me around!" You replied, frustration evident in your voice.

“Ah, love!!”James called out, his voice carrying over the chatter of their housemates. "Fancy to go at Gobstones?"

You looked up from your Transfiguration textbook, an unimpressed frown on your face . "No, thank you, Potter. I'd rather not waste my time."

James sauntered over, a playful glint in his hazel eyes. "Come on, it'll be fun! Or are you afraid of a little challenge?”

You sighed, closing your book with a snap. "It's not about the challenge. It's about the company."

Sirius Black, who had been lounging nearby, let out a low whistle. "Burn," he chuckled, earning himself a glare from James.

Months went by and the same scenario played out over and over again. You found yourself warming up to James, despite your initial irritation. He was bold, courageous, and above all, he genuinely cared for you. He did more than just annoy you – he also protected you,teased you, made you laugh and was always there when you needed someone.

Meanwhile, your best friend, Severus Snape, carried a deep and unrequited love for you . Snape had harbored these feelings since childhood, but he stayed silent, never daring to reveal his true emotions. As time passed, your heart began to open up to James, and the two of you gradually started dating.

You saw James nervously approaching you and you could sense that something important was on his mind. With a mixture of curiosity and anticipation, you awaited his next words.

James took a deep breath, his usual confidence momentarily faltering. "Y/n, there's something I've been meaning to ask you," he began earnestly.

Intrigued, you prompted him to continue, "What is it, James? You can tell me."

With a determined glint in his eyes, James mustered up the courage to ask, "Will you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?"

You felt a rush of emotions overwhelm you as you processed his heartfelt request. Your heart swelled with joy and uncertainty, but ultimately, you knew that your feelings for James were undeniable. With a soft smile and a voice filled with warmth, you replied, "Yes, James. I would love to be your girlfriend."

A radiant smile broke out on James's face, his eyes reflecting pure happiness. He wrapped you in a tight embrace, whispering words of gratitude and affection. In that moment, you knew that you had made the right choice, and you felt a deep sense of contentment knowing that you had found love in James.

Your heart sank as Snape finally mustered the courage to open up to you about his true feelings. You could see the raw vulnerability in his eyes, a mix of longing and pain that had gone unnoticed for far too long.

"Y/n," Snape began, his voice tinged with a rare vulnerability, "I have loved you for as long as I can remember. How could you not see it all this time?"

Again your heart heart ached at his confession, realizing the depth of Snape's feelings for you. You took a moment to gather your thoughts, knowing that you needed to be honest with him, even if it meant causing him further heartache.

"I'm sorry, Snape," you started softly, your voice filled with regret. "I never meant to hurt you or lead you on. You've always been there for me, and I value our friendship more than words can express. But my heart belongs to James. I love him, and I can't deny my feelings for him."

Snape's expression fell, his eyes filled with a mixture of anguish and resignation. He nodded silently, understanding the weight of Yours words even as they pierced his heart.

You reached out to gently touch Snape's shoulder, your voice trembling with emotion. "I'm sorry that I hurt you, Snape. I care about you deeply, but in a different way. You're like a brother to me, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

As Snape processed your words, a bittersweet acceptance settled over him. Despite the pain of unrequited love, he knew that the bond would endure, albeit in a different form. And as You offered him a sad smile of understanding and compassion, you hoped that the shared history and friendship would serve as a source of comfort and strength for the both of you, even as the two of you navigated the complexities of his and your intertwined lives.

Lily was devastated to hear that you were dating James. She had always known that Snape had feelings for you , but she never thought you would choose James over him. She confronted you about it, trying to make you see the reason.

"Y/n, you know how much Snape cares for you. He's loved you since we were kids. How can you just throw away his feelings like that?" Lily pleaded with you.

You sighed, feeling guilty for hurting Snape, but you couldn't deny your feelings for James. "Lily, I care about Snape, I really do. But I don't love him in that way. I only see him as a brother. James is the one I love."

She shook her head in disbelief. "But Y/n, Snape would do anything for you. He would never hurt you. Can't you see that he's the better choice?"

Your heart ached at the thought of hurting Snape, but you knew that you had to follow your heart. "I know you're worried, Lily. But James has changed. He's not the same person he used to be. He truly loves me, and I love him. I hope you can understand that."

She reluctantly accepted your decision, though she couldn't shake the feeling that Snape was the one who truly cared for you . As your relationship with James blossomed, Snape tried to move on, but his heart remained broken, longing for the love he could never have. And Lily could only watch from the sidelines, hoping that you had made the right choice.

She sat down with you, her heart heavy with concern. "I know you love James. But how can you be with someone who has hurt our best friend so much?"

You looked down, feeling guilty for not standing up for their friend. "I know, Lily. I've seen the way James treated Severus, and I hated it. But he's changed, Lily. He's not the same person he used to be. He's apologized to Severus and he's trying to make things right."

She sighed, still not convinced. "I know people can change, But what if this is all just a show? What if he's still the same arrogant bully deep down?"

You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. "I believe in James, Lily. I believe in the person he's become. And I can't ignore the love I feel for him."

She wrapped her arms around you, knowing that she couldn't change your feelings. "I just want you to be happy, But please, be careful. I don't want to see you get hurt."

You hugged your sister back, grateful for her concern. "I'll be careful, Lily. I promise. And I hope you can understand why I love James, despite everything."

As James and you swam together in the tranquil waters of the Black Lake, you found yourself unable to keep the weight of Severus Snape's confession to yourself, any longer. The shimmering light of the lake danced around the two of you as you took a deep breath and mustered the courage to speak.

"James, there's something I need to tell you," you began, your voice barely a whisper above the gentle lapping of the water.

James turned to you, his eyes searching with your curiosity. “ what’s wrong love?”

Taking a moment to compose yourself , you gathered your thoughts before speaking. “Snape confessed his feelings for me,"

James's expression faltered for a moment, a hint of concern shadowing his features. "Are you... thinking of being with him instead?" he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

Feeling the weight of his words, you grasped his hand tightly and looked into his eyes, your own filled with sincerity. "James, Snape's feelings mean nothing to me. You are the one I love. You are the one I choose,"

A wave of relief washed over James as he processed your words, a small smile breaking across his face. Wrapping his arms around you, James and you held each other close, the gentle ebb and flow of the water mirroring the calm that settled over the two of you

“I love you so much Y/n.” James pressed his lips into yours

James and you were sitting in the Great Hall by side, your fingers intertwined with his. You couldn't believe that you were dating the boy who had once annoyed you to no end. But as you glanced across the hall, you saw your best friend Snape sitting with your sister and he had a look of heartbreak on his face.

Months later, as their graduation from Hogwarts approached, James made a life-altering decision. He gathered the courage to ask you to marry him

"Y/n, will you do me the incredible honor of becoming my wife?" James said, his eyes filled with pure adoration.

Your heart swelled with emotion, tears of joy streaming down your face. "Yes, James! Yes, a thousand times yes!"

It had been a beautiful day, filled with love and laughter as James Potter and you exchanged vows in front of their friends and family. The sun shone brightly as the two of you said 'I do', promising to love and cherish each other for all eternity.

But there was an empty space at the wedding, a hole that could not be filled. Lily and Severus, two people who had once been important in your lives, were absent. You couldn't help but feel the sting of their absence, wondering why they had chosen not to share in this special moment.

Despite the absence of Lily and Snape, you felt surrounded by love. Your new husband, James, held you close and whispered sweet words of comfort in your ear. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, stood by the side of the two of you, offering support and friendship in the face of sadness.

As time went on, Lily began to regret her decision to miss the wedding. She had let her pride and hurt feelings get in the way of supporting you on your special day. She reached out to you and James, hoping to make amends and rebuild their relationship.

But it was too late.

The memory of the last goodbye haunted James as you and him prepared for both sacrifices of his and yours. The weight of both of you impending fate pressed down on the two of you, but you and him found solace in each other's presence.

As the two of you stood side by side, memories of the past flooded the thoughts. The laughter, the tears, the love shared between James and you. And remembering the day that you and him had promised to always stand by each other, no matter what.

"James, my love," you said, tears in your eyes. "If this is the end, I want you to know that you have been the greatest love of my life."

James pulled you into a passionate embrace, your lips and his lips met with a desperate, final kiss. "And you, my darling Y/n, have been mine," he whispered. "I will love you forever."

Tragically, just a few moments later, You and James were killed by Lord Voldemort.

It was a scene of heartbreaking despair as Severus Snape held your lifeless body in his arms, tears streaming down his face. The woman he loved, the one person who had brought light and joy into his otherwise dark and lonely life, was gone.

He whispered your name over and over again, a desperate plea for you to come back to him. But you remained still and silent, your eyes closed and your chest unmoving. The reality of your death hit him like a tidal wave, crushing his heart and leaving him gasping for air.

Suddenly, a small voice broke through his grief. "Mama," Harry said softly, his own eyes brimming with tears as he looked up at Snape and the lifeless form of your in his arms. Snape's heart twisted at the word, a painful reminder of the family he had lost in one tragic moment.

He held you closer, his sobs echoing in the quiet room as he tried to come to terms with the devastating loss. Harry reached out a hand, touching your cold cheek with a trembling finger, his lower lip quivering with unshed tears.

"Mama," he whispered again, his voice filled with longing and sorrow. Snape closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his grief pressing down on him like a heavy burden. He knew that nothing would ever be the same again, that a part of him had died along with you. .

Lily was devastated when she received the news. The sister she had pushed away, the sister she had neglected to support, was gone. She mourned the loss of you and James, regretting the choices she had made that had led to this moment.

In the end, Lily realized the true value of family and friendship. She vowed to honor the memory of her sister and brother-in-law, to be a better friend and sister to those she loved.

And as she looked at Harry, the boy who had lost his parents so tragically, she knew that she would do everything in her power to protect him, to love him, and to make sure he never felt

But as he looked down at Harry too, his heart clenched with a fierce determination. He would do whatever it took to protect the boy, to keep him safe and ensure that he never had to endure the pain of losing another loved one.

[tedwardremus]

Chapter 5: A Family Christmas

“Alright, Harry, what will you ask Father Christmas for this year?” Sirius asked as they got closer to their destination.

Harry's face lit up with excitement as he pondered his wish. "I'd like a new set of junior Quidditch balls!" he exclaimed, his enthusiasm evident in every word.

Sirius grinned and squeezed Harry's hand affectionately. "That sounds like a fantastic gift choice, Harry. I'm sure Father Christmas will take note of that."

Unbeknownst to Harry, Sirius had already purchased the new set of Quidditch balls and had them waiting to be wrapped in the back of his wardrobe, a surprise that he couldn't wait to see Harry's reaction to on Christmas morning.

“What about you, Nev?” Sirius looked over at Neville, who was clutching to his grandfather’s arm, clearly weary of the busy streets and trying not to bump into strangers. 

“Umm, I’d like a broom,” Neville voiced hesitantly, “so I can learn how to fly. But I don’t think Gran will let me fly on a broom yet, so maybe I’ll ask for new gobstones and Martin Miggs comics.”

[fog-and-rust]

Here we go again with screenshots

The Restricted Section has the coolest tapestries

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Fluffy buddies

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Stained glass with Hogwarts Founders

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This place reminds me of an old game Keepsake (2006). I adored this game. Maybe it's the reason why I enjoy Hogwarts Legacy so much.

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I want this writing-desk. It looks epic

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I headcanon that this is the place Zenobia used to go to console herself after failing social interactions before MC befriended her (I always return her Gobstones. My MC is a menace to dark wizards, goblins and Puffskein Dunkein, but she is nice to Zenobia)

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Love the ambience. Wonder if these images of Demiguise scare Mr Moon

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Cool signs ahead, but the troll one didn't work

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Cool aesthetic

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Cozy corner at the entrance to Ravenclaw Common Room.

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Their battle will be legendary! Let my Hufflepuff girl enter Ravenclaw Common Room just to vibe there.

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He looks so soft

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My MC is on her way to tell her classmates how awesome Chinese Chomping Cabbages are

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Ominis gets his beauty sleep at every opportunity

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Everett is wondering if he can change Duncan's Boggart from Puffskein into Venomous Tentacula

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Closeup of Professor Sharp's Auror Badge (if someone needs references)

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Bestie, stop. If you want to be dramatic, go jump from Astronomy Tower. Use Fizzing Whizzbees or Levioso to survive

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I feel like three of them could become good friends. Each one is a loner and can be a savage so they can understand each other

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He can infodump about ALL the ingredients in Potions Classroom and I'll listen to it for hours

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Kink suggestion for Garreth's fans: Imagine him spoonfeeding you with his new concoction

When I saw him taking a spoon out of his pocket I cackled so loudly that I startled my dog

[nightingale2004]

Broooooossss, Harry Potter pre marauders headcanon idea

What if before the marauders, when their parents went to school, Eileen Prince, Walburga black, and Euphemia were friends, maybe even coven sisters, but due to the paths they took, they seperated?

So imagine this. Walburga was just like Sirius when she was in hogwarts, except she was in slytherin and toughest snake in all of Slytherin and faced worse abuse from her parents. She was also your typical rebellious sarcastic rich wild child sister and a pain to her older brother Adolphus. Plus, she got away with a lot due to her money and name. And she loves a good fight.

Then there was her friend Eileen, she was the smartest in slytherin. She knew more spells and hexes in her first year than anyone in their 5th year. Plus, gobstones champion. I feel like Eileen would be the knowledgeable yet somewhat shy type. She always focused on her studies and was ahead of her class in almost every subject (sometimes without even trying)

Last but certainly not least, Euphemia ( I don't know her last name, but there are theories on her family). Euphemia was this free spirited, laid-back, extroverted person that everyone liked. She was also a very brave and loyal Gryffindor. To Walburga, Euphemia was everything that represents Gryffindor.

These three together were a force to be reckoned with. If someone messed with one of them, the other two were not far behind, and they wouldn't let any deed go unpunished.

Walburga loved her coven sisters, and she was even fascinated with muggles once. That was until Eileen got pregnant and picked a life of shame with the father of her child instead of a life with her (Walburga definitely had a crush on Eileen, and you can't tell me otherwise).

Then Walburga and Euphemia drifted apart after they both got betrothed and married, and Walburga became just like her mother, who abused her and her brothers on more than one occasion but to Cygnus, she is softer than their mother and their father.

After Sirius went to hogwarts and told her and Orion about his new friends (and she used legilimens on him) and mentioned Severus, she immediately had flashbacks to Euphemia and Eileen and deep down she missed them both but she kills that part of herself almost every day.

Walburga also kept an old photo she, Eileen, and Euphemia took together with their initials written on the back of the photo. She originally meant to burn it, but she always kept it close and hid it so no one could find it.

That's all, let me know what you think and enjoy

[remus-poopin]

More headcanons for your blues:

Maybe it’s the gobstones thing, but I always imagined Remus loves boardgames and he is ridiculously good at scrabble.

Sirius likes the challenge, but he always flops by trying to make long complex words that don’t actually score that high.

James tries, but he sits there until steam comes out of his ears, admits defeat and spells out “cat”.

Peter hates it.

Remus is a pro and always scores high. His only real match is Lily.

Perfect. No notes.

[cursedmoon-doll13]

Based off conversations I’ve had in the server about the wizarding world and my thoughts/speculations as well as some headcanons regarding it.

Tl;dr overthinking world-building details

First of all: the living paintings. I have sooo many questions, like are there magical brushes that need to be used or do you simply enchant them with magic? What is the limit to this? If I doodle a stick man on a page and I enchant it does that mean it comes to life somehow? Also, there’s a lot of darker potential when it comes to this. Is there a black market dedicated to selling certain paintings? What about someone who will paint your deceased loved one for grieving purposes? Has someone ever fallen in love with a painting like we do AI? Are they fully sentient or are they similarly limited as an AI? And this isn’t even getting into photographs taken with a camera.

Speaking of black markets, while of course you have knockturn alley and your borgin and burkes, the real itching question in my mind isn’t on cursed or strange magical objects. It’s on drugs. Or specifically potions. Considering that basically mind-controlling love potions aren’t illegal, what sort of potions actually are? Or - I’ll do you even better - is there a muggle trade for the usual stuff (like say coke) which is made easier with owl post? Is there any sort of policing on non-Hogwarts owls? There must be a ministry force that cracks down on illicit trade with owls. Do they monitor the air for broom flyers as well? There must be some fine you have to pay if you reveal yourself on a broom to random muggles.

Yes we have the ‘are you a witch or not?’ Scene, but I also think for a lot of people who use magic, it would be interesting if they forget they can’t function without it. Someone who has been using magic their entire lives to do house chores suddenly not knowing what they’re doing if their wand snaps. Not even out of ignorance but just because it’s never how they’ve done things, like it’s their natural inclination towards magic. Since there seems to be a bit of anti-muggle bias in the books, I think it would be interesting to see how wizards struggle in comparison.

Also, while this is really more of a book thing, it seems that wizards don’t really know how to ‘dress like muggles.’ In the movies, Ron dresses exactly the same as Harry and Hermoine, but if we were following the books I wonder if he would dress very differently. Of course most of the time they would be wearing the uniform, but if you lined up a bunch of different kids from both pureblood and muggle backgrounds, I imagine they would have quite differing tastes in fashion.

Speaking of fashion. Are there wizarding fashion magazines? Specific trends exclusive only to wizards really? Like, obviously nothing is stopping a non-magical muggle from wearing a pointy hat, but given the history of it I would imagine all sorts of different styles of robes and hats emerged over the years. Even if it was simply minute details, we know from our own fashion history that it isn’t uncommon for wild trends to pop up. Maybe a craze for feathers or flowers or encrusted gemstones, or certain materials and fabrics that became popular.

We really don’t get a lot of information on clubs at Hogwarts from what I can see. Of course we have duelling club and quidditch and such, and I can imagine behind the scenes there must be wizard chess and gobstones clubs. What about music and drama clubs? Are there instruments only exclusive to the wizarding world? Can you enchant musical instruments to play themselves? Are there plays that are only known to the wizarding community or do they also do Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet sort of affairs? I imagine that certain Purebloods would look down on muggle playwrights, or really any sort of muggle artist in general. But still, you can’t tell me that the Malfoys or some other prestigious wizarding family don’t make visits to some magical opera house.

Also. Is quidditch the only big wizarding sport? We had duelling before yes, and again gobstones etc., but what about more physical sports? Aside from the more strenuous spells and flying (which tbh doesn’t seem that physically taxing anyway if you’re just going slow on a Cleansweep) I can’t help but wonder if many wizards are horribly unfit. I mean, given that they tend to live much longer on average compared to non-magical muggles, is it just the magic or is it also special wizarding yoga or pilates or something lol.

Quidditch itself is also an extremely dangerous pastime/sport I mean holy shit. While they do seem to have charms for cushioning, you’re often many, many feet up off the ground and if you fall off without one you could literally go splat and die. Just break your neck, snap and you’re dead.

We hear about certain bands that seem exclusive (or at least known) to the wizarding world e.g The Weird Sisters. There’s also Celestina Warbeck. Since the British wizarding community seems quite small compared to the wider population, it’s possible that there aren’t as many music groups around in it. There still seems to be radio frequencies though, in regards to the aforementioned Celestina scene and the rebel broadcast in Deathly Hallows.

Could there ever be an overlap? Like wizards who decided to break into the muggle musical industry and who are also enjoyed by the wizarding community? On the topic as well, since Arthur Weasley had his obsession with muggle technology, there must be others who are similar to him right? you can’t tell me there isn’t a wizard Ariel or something who tried to leave and integrate with muggle society. Not even a squib, but a wizard who just rejects it all. That’s a story that needs to be told.

All this just begs the question of how advanced is the technology in the wizarding world? Since apparently the modern stuff doesn’t do well in Hogwarts, where is the cutoff point? Maybe you can’t bring your gameboy into school, but what about a record player and vinyls? You just know muggle students in the past have tried to sneak all kinds of weird shit into Hogwarts with them.

Since we know that there are stories and tales exclusive to the wizarding community (Ron’s childhood stories in Deathly Hallows and Tales of Beedle the Bard I believe?) are there also popular wizard fiction authors outside of those who were penning school textbooks or autobiographies i.e good ol’ Gilderoy Lockhart?

I feel like there definitely must be. It makes me wonder how much genres such as sci-fi, (would it be a thing?) horror, romance & erotica etc. would differ in contrast to muggle novels. Especially historical fiction actually, since many of the notable figures may be different.

Getting into darker territory now. For an extremely skilled wizard, I think transfiguring someone in order to kidnap or kill them would be a likely move right? Or at least trying it. I mean if you turn someone into a bug you can squash them, or even into a small animal you can stuff them in a bag or something. Hell, transfigure a person into furniture if you’re feeling really nasty. I know this is fucked up but that’s the point lol.

I also wonder exactly how severe your crime has to be for you to get shut away in Azkaban? Like for petty theft and other minor charges. Of course if you commit a homicide then you get thrown in the slammer, that makes sense, and unfortunately so does Hagrid’s sentence to an extent since the Chamber was pretty dangerous. But do you just get a fine? Are there other holding cells in the ministry you get put in? Somewhere that isn’t Azkaban;;;

Also what about wizard serial killers? Not to be gruesome, but I imagine there are all sorts of options available to magical opportunists. Yes, you have the killing curse, but also you could literally just light someone on fire or leviosa them 50 feet off a tall building. It’s not that hard lol

Also are… Are there collectible cards for them…? I mean tell me there isn’t a true crime community in the wizarding world as well jekfkfktn

To reiterate my point with wizards all using magic for stuff, I wonder if any of them have considered like idk. Using a gun instead? Guns are most certainly not super advanced technology and they can’t be blocked really so… There’s a solution Tom and it’s called a glock

Basically all I’m saying is that there’s a missed opportunity to explore wizard crime bosses.

If any of this is explained in later books or spin-offs, I apologise. I’m only using the original books as reference, and even then it’s been a wee while lol.

[ask-felix-aberg]

Have you looked in the Lost and Found yet? Do we even have it at Hogwarts or Mr. Moon just takes all the lost things into his secret layer to languish over late at night...

The Lost and Found... I've heard whispers of its existence, though I suspect it's more a collection of mismatched socks and stray quills than anything too intriguing. As for Mr. Moon…I'd like to believe he's just thorough in his duties, not… hoarding trinkets in some secret lair. Though now you've got me imagining him sitting under candlelight, polishing forgotten gobstones, surrounded by misplaced Chocolate Frog cards and quills with a wistful sigh.

Maybe it only appears when you need it most…

[lazuli-writes]

Son

summary: Molly blames herself for what has happened to her son.

pairing: none

genre/warnings: angst / supposed-major character death / flashbacks pertaining to disownment, disavowal & angry parents / mentions of parents hitting their child / parent mourning the supposed loss of their child

estimated word count: 5200 words

a/n: Hi there, I’m glad I’m at a point where I feel comfortable in reuploadi g my fics here again. This is part 1 of a series so please check out my masterlist for more if you wish. Remember folks, copying other people’s works is plagiarism and that’s illegal. Don’t be that kind of person. Anyways, hope you all enjoy it :)

©little-lazuli. Do not copy, repost, or translate without permission

Molly gripped the wand closer to her chest. A cacophony of thoughts ensnaring her mind as she fell to her knees, sobbing, her heart shattering over and over and over again.

Her son. Her youngest son. Her baby boy.

Butchered by the vile and depraved witch of Bellatrix Lestrange. Right before the eyes of two of his brothers. There was nothing left of her son, other than a crater and Ron’s fir wood wand.

No formation of words could describe the pain she felt. No amount of tears could show just how bad it hurt. And no amount of blood she could take, could possibly be enough to sate Molly’s heart.

Her baby boy, her Ronnie, was gone.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

Her son was gone, and she could only blame herself.

Molly could only sit there, wailing. Gripping the wooden prize close to her chest as she bared her soul out to the world, mourning the death of her Ronnie. Her thoughts traveling, replaying all of the moments she shared with her son—more importantly, the moments she would regret the most concerning her baby boy.

She didn’t register Fred’s sobs or the way he was gasping out his apologies for not saving his youngest brother.

She paid no mind to the way Percy was shaking almost uncontrollably due to the strength of his crying.

She couldn’t even notice the way Arthur seemed to collapse in on himself. His own pain and culpability eating away at him like a parasite.

Molly was too consumed to watch how one by one—and with the arrival of Bill, Fleur and Charlie—her family caved in on themselves at the news of her sixth son’s demise.

She was just too busy feeling guilty.

Guilt consumed her as she thought of all the ways she failed as a mother.

How many times did she force him away?

Why wasn’t she there to save him from that wretched monster? What was so wrong with her as a mother that she couldn’t help her own child in their greatest hour of need?

•••

There was a time when Ron was only seven. He seemed so happy one morning. But now, all Molly could see in that memory of how she had dismissed him so easily.

“Mummy, wanna play with me?” A seven year old Ron asked, holding his chessboard—courtesy of Arthur’s father, Septimus Weasley.

Molly didn’t even spare him a second glance before returning her eyes to Ginny. The two witches sat on the dining table, the younger learning to play gobstones.

“Sorry Ronnie, but I already promised Ginny I would play with her.” Molly said, laughing out with Ginny as her daughter finally managed to knock the gobstone from the center.

“Could I play with Ginny and you too?” Ron asked lightly, still holding that beautiful smile of his.

“Sorry sweetie, go find your brothers maybe.”

And he was off, and out of Molly’s hair.

Why did she do that? How could she dismiss her baby boy as if he was nothing more than a nuisance?! How could she do that to him!

•••

There was that time she had found out about Ron’s sorting via the twins. And in her shock, she was speechless.

Even after receiving two pleading letters from her baby boy himself. She still was quiet. Molly was too far in her own head to realize that two months had passed before she ever sent a response.

Dear Ronald,
I hope all is well and that you are safe throughout your time in school. I apologize for the late response, but I needed some time to recuperate from the news of your sorting. Slytherin. My son, alone in the house of snakes. I will not lie to you and say that I am proud of your sorting. I am not. I am afraid. I am frustrated. I am lost. Are you well there? Are you being bullied? Why did the sorting hat believe you belonged there? What morals did the hat say you have? Did I fail you as a mother? Did me and your father falter in our love for you? I just don’t understand how this is possible, Ronald. Please know that me and your father do still love you with all our hearts, but understand that we are going to talk about this in depth the next time we meet.
Your mother, Molly Weasley

It only took her four years to see the fruition of this labor, in how Ron easily found comfort in Gianna Greengrass’ arms. Molly at the time didn’t know what it could have been at the time.

Why was her son so close to his friend’s mother? Why did this other woman dare to call Ron one of her own? Ronnie is her’s… not this stranger’s!

Yet now, Molly knew she was wrong once again. She had thought initially that Ron sought out the materialistic gains Gianna Greengrass could provide that Molly never could. But no… Ron isn’t materialistic. He never has… never was like that. He instead found a mother’s attention, something that he had craved… needed all his life. The attention Molly never gave him.

•••

And then there was when he had formally introduced Daphne—the girl who had stolen his heart—to the rest of the family. Ginny, the twins and Percy had already held their own opinions on the girl who had captured her baby boy’s heart. And though Percy regarded the girl as fierce and loyal, the twins and Ginny had other views.

“She’s as much of a snake as any other mum!”

“She’s so rude to us every time we try to talk to Ron and she’s there.”

“He doesn’t even stop her either! She’s truly mental mum.”

It was comments like this that set the foundation of how Molly viewed the Greengrass girl. Her mind at the time could only center around exactly how this… this… enchantress bewitched her son. Her kind and sweet baby boy. How could he have latched himself to someone apparently so demeaning?

“Thank you so much for supper Mrs. Weasley, it seems Ron was correct in his assessment of you being a goddess in the kitchen.” Daphne announced kindly, honest brown orbs following Molly’s own hazel eyes.

Molly could barely manage a genuine smile to grace her face. Her mind swarmed with less than kind thoughts every time she saw the Greengrass girl graze or touch Ron’s hand or shoulder, or when Ron would whisper in her ear before cracking an adorable grin as she laughed, or every time she saw Fred roll his eyes, George grimace or Ginny glare any time the young couple conversed. It was a true wonder dinner hadn’t been disturbed by her children’s typical quarreling.

“Thank you Daphne, Ron was indeed correct on that part.” Arthur’s cool voice sounded out, cutting off any potential witty comments the twins had prepared. Thank the gods above for Arthur.

“Yeah mum, thanks for dinner! It’s always amazing every time you’re in the kitchen!”

Ron’s cheery voice brought a true smile to the matriarch’s face as she prepared to fret over her sweet baby boy, only to have Ginny, sitting beside Ron, retort first.

“Of course it’s amazing, why wouldn’t it be?”

The ice and malice in the short quip could be felt leagues away, and all it brought about was Ron losing his smile and glancing at his little sister in annoyance.

“What are you on about?” Ginny sneered at Ron’s words. And Molly could only sigh in exhaustion, clearly seeing where exactly this was going.

And apparently, so did the twins.

“Why nothing ickle ronniekins”

“Nothing at all”

“Just a genuine question that’s all”

“From our lovely little sister”

“Nothing too bad, am I right Georgie?”

“Right, you are Freddie.”

Ron could only glare across the tables at the duo, the twins sporting smirks, as Ginny maintained a side-eyed glare towards Daphne and Ron.

Again, Molly gathered her thoughts, with every intention of cutting off any argument to come, and once again, she was just a second too late.

“Must you always antagonize your brother?”

Silence reigned supreme amongst those at the dinner table for a good minute. Everyone, digesting Daphne’s blunt words as both teenage witches stared in a severe contest of wills.

Molly was speechless and yet her mind ran rampant. How did it come to this? It was supposed to be a sweet dinner for this Yule break. Was this the side of Daphne that Ginny and twins were talking about? She had hoped it wouldn’t be true?

“Uh… I think that this has been a long night… best to-“ Arthur began before being interrupted by his enraged daughter.

“What’s your problem Greengrass!? Can’t go a single day without reminding everyone of your self-righteousness!”

Daphne’s severe look broke into one of confused shock, clearly bewildered in comparison to both Ginny’s glare and words, “What are you talking-“

“You think you’re better than us! Always flaunting your better manners and your daddy’s money, it’s all your fault Ron’s become a bloody prat!”

Molly gasped, barely muttering out “language” at her daughter's crude words before Ron turned on to his sister.

“Cut it out Ginny! You’ve been nothing but a crazy bint ever since you met Daph-“

Molly didn’t hesitate to defend her only girl.

“Ronald, stop yelling at your sister! Must you be so crass?!”

And somehow, someway, that line alone set the fire off in her youngest son’s eyes and heart. Looking back, Molly couldn’t really remember how exactly the argument traveled from the dining table, to the living room. But after constant screams of unnecessary wrath, Ron and Molly stood face to face, voices roaring, spitting venom towards one another.

At the time, Molly’s internal fire only seemed to be fueled at the thought of her son being nothing but disrespectful. Yelling at his sister, and later the twins that night. Shrugging off Arthur’s comforting and peacemaking attempts, ignoring Molly’s own shouts in favor of escorting Daphne out for the floo, that was the last straw for the elder witch.

“RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY! You stop ignoring me this instant!!”

“Or what?!”

“How DARE you?!”

Mother and son both held faces as red as their hair, eyes burning, hearts roaring with wrath.

“WHY ARE YOU BEING SO DISRESPECTFUL! YOU WANTED THIS DINNER AND YET YOU GO AROUND SCREAMING AT YOUR SIBLINGS AND YOUR OWN PARENTS!”

“I WASN’T THE ONE THROWING RUDE REMARKS ABOUT MY GUEST AT EVERY CHANCE POSSIBLE!”

“AND THAT SOMEHOW EXCUSES YOUR HORRID BEHAVIOR RIGHT NOW!?”

“AS IF I’M BEING MORE HORRIBLE THAN THEY WERE NOT EVEN TWENTY MINUTES AGO!”

Molly took a breath, fighting to maintain the growing eruption that she knew was brewing beneath her already infuriated stance. The infamous Prewett temper exuded itself in totality from both mother and son.

Molly took another breath. Her voice restraining the lashing it had initially intended to unleash.

“Ronald… I will not tolerate anymore of this behavior. Please escort Daphne back to the fireplace and then go straight to your room”

Ron didn’t even have the chance to intrude on his mother’s fierce command.

“Me and your father will speak to your siblings and then we will be upstairs to talk to you”

She ignored the way his narrowed eyes seemed to challenge her own, almost daring her to strike, to give him casus belli. As unnerving as it was, Molly persisted.

“A conversation concerning your behavior is long overdue Ronald. As long as you remain under this roof, you will retain the respect your father and I taught you to carry yourself with. I am your mother Ronald, and you will do as I say.”

Molly could feel the brief sigh of relief come from Arthur as the smallest of smiles graced his lips, probably glad that Molly had diffused the situation all on her own. The couple however seemed to completely forget about their youngest son—who seemed ready to burst in pure fury. The older witch didn’t think her son could possibly say anything that would conflict with her own final demands.

And yet he did.

And the verbal flogging, the seven words that seemed to spill from her baby boy’s mouth was the final straw. Seven words that broke any restraint Molly had retained only seconds ago.

“Some mother you are, aren’t you mum?”

Time froze for the smallest fraction, and Molly didn’t even register how far and how fast her rage had carried her, but after blinking she had realized that the back of her hand stung viciously. And stumbling back before her was her youngest son.

Grasping at his cheek, eyes stinging with tears, Molly’s breath hitched. She struck him. She hit her own child.

Molly didn’t have time to apologize. She didn’t register the way Ginny and Daphne had shrieked, or the way the twins stood frozen and silent or how Arthur had screamed in shock. She didn’t even have the chance to even move out of the culpable stupor she was in before Ron moved away. Roughly scraping away tears, and the traces of blood from the tiny scratch that now marred his cheek, Ron tugged Daphne away before heading to the floo.

Her mouth ran as fast as her feet after her son. Apologies spilling, Arthur in a similar state, with frustrated pleas for peace coming from his lips.

But her fierce, strong, proud and hurt baby boy left, gone in a flash of green fire along with Daphne. Away from her. From his own mother, who hurt him.

•••

And the worst of it was seen on that disastrous night. That horrible night.

It was supposed to be a peaceful summer hols, Molly and Ron and had made up from their fight back in December. The twins had already left the Burrow to start their shop in London, Ron was entering his sixth year and Ginny her fifth. The only worry on her mind was whether or not Percy was alright, but she had faith in her boy’s strength and tenacity.

Though she would be lying if she still didn’t worry about him every single hour of every passing day. The war had begun in earnest not long after Ginny, Harry and their friends exposed Voldemort to the world. And now she could only hope they would leave her family untouched just a little longer.

But the expected calm shattered when Ginny screamed. Fear held Molly hostage as she bolted into action, racing down the stairs of her home, hoping to any and all higher beings that no monsters had come to her home, for her family.

Imagine her utter disbelief when she had discovered that the monster wasn’t some bigoted pure-blood looking to kill some blood traitors. But rather her own son, who’s eyes were shining with tears, trying to hide the wretched black marks gracing his left forearms. Molly kept herself frozen in utter shock, incredulity, rage and despair.

Ronald had the mark. The dark mark.

The proof laid bare for Ginny, Arthur and Molly, as they stood across from the sixth Weasley boy. Ron was shaking, shivering in fear, silent tears spilling out from his eyes as they graced the floor rather than his own family. And whilst Molly once again was left speechless, her daughter and husband were not.

Ginny raged with both fury and hurt. Hundreds of ‘How could you?’ And words like ‘traitor’ or ‘snake’ spilling out from her mouth. Molly’s eyes moistened as she watched her daughter scream at her ever so silent brother. And the elder witch couldn’t help but silently agree.

How could her own flesh and blood do this? Did she not raise him right? Did he really have no care for others? Was he truly a monster all this time? So many had died fighting to protect the chance for a world of peace and equity, her own brothers Fabian and Gideon, everything they fought for… how could her own child spit on this dream? She didn’t raise her children to be this way. If that was true, then was this boy standing before her… was he truly her son?

After stewing in her thoughts for a moment or two longer, Molly returned to the present as she watched the scene before her. Arthur held a crying Ginny and his face. Oh Merlin…

The look of the purest ire and wrath found itself plastered upon her husband’s face. It was a face she had only seen once in her long life with him. The night she tried to avenge her brothers’ deaths. Arthur raged, shouted and tore Molly a whole new perspective. It was the most terrifying display of his love that Molly had seen come from her husband. She remembers that night, Arthur demanding to know why she thought abandoning their children for revenge was worth it. She had never been so ashamed of herself in her entire life.

But seeing that look again, Arthur, her doting, caring, loving husband… looking upon one of their children that way reawakened the defensive motherly instincts within Molly.

Molly raced, standing between Ron and Arthur, her husband scowling through her as Ron whimpered and hid behind her. Her heart started to crack under the pressure, the waves of conflicted and painful emotions began to drown Molly completely.

Arthur will not break Ron with his words, her baby boy wouldn’t survive such a tongue lashing, especially not in this state! But my son�� my youngest son… a death eater… There are no words to describe my utter contempt. Why did he do this? WHY?!
“How could you do this Ron?” The eeriness in Arthur’s smooth tone only seemed to smother the other three Weasleys with pure fear.

Molly maintained her defiant eyes as Arthur ignored her, focusing his hard and frozen eyes on the boy behind her. Even Ginny who now stood behind Arthur was quite in her despair, now eyeing her father with the tiniest looks of terror.

Ron could only whimper and sniffle in response, clearly too shaken to even formulate a response.

“ANSWER ME BOY!”

Her son sobbed harder, trying to shrink his lanky build behind her further. Molly didn’t want this. This summer was supposed to be good. Peaceful. A respite from the terrors from the war that was already consuming their community. And yet, the war has already struck her family. And it has stolen another son from her.

“Arthur please-“

“NO MOLLY!”

Molly could barely stop herself from jumping in shock at her husband’s tone.

“Arthur stop!”

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS RON?! WHY-“

“I had to dad! I had to!” Ron mewled out painfully, still withering under his father’s eyes.

Molly turned to her boy. Gripping him by the shoulders, it was second nature for Molly to comfort her children when they were in pain. And despite her lingering disgust at the odious black mark on her son, Molly still held him close. Enveloping Ron into her bosom, leaving no room for her baby boy’s tears to escape.

In that moment, the way her son shivered, the way he let his tears fall free with no care, the way he gripped unto Molly the same way when he was naught but a toddler, the way he inhaled her soothing essence, and exhaled a sigh of genuine peace and content… Molly knew her son was truly her son.

Her son was no monster. Her Ronald was no death eater. Her Ronnie was her baby boy. And she despises that small fraction of time that she doubted such a thing.
“Get out.”

Three pairs of eyes found its way to the fuming form of the Weasley patriarch. Molly turned to her husband, her own eyes beginning to match that of her two youngest babies. No Arthur! Please! He’s our son!
“D-Dad-“

“GET OUT!”

Arthur’s shout cut off the meek voice of his son.

Molly could only grip her son to her own person closer. Refusing to let him leave. Refusing to let her son fly away from her arms again. And despite the menacing glare her husband shined down upon both mother and son, Molly stood strong, defiant, with all of her will standing against that of the man she loves.

“Arthur. No.”

Molly barely breathed those words out before Arthur stomped forward. Ginny squeak her own terror out, silently crying, falling back against the nearest wall, slowly gliding down to the floor as she watched the scene before her.

Molly hadn’t the time to register what was happening before Arthur began again.

“You bring that disease into this house. You dare to spit on everything your mother and I raised you to believe in”

Arthur ripped Ron out of her arms, ignoring the cries and pleas of his own wife and son as he gripped Ron by the collar of his shirt.

Molly gasped, throwing herself into the fray. “ARTHUR STOP IT!”

Despite her best efforts, Molly couldn’t get around the gangly form of her husband who all but hauled Ron towards the door.

“Your mother and I tried our damn hardest Ronald! Praying! Hoping! That maybe you would still be our son by the time you finished school! BUT FOOLS WE WERE”

Ron began to pull against his father’s arms, pulling free for the faintest second, barely grasping Molly before Arthur grasped him again. Throwing him at the door. And then it happened.

“D-Dad…. Please!”

Molly froze as she heard the sorrowful plea come from her baby boy. There she stood, watching her son, back laid against the door. Arthur between her and Ron, staring down like a beast, with fire, ice, storms and pure wrath and ferocity lingering in his eyes. Face red and fists clenched. Molly had never felt dread and fear like this. Arthur wouldn’t harm his kids in anger. Never. Right?

“Please… let me explain da… please.”

Tears falling down both wizards' faces, Arthur shook his head at Ron’s begging.

“No son of mine would have ever done what you’ve done Ron. You shame the Weasley name. You shame your mother and her family. You need to leave.”

Molly shook as the tears flooded her face. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t have another son away from her. Percy was all alone. That alone was too much to handle. She wouldn’t let her last boy be forced away! He’s not even of age! He’s still a child! Her child!

“Dad…. Please…” Ron sobbed out once more. But it was all for naught because Arthur was too far gone in his anger to care.

“You are no son of mine… You are no Weasley any longer. Get out. And don’t ever return.”

The silence that followed Arthur’s declaration was deafening. Molly was numb. Stunned into near paralysis as her husband’s words sunk in. And in the silence, all four Weasleys’ hearts broke at the patriarch’s command.

The hurt that presented itself in totality on Ron’s face was too much for Molly to handle. His eyes wide, smothered by tears, body shivering, hands pressed close to his chest, as if praying for his father’s words to be a figment of his imagination. Molly’s heart felt like it was getting stomped on, and still she was unprepared for the pain that came from what happened next.

“Please Da—”

Arthur cut Ron off, ripping his wand out from his pocket and pointed it at the face of her baby boy. Molly screamed in fear at the act, charging forward.

“GET OUT!”

For Ron, the sight of his father—the man who he had looked up to all his life, the man who’s love, pride and respect were once Ron’s greatest desire—raising his wand, screaming, with a look almost akin to hate, strangled Ron’s soul with fear. Never in his entire life had the young wizard felt so afraid in his life. The fear that gripped his very being was unparalleled in encapsulating Ron… slithering around his soul like a basilisk, gripping him, strangling him, leaving him a mangled mess. Ron was terrified of his father. And the realization was too heavy a burden to carry.

Ron did the only thing he could do. He fled. Flinging the door open, Molly watched as Ron sprinted for the hills, sobs echoing, tears spilling from his cheeks and snot locking his airways as he ran.

The elder witch initially gave chase, but the sudden grip on her arm brought her to a halt. Arthur, for all the love that she knew he had in his heart, not a single drop of this love made itself present on his face. Despite the tears clashing against his wrathful look, Molly stared into her husband’s soul. She gritted her teeth, almost daring for Arthur to stop her any longer from pursuing her son.

“Molly… don’t. He’s… he’s no so—“

She didn’t even spare him the courtesy of finishing his weak revelation. Cutting off his somber and hurtful words with her own, laced with fury.

“If you even dare to say he’s not my son, Arthur… I swear by all of those above and below…. Let go of my arm RIGHT NOW ARTHUR WEASLEY!”

Arthur’s grip went limp as he remained stock still, aggressive yet aggrieved in his current state. Almost in disbelief at the show of love and loyalty Molly had. And for someone who had spit on everything the old couple had believed in. He couldn’t understand it, yet Molly didn’t care. Her mind focused only on her baby boy.

“Why Molly? Why do you wound us further… what comes from wanting him here?!”

Arthur’s words almost seemed like a slap in the face to Molly. She erupted at her husband’s ignorance… his cruelty… his lack of sight. But most of all, for his refusal to love their son, flaws and all. It hurt her so much to see that this is what it boiled down to—she always knew Ron’s relationship with both Arthur and herself was strained. But love was still there. On both ends of the street. Yet, somehow, Arthur’s love wasn’t there, not for Ron. And it infuriated her to no end.

In that split second, at hearing the way Arthur could be so blinded in his wrath, that he could not even feel the love she knew he had, she felt herself fall back to barely a year prior… to the way Arthur and Percy had fought. In the aftermath, she saw her third boy feel unloved, unwanted, unneeded and divided from his family. How could this current situation be any different? She couldn’t let Ron leave, not now, not ever! She couldn’t lose another one of her babies.

“I WILL NOT LOSE ANOTHER SON ARTHUR!”

Molly pushed past a silent and still Arthur, rushing for her son who bolted out the door only moments ago.

“Ronnie!”

In the distance, she could make out only a tall shadow, racing up the hill, away from the Burrow. The faint silver gleam of the moon granting her a look of the back of her son’s form.

“RON WAIT!”

Molly charged forward, holding her long skirt up as she raced to meet her son. Hoping to any and all that she could stop Ron from passing the wards of their home.

“RON PLEASE!!” THUD

Molly fell forward after she cried out again for her son. Her body giving out as a rock caught her foot. Landing on her hands and knees—which she was sure held bruises and scrapes, littered with mud—she kept her eyes forward, facing the retreating teen.

Molly’s heart skipped a beat as she watched on. Ron had paused, an aggrieved look scanning the scene behind him. Molly could feel his heart break as she saw him witness her injured self recuperate. Standing up and dusting herself off, she could feel the world recompose itself as she gestured that she was alright.

“M-Mum… you’re hur–“

“I’m okay Ron.” Molly called out to the shivering boy some fifteen meters ahead of her.

“Mummy… I’m sorr—“

“I’m okay son. We’re gonna be okay Ron.”

Molly held back her own sobs as she watched her baby boy be consumed by his own tears. It was like he was toddler all over again. Crying for her love, her affection.

One step. Two steps. And another. Molly inched closer and closer to her youngest boy, who stood like a statue, frozen in time, with only shivers and tears as signs to his humanity. She was so close, so close to reaching her son, who stood only a few steps away from the last of the wards surrounding the Burrow. Only a few more bated breaths and a few more soft steps forward and her son would be back in her arms.

Yet, it wasn’t meant to be as she heard the door to her home slam open once more, releasing Arthur and Ginny from its threshold. Molly didn’t need to look behind her to know what had captured Ron’s attention in totality. Arthur, who was still gripping his wand. Molly almost cried out in frustration as she saw the wheels churn in her son’s eyes, his beautiful sky blue orbs, filling themselves with dread, terror, fear.

She only caught his eyes for the smallest second. She could feel the echoing of his silent apologies flow through the air between them. And Molly could only cry further as she failed once more. Running for him once more, the elder witch was too late to take hold of her son as he apparated away after passing the last ward.

And as he was whisked away to a place unknown, Molly finally broke. Collapsing to the floor with her sorrow, she cried as she did herself in.

Why did she stop? She could have easily moved faster! Why didn’t she spare him from Arthur’s wrath? Why did she fail her son again?! What will happen to Ron? What if they hurt him? Did they give him the mark to keep him a prisoner?! How long have they been hurting my baby?! He’s not even of age! They’re gonna kill my baby boy!!!!

She failed again as a mother. And this time, it just might be the one that could cost her her son for good.

•••

It was this truth that broke Molly.

She failed as a mother. She failed her baby boy. She failed her son, her Ronnie.
And the proof was right there. Held close to her chest, a survivor's wand who had lost its long and rigorous battle. Forced to survive a world without the support of his family. Without the support of his mother.

She didn’t even have her son’s remains to hold and caress one last time. No physical manifestation for her to beg… beg to come home to her. No corpse to apologize over. No ashes to cry and scream over. There was nothing left.

Only that gods be damned crater and his wand.

This truth screamed at her as she heard her sobs joined by that of her traumatized sons Percy and Fred. She could hear it in the whimpers of George and Arthur as they held each other, in the comforting words that Fleur tried to say to a wailing Ginny. Even in the ragged breathing of Bill who held a broken Charlie close to his chest.

Her family was shattered. And it was all her fault.

She did it. She lost her baby boy. Her little Ronnie… her son was dead.

Molly could only scream louder as that truth nestled into her soul.

[expecto-kedavra]

Heyyyyy I loved your first piece! 100/10. Def made me cry. I’m ftm trans and can never seem to find too much he/him stuff with the gals. Can I ask for a male Hufflepuff MC and Imelda Reyes romantical piece? I kinda like the rivals to friends dynamic. Maybe even more 👀 thanks bestieeeeee

Hey :) sorry this took a minute. I’ve been busy 😅

!- grumpy teenagers, parental issues, soft Imelda lol

Hufflepuff MC + Imelda Reyes oneshot

Rude. That’s all I had to say. Imelda Reyes was rude. “YOu aNd eVeRYonE eLsE nEed tO gEt THicKeR SKiN” her words rang in my mind as I sped away. I had just obliterated her weak trial record. She wanted to tell me to get thicker skin? After she whined about me cheating? I couldn’t push it out of my mind for days. As I lay in bed that night, Arthur Plummly could tell something was on my mind. “Fancy a chat?” He asked. “Something seems to be weighing heavy in your thoughts.” How right he was. “I just wish people weren’t so damn rude.” I confessed. “Ah. Yes, it seems even in a wonderful school of magic and mystery, there always seems to be bullies.” I knew he understood. I’d seen him picked on too many times by Leander Prewett and Eric Northcott. I always stepped in for him. Arthur wasn’t the type to stand up for himself. He was my friend and I always made sure he and everyone else knew it. Bullies have no place here, not if I can help it. Eventually I pushed the Slytherin’s snobby tone out of my mind and me and Arthur fell asleep talking about Kneazles.

The days came and went. One day I helped a second year Ravenclaw named Zenobia Noke find all her gobstones. When she told me that Imelda played a part in hiding them, I headed directly to the quidditch pitch to confront her. “A SECOND YEAR??” I bellowed. She smirked. “What do you care? She was a brat, and I taught her a lesson. You’re just being weak and ignorant.” Laughing as she turned to walk away. The act of defiance and arrogance lit up my temper. “Imelda Reyes, you are a bully and a pathetic loser who can’t help but whine and cry when someone is better than you. You think you’re so good at everything, and so special but really, you’re just insecure and small. Maybe one day you’ll grow up.” And with that, I left. I didn’t care what she had to say.

The next day at dinner, I sat by Arthur and Poppy. “I heard what you said to Imelda. Bullies like her need to be reminded that they’re not in charge here.” Poppy said. “Yeah, she’s been giving us grief since we were first years but you told her!” Arthur added. I looked at both of them thankfully. I was glad I did stand up to Imelda, but there was a piece of me that felt that maybe I was too harsh. I pushed it to the back of my mind and began to eat.

That night, I scrambled up the stairs to the astronomy tower. I had forgotten to finish my star chart, and Professor Shah would not tolerate any more late work. I set up my telescope and found Sirius, then Vega. I was deep into thought when a voice rang out over the cold night air. “I don’t think you’re weak” I damn near jumped out of my skin. I located the voice, and found that it belonged to Imelda. “Sorry?” I asked. She was leaning on the railing, wearing a thick green and grey sweater. “You’re not weak.” She repeated. “Don’t make me say it again” she said with a glare. I laughed, and her face softened. “Don’t worry Imelda. Nobody shall know you said something nice to me.” I couldn’t help but notice that her tone was somewhat different than usual. Not high and snotty, but softer. I was intrigued. “What brings you out here tonight? Enjoying the weather?” I inquired. She looked back out into the Highlands. “No, not the weather. I was actually thinking about you” She said plainly. I was surprised. Was she just up here seething? Plotting my demise? “I’ve never had anyone stand up to me the way you did. It makes me wonder if you’re right. About me being insecure and mean.” I couldn’t help but feel guilty with her words. ‘Imelda, I-“ but I was cut short. “My mother was never very…nurturing. She tried to force me into a mold, said I should focus on real world things, not quidditch and flying.” I could hear the bitterness in her tone. “I admire your integrity. You’re fiercely protective, and I think that takes a lot of courage.” I was shell shocked by her words. “Maybe I tried to distance myself so far from my mother I didn’t realize I was becoming like her.” We stood there a moment, the wind and the owls the only noises. I broke the silence. “You spent years honing your craft. Hard work and dedication. Then here I come, some new guy, and I best your times and yell at you. It kind of makes sense why you were defensive.” She looked over her shoulder at me. My heart fluttered unexpectedly. I don’t know why. I didn’t tell it to. Rude. “You mean that?” She asked. “I do. I have alot of respect for your dedication. Quite honestly, you’re incredible.” I kind of sputtered out the last bit. I’m not sure if it was the way her hair gleamed in the night, or the way the moonlight reflected off her soft skin…. She laughed at my awkwardness. “Well. For a new kid, you’re also a tad incredible. Credit where it’s due.” Her eyes glittered, sparkling like the stars I came up to chart. We fell silent again, and I couldn’t help but stare at her. Even with her sweater, I could tell she worked to keep her figure lean and quick, but also toned with a good bit of muscle. The perfect Chaser. She caught me staring and I quickly looked away, pretending I had something on my shoe. “You know, people would find it quite funny if we became friends.” Of all the things said this night, that may have been the most shocking. “It would be quite funny.” I replied. “Maybe I’ll even have to take you on a date, that’ll really throw them for a loop.” I didn’t know where that came from. Maybe the sorting hat should have put me in Gryffindor with nerve like that. “Maybe you should.” She stepped closer, her dazzling eyes studying my face in the moonlight. I felt my face get hot, and my heartbeat jumped into my throat. “Has anyone told you, that your lower lip twitches when your nervous?” She asked. “What? No. I’m not nervous. Are you? I’m not sure why I’d be-“ before I could stammer out any more poor excuses, she shut me up with a kiss. I closed my eyes and melted into it, wrapping my arms around her. She pulled away, blushing. She cleared her throat and looked down awkwardly. “Now who’s nervous?” I joked. She looked back at me sheepishly. “I didn’t quite expect the butterflies to be that strong.” I laughed and grabbed her hand. “Would you follow me? I know a house elf named Deek who makes the best late night stargazing tea.”

We were right. Everyone’s reaction to us not at each others throats was quite amusing. When she walked up to me in potions and asked to borrow some knotgrass, everyone froze. “Don’t bother repaying me, I have plenty.” I told her. We looked around at all the shocked faces in the room. “What’re you lot staring at?” She asked roughly. Everyone quickly returned to their cauldron. Garreth looked like he’d seen Peeve’s undressing, and Sebastian’s face was as white as the Fat Friar. “Would you come with me to Hogsmeade after class?” I asked her. I could tell she was reveling in the confusion surrounding us. It was quite entertaining. “Yes, I’d fancy a butterbeer with you.” She planted a quick kiss on my cheek and returned to her cauldron. Everyone’s heads looked like they were about to explode. It was hilarious. Sharp snapped everyone out of their trances. “Back to work everyone, your invisibility potions will not brew themselves. Though I’d reckon if they did, they’d be more impressive than what’s been brewed today.” But even he couldn’t hide his amusement. From then on, me and Imelda trained together, laughed together, and just enjoyed each others company. She’d tell you it’s for the reactions, but she’s wrong. You haven’t seen the way she stares at me.

[cursedonyx]

Taming the Serpent - Ch 25 excerpt

A little fluffy excerpt from my secondary fic, Taming the Serpent, in which Ominis misses his best friend and the fun they used to have when they were younger.

The whole story (currently a WIP) can be read on wattpad

⚠️Warning⚠️ The story itself features heavy themes of trauma, SA, infidelity, and plenty of (planned) smut.

“’Lo, Ominis,” Sebastian greeted him as he slid into the seat next to him. “Got much homework?”

Ominis grimaced. “More than I care to tackle right now,” he muttered. “I was looking for you, actually.”

“Oh?” Sebastian closed his book, his tone decidedly wary. “What’s up?”

Ominis shrugged, feeling suddenly awkward. A few years ago, it would have meant nothing to ask his best friend to join him in the Undercroft, to while away the hours doing nothing of any great importance. But time had passed. Things had happened. Claire had arrived, taking Sebastian from him, leaving him out in the cold. She had encouraged Sebastian to delve deeper and deeper into the Dark Arts. Sebastian had killed Solomon. And somewhere along the way, sometime in those years spent fretting and longing, the ease of their friendship had never quite recovered.

“Nothing much,” Ominis hedged. “I just thought you might be bored, that’s all.”

Sebastian gave a low laugh. “Me, bored in a library? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Well, are you?”

“A little,” Sebastian admitted. “I’m just reading up about colour-change charms for Ronen.”

“Ah, yes. He wants twenty inches by next Friday, doesn’t he?”

“Yep. Figured I’d make a start, at least. I’ve been helping Claire with Hecat’s essay on Lethifolds.”

“You wrote it for her, you mean,” Ominis replied, unable to remove all the venom from his voice. He hurried on as Sebastian turned to him. “Never mind all that. I’ve just been thinking, that’s all. Now that Anne’s better, it’s reminded me of all the mischief we used to get up to.”

“You want to prank someone?” Sebastian asked. “I won’t say no to that. Weasley’s really been pissing me off lately, he keeps looking at me like he knows something I don’t, then acting like I’m being stupid or strange when I call him out on it. Claire keeps telling me I’m imagining it, and maybe I am.”

Ominis twisted his mouth. “Perhaps not that,” he said. “I’d rather we avoided detention this year, if you please.”

“Then what?”

He smiled a little. “Remember when we used to just hang out in the Undercroft? We used to do everything there, our homework, all our talks, hell, we used to steal food from the kitchens and sleep there.”

“I do remember,” Sebastian said, wistfully. “Those were good times, just the three of us, when we were kids.”

“You asked me before if I wanted to spend a night there,” Ominis said. “Just us and a campfire, like old times. I’d like to take you up on the offer, if it’s still available?”

Sebastian chuckled softly. “I’d like that. I’ll ask Claire if she-”

“No,” Ominis said, quickly. “Can we not just have an evening without our respective…” he trailed off, and winced. “Well. You know.”

He could sense Sebastian’s wicked grin. “So… you and Silver getting a bit more serious then? Is that where you’ve been all day? With her?”

Ominis passed a wintry glare in his direction. “My offer stands,” he said. “I wouldn’t expect a full evening, we’re far too busy for that. But why not take some time to just enjoy ourselves a little? Merlin only knows we won’t have this again once we’re through with this year.”

“Good point,” Sebastian said. “I can spare a little time. What do you want to do?”

“Why not play a few rounds of gobstones? We haven’t played for ages.”

“That does sound fun,” Sebastian said, then sighed. “I can’t. Claire hates the smell of it when I lose.”

“So don’t lose,” Ominis said, and grinned.