#And he’ll wake up in the middle of the night and Merlin will sit with him even if it’s in the hall outside of a closed room iykyk | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fleursowl · 3 years ago

Text

James & Sirius friendship drabble

this is for @gaeilgelupin because it’s her BIRTHDAY GO WISH HAN A HAPPY BIRTHDAY RN!! han i love u millions u r the james to my sirius <3

never saw one without the other, did you? you’d have thought they were brothers

it was the fourth week into the summer holidays, and James had yet to hear from Sirius

now, if you asked James, he would say he was a pretty relaxed person. prone to fits of excitement, sure, but all in all? a calm, cool, collected guy. (not everyone agreed with this)

however, his calmness had a breaking point. and that breaking point was neither him, nor remus or pete, having heard even a whisper from sirius all summer- even their two-way mirrors had been silent since sirius had arrived at grimmauld place

neither remus nor peter had heard from him either, which was particularly bugging james as no matter how bad sirius’ summers had been previously, sirius always managed to write to remus at least once

after not being able to stand james’ constant fretting any longer, euphemia had invited remus to stay midway through the summer, hoping the mild-mannered boy would be a calming influence on him

this did not have the desired effect however, as james now had a person to bounce his fretting off, and after a week into remus’ stay euphemia was beginning to feel like pulling her hair out

however, this all rose to a climax one warm august evening, where euphemia and fleamont had stayed up late playing gobstones in the living room with james and remus in an attempt to distract them from their worries

james was in the middle of doing a victory lap around the room, crowing his victory, when two bodies stumbled out of the fireplace in a pile of soot and ash and- what was that smell?

all members of the potter house jumped back in surprise, wands drawn and at the ready, only to find it was regulus clutching what looked like sirius’ body to his chest, his eyes wide and imploring

“i can’t stay, i have to go back. you have to help him- don’t ever let him come back.” he urged, depositing sirius’ body onto the carpet, and with that, he turned back and stepped into the fireplace, shouting “grimmauld place!” before disappearing in roar of flames

the firelight gave effie a chance to momentarily glimpse sirius’ face and she let out a noise james had never heard from her before, falling to her knees beside sirius on the carpet and pulling his head to rest in her lap

“fleamont, please contact dumbledore immediately. james, go get my emergency aid kit.” she commanded, her voice shaking but firm as she waved her wand over sirius’ body, her eyes intent on his twitching body

james and remus stared at sirius, lifeless in effie’s arms, and a sob escaped remus’ throat, a hand clasping over his mouth as he collapsed next to effie, desperate hands frantically trying to find something to do to help

in the meantime, james had run to get the emergency kit and passed it to his mother with shaking hands, watching her heal scar after vicious scar on sirius’ body, tapping her wand against his chest and nearly sobbing in relief when breath rushed back to sirius’ body, causing him to wake up in a rush, immediately sitting up and letting out a cry of pain, his head landing again in effie’s lap

“where’s… regulus?” he croaked out, reaching out a hand as though he thought regulus would take it. instead james stepped over, grasping sirius’ hand in his like it was a lifeline

“he’s gone back, sirius. are you…” words choked james’ throat as he surveyed the broken body of his best friend, his brother, and he turned to remus in the hope that he would be able to say something, but remus was already clutching sirius’ hand, tears pouring down his cheeks and clearly beyond speaking

after a few more minutes of tense silence, the only noise being sirius’ occasional groan or whimper of pain, james finally forced the emotions back out of his throat and managed to articulate again. “is he going to- is he going to be alright?” he stammered to his mother, and she paused momentarily in her healing of sirius to run a soothing hand through his hair

“he’s going to be just fine, he’ll just need a while to recover. is the spare bedroom tidy?” effie reassured, and james closed his eyes and thanked whoever was listening that he’d been blessed with her as a mother. “it’s tidy, but i’d rather stay with him. can’t he stay in my room with me and remus?”

euphemia potter looked up from her healing of sirius into the wide, watery eyes of her son and his best friend, and knew there would be no arguing with them. sirius would be staying in james’ room.

sirius woke up sharply the next morning in james’ bed, gasping for breath and looking around wildly. after clearly not recognising where he was, he started thrashing and crying out again, waking up james who was curled up next to him

“hey… hey, sirius, it’s me, prongs, i’m here mate, you’re at my house” james did his best to soothe the terrified boy, nervous hands flying all over his body before deciding his shoulders were the best place to rest them

“i’m at your house?” sirius whispered, wide eyes looking like they couldn’t quite believe it when james nodded back at him. “at my house. you’re safe, sirius.” “safe.” sirius repeated back to him, his hands trembling and curling over james’ chuddley cannons duvet

“safe, padfoot.” james promised, lying back next to sirius and putting a tentative arm over his bandaged chest so that even in his sleep, sirius would know he was with people who loved him

over the next few days sirius gradually grew back into himself, the worst day being when dumbledore visited and sirius was forced with trembling hands to recount the events of his last night at grimmauld place to a room of euphemia, fleamont, dumbledore, james and remus. after dumbledore had asked a few follow up questions and promised he would sort things out sirius had collapsed into remus’ waiting arms, allowing the boy to lead him back to james’ bedroom where the three boys stayed for hours, just sitting quietly in each other’s company on james’ bed

a week later the worst of sirius’ wounds had healed and he accompanied fleamont on a trip to london, which he returned from laden with bags and grinning ear to ear.

“i can stay! forever!” he crowed as soon as he got back, throwing himself at james and nearly tackling him to the ground. james couldn’t believe his luck- not only was his best friend out of the worst place he’d ever heard of, but he was moving in with him!

the three marauders immediately ran to the potters’ spare room which had been given happily to sirius. however, the thing that shocked sirius the most was that he was allowed to decorate it however he wanted- hence the trip to london with fleamont

“merlin pads, how many bloody bowie posters do you need?” james grumbled from where he was stood on top of a chest of drawers, getting his fingers tangled in spellotape as he attempted to stick up his fifth david bowie poster as of yet, snorting at sirius who was busy not helping and instead had chosen to twirl around the room to the music blasting out of his brand new record player

“oh i don’t know, i think he has more of freddie mercury.” remus grinned, ignoring sirius’ indignant protests and tugging him in by the waist to press a kiss to his hair.

sirius’ offence was of course, a pretence, as when he stood in his room in the arms of his moony watching james wobble off the chest of drawers with a yelp, crashing onto his bed, a warm feeling spread from his chest to the rest of his body, a warm feeling that he felt whenever he looked at james. james, his best friend. james, his partner in crime. james, his fellow marauder.

james, his brother.

116 notes · View notes

wondernimbus · 4 years ago

Text

play pretend — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

prompt: in which two people are forced into marriage; reader falls in love. draco doesn’t.

a/n: hi listen to the song dusk til dawn if you wanna get into ur feelings while reading this .. anyways enjoy!!!

No matter how much Draco tried to deny it, part of her had always known that unwanted feelings lingered. Feelings from the past that should have been left there but weren’t—feelings that shone through during the most intimate moments; underneath bed covers, when Astoria’s name would slip past his lips instead of hers, or afternoons spent out by the garden when she would catch his eye and find him looking at her in a way that made it so painfully obvious that he was trying to find something in her that he could love.

The first time his and [Y/N]’s families had ever met, Narcissa Malfoy had pulled her away from the dining table to tell her in a voice of caution about a girl named Astoria Greengrass; the very same one Draco had fallen in love with during his time at Hogwarts. The girl came from a wealthy family, but one that was not wealthy enough—her blood was pure but her name not as well-respected as that of the Malfoys’ (word had leaked of an early ancestor having married a Muggle). Simply put, she was, though close to it, not good enough for Draco. The history of her family line and her insufficient wealth just couldn’t make the cut; Astoria Greengrass wasn’t good enough to wed into the Malfoy family—regardless of how much Draco claimed to have felt for her.

And so Astoria and Draco’s story ended with tragedy; with separation and arranged marriages to anyone but each other. Astoria wedded a man of her status; someone who could afford to marry her, and Draco to [Y/N], who had never known love until she met him—the very person who couldn't feel the same for her.

She'd wedded Draco fully aware that mutual feelings of affection were the last of any of their families' concerns. As long as no Muggle blood besmirched each others' family trees and the purity of blood was carried on further into newer generations, petty things like love hardly mattered.

Except somewhere along their forced time together in a lonely manor by the countryside—a dowry from her family to the Malfoys—[Y/N] began to look at Draco as less of the man who had been forced into marriage with her and more of a man she could learn to love. And so she did; she learned and loved and found a comfort in him that she had never been expecting to. It took time, yes, but once she took that courageous step and the floor gave out underneath her feet and she fell for Draco faster than she could even blink, she couldn't stop.

Because once you start to love someone, you are done for. You won't be able to pull yourself back out.

Maybe that's why Draco can't forget that one Astoria Greengrass. Maybe that's why he can't quite look at [Y/N] the way she wants him to. Maybe it's why, when [Y/N] foolishly tells him "I love you" in hopes that maybe this time he'll say it back, he doesn't.

[Y/N] wants to be angry. She wants to be able to grasp Draco’s shoulders, shake him to his senses and scream at him to forget Astoria, you can never have each other but you have me and I love you and I want you to be able to say the same for me so please just let go of her. But to set her pride aside and ask something like that of him takes plenty of courage—courage that [Y/N] isn’t entirely sure she has.

So she sits and pretends like everything is fine. Tells herself that the man she loves loves her back when she knows he doesn’t. And he knows it too.

Playing pretend—she’s gotten quite good at it over time.

—

When Draco holds her at midnight and presses himself close to her, it's like he's trying to imprint himself onto her very skin, trying to ingrain part of himself onto every inch of her body he can reach. And in a way, he does, in patches of faint red and purple and dark blues that mark her skin wherever his lips go.

They almost never talk at night. They're much too busy wrapped up in each other's arms and legs to bother with words. [Y/N] threads her fingers through his hair and pulls him in and Draco kisses her so hard it's like he's trying to make up for everything that he can't give her; kisses with passion that isn't quite driven by love but rather desperation for something—someone—he can't quite have.

And it hurts because [Y/N] knows that when Draco groans into her mouth and tightens his grip on her waist and glides his lips down her skin, it's not her face in his head. And it's not her name that leaves his lips, either, when the night progresses and they are drunk in one another's touch.

But [Y/N] is okay with it—or so she tells herself.

She has Draco. She's happy. She loves him, even though he doesn't. She is happy.

She has to be.

—

Jealousy.

That's what [Y/N] feels.

[Y/N] has never met Astoria Greengrass but she is pathetically jealous of her. She is jealous of everything about Astoria that Draco fell in love with, whatever that might be. And it's ridiculous because she doesn't even know what she looks like or how she is; all that [Y/N] knows about her is that she must truly be something else to have captured Draco Malfoy's heart and to still have it in her hands after all of this time.

An arranged marriage and a year forced apart—you'd think that that would be enough for Draco to move on.

They've been together for a while. Draco still looks at her like he's not really seeing her. He doesn't love her, and [Y/N] isn't exactly sure he ever will. Every day she wakes and hopes that by some miracle he has opened his eyes and has begun to finally see past the future she knows he still fantasizes about with Astoria, but that is yet to happen. For now [Y/N] is helplessly in love with a man who has his heart set on someone else.

And at some point she has become angry, but not at Draco nor the woman he loves—no, she is angry at herself. She catches sight of herself in the mirror and hates what is staring back at her. She goes up to her reflection and frowns and contemplates what it is she's missing. If the sight of her own face is revolting to herself, then it is no doubt that others feel the same way—including Draco—and is that why he can't love her? Because of how ugly she is? Or is it how she acts? How she speaks, how she laughs, how she smiles, how she is?

Whenever Draco disappears to "clear his head" and [Y/N] is left alone, she finds that the manor is too small to hold the vast amount of nothingness spilling out of her at the seams, so she goes out into the highest balcony that overlooks the sea and breathes in as much of the salty breeze as she can until the feeling in her chest doesn't quite feel as suffocating anymore.

It's not the marriage she'd been hoping for all of those years ago when she was a naive child who believed in fairy tales and happy endings. But at the very least, she loves. And she is grateful to Draco for allowing her to know what that feels like, even when he can't quite give it back to her.

—

But hearts are made of soft things, tissue and blood and muscle. Things that break and wound easy. Things that tend to scar instead of heal. There is only so much you can do until a human reaches breaking point and their heart gives away, and [Y/N] finds herself one Thursday evening with blood dripping down her knuckles and shards of glass scattered on the floor.

"What happened?" Draco's voice is soft, imploring, almost loving but not quite. It's always almost. Almost what [Y/N] wants. Almost how a husband should love his wife. Almost.

"Tripped," [Y/N] winces. Draco kneels down in front of her from where she's sitting on the toilet, hands gently caressing her own to inspect her blood-smattered knuckles. It's a terrible excuse; how do you trip and punch a mirror?

But Draco doesn't question it, and [Y/N] doesn't have to tell him that she'd looked into the mirror and despised what she saw so much that she'd been overcome by an irrational anger and began to beat her fists against her own reflection until the glass splintered and the skin of her wrists did so along with it.

Draco tells her to wait, so she does, sitting in the cold bathroom by herself with blood dripping down her knuckles onto the floor until Draco comes back with a cloth in one hand and a pouch of healing ointments in the other. Once he's cleaned up the mess on the floor, he kneels in front of her again and, quietly, gently, he begins to wipe the blood from her hands.

"Does it hurt?" Draco murmurs. His brows are drawn in the middle in a slight frown as he tries his hardest not to press too hard. He pauses and looks up at her, and his eyes are gentle, almost loving. Almost.

[Y/N] forces out a painful laugh. "Nothing I can't handle."

A smile tugs on the edges of Draco's lips. "As expected."

Then he quietly resumes nursing her wounds, and [Y/N] doesn't realize that she has started crying until she tastes the tears on her lips. Draco notices but doesn't say anything.

And because she is pathetically in love and she wants him to feel the same, when the cuts on her wrist have been bandaged and Draco is tucking away all of the tubes of ointment in his pouch, saying something about being more careful the next time (even though the both of them know fully well that her tripping was an excuse), [Y/N] tries again and says, "I love you."

Draco freezes for nothing more than a split-second, but [Y/N] notices—her gaze is fixed on him intently, helplessly trying to gauge a reaction that part of her knows won't come. But she wishes it would.

Her wishes are unheard. Draco nods, turns his head just a fraction of an inch to look at her out of the corner of his eye, and offers her a sad smile.

Almost.

—

"No, listen to me, Draco—I am TIRED!"

"And you don't think I am?"

"I know you love her—Merlin, of course I know, I see it every time you look at me—but I'm asking you to try to love m—"

"You say it like it's easy."

There is a sob rattling in the back of her throat. [Y/N] swallows it back down and turns away from Draco like he hasn't already seen the absolute mess of tears on her cheeks.

Draco stares out of the window, jaw taut and his fists clenched so tight at his sides his knuckles have gone a ghostly white.

"I knew we were getting married but I never expected much beyond a sealed contract and an agreement between our families—I never expected to fall in love with you but I did so here I am now asking you to do the same for me."

A beat of silence. "You're not her."

Another swallowed sob. A brand new fissure in her heart that joins the thousands of others. "I'm sorry."

More silence. Then: "I am too."

And then Draco leaves first, because he always does.

—

Their fights don't last long. Days follow and Draco and [Y/N] go about as they always do, pretending like the gaping void between them isn't there. Whenever night comes, Draco will roll over and press a quiet kiss to the back of [Y/N]'s shoulders, snake one hand around her waist, and whisper I'm sorry, and [Y/N] will turn and drag her lips against his until Draco captures them in his own and they are stuck in that endless loop of want again.

Draco kisses the breath out of her and she kisses him back. Kisses him enough to make up for those few terrible minutes of anger she'd accidentally let loose days ago. Kisses him with love, with passion—with everything Draco doesn't have.

When she gasps for air and Draco pulls away and trails his lips down her neck, leaving a trail of what feels like pure flame behind in his wake, she digs her nails into his shoulders and holds him in place. In a strained voice she says: "Look at me."

He doesn't. Draco kisses her throat and against her will she sucks in a desperate, shuddering breath, and the air sounds like Draco's name. "Look at me, Draco," she repeats, fingers pressing into his skin more insistently.

This time he stops and pries his lips away from her skin and hovers over her, eyes searching hers.

"When you're with me," she begins, eyes dark, breath coming quick, "I want to be the only one inside your head. I want you to look into my eyes and see only me."

His grip on her waist tightens; her hands twist unsteadily in his hair, gaze clearing just a tiny bit as she says, "Please."

And then he is dipping down to kiss her again, lips parted, breath rough. Somewhere in between their almost frantic kisses he whispers a response, and [Y/N] is much too lost in the feeling of his skin on hers but she thinks that Draco might be breathing words into her skin. They sound like apologies—sound like I'm sorry, sound like Astoria.

[Y/N] throws her head back as Draco brushes his lips over the curve of her collarbones and whispers something audible this time, and this time it sounds like I'll try. Feels like hope. Feels like a door opening to something.

Feels, for the first time, something more than almost.

2K notes · View notes

willowbleedsonpaper · 4 years ago

Text

Play Dumb

Draco Malfoy x Ravenclaw Female Reader

W.C. 3500

A/N: Hello! So this is my first time posting something I wrote. I’m a little nervous but also very proud of this. I apologize in advance if there is any mistake, English is not my first language.

I would love to know what you think! Thank you and happy reading.

Summary: One day visiting your friend Myrtle, you found that she already had company. Learning some things you shouldn’t about Draco Malfoy you become really nervous around him and see yourself in the need to face him.

*Not my GIF. Credits to the creator*

You knew you shouldn’t be out so late, the corridors were completely empty and the echo of your hurried footsteps were so loud you wouldn’t be surprised if some prefect caught you just because of the sound.

But you weren’t the only one out past curfew. The sound of laughter and chase reached your ears from the end of the hallway and there was only one escape. You waited until whoever was having worse luck than you ran past so you could turn and head to your destination. Just as your back rested flat against the stone wall a group of Gryffindors ran the opposite direction from where you were followed close by Mr. Filch who limped as fast as he could after them.

You counted to ten on your head, letting out a breath and resuming your way. The second floor girl’s bathroom was rarely visited by anyone, but you found comfort in the friendly chat you could have with the fellow Ravenclaw, even is she was dead. Not many took the time to get to know Myrtle and she didn’t give chances easily after being called names and thrown things her way, you on the other hand, gathered the patience and tried your best to be an enjoyable company to the girl. You argued, many times ending in an exchange of shouts and petty insults but you always came back and Myrtle always welcomed you with open arms.

So to say that you were shocked to hear a different voice from Myrtle’s as you walked through the door was an understatement. You tiptoed your way in, curious as to who would be there that late at night, you never encountered anyone else there on your visits.

“Myrtle?” you called, taking the last steps to where Myrtle usually. There on the floor sat a boy, he rested his body against the wall, hugging his knees and looking up to nowhere in particular. He didn’t seemed to have heard you until his head snapped at you, your shoe stepping in a puddle of water.

“What are you doing here?” he grumbled, clearly annoyed as his wide eyes changed into a glare. It was Draco Malfoy. You could see him now more clearly, his hair was little wild and his eyes looked tormented, but otherwise it was just the Slytherin Prince in the flesh.

“I came here to see Myrtle.” you answered him, opting to not say a thing about his puffy eyes of the fact that his hands shaked at his sides “I can go,” you offered pointing at the door “She’s not here anyway” and with that you turned on your heel, leaving without another word.

********************************************************************

Your days at Hogwarts were peaceful and full of joy. You adored each and every single one of your classes even if you weren't the best at them, the fact that you tried was enough for you, spending time at the library to research the subjects you didn’t fully understand and just for the sake of being there. If someone was looking for you that would be the first place to look.

You were rarely alone. You were always by your housemate and best friend side, Luna Lovegood, and so it wasn’t a surprise to find her alongside her friends from Gryffindor, Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom. Ginny was the only Weasley you ever considered talking to, the others were too involved in the drama of Harry Potter’s life, and even if you caught on the looks Ginny would give the boy who lived, she didn’t drag the problems with her.

You were happy.

The biggest problem you’ve had in all your years at Hogwarts involved failing a test. That was it. You weren’t a brilliant witch like Granger but you weren’t stupid either. You learned even if that didn’t reflect on your grades all the time.

And yet, lately you found yourself nervous all the time. You felt watched, every place you turned a certain Slytherin was looking your way. Sometimes his eyes would drift away from you and pretend he wasn’t staring but in more than one occasion you’ve locked eyes with him and he shamelessly would keep on looking at you.

Did you do something to anger him? No, you would remember something like that. You’ve barely crossed paths with him, much less talked to him. Then why the sudden interest in you?

“Y/N?” you turned your eyes to Luna next to you, giving her a shy smile “Are you alright?” she asked you with a little smile of her own.

You nodded your head, and took a sip of your juice in front of you “Sorry Luna,” you said “I’m just distracted, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” she sighed happily “I can see that. I’ve also noticed how Draco has been staring at you the entire week” she said, you choked a little on your juice at the casual tone with which she spoke. She handed you a napkin, muttering a Thank you you took it from her hand. Luna tilted her head in your direction “Haven’t you noticed?”

“Actually, yes.” you answered nervously “I don’t why, though.”

Luna hummed softly under her breath, turning gracefully to the table and getting a piece of fruit “Maybe it has to do with your encounter with him” she said.

“Why is that? We barely spoke” you frowned at her, the idea never crossing your mind

“Well, if I was Draco and someone had seen me potentially crying I would be scared of that someone gossiping” Luna smiled, grabbing her bag and holding her hand out for you to take “You coming?” she asked.

You mirrored her actions, taking her hand and walking to your first class of the day. You found it difficult to concentrate the entire day, Luna’s words ringing inside your head at all times. You couldn’t grasp your head around the idea of Draco Malfoy being scared of you telling everyone that you saw him crying. Why would anyone do that? Everybody cries, it’s human.

You pushed the thoughts aside, or as much as you could, and carried on with your day as normally as you could. The back of your head burning at all times with glares and stares from the blonde boy.

********************************************************************

“What’s gotten into you?” Blaise Zabini took his usual spot next to Draco on the common room, the fire burning as he started intently into the flames.

“What do you mean?” Draco asked back, never lifting his eyes to look at him.

Blaise laughed softly, pointing his hands at him “That’s what I mean.” he exclaimed “You’ve been inside your head the past week, barely putting any attention to any of us or the classes. How many times have you asked for my notes?” he asked with a raised eyebrow “Pansy’s? Theo’s? Merlin! Next thing we know we’ll have to give the class ourselves”

Draco’s glare made Blaise slump a little in his seat, but he didn’t walk away or apologized like many did. Years of practice being around Draco did that to you.

“It’s called thinking, Zabini” he growled standing from his seat “You should try it some time”

“Where are you going?” he asked Draco who stopped at door of the common room. Draco only flashed his prefect badge at him, turning and leaving without uttering a word.

No one had said anything to him, not a comment making fun of him nor a funny look, nothing. He was on edge every time he stepped on his common room and heard his friends laughing. The first thought coming to his head being They're laughing at me. But it was never the case. Why was he so scared of you saying something? Did you even notice he was crying? He didn’t even knew your name until two days back when Longbottom shouted for you on the middle of the courtyard, you ran towards him and didn't even spare a glance his way.

Y/N Y/L/N. A Half-blood Ravenclaw.

He would have never acknowledged your existence if it wasn’t for those miserable ten seconds he talked to you, and know you were his every waking thought. Why did he had to breakdown that night? Why did you have to go there at the same time as him?

Why was he walking to the exact same place where yet another problem was thrown over his shoulders?

He opened the door, finding it empty. Maybe it was just a coincidence you were there that night. He made his way to one of the windows, sitting down so the moonlight would shine over his face. He closed his eyes, shaky breaths leaving his lips as he tried to even his breathing. Then the door burst open.

“Myrtle!” It was you again, he rolled his eyes standing and crossing his arms over his chest, you halted and squinting your eyes at him “Hello” you said, recuperating quickly from the shock and walking past him “Have you seen Myrtle?” you asked him so casually his entire unbothered look faltered.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in annoyance, his face hardened as you pulled several things from your bag without a care in the world.

“I could ask you the same thing?” you said back, not bothering to look at him.

“I’m a prefect” he said matter of factly and your entire body stiffened, standing up straight with your eyes scrunched closed.

You cursed under your breath, but then you came to the realization that you were in the girl’s bathroom, your body relaxing as you asked him “Are you patrolling the bathroom?”

He was about to answer but no words left his mouth, he stared at you in anger and pointed to the door “I have to report you”

You turned your entire body to him, he had to admit you were intimidating with the look of determination in your eyes, your straight posture that make you look taller than you were but still, you had to tilt your head upwards to stare into his eyes “Right, let’s go to professor Flitwick. I bet he’ll love to hear how you find me in your patrol through the girl's bathroom.” the words left your mouth so fast you didn't even had control over your voice, sounding like a complete bitch.

“Sorry,” you sighed, still accommodating your place “But I’m not going with you” you shrugged, giving him a side glance to see his reaction.

He scoffed loudly, the bitterness in his face almost making you uncomfortable but you were more taken aback at his reaction, turning completely to him with a frown. “You’re trying to blackmail me, aren’t you?” he laughed humorlessly missing your face contort in one of utter confusion.

“Excuse me?” you said, letting your body fall to the ground sitting there as you looked at him pace.

“You are going to tell the entire school that you saw me crying the other night unless I let you get away with this.” he said, his pacing increasing as he started to rant “I knew there was a reason you didn’t tell anyone…”

“Malfoy”

“...I knew Ravenclaw’s were clever…”

“Malfoy!”

“...this is infuriating!”

“DRACO!” you finally shouted, grabbing his shoulders to hold him in place “Who was crying?” you asked and watched his face fell.

“What?” he whispered, you gave him a concerned look and he shook himself from your grasp “You mean you didn’t see me?” he asked relieved, a relief that quickly was replaced with anger. How could he had been so stupid?

“Draco” you called softly, keeping your distance as you noticed how he had tensed at your touch “Are you alright?”

He shoot you a glare, practically fuming “Stay away from me” he growled and stormed away, leaving a very bad energy in the air.

You sighed, picking up your bag and getting all your supplies inside. Your painting session would have to wait. You stayed a few more minutes chatting with Myrtle, the only thing she could talk about being Draco and how he visited her too from time to time.

That night you stay up until late, wandering what other things did Draco do that you didn’t know of. You wondered why was he so scared of you and the information you learned of him.

********************************************************************

Weeks passed by and you had managed to avoid Draco at all costs, dominating the art of ignoring stares you tried to never be alone, you also cut short your visits to Myrtle, her telling you specifically which day to go. You didn't question her, you even managed to convince Luna to tag along a few times.

Everything was going great. You changed spots and instead of visiting Myrtle you found a windowsill covered by a thick curtain where you could sit and read, sometimes even paint.

So when someone cleared his throat from beside you, you jumped in your place, heart beating hard as you turned to face whoever interrupted your reading. Coming face to face with stern grey eyes.

“Merlin,” you breathed out, catching your breath as you picked your book from the floor “Next time announce yourself or something.” you said.

“Go to your common room” he said, walking past you. You stayed frozen in place and he seemed to notice, his head turning to look at you in disbelief “Now!” he hissed but you still couldn’t take a step.

“Aren’t you going to report me?” you asked him.

He began to lose his patience, marching towards you and you stumbled back as you caught sight of his sleeves rolled up his arms, bracing yourself against the wall “Do you,” he said eyeing your entire body “want me to report you?”

Saying your heart rate was normal would be a lie, that your arms were not shaking would also be a lie. You swallowed the gulp in your throat, shaking your head fast you avoided to look at him and what you just saw, ducking your head down “Goodnight Draco” you said making a beeline to your dorm. Who knew Draco had a tattoo?

********************************************************************

You were officially paranoid. Everywhere you go your eyes scanned the room at least three times for the Slytherin Prefect, and if you even saw a glimpse of him you would run the opposite direction like your life depended on it. You would collapse on other people walking, drop their books or leave your friends abandoned in the middle of a hallway with confused looks, by now they didn’t question you, they just sighed and waited for you to return on your own or for them to find you again.

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell them that Draco Malfoy had you walking on eggshells, that you couldn’t be in the same room as him out of fear of him snapping at you.

You were terrified.

And Draco had caught up in your odd behaviour, he never paid attention to you but now it was hard not to. As soon as your professors said the class was over you jumped to your feet and ran; he went several times to the second floor bathroom in the hopes that he would found you there, he even tried the same windowsill where scared you so bad you dropped your book. He thought of going to your friends but not one time did he gathered the courage to do so. He was lost.

“Draco?” he lifted his head from the book spread over the library table, his eyes falling back to the pages as he met Pansy Parkinson’s eyes “We looked all over the castle for you” she said, a little upset but said nothing more as she took the chair next to him. She frowned at the papers he worked on, not recognizing the subject “What is that?”

He was quick to cover the pages with his arms, gathering all of it so he could put it away in his bag. He muttered a Nothing, getting to his feet, Pansy following close “We’re going to the three Broomsticks“ she said “You want to come with us?”

“I have homework to do” he answered coldly, and she sighed knowing it was lie. They all had finished their homework the day before so they could go out without any worry.

Pansy glanced at him, a smirk tugging to her lips as she leaned into his ear “I heard certain Ravenclaw girl would be there” she whispered, making him stop leaving him a few steps behind her.

“What?” he asked, glaring at his friend when her smirk widened “You’re mental.” he established resuming his walk. She catched up with him, holding his wrist so he would turn and face her.

“I didn’t say who,” she said triumphantly “and you didn’t deny it.” he scoffed moving his eyes away from her, crossing his arms over his chest “Oh, c’mon Draco. We all saw it, you’re not as discrete as you think”

If only you knew, he thought. With a shake of his head he turned to their common room muttering the password and stepping inside. “Leave it, Pansy.” he asked in defeat “This has nothing to do with her, she’s just a problem I’ll have to deal with”

Pansy Parkinson made her fame around being a gossiper, annoying, nosey and manipulative. But she treasure her friends . She knew they all had their boundaries and problems of their own. She knew when to step back.

One of her hands came to his shoulder, giving it a squeeze “We’ll be at the three broomsticks for a while.” she said as an invitation, her hand fell and she left him be.

Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair he looked at his reflection in one vase over the table, he was thinner and looked untidy. He hated looking as he felt. But right now wasn’t time for looks, he had a job to do.

He changed into a more comfortable choice of clothes, making his way to the Room of Requirement. He paced outside the wall a few times before the door appeared before him.

“In the name of Rowena Ravenclaw!” he heard you yell as soon as he crossed the door, closing it slowly behind him “Are you following me?” you asked shutting your book with such a force a thin coat of dust flew from it.

He stood there in shock, that wasn’t the room of requirement. It was a library, but a more comfortable one. Soft couches were lined alongside the bookshelves full of every book you would want to read, the floor was scattered with rugs and cushions, many of them accomodated in a makeshift bed where you had been reading previous his arrival.

“What?” he whispered, looking at you for answers. But you were having no more of it. You jumped to your feet and stormed to his side “Y/N…”

“No” you said pointing a finger at him “Don’t Y/N me” you shut him, and he stood there listening to your every word “You know how much I have suffered because you told me to stay away from you? I don’t even know why I listened to you, but I was terrified. You are intimidating, did you you knew that?”

“Terrified?” he gasped. Never would he have thought that you would use that word to describe him but here you were, ranting on and on about how scared you were, tripping over your own feet as you unconsciously took a few steps back.

You stopped all the gibberish pouring out of your mouth at his question, your eyes were wide but something told you that he was hurt by your words. Your eyes stole glance at his left forearm, quickly realizing your mistake as his own eyes followed your movement.

“You saw it?” he asked, moving a hand to his forearm, running his thumb softly over his sleeve.

You nodded, still shaky that after all your attempts at hiding from him he managed to find you. “I haven’t told anyone” you practically yelled and he now understood your fear towards him.

You knew he was a Death Eater.

“It’s alright” he whispered “I know you haven’t”

You let a breath out, fidgeting with your hands “Look, I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m worried about you.” you admitted, a blush creeping over your face “No one deserves to be alone” you muttered, not daring to look up in fear you just made a fool out of yourself in front of the person you were scared of not more than an hour ago.

But when he did not answer the curiosity killed you and you rose your head. His eyes glistened and he had a soft smile on his lips, he looked sad and vulnerable. You couldn’t resist and took the short steps separating the two of you. You engulfed him in a tight embrace, resting your head in his chest as you waited for his body to relax. Just when you thought about letting go of him, he let out a shaky laugh and wrapped his arms around you with the same intensity you did.

You stayed like that for a short while, him pulling you away and looking down at you “Does that mean you didn’t see me cry?” he asked.

You laughed loudly, a look of adoration in his face as your laugh died down “Oh, I did” you said with a chuckle “I just played dumb”

#Draco Malfoy #draco x reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy x reader #hp fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #pansy parkinson #blaise zabini #luna lovegood #ravenclaw reader #draco x ravenclaw!reader #ginny weasley #neville longbottom #Harry Potter #first fic

901 notes · View notes

fallingoverharrypotter · 3 years ago

Text

Torn a New One

This is based on the @drarrymicrofic prompt for pretend, and got very long. Heres the ao3 link :).

The shirt is supposed to make Harry look like that one Bratz doll meme; you know the one.

Thanks for reading <3 <3

Harry is a stoic man. That’s what Hermione calls him.

He’s sitting on Ron’s plush carpeted floors in his shiny new flat. Ron himself is passed out on a couch that costs more galleons than a year of Hermione’s tuition, with Hermione herself teetering on the edge of both her couch and hers and Ron’s refusal to bring up that they’re still fucking on the side of their tumultuous breakup. She brings up Harry’s problems to distract herself, and Harry tells her not to bother. Harry also tells her that she and Ron should just own up to their idiocy and sort their crap out sooner rather than later, and then Hermione yells loud enough to wake Ron with: Harry James Potter, you’re a complete and utter hypocrite. Ron does wake up when their voices raise like this, and then cordons Hermione off to the main bedroom leaving Harry to pretend that he’ll floo home, before the three of them end up eating cereal whilst sitting at/on Ron’s granite countertops the next morning.

All three look a right picture. Hermione is staunchly refusing to acknowledge that she’s wearing a t-shirt of Ron’s – old Canon’s merch that she’s absolutely swimming in. Harry, in solidarity, is also wearing one of Ron’s shirts without pants – the newest Wheezes rollout collection, classic stylized lettering (Ron’s got this beautiful flat because every single Witch and Wizard between the ages of 14 and 37 owns Wheezes now). And Ron himself is shirtless and in nothing but underwear.

They’ve seen more of each other than is completely normal over the last 15 years, but they’re still indulgent enough not to bring up any of the shit they refuse to talk about. They need a balancing force, Harry often thinks, someone who is outrightly honest and refuses the stupid little games that the golden trio fall into to avoid talking about their true feelings. That’s what Harry thinks inside his head, but his body ends up groaning and bending forward so his forehead smacks the countertops none too gently. His consciousness sounds more and more like someone he refuses to think about whenever he’s been drinking. Merlin save him.

“Oi,” Ron admonishes without looking up from his bowl. He’s leaning atop the counter on forearms and staring into his cereal, swirling the spoon around the stodgy mess and eating no longer.

Harry grunts first, and then says “gonna sick up, Ronnykins?” and gets glared at by Hermione who is onto her third bowl of cereal at this point. Right. Can’t joke about Lavender either, apparently. That fling definitely didn’t help the dynamic, Harry reminds himself.

“Jus’ don’t wan’ you bruising my bench with your fat head.”

Harry kicks out at Ron with his closest foot and makes contact, gets an immediate groan for his efforts, before Ron’s pulling up from his slouch and getting Harry into a pretty tight headlock. Harry resorts to elbowing Ron in the gut over and over. Ron groans and releases, making a mad dash for the fancy powder room into which he projectiles.

Hermione, for all she looks dazed and noncommittal this early into a hangover, manages to give off an air of created aloofness about the violent noises coming from down the hall. Harry smirks at her, and gets his own kick in response that makes him exclaim “ow, fuck. You two are so bloody violent.”

Before she responds, there’s a tapping at the window. Owl. Hermione stares at Harry to let him know that there’s no way she’s moving from her lounging for the bloody post, so Harry straightens up to open the window for the tawny. Efficient things these post owls are this morning; just drops the paper on the countertop near Harry’s bowl before flying right out the window without even waiting for a treat.

Harry’s shaking his head to brush away the last fuzz of the evening with the assistance of the scent of fresh air. Hermione gasps out loud. That makes Harry turn around quick enough for whiplash, and then he wishes fervently for death by sustained head trauma when the figure on the front of the paper, unfurled and sepia, winks right at him.

“Fuck,” Harry says. His gut churns, and then he’s running down the hall, past the occupied powder room to Ron’s master bath, and vomits up his guts.

***

Ron’s back in the kitchen by the time that Harry stumbles back in. Three strong cups of tea are quick-brewing under Hermione’s wand, even though both her and Ron’s attention is maintained by the Prophet’s front page. Because that is Draco Malfoy wearing a Wheezes “I shagged Harry Potter and all I got was this stupid shirt” collectable.

“It’s ironic!” Ron and George had insisted on its’ inception 4 years back. Only 100 had been made, a necessity: scarcity is key. They resell for a lot of money these days. Harry would rather die than see another in person. His face, a terrible photo of him caught by photographers during a pretty brutal night out, is plastered right on the middle along with stylized fireworks that go off every couple of minutes. He’d been convinced into making them, to try and control the narrative or whatever bullshit the Weasley’s had spouted just a couple of days beforehand when Harry had started stomping around the burrow or the floor of the joke shop or Hermione and Ron’s old shoebox apartment in anguish. It worked, he guesses, and he doesn’t see many of them anymore, as they’re kept in the strongest of imperturbable charms and modified protegos by anyone lucky enough to get one. But this one. This one he didn’t know about.

Hermione’s been muttering to herself as she read the accompanying story, when her voice perks up. “Merlin, listen to this: ‘this intrepid reporter asked what I’m certain all our readership will be most curious to uncover now that we are sitting down with the one and only Draco Malfoy. When we had sat down in Mr. Malfoy’s beautifully appointed drawing room, I too was especially shocked at his choice of attire,’” Hermione pauses here to roll her eyes and mutter “oh here we go,” before continuing in a higher and haughtier voice. “‘We all know the poise that Mr. Malfoy holds, one of Wizarding Britain’s most darling Stars, his performance in Wizarding Wireless serials having taken our world by storm the past 6 years. I must myself mention the serialisation of the modern take on the Wizarding classic story of Millicent Mimbletonia’s Marvelous Manor; captured this reporter’s heart, it did.’ What a load of absolute nonsense.”

“Oh, come on, Herm,” Ron says and knocks into her arm to get her to continue the story.

“Fine, but this is all absolute tripe. What was Draco thinking! Okay. Blah blah blah, you can’t believe how long this person goes on about Draco’s drawing room, blah. Okay here. ‘On questioning Mr. Malfoy’s choice to wear the now famously collectible Wheezes’ Harry Potter shirt, the gentleman seems to look slightly pensive.’

“‘‘Monsieur,’ our Star addresses me, ‘when you have been in the business of telling stories for as long as I, you start to have a great fondness for truth. I must now admit to you, and all of your lovely readers, that I bought this shirt on release and whilst under Polyjuice’. Now readers, you must bear with Mr. Malfoy here. Yours truly was very shocked-’ Good God, can this man obfuscate. Okay, then Draco says, ‘‘I’ve kept my ownership of such an item close to my chest, and away from my closest relationships. I have found over the years that true mutual affection, friendship, and love, have foundations built on beds of uncertainty and trust simultaneously, and thus I was afraid to expose myself.’ I but in here and ask what we must all be thinking at this admission: is he such a big fan of our Saviour that he is ashamed? But Mr. Malfoy continues: ‘No, monsieur. In all honesty, I am the man’s biggest critic.’’” Harry ducks his head, his hands shaking as he reaches for the now over-brewed tea.

Hermione looks up at Harry and Ron with wide eyes. Ron looks back at her wide eyed too, glancing small looks at Harry every now and again when he finds something particularly salacious, but he says nothing. Harry is hiding his trembling hands and trembling mouth behind a blisteringly hot cup of tea. She receives no objections, and continues. “‘‘I am livid that he’s been out of the public eye for so long regardless of his exceptional ability to bring about change in those around him; Potter has worked the same archival job in the Ministry for 5 years, with no end in sight, I fear. He refuses to allow those outside of his closest friends and family to know him in any sense, and I would argue that this is truly detrimental to his relationship with the Wizarding community. Although I disagree with the man on many things, I will be the first to say here and now that if any person deserves privacy, it is him. But the relationships we build with those we love-’’” and Harry snatches the paper out of Hermione’s hands.

“Harry,” Ron starts, reaching out a hand and grasping his upper arm. Hermione too has hopped down off the counter and is crowding Harry’s other side. He wants to shake them off, but he can’t. He can’t stop looking at the paper in his hands with Draco’s figure. Draco’s white blond head of hair turned beige on paper, his eyes sharp and flirty to readers, his hands restlessly gripping at his shirt. The shirt with Harry’s face.

Harry is a stoic man. Hermione tells him that exactly, Ron tells him that adjacently, and Draco. Draco has said the same thing in so many ways and at so many times that Harry has had it drilled into his head. His eyes are watering now, a little. And he can’t read much more of the article, but he doesn’t really need to. Because Draco will skate around enough of his personal life that it seems as though he’s come clean about something when he’s actually just marketing his next serial; it’s what he does.

This time, though, he’s wearing one of those terrible shirts that almost single-handedly sparked the Wheezes fashion line and bought Ron this apartment, and he’s saying things here that Harry knows are true. Knows are directed right at Harry. Knows because a week ago Harry had walked right out of Draco’s “well-appointed” drawing room, slamming the door and not answering the following owls. Harry hasn’t slept at his own sparse flat for a week. He’s spent time at Ron’s, spent time at Hermione’s, spent time at the Burrow. He’s even spent time in the dark halls of Grimmauld, which he hasn’t wanted to touch for years, no matter how many people around him shared their opinions on it being the perfect. Home. One day.

They’re standing there, the three of them, when a knock sounds on Ron’s front door. Harry freezes, but Ron staggers out into the hallway, still in nothing but underwear.

“Sweet Merlin, Weasley, could you put on some bloody pants? You do know it’s ten o’clock?” Says the visitor, and Harry just lets his back go limp, setting out to truly bruise Ron’s beautiful granite countertops with his forehead once again. He can hear Ron sarcastically mumble something along the lines of ‘yes Malfoy, of course you can come in’. Hermione grips his arm slightly in sympathy, but turns to face the entrance to the kitchen anyway. Like a traitor.

“Hermione, lovely as always. I see the three of you are in similar states of distressed undress this morning. Have you finally succumbed to your polyamorous destiny?”

“Nice to see you too, Draco. Lovely article.”

“Thank you. Do you like the shirt, too? Catches a sweet mint in resale these days.”

“You don’t say…”

“Yes, yes. Now, Harry, please pick yourself up off of the place we civilised people prepare our food.”

Harry groans into the cool surface, but can’t stop himself from responding. It’s a natural reaction to the bullshit that comes out of Draco’s mouth most times. “If you’ve ever made a meal by yourself in your life, I’ll eat the countertop.”

“Harry,” his voice is menacing, and his footsteps are getting closer, “I’m not civilised.” And at that Draco grabs Harry by the shoulder and turns up around and back up against the counter top with not a small amount of force.

Harry’s reply comes out breathless from the impact. “You said ‘we’.”

“It was a universal ‘we’.” Draco says this through gritted teeth. His blond eyebrows are sitting right on top of his grey eyes and they scream murder louder than they’ve ever done before, which is saying something since Draco was once a Death Eater, no matter what the admiring general Wizarding public would like to remember.

Harry doesn’t have a retort prepared, per se. It would be a more concise comment on how Draco hadn’t taken a single English language course his entire life, and what would he know about the universal ‘we’, but Harry meets Draco’s eyes and he’s a bit lost. A week of blanket non-communication. A bit extreme. Not gone longer than a couple of days without talking for years, have they.

“Cuppa, Draco?” That’s from Ron.

“Yes. Two sugars. Level.”

Ron scoffs, but Draco beats him to it. “Weasley it’s two-level sugars, please, for once, reorient your sense of balance before you spill the entire sugar pot into the cup.”

“Just don’t give him any sugar, Ron. He’s obviously already mental, we don’t want him to go into cardiac arrest.” This from Hermione.

“Uh-”

Draco scoffs before Ron can respond. “Settle down Granger. I’m not going to pretend to like black tea for some sense of superiority like some of us.”

“It’s better for your-”

“You know what’s good for your health?” Draco all but yells and spins around to face Ron and Hermione. Ron, still next to naked, and Hermione drowning in Ron’s clothes. She’s back to sitting on the counter, Ron leaning back next to her. They look like they’ve looked for the past 10 years – drawn to each other, allies, et cetera. Draco huffs. “What’s good for your health is you two sitting down and talking about your absolutely bloody insane coupling. What’s good for your health is not getting blackout drunk every Friday night and ending up sleeping with each other, and then not talking about it, until the next week when you can do it again.”

Ron and Hermione are shifting where they sit, Hermione, looking as though she’s getting herself ready to argue back, and Ron in a more protected position behind his ex-girlfriend. Harry feels a little sorry for them, getting the third degree from Draco when he looks as unhinged as he does now. The Harry on his chest, a mess when the photo was taken, is now looking at them disappointedly like he’s on Draco’s side. Like a magical recreation of a Harry who was in quite an intense meltdown at the time has any right to be “on Draco’s side” about any issues of wellbeing.

Hermione does get the strength to pipe up. “Don’t take that tone with us, Draco Malfoy.” But that’s all she can get out. Harry’s pretty sure she’s stumped. Doesn’t have an argument. Draco, Harry knows, has refused to get involved in this situation. Has watched from the side-lines and stewed. Harry’s been all for letting the two of them work their shit out in their own time, but he’s a stoic man, what does he know about all that?

“Don’t take that tone with us, Draco Malfoy,” is Draco’s retort, mocking back in a high-pitched squeak that Harry winces at. Hermione was about to hop off the counter, he could see, but Ron’s sudden arm around her waist kept her down. “You two just have to talk about it. So what if Hermione slept with Lavender? You guys weren’t together at the time!”

Hermione splutters, eyes wide, all thoughts of advancing physically on Draco gone. Ron sat eyes wide too, flicking between Draco and Hermione as if waiting for more.

“Wait-” he starts.

Hermione wails “Ron I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I know. It was such a bad thing to do-”

“No wait! You’ve been acting weird because of that?” And Ron looks incredulously at Harry. Harry sends him an incredulous look back, equally as surprised that Draco hit the nail on the head.

“What! You knew?” Hermione is still wailing.

Ron turns fully to face her and wails himself: “Of course I knew! How could I not know! Harry told me! Draco told me! Lavender told me! Hell, a month ago you got so drunk you told me.”

Hermione’s eyes are so wide that Harry’s afraid she’s going to start crying, and he grabs Draco’s arm in shock. Draco tenses all of a sudden and then Harry consciously remembers why he’s not doing that and shrinks back again. Ron and Hermione aren’t really focusing on anything but themselves now, so they don’t notice how Draco turns slowly back to face Harry, backed against the kitchen’s island like he has been since Draco arrived.

“And you, Harry Potter.” Draco pauses, and Harry has time to do a quick pass over. Draco on the front page of the Daily Prophet and Draco in the middle of Ron’s stylish London flat are two very different Draco’s. Quiet, pensive, charming and loveable Draco in the papers. Thoughtful. Friendly. A bloody myth.

This Draco. Angry, flustered, dishevelled, loud. This is the same Draco who, when Harry slipped up the other week – the week when everything changed – went red, went silent, went unresponsive in so many ways. Harry, fresh off the first love confession he’d ever given, so incredibly off the cuff that it had shocked him and scared him, had had to storm out of the apartment, slam the doors behind him, and apparate away to his own flat he barely spends any time in.

He’d slipped up. They’d never even suggested anything romantic between the two of them. They’d been close for a long time at this point and. Feelings. His feelings. They were supposed to be unspoken. He’d been nursing the growing beast of his feelings behind his stupid chest, which was okay as long as they were unspoken. Pretending every day that they weren’t eating at him alive.

Eating at him when he woke up in Draco’s spare room on more mornings than he’d liked to count, early enough before work that they could sit for breakfasts in Draco’s kitchen. And then Harry’s co-workers at the Ministry archives asking him questions about Draco’s new shows or his schedule or his favourite foods. Draco and Harry having dinner with Ron and Hermione at hole in the wall restaurants in the muggle world. Birthdays together; dinners at Draco’s or Ron’s nicer flats; bickering over anything and everything they could get their minds on.

“You hate my job.”

Harry’s eyes bulge open. Did he mean to say that? Sweet Merlin. It was definitely him, and now Draco is staring at him in confused consternation, as if he has to come to terms now that Harry’s gone insane.

Harry doubles down, though. Trusts his subconscious decisions. “Yeah, you hate my job!” he repeats.

“Are,” Draco starts, slowly, “you kidding me.”

He could respond, but Harry just shakes his head instead.

Harry’s thought Draco’s been properly angry this whole time. He was wrong. “I hate your job? Who doesn’t hate your job!” Draco’s arms reach out and grab tightly around Harry’s upper arms. Harry’s not above flexing, just a little. He tells himself it’s to test the grip, but honestly, he’s hoping to distract Draco from the rage.

“It’s not that bad!” Harry repeats, and Draco groans loudly.

“Not that bad? Are you trying to give me a stress induced ulcer?”

“What do you know about stress induced ulcers?” comes a faint response from Hermione.

Draco turns his head, hands still tight around Harry’s biceps, and says “don’t you two have make-up sex to attend to?”

Harry responds. “Ron’s sick.”

Draco glares back at Harry for a second, and then turns back to where Ron and Hermione haven’t moved. “Get out, you’re distracting him from the fight.”

“We’re the emotional support,” and “lame fight” come respectively from Hermione and Ron.

“Oh, that’s rich!” Draco yells in their direction, but Harry’s sure that he’s ignoring Ron’s comment. “Emotional support! You two have let this wanker,” a thumb thrown at Harry from over Draco’s shoulder, “probably crash on your couches rather than forcing him to face me. You’re all as bad as each other.”

“Draco,” Harry feels he has to say, and draws Draco’s attention from his two best friends who definitely have been letting him crash on their couches and had not once tried to force Harry to face his problems. He loves them a hell of a lot.

“Don’t you try to lessen this, Harry Potter.” Harry’s been on the receiving edge of worse glares from Draco, so this one isn’t that bad. Harry’s actually feeling a lot better now that Draco is in the same room as him. Feels his terrible, traitorous heart almost relax. “I’m sick of you three. You’re the worst bloody enablers for each other.”

Harry scoffs. Sure, they’d never force him to do something he didn’t want to, but it’s not like they agree with his decisions all the time.

Draco hears the scoff of course, and gives up on trying to chase the others out of the kitchen. He turns around towards the entrance, faces away from all of them and talks to himself at top volume. “This is what my life has become. The sole source of constructive criticism for the bloody Golden Trio.”

Ron snorts to cover up a laugh.

“I survive working for a fascist dictator, successfully rebuild my image, forge a new path for myself in the world, but I’m here. An overworked, under-rewarded, glorified therapist!”

Harry, Hermione, and Ron exchange glances. The other two look at Harry in commiseration, but Harry is starting to think that Draco has a bit of a point when he realises that Ron’s arm is still around Hermione’s waist who is leaning right into his side.

“Okay.” Draco takes a deep breath and turns around to face Harry. “Since they’re not leaving, you all get to hear this.” He steps closer. “I hate your job. I hate your flat. I hate that you won’t face up to hard things, and I refuse to be okay with any of that.”

Harry swallows hard.

“People are letting you get away with anything at the moment, and when you told me you loved me, I got scared. Because I thought that I’d become one of those people to you too.”

“That’s not-”

“No.” Draco stops Harry for butting in. “No. We’re not pretending any longer. I love you-” thump goes Harry’s heart in his chest, eyes bulging and smile unable to be stopped “-but sometimes I seriously don’t like you.”

Harry’s smile does dim at that, but only slightly.

Draco looks away at last, his hands on his hips, and starts pacing. “I couldn’t believe-” sharp glance at Harry through the pacing, “-you just left after you said that. I couldn’t believe you’d actually not answer my owls. You’re an absolute coward sometimes.”

“You didn’t say anything…” Harry mumbles.

“Oh,” Draco responds with an eyeroll, still pacing, “so you get to freak out for a week, but I’m not allowed longer than a couple of minutes to compose myself?”

Harry ducks his eyes, ashamed.

Draco hmphs, and pauses in his pacing to look down his nose at Harry. “That’s right. You should feel bad.”

Shirt-Harry shakes his head at real-Har- “God Draco, take the shirt off!”

“What?” Draco is shocked into pausing his restless movement. “Take my shirt off? You haven’t even apologised and want to get me half naked like the rest of you? I think not!”

“That’s not- ugh, forget this.” Harry reaches forward and grabs Draco mid-pace. “Draco.” Deep breath. Harry meets Draco’s eyes. Draco looks like he’s been through his paces. He doesn’t even look angry anymore, he just looks like the culmination of a week of stress. Ron and Hermione are eating dry cereal right out of the box from their perch as they watch, and they both give Harry nods and a thumbs up in encouragement when his eyes stray to them.

He’s a stoic man: Draco and Hermione are right. He hasn’t had to be brave in a long while. This is a moment that’s worth it though, even if he has to fake it at first.

“I’m sorry.” He has to pause at that, because he can feel the emotions bubbling up a bit too high. He takes a deep breath, and makes sure that Draco’s eyes don’t stray. “You’re… you’re right. About a lot of that-”

Draco buts in with “I’m right about all of it, actua-”

“Shut up, do you want me to get this out?”

Draco concedes.

Harry takes another breath, but the nerves have disappeared in the face of Draco’s unfiltered verve. “I shouldn’t have left. I was-”

“A coward.”

“Draco.”

“…sorry.”

“I was. I was a coward. I was scared. You didn’t respond, which never happens. You’re so good with your words.” He has to take a minute to collect his thoughts, but finds the right thread. “I love you, and have done for a while. I ran because I kind of didn’t mean to say it then. We were already fighting about something, and it just came out, which wasn’t right, and sometimes I’m so afraid that things will change, because you’re my best friend-” “Hey!” “-my best friend and I didn’t want to lose that.”

“You should have said that then.”

Harry closes his eyes. God, feelings are so bloody hard. “Yeah, yeah I know.”

“Oh well, as long as you know.”

“Draco. Shut up.” He swallows. “I like my job.”

“No, you don’t. You come home-” a sharp breath “-you come to mine, I mean. You come to mine after work and you can’t stop complaining. We like our jobs. I’m sure when Hermione finishes her ChP and becomes the Minister she’ll love her job too.” (“It’s a PhD, Draco, I’ve told you a million times.” “Maybe another time, Herm.”)

Harry has to breath deeper, because his blood is pumping a bit too fast in his ears. He drops his hands from Draco and takes a couple of steps back. A retreat. “I think,” and he has to swallow a couple of times before he can force the words out of his throat. He looks up and meets all of their eyes. “I don’t think I can do important things anymore. I. I don’t want to- I.”

“Merlin sakes, Harry.” Draco says. “I think it may be time we force you into therapy.” And Draco just looks impatient. “You can’t keep pretending it’s not a problem, and we can’t keep letting you!”

Harry. Harry nods. He thinks he nods. It’s what he wants to do, but he’s not really looking at anyone anymore, eyes to the ground, heart a bit too fast in his chest for comfort. He wishes that he was still eating soggy cereal in the kitchen before the post arrived this morning. He’s a stoic coward.

Draco seems to take a deep breath, and then he turns around to face the others. “Okay, get up. I’m sick of standing in Weasley’s kitchen.”

Harry takes a pause and looks at Draco’s face. He’s perfectly serious, and so is the Harry on his shirt. Harry’s heart is still racing, but Draco just looks resigned and present. He can’t help himself from smiling a little when his eyes catch on Draco’s. He gets a pretty severe glare in response, before Draco just walks right out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Harry follows, and hears the small grunt from Hermione hitting the ground behind him. Two sets of feet follow his own.

“Don’t forget my tea, Weasley!”

Ron scoffs, but still walks back into the kitchen to make a tea he’d promised about 20 minutes earlier.

Harry sits down on the floor in the same place he sat last night. Draco’s chosen the armchair near the fire; where he usually sits. Hermione stomps over to take the seat on the couch closest to the armchair, and Ron can be heard pottering around the kitchen.

“PhD.”

Draco looks to Hermione with a frown. “What?”

Hermione looks haughty yet contrite. Like she actually can’t help herself from making sure that Draco knows he was wrong, and feels a little bit sorry about it. “It’s a PhD, not a ChP or whatever you called it.”

“Honestly Granger, what does it matter?”

A harrumph from Hermione as she settles back into Ron’s expensive couch cushions. “It’s a very important thing.”

Harry chucks her a grin, and she smiles back proudly.

Draco rolls his eyes. “Why do you all insist on patting yourselves on the back constantly. You don’t see me singing my own praises.”

Ron let’s out a violent laugh from the kitchen, and Draco flushes a little bit, his eyes flicking to Harry who grins at him too.

Mugs float out from the kitchen, Ron trailing behind. Harry grabs his out of the air and cherishes the sent of the strong tea. He can’t help but laugh when Hermione grimaces at the taste of her milkless cup, and Draco looks at her as if he’s won something.

Harry’s won something. He’s won Draco sitting here in Ron’s expensive apartment, Draco rolling his eyes when Hermione chides him about his too sweet tea, then Draco chiding Ron when he argues that Ron made it too sweet anyway, and that if he has to have teeth work done it’ll be Ron’s fault.

“You can make your own tea, you know, you’re not that famous.”

“Actually, Weasley, I’m more famous than all three of you, currently. The only thing getting you through is dumb luck and a gullible consumer base. I get by on pure talent.”

“Sure, Draco.”

“Also, I expect thanks when Wheezes gets the significant boost in sales it’s sure to this week, what with the Prophet this morning.”

“Sure, Draco.”

Harry smiles. His arse will probably start hurting before his mug is drained, and the sounds of arguing will get tiring soon after that. He’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt a little. He takes a deep breath. “Okay, fine. Therapy. I’ll do it.”

Ron and Hermione smile at him like they knew it was coming all along, pressed up against each other on the expensive couches. Draco just looks at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for who knows what. Probably an oral manifesto of Harry’s recognised faults and his plans to change them. Harry just smiles right back at Draco, wide and unashamed. Draco shakes his head a little bit, lips pulling up too.

Harry’s worried that if Draco keeps looking at him at all that he’ll have to walk over there and kiss him without warning. He picks his mug up and keeps sipping though, pretends he doesn’t absolutely need to do just that. Because there’s going to be time. Lots of it.

His stoicism has its uses sometimes, maybe.

#drarry #drarry fanfic #harry potter #draco malfoy #ron weasley #hermione granger #harry potter fanfic #god what have i done this is too long #love the idea that ron gets rich by capitalizing on the idiocy of the regular consumer e.g. like Supreme #drarrymicrofic #prompt: pretend #emotionally stunted golden trio #emotionally mature draco malfoy #very sexy dynamic #harry potter fanart #my fanart #my fic

34 notes · View notes

starkidpotty · 4 years ago

Text

Sleep on the Floor [HJP]

Unbeknownst to Harry, the aftermath of the battle and its losses is just as cruel and grueling as the battle itself. With no one to turn to, you offer peace in ways he didn’t know he needed.

Pairing: Harry Potter x reader

Warnings: loss, mourning, mentions of death

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: hi this is my first ever fic haha be nice to me <3 pls

The moonlight painted the living room a gracious dark blue color speckled with yellow light from the adjacent stars. The room was quiet, save for the large grandfather clock across the couch that was ticking away each hour of the night. It was a sleepless night for you in the flat, with Harry taking the bedroom (which you aggressively declined for the seventh time, and he begrudgingly took for the seventh time) and you on a roll-out much larger than the couch on the living room floor. It didn’t help that it was the summer as sweat was making your t-shirt stick to your skin, which made it impossible to find a position that could finally push you into a sweet sleep. Although inconvenient, the heat was a reminder of the two months that have passed since the Battle of Hogwarts and Lord Voldemort had finally ceased to exist. However, it would take months–maybe even years–before the effects of the war and the events leading up to it would wash away completely, if it ever did dissipate completely.

Harry, being the chosen one, the boy who lived, had taken the brunt of it all. It started with the night terrors. Harry would wake up screaming in the middle of the night, shooting up from lying to sitting with a layer of sweat sticking his stray hairs to his forehead and his chest violently puffing up and down. He had done it alone the first few weeks, until he couldn’t bear it anymore. He decided against sending an owl to Ron, as he was still grieving Fred’s death and rekindling his relationship with Percy. He had decided against sending an owl to Hermione, as she had just reversed the memory charm she had set on her parents and was making up for lost time. So, he sent an owl to you.

You and Harry met at one of Slughorn’s infamous dinner parties in your 6th year. Your very first conversation was about this odd dream you had that he was in. In it, he had cast a spell that set hundreds upon hundreds of spiders on you. Dream-you screamed a blood-curdling scream that made all the spiders disappear, leaving dream-you and dream-Harry in unstoppable, uncontrollable laughter. Looking back, you didn’t think it was very funny, but it became one of the things that you and Harry built your friendship over. You and he would talk about dreams a lot–recurring themes, plots, what parts you wish weren’t just dreams and what parts you never wanted to imagine ever again. It made perfect sense to him to send an owl to you when the night terrors started.

So here you are in Harry Potter’s living room, two weeks since that owl busted its head on your bedroom window with the letter he had written, detailing his latest nightmare. This was the 7th night you had spent at his place. It was your idea to sleep over, something he–although he would never admit it–was embarrassed of. Harry felt this was burdensome to you, that you responding to his letters was enough. You happily obliged and assured him that it was not, knowing that letters weren’t enough to get Harry through what would be some of the most emotionally draining months of his life. The battle and the events leading up to it in itself were already an immense ordeal, that Harry knew. But the months succeeding it, the getting over it, the making peace with it, unbeknownst to Harry, was just as bloody, just as cruel.

Tonight, however, was the longest Harry had gone without screaming. He would usually go to bed relatively early, leaving you to finish work for your newly-acquired job at Ministry, which you’d use as a buffer before you’d hear him scream into the night. You’d usually have to lull him out of his night terrors as early as an hour after he’d lay to rest, but tonight decided to allow you and him reprieve. Deciding to quit Ministry paperwork prematurely, there you were splayed on the roll-out unable to catch a wink. The heat was getting to you and you were getting restless.

“[Y/N],” said Harry in a voice so low had he said it a second later it would go unheard as the grandfather clock’s chimes would have overpowered it. You hoist yourself up, seeing Harry peering from the hallway opening.

“Harry, you’re awake. I was wondering why I hadn’t heard anything yet.” You say with a soft half-smile. He lets out a small chuckle, walking over to the sofa.

Looking at you, he responds, “Well, I wasn’t exactly sleeping.” Your mouth forms an O-shape with the sound following suit. He makes way to the roll-out on the floor, bending down to sit next to you. You adjust accordingly, hugging your knees which effectively gives him enough space to sit comfortably.

“To think I thought tonight would finally give you a break. Merlin knows how much you need it.” You say.

“I guess Merlin doesn’t know well enough.” Harry laughs as he looks down at his lap. The air stood still for a bit, with both of you sitting in silence as it was now one o’clock in the morning. Neither of you spoke, choosing to relish in the comfortable silence until Harry decides to break it again, “It’s hard. I didn’t think it would be,”

“What?”

“The past 17 years of my life, I had this huge weight on my shoulders, y’know. Voldemort. He’s gone, and I just thought now that he is gone, truly and finitely gone, that weight would leave and I could just live out my life. Nothing hanging over my head.”

“But?”

“If anything the weight��s even heavier. I feel like every time I close my eyes, he’ll find a way back. Some nights, it’s his face I see before he killed me in the forest. Some nights it’s the fifty–Remus, Fred, Tonks, Colin, Lavender–all of them.”

You’ve no words to say that you feel could completely absolve Harry of his woes, so you do the next best thing and take his hand in yours, sweat and all. He looks at you, then down at your intertwined hands. He plasters half a smile, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his free hand. Both of you sit a minute more in comfortable silence. He doesn’t look at you, but rather takes interest in everything else but you, stealing glances at the window, the grandfather clock, the coffee table. You scoot closer to Harry, letting go of his hand and instead place both your hands on his face, making him face you. You’re both incredibly close, so close that you can see the little specks of brown Harry had in his eyes among the sea of green. Like instinct, he pulls you a little closer by the waist. You rest your forehead against his, while your thumb creates small circles on his cheekbones.

Your words finally find footing and walk out your mouth in tiny little steps, coming to a whisper, “Harry, Voldemort is gone and dead, he’ll never find a way back. And, the fifty. They’re not gone because of you. There’s no need at all to carry that weight all by yourself. We’ll get through it together.”

You release his face from your hands and pull him into a hug. He hugs back even tighter, like you were the only thing keeping him from floating upwards. His breaths grew heavy and tiny little sobs had erupted from him. His tears slid down your shoulders and back, but you didn’t mind nor care. Your right hand runs through his hair, while the other traces shapes on his back.

He cries hard, as though he is finally letting out the last 17 years–all the hurt, all the pain, everything he had to push deep inside him for the common good of the wizarding world finally cascading in hot tears down his face then onto you. You let him. A good few minutes pass and the sobs dwindle, until Harry pulls away, wiping his face with his forearms.

He mutters an apology that you vehemently decline, “Don’t apologize, Harry. I told you, we’ll get through it together. It’s my weight to carry as much as it is yours.”

Harry doesn’t reply, instead he takes his wet glasses off, wiping them down with his shirt and placing them on the adjacent coffee table. You didn’t mean to, but you stare at him as he does so. He meets your eyes and still doesn’t say anything. He lies down on the roll-out and pulls you by your left arm along with him. So, here you were lying on your side facing Harry, who you knew for a fact that without his glasses only saw a blurry outline of your face. His arm was wrapped around your waist and his legs all tangled in yours. The summer heat doesn’t hit as hard as it did minutes before. His face was now buried in the crook where your neck meets your shoulder and you could feel soft breaths coming from him, you assume he is finally asleep.

None of your thoughts at this point in the night were very coherent nor making any sense–if anything they were being quite intrusive. Your mind was jumping from point to point. This was the closest you and Harry have ever been and for some reason, you were nervous. Try as you might, the thoughts still make waves in your head, but for Harry’s sake, you attempt to block them out. Harry was just as nervous and he too could not find a reason why.

Turns out, Harry wasn’t asleep. He started to stir and pulls his face away from where it was perched. He’s now extremely close to your face but squinting to see you clearly.

“Thank you, by the way. You’re brilliant.” He croaked and you could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“I think that’s you, Harry. You’re brilliant, absolutely.” You reply beaming, even at this hour in the night.

Time freezes over for the next few seconds as Harry’s lips find the edges of your mouth. He moves away from your face sheepishly, but he kisses you again, this time fitting his lips over yours. The kiss wasn’t desperate nor hungry; it was gentle and delicate, using the perfect amount of speed and force. Harry is feeling an eclectic mix of emotions in those few seconds he spends on you, nervous to tense to idiotic to comfortable to sensational. It’s as though this is where he is ought to be, and it’s not just the familiarity that offers him this assurance, but just the sheer fact that it’s you. You, on the other hand, feel a release of pent-up emotion that you didn’t know you had. There is only relief and a calmness that you were sure you had never experienced before this moment.

You both pull away and you hush Harry as you feel him already starting with an apology. You lightly shake your head, hoping that your blurry outline sends the message clear enough. It does and he stays quiet. You bring your hand to his face, tracing the outline of his jaw and cheeks repeatedly. You brush your thumb over his lips. He understood, and so did you. So you both rest well into the night, making this the first night Harry makes it through unscathed and in one piece.

masterlist here

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x reader #harry potter x y/n #harry potter imagines #dating harry potter #reader insert #hp x reader #harry potter angst

209 notes · View notes

rainbowvamp · 3 years ago

Text

Choices made, Roads Taken

babe wake up new princess bride au chapter just dropped.

Full text beneath the cut. Warnings for talk of marriage as a necessary step in a woman's life, fear of homelessness, and I don't think anything else but I've written 20k since I last edited this, so if there's anything else let me know and I'll add it.

5k for the red team weekly prompt ""In life you always have a choice. Sometimes it's easier to think that you don't."

Relationships: Mergwen (platonic), and Gwen & Elyan (siblings)

Elyan tells Gwen that she has to be married by Summer's End because he's selling the forge to pursue vengeance on their father. Gwen doesn't particularly want to be married to some man she doesn't love. Enter Elyan's friend Merlin.

At least she doesn't have to get married.

---

She is 17 when Elyan tells her she has to be married soon. They have been barely scraping by for 2 years, but they have been making it. There’s no reason that Gwen can think of that anything should change, that Gwen should move on. Elyan has shown no signs of taking a wife, and who would take care of him when she was gone?

When she asks this question, he doesn’t answer, face stoney and set against emotion. She has a terrible clawing feeling that she knows what will happen once she is married.

He starts making inquiries around the village. Plenty of men are interested, but in secret, Elyan always asks Gwen “yes or no,” always gives her the choice. She refuses to be married to a man who will not treat her kindly, or is too old or too young, and eventually she runs out of men in nearby villages to marry, and Elyan loses his patience with her.

“There has to be someone, Guinevere. Someone! I can’t search the five Kingdoms for your husband, and your time is running short. You must be married by the end of the summer.”

It is already middle spring. Gwen’s blood is audible in her ears as it rushes through her, carrying the heart sinking knowledge with it.

“What have you done, Elyan?” She whispers it, afraid to say it any louder than she must.

Elyan won’t look at her, finds anything else to set his eyes on while he thinks up an excuse. “I just think you’re getting old.”

It’s a cruel thing to say, and he knows it, but his voice is distracted, and his eyes shift from place to place, never quite settling while he speaks. He lies, and she knows it.

“Again. The truth this time.”

When she sets her hands on her hips like that, it reminds him of their mother, and it makes him feel contrite. She knows this, because he told her once, as a joke, and she’s used it against him ever since.

“I’ve sold the forge. The new tenant will take the house and the forge come Autumn. You have to have somewhere to go by then. A husband will take care of you.”

“And what about you?” She glared at him, biting her cheek to stop herself from yelling. “What are you going to do? Unless you’re courting some woman I don’t know about?”

Elyan’s eyes settle at their feet, hands behind his back, childlike, caught completely in his lie.

“I’ve been studying.” Elyan said, but his eyes never left their feet. “I’m going to travel, learn more.”

“To what end?” She asked, and Elyan still did not look at her.

“I cannot tell you.” Finally his eyes meet hers, and Gwen had this terrible, sneaking suspcion that she dared not speak.

“You’ll get yourself killed.” She said instead, and Elyan’s shoulders squared.

“And if I do, I’ll know you’re taken care of. You choose a husband by midsummer, so you can be married before autumn, or I choose one for you.”

Gwen sets her jaw and fists the fabric of her skirt to keep her nails from digging into her palm, drawing blood as they seem to do so often these days.

“If you force me to marry someone I do not care for, I will hate you forever.”

Elyan looks away from her and grabs this leather forge gloves. “Maybe. But you will be cared for. That much I will assure.”

Elyan leaves, goes to the forge for the day, and Gwen is left with the day’s chores and the laundry of two other families to attend to. She starts with the laundry, because she needs to have it back by tomorrow morning. The chores can wait. They often do. The house is nowhere near as clean and tidy as it was when father was alive, but they are making it, and making it is as much as she ever hopes for anymore. She loves her brother, but if he marries her off, she will never forgive him.

—

She says no to three more men before Elyan comes home from the forge one day with a dark haired man who must be older than her by a significant amount. He looks 25, at least, but Gwen doesn’t look at him much. She hopes that if he thinks she’s rude, he’ll lose interest.

“Guinevere,” Elyan rarely uses her full name to introduce her, but he is trying to sell her off like a prize pig, so it only makes sense that he would use it now. “This is Merlin Emrys. He’s a merchant, and a physician, passing through town. He’ll be having supper with us tonight.”

It goes without saying that he’ll stay the night as well. She and Elyan have shared their parents bed numerous times to give lodging to a traveler. It’s easy money, good money, but Gwen is tired from washing all day, and angry besides because Elyan had chewed her out for not choosing a husband again that morning and she was still miffed about it.

“I’ll set an extra plate,” Is all that she says to her brother, taking more vegetables from her stock to cut up and add to the stew she’d just put on. It would stretch a little longer with the vegetables, but wouldn’t be as filling. She could’ve added more of the dried meat, or even baked a quick bread, but she was trying specifically not to impress this man who was traveling alone and hadn’t mentioned a wife yet. While Merlin and Elyan talked, Gwen got out the guest linens and made the cot, set the little house to rights as much as she could, and stirred the soup regularly.

“That smells excellent, Guinevere. I’ve had road rations for so long, this meal will be a treat.” Merlin tells her, and she doesn’t turn from where she’s stirring the pot when she answers.

“I’m glad.” Her tone is curt and she doesn’t sound glad at all. She doesn’t feel glad. She wished this man would just disappear. She wished Elyan would keep the forge and they could continue on as they were. Gwen didn’t care for boys, or for marriage, and why she should have to, just because Elyan wanted to study swordplay and kill-

She stopped her train of thought there. It was treason to even think it.

At least her brother wanted her married off and far away before he tried. It was a kindness as much as it was a cruelty.

Gwen wondered if she’d ever see her brother again once she married. It’s not like the King is an easily accessible person just waiting around to be-

“Guinevere, tell Merlin about your sewing. The embroidery you were doing for the Henrick’s bridal gown.” Elyan is trying to show her off, make her brag. Politeness dictates how she behaves, but it doesn’t dictate her tone. She leaves the spoon sitting on the little fire burning stove and goes to the back of the cottage where her needlework is kept. She’s nearly done with the embroidery for the future Mrs. Henrick, and it’s very beautiful, even if she said so herself. She brings the whole basket over and plops it on the table unceremoniously in front of Merlin. He doesn’t even flinch, which aggravates her, but she pulls out the embroidery carefully, making sure the needle stuck in the fabric is right by where his hand will grab it, hoping he’ll stick himself.

He does not, unfortunately, stick himself. His hands are ginger, delicate, as he handles the soft blue fabric. The embroidery thread is as white as anything the Henrick’s can afford, and Gwen has been working on it for weeks, her labor a wedding gift to the bride-to-be. The stitching is some of her finest, delicate flowers in the soft white thread, birds and a few trees scattered in among them.

“This is beautiful.” Merlin’s fingers trace a bird, following the bird’s life cycle from the youth, through the bird of it’s young, to a tree that symbolizes it’s death. It had been a good idea, but she hadn’t thought anyone would notice.

Elyan probably told him about it.

“It’s a shame you won’t have time to make something like this for yourself.” Merlin smiles up at her like that’s not the most tragic thing he could have told her.

She turns her glare to Elyan, because she can’t very well glare at a man she’s just met. Elyan refuses to meet her eyes and she knows that at the very least he’s told this complete stranger that he’s looking for a wife for his sister, and at worst he’s offered her up to him.

She wants to call him a bastard, but she holds her tongue. She’ll let it all seethe inside for a while, and yell at Elyan when this man leaves in the morning.

“Times are hard.” Is all she says before taking the basket back to it’s corner and going back to the stew.

Usually Elyan helps her cook, but he’s entertaining their guest, and probably trying to show off how skilled she is, how domestic she is, all the wonderful wifely thing that she can do.

She hates her brother in that moment. It heats her skin and makes her nose twitch, her shoulders tense and her fingers keep losing their grip on the spoon because she wants to throw it at him.

She wants to throw a tantrum, is more like it. She is almost 18 though, and she can’t afford to gain a reputation like that. Throwing spoons, cursing at guests, those are the sorts of thing that leave women spinsters, and she doesn’t have that option anymore. Elyan is selling their home, and if she doesn’t get married she’ll be homeless right along with him.

Maybe that would be preferable, even if Elyan would hate it. He’d never abandon her, leave her alone on the streets. At least then they’d be together. Elyan is barely 19 as it is. How ready could he possibly be to be alone?

“Guinevere?” Elyan’s voice is amused, concerned, when he calls for her, but it startles her just the same, and she drops the spoon in the stew. It’s too short for the pot and she curses under her breath when it sinks beneath the stew. She’ll have to fish it out now, and Elyan is calling her again, and what does he want, what could he possibly want!

“Here,” Merlin puts his hand on her shoulder and gently, softly, coaxes her back from the stove. He smiles at her, even as she feels tears starting to well up and she’s so angry with him, and Elyan and the world. “Let me.” He mutters something softly under his breath, and spoon… floats out of pot, settles back against the side. Her mouth falls opened, awed at the spectacle, but Merlin just smiles, shrugs like this isn’t a giant, terrible secret that he should be keeping.

Magic is illegal in Camelot.

She looks at Elyan who levels her with a look that she can’t quite read. At once it tells her to be quiet, and to accept it, and to trust him. She swallows back her fear and nods, offering a half smile to Merlin before grabbing a clean towel to pull the hot spoon from the pot, dunking it in dish washing bowel to get some of food off the handle.

Merlin sits back down and continues whatever conversation he was having with Elyan while Gwen gets out flour. She hadn’t wanted to bake a bread, but now she needs something to do with her hands and she needs something to settle her stomach. She was having trouble swallowing, or she’d have gotten herself some water, maybe even a bit of ale to settle her nerves. She feels lucky that her knees don’t give way beneath her.

A magic user. Elyan had brought a magic user into their home, told him about how he was trying to marry Gwen off. The man had blatantly brandished magic right there at her stovetop and hadn’t even batted an eyelash.

Elyan was trying to get them both killed.

Personally, Gwen had always believed the rules around magic users were far too harsh and the consequences overblown, but she had never imagined that she would be harboring one. If this man is wanted for magic use, and they come looking for him here, they’ll kill all three of them. She can’t help anxiously glancing over her shoulder at Elyan, whose face is relaxed and posture so at ease considering they could very well be in mortal danger.

She sees a flash of red, her father’s lifeless body covered in blood, having to re-dirt and pack the floor of the forge to remove the stains. She remembers the merciless way the King killed their father for demanding a fair price for a sword and wonders how much they’ll all be tortured for Merlin being here if they come, when they come. Of course they’ll come. Camelot’s ruler is cruel and hateful and they will come and kill him, and them, and maybe everyone in the village.

“Gwen,” Elyan’s hand is on hers, darker than hers, like their father, and she looks at it and sees him, for a moment, sees her father touching her hand and telling her everything will be okay after mother died, promising her a bright future, squeezing it in joy-

“Gwen,” Elyan says again, lower this time. “Guinevere, I need you to let go of this.”

She looks from his hand to her own beneath it. She’s holding a knife dangerously close to her own hand, like she meant to cut her palm. She doesn’t remember even grabbing this knife. She’d been grabbing the flour, to make bread. She was going to make bread. Why did she have a knife-

“Guinevere.”

“I hate it when you use my full name.” She whispered, her hand still clutching the knife, knuckles becoming pale from the tight grip.

“I know. Can you let go of the knife please.”

“They’ll kill us, if they find him here.” She can’t stop herself form saying. Her mind is gone, somewhere else, the only thing left the part of her that had worked like a dog day and night for two years to keep them afloat.

“No one is looking for him.” Gently, Elyan takes the knife from her hand by the handle, setting it aside. She finally feels the sensation return to her body, her limbs feel heavy and her head feels empty and she needs to sit, she needs to sit.

Elyan takes her by the waist when she starts to fall, and guides her to the table, sitting her down.

“I’m not wanted for my practice. No one knows about it, except you two and old friend from back home.” Merlin speaks quietly, but Gwen doesn’t look at him, watches Elyan as he tends to the stew.

Gwen realizes that her body is shaking. She’s sitting still but her whole body is shaking, even her eyes, at the thought that she might lose Elyan.

“It’s been a hard couple of years for us. Please forgive her.” Elyan says from the stove, and Gwen doesn’t even speak up to defend herself. Her hand is shaking where it rests of the table, and she jumps nearly out of her seat when another hand, not her brothers, rests over it.

He is so pale for someone who claims to be a traveler. Is all that she can think. “Guinevere. I have a potion that helps relieve pains of the mind. Would you like some?”

“No, we don’t-“

“She’ll take it.” Elyan spoke over her, and she has at least the mental soundness to look over at him and glare.

He says nothing back, just nods to Merlin to confirm what he’s said. Merlin goes to a bag that Gwen hadn’t noticed, a beautiful shade of deep green and pulls out a little glass vial from it. He unstoppers it and puts a couple drops in the glass of water beside her hand and swirls it around.

“A full dose would put you to sleep. This is just to take the edge off, calm your nerves. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

Gwen’s lips purse, and she feels like she wants to speak, but she doesn’t know what to say. What could she say? This man is helping her, which is kind of him, but he’s putting them in danger.

“I won’t marry you.” Gwen says without reaching for the cup in front of her. “Whatever Elyan has told you.”

“He said you’d say that. That’s why I don’t intend to marry you.” Merlin smiled softly at her, and she looked at her brother, confused, now.

“Merlin is a physician. He’s been looking for an apprentice for some time.”

“I don’t know anything about medicine, or potions.” She looked at the medicated cup warily.

“Apprentice usually implies that I teach you.” Merlin tries to laugh with her, but she doesn’t laugh along.

“Magic is illegal in Camelot.” We could both be executed goes unsaid, but is still heard clearly in the room.

“I’m very careful. I never use magic unless I have to, and up until a little while ago, only two people alive even knew I had magic. Now it’s up to three.” He smiles, but it doesn’t make Gwen feel any better.

“You’re going to sell me to this man.” Gwen asked her brother, her fear making her far more candid than she usually would’ve been.

“I’m not selling you to anyone.” Elyan’s voice is tense, and Merlin pushes the potion laced cup toward Gwen again.

Gwen can’t decide if she should drink it or not. She doesn’t want to, but if they’ve paid for it, it feels wasteful.

“I’m just looking for someone to help me. It’s nothing nefarious. Most of what I do is legitimate medicine, science based, not magic based.”

“What about the part that isn’t ‘most of it?’” Gwen crossed her arms over her chest and leaned away from him in her chair.

Merlin should be caught out, but instead of looking upset, he smiles. “Elyan said you were quick.”

“And a good pupil. Mrs. Henrick even taught her to read.”

Merlin raised his eyebrow. “A woman who can read isn’t exactly uncontroversial.”

“Reading is not a crime punishable by death.” Death by fire, on a pike like terrible horrible criminal. They don’t even kill you first, just set your body aflame.

“No, I suppose it’s not.” Merlin leaned forward a bit. “You’re very practical. Stubborn. You’ll keep my on my toes, keep me from getting complacent.”

“So you’ll take her on?” Elyan asked from the stove, and Gwen scoffs, outraged.

“Yes. Assuming she’ll have me. We’ll have to get you a horse.” Merlin goes back to his bag and pulls out parchment, a tiny glass bottle of ink and a pen. “Traveling clothes, I assume, a good pair of riding boots.” He opens up the bottle and dips the pen, using nicer penmanship than Gwen has ever seen outside of a book to pen the list. “Warm undergarments. A bed roll. I’m sorry the road won’t always be very comfortable, but I do have a home in Ealdor where I stay during the winter. It’s very comfortable at least.”

Gwen looks from Elyan to Merlin, and back, but she doesn’t catch either of their eyes, both too caught up in what they’re doing to look at her, to even notice her.

“Was I ever going to get a say in this?” Gwen asked, her throat dry and cracking, tears welling in her eyes at being completely ignored and pushed over.

“Gwen,” Elyan said, stopping stirring the soup and looking at her. “You’ve made it very clear you don’t want to marry. I can’t support you after the end of the summer and you have to have somewhere to go. Merlin has very graciously offered to give you a job and housing in exchange for working with him. He’s not asking to marry you doesn’t even want to marry you, he just wants to be able to tell people you’re married so no one gets suspicious of a man and woman traveling together, so you can keep your honor. Maybe once you’re on the road, you’ll meet someone you love who you can marry and make a family with.”

Gwen can hardly believe what she’s hearing. She isn’t getting a choice, is what he’s saying. She’s not getting any sort of choice in how the rest of her life goes, and he’s acting like she should be grateful.

“How dare you.” She said, teeth gritted. “You didn’t even ask me first.”

“I can’t afford to keep asking you, Gwen, or you’ll be out on the streets, homeless and begging. I won’t let that happen to you.”

“Oh, and I suppose you’ll be just fine on your own? What’s so wrong with traveling together, Elyan. You’re fine with me traveling with a strange man with gods only know what intentions, but heavens forbid I travel with my brother who loves me?!” Gwen stands, but she’s shaky and has to use the table to catch herself. She can’t even stand up straight she’s so upset. Merlin gets up and comes around the table, but she back away from him, angry that he would even presume to come near her. She stumbles and Merlin waves his hand and a chair is beneath her, keeping her from hitting the ground.

“Stop that!” Gwen yells and she gets up again, more successfully this time. “Stop it!” She yelled again when Elyan tried to grab for her. “You can’t just dictate my life for me Elyan, I’m almost 18, and I deserve a say in how I live, where I live, and who I live with. I’m not going to risk my life for a stranger. You don’t even know this man. What if he doesn’t want a wife because he’ll just take from me what he would a wife? Do you even care about that? Did it even occur to you? I’m not a dog that you can give to the neighbor when it’s time for you to go away, Elyan, I’m a person.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Elyan raises his voice now, in his sister’s face like he hasn’t been since they were children. “I need to know that you’re safe, and Merlin owes me a life debt. He will keep you safe. He will protect you when I can’t.”

“Why not? Why can’t you protect me, Elyan? Say it!” She puffs her shoulders up, her lips thin and her jaw aching where her teeth clash together and grind, helpless and pulsingly angry.

“Because I’m going to kill the king!” Elyan finally admits it, and Gwen is satisfied at the admission, but equally as horrified to know that her prediction was correct. “I’m going to kill the bastard that murdered our father in cold blood over 300! I’m going to kill him.” The last words are soft again, and Gwen feels her anger become cold, abate a bit.

Their fathers death has always bothered him. Of course, it bothered Gwen as well, and she had been angry too, but not like Elyan had been. Elyan had always regretted losing that fight, not being able to avenge their father’s death. She knew that he hated Uther, but this… she was afraid for him.

“It’s almost impossible to kill a king. Greater men than you have tried.” Gwen whispered, but Elyan shook his head.

“I have a plan, but they’ll catch me. I need you to be far away, and safe.” He takes Guinevere’s shoulders in his hands and looks her straight in the eyes. “I’ll visit you every couple of years for a while. By the time it’s done you’ll have nice, sweet, beautiful children, and a husband, and you’ll be settled. But for now, I need you to go with him.”

Gwen swallows hard. How can he ask this of her? To abandon her brother? It just doesn’t feel like an option.

“You’ll be all alone.” She finally said, tears welling up in her eyes. “It’s always been us. You’ll… who will you have, out there, on your own?”

“I’ll have my memory of you, and mum, and father. Please Gwennie.”

“You swear he won’t ask me to marry him?”

“Not unless you want him to.” Elyan nodded, and Gwen sniffed, wiping at her eyes with her sleeves.

“And he’s honorable?”

“One of the most honorable men I’ve ever known.”

“How did you meet him?” She asked, swallowing around the lump in her throat again. She feels insane, even thinking about agreeing to this, but Elyan was on a death wish of a mission, and Gwen couldn’t go with him. Being a physicians assistant did sound a lot better than being married to a man she didn’t love.

“He was attacked by bandits in the woods a year before father died. I helped him fight them off, took him to his horse so he could patch himself up. He promised me he owed me a favor.”

“A life debt.” Merlin added. “I would’ve died if not for your brother. I promise, I only want to help the both of you.”

“Why have I never met him before.”

“He has magic. I thought it better he not be involved with you.”

“You knew about his magic?” She looked over her shoulder at the man who was smiling at her, far too warmly for a man she’d only met today.

“I removed an iron cuff they were keeping on him. It was practically red hot.”

“Magic and Iron don’t mix.” Merlin explained. “It dampens my abilities. They got it on me and I was basically powerless.”

Gwen took a deep breath, and then nodded, final in her decision. “I want one.”

“One what?” Elyan asked, but when she looked back at Merlin, she thought he already knew.

“I want an iron cuff, or something iron that I can put on you, in case you try something. Elyan may trust you, but how men behave amongst themselves and how they behave with women are not always corresponding.”

Merlin… smiled, of all things, and with another wave of his hands, his parchment and quill were in his hands again.

“Done. An Iron ring, I think. So you can always wear it.”

Gwen looked at her brother, who was smiling far too much for someone who had just given his sister away to a stranger.

“Fine. But I still don’t like it.”

Elyan pulled her into a hug and she was powerless to resist it. She wanted to be angry, but she was just exhausted, empty from the emotional whiplash she’d just experienced.

“I still think you should take that potion. To settle your nerves.” Merlin said.

She looked down at the cup wearily but then, as a sign of trust, picked it up and drank it’s contents down, eyes never leaving Merlin’s.

“Thank you.” She said, and Merlin smiled.

“I think dinner smells ready. Let’s eat, shall we? You can ask me any question you still have, if you like.”

—

Gwen, Elyan and Merlin burn down most of a candle that night, talking through the logistics of Gwen’s stay with Merlin. Everything from sleeping arrangements, to supplies, to clothes is set to parchment agreed to. Gwen racks her brain for anything and everything she can think of to make him agree to in front of Elyan, who he owes a life debt to. Gwen knows that Merlin owes her nothing, and she doesn’t trust that he’ll agree to anything more than what she he does right now.

“I think that’s everything.” Merlin says, smiling wide despite the bags forming beneath his eyes. “I’m sorry you’re both ready to sleep, and so am I. Thank you again for your hospitality.”

“Thank you for taking care of the washing.” Elyan laugh, looking over his shoulder to the dishes had been washed and dried by Merlin’s magic. It had been remarkable to witness, even though Gwen’s skin had crawled with the fear of being caught the entire time.

“It’s the least I could do after you fed me. I’m going to go and check on my horse one last time.” This is just a way to let them talk alone, Gwen is sure, and she appreciates it.

She goes to put on her night dress behind the screen and Elyan changes as well. The night air is still cool, not yet the sticky summer heat that will soon come. So much for married by summers end.

“Thank you for agreeing to this, Gwen. It means the world to me.” Elyan smiled at her where she was climbing into bed.

“Don’t thank me. I didn’t really have a choice.”

“In life you always have a choice. The you’ve made is for the best.” He plants a knee on the bed so he can kiss her forehead and then goes to turn the candle out. Merlin takes this as his cue to come in. He settles on the cot in the kitchen without tripping or fumbling, which irritates Gwen just a little because she’s lived in this house all her life and still sometime stubs her toe on the kitchen table in the dark.

“Good night, Gwen, Elyan,” Merlin said to both of them, and Elyan returned the sentiment, but Gwen did not, huddling down into the covers.

Maybe she had had a choice, but her choices were limited, severely, by Elyan’s will. As she laid there, trying to fall asleep, she remembered what mother had told her once, about how excited she’d been to marry her father, and how much her mother and father had loved each other. She thinks about how her father won’t be there to hand her off to her future husband, as silly that tradition seemed, and even Elyan might not be there for it. Who would stand beside her at her wedding, if she married, if Elyan was dead?

Maybe she should get married, if only so Elyan can be there.

But to who? Who could she possibly marry? She wasn’t in love with anyone, didn’t even really fancy anyone. There weren’t that many people to fancy, in all honesty. Pickings were slim, and she liked plenty of the boys in the village, but not nearly enough to marry them.

She always had a choice, Elyan was right. She chose this, even if Elyan orchestrated it. She would just have to live with it.

Traveling with an illegal sorcerer was better than being married, at least.

#pbau proper #pbau #lysa's pbau #mergwen #bbc merlin #merlin #elyan #gwen pendragon #forgot to tag #albionparty21 #pbau au proper

27 notes · View notes

aftertheskyy · 4 years ago

Text

Here’s a Thought

Noothive is back. @junemo10, @kingdowager, @gayfirebender, @arthurpendragonns, @meteorjam, @wtfisgoingonanymore and I were talking awhile ago and uhhh

Merlin reincarnation AU where everything is the same

Like they somehow all look like they did in Camelot

Everyone’s happy and living as neighbors or something in the modern world

Merlin and Arthur are finally together, etc

It’s the exact same, right?

Except Kilgharrah couldn’t come back as a dragon cause you know. Dragons don’t exist anymore

So he comes back as a chihuahua

One day, while the gang is walking through the city, they pass an animal shelter or something

Gwen wants to stop and see all the dogs

They all go to different parts of the shelter, looking at the various animals-Leon makes a beeline for the goldfish, Percival heads to the guinea pigs, etc

Merlin goes with Gwen to look at some of the puppies in the corner

Gwen immediately picks up a chihuahua and starts patting it, gushing over how cute it is

She hands it over to Merlin

Merlin senses something off but ignores the feeling

An employee comes over, asking Merlin and Gwen if they’re interested in the dog

(At this point, everyone else has come over to pat the dog)

(The employee is only slightly uneasy with this group of people crowding around a single chihuahua)

The employee begins to tell them how this dog is special

He won’t wear a collar unless it’s super shiny and fancy but he always manages to slip out of it

Struts into rooms

Bites fingers

Sleeps on MOUNDS of pillows

Somehow the alpha dog even though he could sit in the palm of your hand

He’s gone to a couple homes, but everyone’s always brought him back

He’ll growl at anyone and anything

Which is why the employee was so surprised when the chihuahua didn’t bark or anything at Merlin and Gwen

The dog was a rescue, the employee tells them, and won’t respond to any names yet

So they decide to take him home with them

Merlin takes special care of the dog but gets annoyed sometimes

Especially when he shoves him off his bed to sleep right in the middle

Arthur never got used to the dog

Neither do the knights

In fact, Merlin is the only one who can actually deal him

But it’s just so annoying when he keeps a secret stash of socks in the house

Or when he pees everywhere

Or when he hides all of Merlin and Arthur’s things

And it’s even more annoying when he’ll disappear for days on end and shows up only when he needs something

Merlin gets so fed up Gwen: Merlin!! Don’t get annoyed!! He’s just a puppy!! Merlin, red in the face, staring down the dog: I JUST CLEANED THE CARPET, STOP PEEING

Merlin has an extreme love/hate relationship with the dog

Gwen will dress the dog in clothes and booties cause “Chihuahuas are tiny and he’s probably cold!!”

Merlin looks at the dog with pure smugness while the dog makes little grunting/growling sounds

Gwen also taking the dog around in dog strollers

Anyways

Sometimes Merlin randomly hears the dog’s voice

He decides to ignore it, but thinks he’s a dog whisperer for a week Merlin, at the breakfast table: The dog says he wants bacon Arthur, blinking with confusion: Of course he wants bacon, he’s a dog Merlin: No, Arthur, he said he wants bacon

Except one night, Merlin wakes up to Kilgharrah’s voice

He’s confused-- it’s been 1500 years since he’s heard that infuriating drawl

The voice sounds something like “Go away”

He gets out of bed and starts walking around the house to clear his head

But then Arthur wakes up and asks Merlin to get the dog to stop barking

Merlin’s even more confused now-- the dog wasn’t barking

And then he sees the little chihuahua looking out the window, barking at at someone trying to break into the house

But all Merlin hears is “Go away, go away.”

And Merlin could swear that he hears the dog say his name

He gets the intruder to leave and goes back to bed, thinking

He wakes up the next morning with a near-heart attack, having figured it out

The next day, they take the dog back to the shelter

#bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin au #merlin #merlin emrys #merlin headcanons #arthur pendragon #knights of camelot #knights of the round table #kilgharrah #merthur headcanon #elyan #percival #lancelot #leon #gwaine #this got so long omg #noothive

163 notes · View notes

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years ago

Text

Soft Epilogue

Prompt: Hear ye, hear ye, I humbly request from the fanfic goddess, a merlin fanfic of epic fluff proportions!! Lol I love your writing, can I request an Ace!Merlin and Ace!Arthur platonic love life bond?

Thanks for the request, babe! it seems fitting that on my birthday I get to upload a fic about ace qprs

Read on Ao3

Pairings: merthur qpr, implied morgwen

Warnings: none my dudes

Word Count: 1807

In the end, there’s no big celebrations.

Oh, Camelot has a feast to end all feasts, but that’s not the point.

There’s no big rushing into each other at the end of a hard-won fight, Arthur looking all stupidly heroic with his hair all sweaty or Merlin rippling with otherworldly power that makes men want to fall to their knees.

There’s no kiss after years and years of pining finally being deforested—get it?

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“What, that was a good one!”

“Merlin!”

—alright fine, there’s no big kiss, there’s no music that swells romantically in the background—

“Though not for lack of trying on your part, I’m sure.”

“Will you shut up, you prat, and let me talk?”

“It’s a wonder you ever stop talking.”

—okay, look.

It’s simple.

It’s the end of a fight. Everyone’s exhausted. There are heavy pants and the scrape of steel on steel from the trodden corners of the battlefield, as soldier after soldier, knight after knight, falls to the ground in a heap. Some get back up. Some don’t.

Arthur’s fingers fumble on the pommel of his sword. Huh. He needs to redo the grip on the left side. It’s fraying. His fingers are too clumsy. They won’t hold the damn thing properly. The chain mail keeps snagging where it’s come loose. He really needs to fix the grip.

The sword sings quietly as it slides home, back into the sheath, away, away. His breath leaves him in a rush and he looks up, looking around, counting.

Leon stands, already directing the survivors to start taking care of those they lost. He catches his king’s eye and nods. Once. Arthur nods back.

Gwaine pushes his hair out of his eyes and makes a joke. It’s what he does best. As the desperate chuckles start up again, Arthur’s mouth quirks up in a smile. Gwaine catches it.

Elyan strips the last of the shrapnel from someone’s wound and hauls them to their feet, a man of the people until his last. Arthur watches, paralyzed by the weight of the crown on his shoulders, as Elyan helps in ways he can’t.

Percival stands. Shadows Arthur as they start to move through the field. The weight is a little easier to bear now, as his breath starts to sink back into his chest.

Lancelot turns, smiles. Says ‘it’s good to see you,’ as if they’re just mates, running into each other after a long hard day. As if he’s about to buy Arthur a drink at the tavern and talk about the harvest, the new work from the blacksmith siblings, how much he misses looking up at the moon. Arthur just claps him on the shoulder.

Everyone’s here. Except—

“Arthur?”

So there’s no dramatic turn, no big flourish. Time doesn’t slow to a standstill as they rush into each other’s arms. The bards would be so bored, there’s no dramatic confessions, no infamous realizations, no murmured apologies through the hurried meeting of lips. What would they have to sing about?

Well, perhaps they could sing about this.

Arthur turns, sees Merlin standing there. He smiles. Merlin smiles back. There’s a little cut on Merlin’s shoulder. Barely enough to graze through the tunic, but enough to draw blood. Arthur frowns, stalks forward, gently tips Merlin’s head to the side so he can have a look.

“I’m fine, you prat.”

“You’ve managed to injure yourself.”

“Wasn’t me!”

“Given how clumsy you are, I’d be surprised.”

Arthur presses gently over the cut. It’s nothing more than a scratch, should close by the end of the day. And yet Merlin just rolls his eyes and lays his hand over it. A moment of golden light later and it’s like nothing ever happened.

“There. Happy now?”

“Mm.”

Merlin sighs and moves his head back. Arthur doesn’t. For a moment, their foreheads rest together.

Thank the heavens you didn’t die, I would’ve dragged you back here myself.

Just so you could kill me?

Obviously.

That’s all. Don’t look so disappointed, there needn’t be more.

Oh, alright.

The ride back to Camelot is slow. There’s work to be done along the way, after all. There are people to tend to, knights to bury and mourn, families to tell. There are knights that return to Camelot only for their hands to shake too much, their eyes to go too glassy. These knights leave with the highest honors Arthur can give them, thanked sincerely for their service and the knowledge that the people will forever be in their debt.

There are preparations to be made, hugs to give. Gwen throws herself into Elyan’s arms, Lancelot’s arms, Merlin’s arms, Arthur’s arms. Gaius isn’t far behind. Each of them breathes in the scent of the other. Home.

“So you missed me?”

“Of course I missed you!”

“I’ve got your favorite waiting, Merlin.”

“Thanks, Gaius.”

“Oi! Why don’t I get a hug?”

“Oh, fine, come here.”

Arthur looks up to the top of the steps to see Morgana. No longer is she the intimidating figure cut from Camelot’s noble cloth, dressed up like Uther’s legacy, no. Just a simple dress, one of Gwen’s, her hair down around her shoulders in limp curls. If Arthur were someone else, he’d say she’d never looked better.

“Don’t tell her that.”

“I don’t need to, she knows.”

“Merlin!”

“What? She’s your sister.”

She smiles, a little dimmer, a little warier, as she descends the steps and holds out her arms. Arthur doesn’t hesitate.

His sister is here, finally recovered from her long fight with the magic Morgause wove through that horrid bracelet. Morgana hugs him back, tighter than they can imagine.

“I’m glad to see you,” Arthur mumbles into her shoulder.

“I’m happy you’re back.”

Merlin joins them a moment later and Morgana pulls him in too, laughing at Arthur’s affronted face when Merlin squawks and his elbow digs unceremoniously into his ribs.

“It hurt, you idiot.”

“She pulled me!”

“If you weighed more than a beanpole maybe that would help.”

“My weight is just fine, thank you very much.”

The feast is glorious. Food and wine flow freely out of the castle into the city below. The people dance, sing, yell, live. The city comes alive with the sound of its people. And that’s the end of the story.

They won.

They’re safe.

They’re with the people they love.

“You can’t just leave it there, Merlin.”

“What happened to wanting to keep your privacy?”

“Just—get on with it.”

“Fine, you prat.”

It’s not entirely over. There are still nights where Merlin wakes up and his fingers tingle so much it feels like they’re about to fall off. Nights where he swears he hears a low rumbling voice in the back of his mind, feels giant hands on strings grafted to his arms. Nights where he still feels like Destiny’s puppet, strung along without a second thought.

There are still nights where Arthur can’t stop hearing the singing of steel and the weight of a sword in his hands. Nights when he can’t stop seeing Uther’s face, hearing his voice, seeing Morgana dead and twisted, broken on the ground. Nights when the flames rise high as knights—his knights—slaughter innocent people as part of a meaningless war.

There are still nights when they think they can hear each other screaming.

But Arthur is always there to roll over and wrap his arms tighter around Merlin. He’s here, he’s right here, and he’s warm, and nothing, nothing can take something away from Arthur once he’s decided it’s his. Merlin jolts awake to a cold nose pressed in the crook of his neck, sleepy declarations of ‘mine, my Merlin, go away, leave my Merlin alone, he’s mine, you can’t have him.’ Or it will be to tender words, gentle hands shaking him away, whispered promises of ‘you’re here, it’s alright, I’ll keep you safe, you did it.’

And Merlin is always there when Arthur clenches the pillow so hard he looks like he’s going to break his fingers, there to gentle them away and pull him close, tuck his head under his chin and say ‘it’s over now, it’s safe now, they’re all safe, they’re all safe.’ Arthur wakes up to rough tunics, slim fingers woven through his own, the warmth of someone else who won’t ever leave. Or just the weight of an arm or leg thrown across his middle. It’s just enough to wake him up and realize that there is someone who, even in sleep, wants to hold him close.

In the morning, Merlin will wake before Arthur does. The morning will ruffle along the edge of the curtains and he’ll shiver, hiding a little further under the covers. Arthur will hold him closer, unwilling to give up his heat source just yet. Some days, Merlin will let him, falling back asleep with his fingers carding through Arthur’s hair.

But on most days, he carefully separates himself and tucks Arthur back up, pulling on his clothes and moving to get their breakfast set up. His fingers will brush a vase and a bouquet of flowers will bloom, one of the side effects of training with Morgana. He’ll smile and pick one out to give to Gwen.

Arthur will wake slowly, first reaching out to feel where Merlin’s gone, then sitting up to spot him at the window, or the table, or right next to him, comb in hand. He’ll grumble, saying Merlin gets up too quickly, only for Merlin to laugh and pull him up to eat.

The sun will rise through the curtains as they eat, get dressed, and leave to go about their days. The door will close softly behind them, waiting to open again once the day is over.

There’s no furious declarations of love, no gritting of teeth as they fight to make the world change. Just slow, steady, constant. A touch of a hand here, a brush here. A knowing look or a quick jab. Nothing rough, just soft.

They deserve a soft epilogue.

“Hmm. Should’ve known you’d get all sappy.”

“You like me sappy.”

“I think I should go see Gaius, my teeth are starting to hurt.”

“You love it.”

“…maybe.”

“Did Arthur Pendragon just admit I was right?”

“Shut up.”

“He did! He definitely did!”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Morgana just rolls her eyes and wraps her arms around Gwen to watch the two of them bicker.

“He’s right, though,” Gwen murmurs after a moment, leaning back to look up at her, “they do deserve a soft epilogue.”

Morgana smiles. “I think we all do.”

She’s right and she should say it.

#merthur fic #merthur #merlin #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #arthur pendragon #fic #dragonbabbles #ace

42 notes · View notes

fandomlovingfreak · 4 years ago

Text

Incidentally In Love (3/?)

Charlie Weasley/Reader

Word Count:

Rating: Teen and up (Triggers : brief mentions of sex, and pregnancy talk)

MasterList Link I AO3 Link

Summary: Sleeping with Charlie Weasley was easy. He was charming, and handsome, and was quite talented in bed... Finding out you're pregnant with your casual fuck buddies baby was not easy.

Reader's journey through co-parenting, an overbearing Molly Weasley who wants reader to marry her son to give the baby a "real family", and maybe falling a tiny bit in love with her baby daddy.

Notes: Love how I messed up my summary aha. Going back and changing all the other chapters! My bad. Hope you love this chapter though. I just wanted to write something where the reader was in their head about Charlie and Charlie wanting to stay with her. I feel like this would be a legitimate fear.

Enjoy

One thing that hasn't changed since I found out about the pregnancy is sleeping with Charlie. I meant to stop, I really did... but there was something so comforting about having him in my bed. Maybe it was the need for companionship, or maybe he is simply my weakness.

I can hear his steady breathing from his side of the bed as I stare up at the bedroom ceiling. The nights are getting colder now, autumn steadily sneaking into the air with each passing day. The cold weather reminds me that time is advancing. It reminds me to look in the mirror to notice differences. In the right lighting, I can sometimes see (or maybe I'm imagining) a little bump protruding from my abdomen. Possibly I'm trying to convince myself I see something. Charlie's caught me at least a dozen times doing this; I always jump back and pretend to be admiring whatever outfit I have on to avoid the embarrassment of being caught searching for a physical sign of the child. The worst time was when I was in pajamas and had to pretend I was admiring my cloud jammies in my bedroom mirror like some basket-case. If he knows what I'm doing, he doesn't mention it. I appreciate that about Charlie. He tries not to embarrass you in any way he can.

I look over at the man in question sleeping peacefully to my left. His bright red hair is a little longer than when I first met him. So long it just reaches his shoulder blades when he sleeps on his stomach like this. My eyes scan the exposed skin of his broad shoulders and toned back. He's got a large black dragon tattooed on the expanse of the freckled skin. The tattoo's black ink clashes and flows with the abundant white scars across his back from his beloved dragons. The spikey tail of the tattoo seems to flick across his spine ever so slightly. I wonder if it's enchanted to do that or my tired eyes are playing tricks on me in the faint light from the moon. Of course, I've seen the tattoo before, but I haven't exactly had any reason to study this section of his body so privately before.

Charlie never stayed over before we found out about the pregnancy. He'd usually show up at any hour of the day and leave immediately after. Not like I cared. It felt too intimate if that is even possible after you've been so physically close to another person, to have him sleep in my bed before these circumstances. Recently though, I find myself craving that solid presence of another human being. Charlie was all too pleased to fill that presence for me. I don't know how to feel about him staying over almost every night this week or last week. All I know is that I don't want to be alone during the night. Facing the reality of being completely alone in this world has washed over me in tidal waves the weeks after visiting his family. I can't seem to shake off the feeling of loss I've conveniently been ignored for months before interacting with Charlie's family. I realized that I missed being a part of a family after seeing the Weasley family interacting.

Refusing to feel the emotions and grief of losing my entire family for months was unhealthy. And with the reminder of what a family looks like, I suddenly very much want another body around me. I want Charlie as close as possible whenever it's possible because he makes me feel something, even if it's only when he's touching my body. Feeling his hands, his mouth, and his cock is better than feeling the sadness that blossoms in my chest. Blaming hormones is the easy way out of processing my grief, but I want to blame the pregnancy for a moment. For once in the last month, I want something to feel easy.

Alongside the sudden appearance of these emotions, I appreciate the assurance that the baby will have a place in the Weasley family, even if the child's appearance in the world wasn't something planned. Truthfully, I was worried that maybe Charlie's family wouldn't want them. Many families wouldn't even acknowledge a child like ours, especially if, like us, the parents of that child chose to co-parent instead of getting together. To say I'm relieved by the Weasley's acceptance, especially Molly Weasley's, is an understatement. My baby would have received more than enough love from just me, and still will, but there's something different about the love of grandparents, aunts, and uncles. I want the baby to have that.

I continue to watch Charlie's body move with every inhale and exhale. I wonder if he dreams. A lot of the time, I wonder what he thinks about. Does he ever think about the baby? Does he get frightened by this ever so often like I do? That this won't work out, and somehow this elaborate plan, we've made to make the baby's life as normal as possible will fail? That we'll lose contact or something unforeseen will complicate things? Maybe he thinks about how this has completely derailed his life and his plans. There's no way he'd be satisfied working a desk job for the rest of his life, especially since he's tasted the freedom of achieving his dreams in Romania. I'm sure he misses that. Sometimes I'm afraid he'll abandon the baby and me. It's irrational; at least I hope it is irrational to think he might leave. But how could I blame him? What would we do if he decided he wanted to go back to Romania? Would I give up my job to keep him in our child's life? I don't think he'd ask me to leave my life behind, but it would be fair in a sense. Essentially, that's what I'm doing to him. I hope our child is worth it to him.

And no, this isn't exactly the way I thought my life would go, but I am glad in the sense that it's Charlie who I'm doing this with. There's not another man in this world I think I'd want to do this with because I'm not sure any other near-stranger would sit next to me as I lean over the toilet bowl, expelling whatever I had for dinner last night, as he's holding back my hair, or rubbing soothing circles on my middle back. In those moments too damn early in the morning (despite feeling so god awful and hating my body for doing this to me), I know that I'm grateful it's him and not someone else. He's going to be a good dad; that much is clear.

He's a good man. I have to acknowledge that I feel guilt for derailing his life. But, I don't think I could do this without him. Since we found out in the past month, I've grown somewhat attached to Charlie's constant presence in my life. Merlin, I hate to admit that I'm used to the schedule we've created, waking up with him, going to work, eating meals with him. It's all become my normal reality, and I don't know what I would do if he left. The feeling of dependency is foreign to me, and I hate it.

I shake my head, fully turning towards Charlie's sleeping form. His lips are slightly open as he breathes easily. I stare at him and wonder about the baby. I think if it's a boy, I want it to resemble Charlie. Same nose, same strong jawline, same sweet smile.

I smile, reaching out to tuck a strand of red hair behind his ear. Yeah. If they could be just like Charlie, I would like that.

TagList: @hannah220506 , @paigeyisme

149 notes · View notes

secretkeeper13 · 4 years ago

Text

Match- bonus chapter

I couldn’t help myself, so like I did with Flirt, I wrote a little bonus chapter to Match of Harry and Ginny’s reactions, with a cameo from Craig this time. I hope you enjoy this bit of fluff! Bonus chapter also on Ao3.

Harry stared at the newborn sleeping soundly in the Moses basket floating next to their bed. The euphoria that came from watching his son enter the world hadn’t entirely worn off, so despite the early hour, he was wide awake. Albus let out a breathy sigh, his tiny eyelashes fluttering for a moment as if he was about to wake, but then he stilled again.

The bed shifted next to him as Ginny sat up and curled around his side to look at their son.

“He looks so much like you,” she remarked, reaching her hand over Harry to gently stroke Albus’ jet black tuft of hair. She’d insisted Al looked like him since the moment they’d seen him.

He chuckled. “He looks like a baby. You can’t really tell who he’ll look like yet.”

“No, it’s true- he’s definitely got your face- it’s much thinner than James’ was. And his eyes are a lighter blue, I’ll bet they’ll turn to green when he gets older.”

“Like green eyes, do you?” he smiled down at her.

“Just a bit,” she teased, reaching up to ruffle his hair as she’d just done to Albus.

“I still can’t believe that he’s here,” he said, the past twelve hours a blur in his mind. We have another baby. It all seemed surreal.

“Well, he surprised us- I never thought I’d go into labor three weeks early. James was a week late. Not to mention how fast it was this time. I was afraid we wouldn’t make it home and he’d come out right there in the middle of the sitting room at Shell Cottage,” she chuckled.

“Thank Merlin we made it. You’ve already traumatized poor Craig enough, I think.”

She laughed. “Poor Craig. You know, I told him through my moans that I bet he wouldn’t think of chatting me up now.”

Harry snorted with laughter so hard that he began to cough.

“Alright there, Potter? Don’t wake the baby.”

“I can’t believe you told him that and I missed it.”

“I’m fairly positive you were panicking at that point thinking you’d be the one delivering the baby.”

He paused, recalling for a moment the terror he’d felt when he realized that possibility. “Well, thankfully, Al kindly waited until three minutes after the midwitch arrived to make his arrival.”

“His timing was spot on. And he came early enough in the evening that the boys could come meet him before they went to bed.”

Harry remembered how James leaned over Albus as Teddy held him, the image causing a swell of emotion to overtake him again. He wrapped his arm around Ginny and kissed the top of her head.

“That was brilliant, seeing them all together, wasn’t it?” he said, his voice hoarse.

She stroked his side. “It was.”

The early morning stillness was pierced by a sharp cry. Harry leaned over the bassinet and picked up Albus.

“Shh, it’s alright mate,” he soothed, as the baby brought his small fist to his mouth and cried louder. “I know you’re hungry, we’ll get you set.”

He handed Al to Ginny. After a moment of fussing, Al latched and quieted.

She rested against the headboard, stroking Albus’ feathery dark hair as he nursed. “His hair even sticks up in the back just like yours does,” she grinned.

“You’re convinced.”

“Yes. Predicting who babies will look like is one of my many talents, you know.”

“And what are the rest?” he teased.

She smiled at him, that mischievous grin that always reminded him of George. “Well, it’s quite a long list, of course, but if you insist: naming pets, making you laugh so hard that you snort, taking the mick out of Ron with my devastating wit, giving birth in under a half hour- that’s a new one, oh, and Quidditch, naturally. I can keep going if you like.”

“Of course you could. But you forgot one.”

“I did?” she grinned.

“Yes, getting teenage boys to buy you drinks at the pub.”

She laughed. “Yes, that too. Craig’s got himself a girlfriend by the looks of it though, so I think I’m out of the running now.”

“I saw. Good for Craig, getting himself a girl his own age.”

“Right, you’re team Craig, I forgot.”

He laughed again, then paused. “Actually, I think we owe him a thank you. Teddy wouldn’t stop talking about how much fun he’d had with them. It was kind of them to help us out by watching Ted and Vic.”

“It was. You’d better ask him how to play that game Teddy was going on about.”

He stood up and stretched. “I’ll just go into the study and write a quick note from us. Then I’ll make breakfast and bring it to you, alright?”

“You’re a good husband, you know that?”

He gave her a crooked grin. “Well, I’ve got a very talented wife who I’ve got to make sure is satisfied, now don’t I? Remember, I’ve got to keep up with Craig.”

She laughed as he left the room. He entered the study, took out a quill and parchment, and began to write.

Craig woke to the sound of tapping on the window pane. When he opened his eyes, he saw Cressida curled up next to him under the covers. His lips pressed upward into a smile as the memories of last night flooded his mind. He scooted closer to her and curved his body around hers until his chest pressed against her back. He wrapped his arm around her middle, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. But the tapping grew louder and more insistent.

“Mmmmh,” Cressida stirred as she stretched, her body arching back into his.

He thought he might die from sheer bliss, waking up next to her like this. He leaned down and kissed her shoulder. The tapping continued, louder still.

“Is that an owl?” she asked.

“Dunno, just ignore it,” he said, kissing up onto her neck, eliciting a breathy moan from her. The tapping had now gotten so loud that it reverberated and echoed through the bedroom.

“For fuck’s sake, it’s going to break the window.”

Craig sighed. He stood up and walked to the window. He opened it, and a snowy owl with dark spots hopped onto the sill, a letter tied to its leg.

“Do you recognize the owl?” she asked from the bed.

“No. And if it’s Will or any of my mates doing this to mess with me, I swear I’ll kill them.” The owl held out its leg, and Craig untied the letter. The owl fixed him with a sharp glare and then flew off.

He closed the window and sat down on the bed next to her.

“It’s addressed to Craig and Cressida, but I don’t recognize the handwriting.”

He tore open the letter, expecting it would be some prank from Will to congratulate him for not coming home last night. But, he thought, if it were Will taking the mick, it would probably be a howler that would’ve started shouting by now. He held it out so that he and Cressida could both read it at the same time.

Dear Craig and Cressida,

Thank you both for watching Teddy and Victoire for us last night. Albus Potter was born less than a quarter hour after we arrived home. He and Ginny are doing well, and Teddy and James got to meet him last night.

Craig, Ted wouldn’t stop talking about the game you’d played with them. If you wouldn’t mind writing me on how it’s played whenever you get a moment (Teddy wasn’t much help), I’d greatly appreciate it.

I hope the rest of your evening was less eventful and more enjoyable. Thank you both again for your kindness.

All our best,

Harry and Ginny Potter

Cressida stared at him, her mouth agape. “Craig, you just got a letter from Harry Potter.”

“We both did actually, your name is on it too.”

She laughed. “I can’t believe Harry Potter is asking you for tips on entertaining children. Not to mention I still can’t believe you’d met them before and didn’t tell me until last night.”

He flushed and moved closer to her, putting his lips just below her ear and kissing her. “Well, I’ve got a few secrets here and there. And you know you like a little bit of mystery,” he teased, “being a curse breaker and all.”

She laughed again, but this time it was breathier. “Well, lucky I’ve got you then Craig. You’re always full of surprises.”

He moved to toss the letter to the side so he could roll on top of her, but she grabbed his hand.

“And don’t you dare throw away that letter. I’m framing it.”

He laughed, set the letter to the side, and then set about making sure she had a good morning.

39 notes · View notes

mooneychild · 3 years ago

Text

Who: Remus Lupin

When: January 1st, 1979

Where: Lupin cottage

Tw: Murder, Death

Remus had faced Antonin Dolohov before, but it seemed each time he saw the man he was stronger, grislier, as if every dark curse that surged out of his wand fed straight into him. There was nothing that would have kept Remus from Hogwarts that night, but even he had to admit he was out of practise. Everything that Dolohov threw at him was swift and direct. There was only so long he could survive on dodging and defensive spells and every time he tried to utter the incantation for something that would hold him off for a while, another curse was coming his way. He recognized the incantation from another time Remus faced him and he was too late in shielding himself. He felt an awful slashing sensation, followed by an intensity that could only be described as being burned from the inside out. The edges of his vision clouded, slowly going darker, and then everything was completely black.

---

He didn’t expect to see Harry’s face, much less Sirius, James, and Lily. Then he remembered the resurrection stone. He savored the moment that he had, standing by his three friends again. He knew the moment was much more serious than that, but he also knew he’d never get the chance to stand next to his best friends like this again. James and Lily hadn’t changed and Sirius looked lighter than the last time he had seen him. Remus wondered if he could touch them. He wondered if it would feel like they were truly together if he did.

Suddenly Harry was looking up at him and Merlin if he didn’t look like James when he was frightened, a look that Remus only saw a few times out of James, but rattled him every time. “Your son,” Harry said and Remus nodded solemnly. His son. The reason why he was here at all that night. He regretted that his son would not know them, that he wouldn’t get to see him grow up and go to Hogwarts and make his own memories. He regretted that he would face some of the same challenges Harry did, though hopefully the world he was presented with would make that a little easier. “He’ll know what his parents died for,” he said. He wished he had been able to save Tonks too, but he knew just as well as he knew himself that it was impossible to stay in that house when the final battle was being fought here. “Stay with me,” Harry pleaded and Remus looked around at the faces of his family. He’d stay right here. Forever.

---

Remus woke with a dull ache in his head as he tried to recall what he did the night before to make his dream so vivid. He was no stranger to nightmares, especially as Voldemort’s hold tightened on their world. He and Tonks talked each other down from nightmares quite frequently or they’d awake to an empty half of the bed only to find the other rocking Teddy in his nursery. It was always the same type of dream: losing each other, losing another loved one, Voldemort winning and turning their world into something completely unrecognizable. For Remus, sometimes they were replays of those he already lost. Sometimes they were alive until they weren’t. Some were more real than others while others were cruel exaggerations of what had actually occurred. He’d be holding Sirius until he disappeared to mist beneath his fingertips. Lily and James would fall to the floor at Harry’s birthday party. The whole Order of the Phoenix would disintegrate to dust one by one until Voldemort faced him and handed him a broom.

This one was so real that he could almost swear it happened. His sheets wrapped around his body and the smell of his home were the only thing convincing him he was here and alive, not killed by Antonin Dolohov at some great clash of the two sides at Hogwarts. He took a deep breath before sitting up, looking over to see if Tonks had been woken up by his sudden start.

When he saw the bed was indeed empty he went down the hall to the nursery. His heart dropped when he saw it was empty. His mind jumped to the worst possible thing. That someone had raided the house and taken his wife and son. When the initial panic settled, he recognized that the room was empty because it wasn’t his son’s nursery at all, but the room used for storage in the cottage before he and Tonks turned it into the nursery. There were no painted walls or bassinet, only the boxes with his father’s handwriting that they stacked into the corners.

None of it made sense. “Tonks?” he called, turning around and heading to the kitchen. She had to be there. She had to be sitting at the table reading the paper. He would bend down and kiss her on the cheek and she’d comment on the latest headline. He’d put on a pot of coffee and they’d go through their plans for the week together: when they’d both be out, when they’d need to bring Teddy to her mum’s. Her hair would be a different colour from the night before and he’d compliment how well it suits her or she’d make him laugh with something entirely ridiculous like hawk eyes or a goose’s bill.

The kitchen was empty though and his head hurt from trying to make sense of it all. This had to be the most realistic dream of all time. That or Tonks got scared in the middle of the night and completely uprooted their son and took him to her mum’s never to see Remus again. Maybe it finally settled in. That she married a werewolf and they’d brought a child into this impossible world where he had basically no income and no employment prospects. Maybe she finally came to terms with everything he had been trying to warn her of from the start.

He flung open a cabinet with his hands, having left his wand on the bedside table in the rush. He checked for any sign of Tonks. For the bowls they bought for Teddy or the teapot her mum gave them. The more he looked, the more it seemed that his ridiculous fear had to be true. Tonks had left him in the middle of the night and taken their son with him. He didn’t understand it. Taking their child and their belongings was one thing, but practically erasing their existence from their home was another thing entirely. He looked at the table, trying to see if maybe she’d left a note explaining herself, but the table was bare.

Remus shook his head, then went back into their room, suddenly noticing what he hadn’t noticed after he awoke from his nightmare. The blankets were different. They were ones he used to use before they were married. Ones that had gotten so threadbare he was forced to throw them out. They were there and even if they were worn, they were whole. This was certainly the realest feeling dream he’d ever had.

He went to the loo, hoping that seeing his own reflection would spark something odd in the dream and wake him up for good. He would see Tonks next to him and tell her all about the odd dreams, telling her to remind him not to eat or drink anything he had the night before again. It could be the stress finally getting to him, causing his subconscious to be a very real feeling amalgamation of all the memories he’d lived.

Remus took his wand with him and made his way into the loo, turning the lights on before he approached the sink and stood in front of the mirror. The mirror gave him all the answers, or perhaps it only gave him more questions if this wasn’t a dream after all. If this wasn’t a dream, then how was he living in a house that erased every trace of his family? And how did he have clear memories of a family when the reflection staring back at him was much younger than a body he could remember possessing? It seemed near impossible that he could have dreamed a whole life. A few dreams, sure. But Remus stood in front of the mirror now, with clear visions of years past the face that stared back at him.

He remembered fighting a war alongside his friends and being young and afraid and so sure that what they were doing was right. He remembered the joy of Harry being born. He remembered Sirius slowly pulling away from him and Remus doing the same. Remus remembered finding out about Lily and James’s deaths with no possible way to get to them. He remembered Sirius going to Azkaban and Peter’s death. He remembered the lonely, lonely years not knowing what direction he was heading in. He remembered seeing Harry for the first time without being able to tell him how much he looked like his father. He remembered Sirius and Peter back in his life again. He remembered the uncertainty of another war and new friendships forged through necessity. He remembered getting Sirius back and living what seemed like every year they lost before losing him again. He remembered meeting others like him and having no idea how he could ever help them all. He remembered falling in love and having a child and all the fear and the joy that came with the uncertainty of all. None of these could be dreams because even if he looked like a teenager he felt his love and his joy and his grief and his aching as if he had lived double those years.

Was this what the afterlife was? Was that strange dream he woke from actually how he died and now here he was living as a teenager again? Remus still had no answers, except that this most certainly wasn’t a dream. If it wasn’t a dream then, and he was somehow a teenager again, in whatever reality this might be, then he resolved he needed to go looking for answers. If Remus was a teenager again, then the first question he wanted answered was if Lily and James were here too. He took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for the reality that he might see James and Lily, alive or whatever, once more. And if that was true, then he needed to put on some pants first.

#Remus & never give up on the lost boy life

4 notes · View notes

mfingenius · 5 years ago

Note

If your still doing requests can you do one where something happens to the Gryffindor dorms and the golden trio end up having to stay with the Slytherins? And then they realize they’re not that bad while Harry realizes he has a massive crush on Draco.

Okay babe so I did the dorm thing the other way around bc I couldn’t really see how the ENTIRE Gryffindor dorms would be useless and I did see how it would work with the Slytherin dorms so enjoy :DD

Also this is a no voldemort au I guess

——————————-

“Flooded.” Draco repeats.

“Yes, flooded.” Snape says calmly. “The merepeople are in their mating season, so we have decided it best not to bother them until it is over, in four weeks.”

“Four weeks?” Several students demand. “Where are we supposed to stay?”

“There’s no place big enough to put all of you, so we’ll have to split you up.” Snape says. “First through third years, you’ll be staying with Hufflepuffs. Fourth and fifth years you’ll stay at Ravenclaw tower, and sixth and seventh years you’ll stay with the Gryffindors.”

There are several groans and dissatisfied comments, but no one’s stupid enough to bring them up to Snape directly.

Draco can feel his face heating, and they’re not even there. Fuck, but it had to be the Gryffindors. It could’ve been the Hufflepuffs or the Ravenclaws, Houses where Draco doesn’t have a crush on anyone, but no. Of course it’s the Gryffindors, with Harry Potter and his bloody green eyes and dark hair, who hates Draco. Who Draco doesn’t hate at all.

Honestly, this is going to end with Draco embarrassing himself terribly.

It doesn’t have to be him, he comforts himself lightly. There are a lot of other Gryffindor boys, I probably won’t be in his dorm.

“Four weeks?” Several Gryffindors demand, Ron among them. “We’re supposed to host them for four weeks?”

McGonagall looks over them sternly. “Yes.” The Gryffindors begin to protest, but she continues speaking calmly. “And I expect you all to be on your best behavior. Understood?”

Everyone grumbles their agreement, and Harry groans.

“Wait,” Hermione says, because, of course, she’s the one to think of everything. “Will they be rooming with us?”

A new wave of protests begins even before McGonagall has answered. She pinches the bridge of her nose.

The Gryffindor bedrooms are exactly the same as the Slytherin ones - with the exception that you can see the Black Lake through the Slytherin ones, and these ones are filled with sunlight instead of the murky, filtered sunlight that Draco’s used to - but with three extra beds in each of them, the room’s incredibly cramped.

And of course - of course - Draco not only did get appointed to Potter’s dorm, but he got the bed next to Potter’s. Obviously.

“This is going to be crap.” Blaise says, looking around at the room. The five Gryffindors inside are glaring at them - not that he cares - and Draco sighs. He doesn’t want to be stuck here four weeks. Especially not next to Potter.

“Oh, really?” The Weasel asks, glare narrowing. “Because we were all so excited.”

Draco rolls his eyes and ignores them. He doesn’t know what it is that Blaise hates so much about the Weasel; secretly, he thinks that Blaise has feelings for the git - which Draco thinks is disgusting, because Gryffindors - but he can hardly talk.

He walks over to his bed - Potter is standing next to it, leaning against the poster of his own bed, arms crossed and scowling - and leaves his things in it.

“Nothing to say, Malfoy?” Potter asks with a cocked eyebrow.

Draco lifts an eyebrow back and drawls, “Pointing out everything that is wrong with this isn’t even worth my time, Potter.”

Potter clenches his jaw - and he looks so, so attractive like that, which is part of the reason why Draco enjoys making him angry - and tightens his fists at his sides.

Not angry enough, then, yet, Draco thinks.

The other reason Draco enjoys angering him so much is because Potter gets… physical, in his anger. He grabs the front of Draco’s shirt, or pushes him against the wall, and though Draco will die before he admits to it, it turns him on.

Also it’s entirely too pleasurable to be able to get under Potter’s skin, when no one else seems to be able to.

Potter doesn’t respond, so Draco turns on his heel and walks away.

“Where are you going?” Theo asks as he passes him.

“Anywhere but here,” Draco responds.

Harry doesn’t think about how Malfoy is on the bed next to him. Well, he does, but only because it’s annoying. Of all Slytherins that he could have sleeping at his side, it had to be Malfoy.

He can’t sleep - somehow Malfoy’s fault, Harry’s convinced - and he’s frustrated, Merlin knows why.

He lets out an annoyed groan and opens the drapes to his bed to get some air - it was getting suffocating - and looks around the dark dorm. With the extra beds, there’s barely any room to stand, so he doesn’t.

Most of the drapes are closed - Neville always sleeps with his open, because he’s afraid of the shadows through the drapes - but he can see the shadows in them. He’s contemplating grabbing the map and the cloak and walking around - his dad gave it to him in his third year, and the only teacher Harry hadn’t been able to get past with it had been Remus - when there’s a small sound to his left.

He looks over to Malfoy’s bed, frowning lightly.

He can see Malfoy’s shadow in the bed, and he appears to be asleep, so Harry doesn’t know where the sound came from. He’s half convinced he imagined it when there’s another one, and it’s definitely coming from Malfoy’s bed.

Another few sounds, and Harry realizes they’re words. He leans closer to listen better, wondering if Malfoy is speaking to someone.

“No… ‘s not fair… ‘s shiny…” Harry snorts. Somehow the idea of Malfoy sleep-talking is… not entirely disgusting. He’ll die before he admits that, though. “‘So shiny… mmhmm… huggable.”

Malfoy continues muttering, but it’s nonsense, so Harry leans away. The fact that Malfoy’s mumbling about something that’s huggable and shiny is very weird to Harry. He’d been half-convinced that the prick only dreamt up new insults for him.

And though he will never admit it - never - it’s… adorable.

Harry shudders. He never wants to think of Malfoy and adorable in the same context.

Sharing a common room is more complicated than Draco thought it would be. It’s packed, and though him, Blaise, Theo, and Pansy are sitting near the windows, he feels suffocated.

Pansy’s going on about Granger and her hair - or her eyes, or whatever the fuck it is today - while Draco muses about how three of the four of them have crushes on Gryffindors and how ridiculous it is, considering how much they’re supposed to hate the house.

And don’t get him wrong, Draco still hates the house. He thinks they’re a bunch of bloody morons who have hearts bigger than their brains. They’re reckless, and dense, and pathetically passionate about everything.

He also hates that those are a lot of the things he likes about Harry Potter. He’d given up on his crush going away by fourth year, so by now he’s learned to simply… live with it. He catches sight of Potter in the halls and if his brain goes ‘he looks so good today’ or ‘his eyes’, or simply goes entirely blank, he’s learned to wait it out. When he finally gets it working again he insults Potter badly enough that the git will never figure out Draco has a crush on him.

He thinks.

Malfoy sleep walks.

It’s a terrifying discovery when Harry’s in the middle of sneaking out of the dorm to go for a fly and he’s suddenly faced with Draco Malfoy walking towards the common room.

Because the Gryffindor dorms are not the same as the Slytherin dorms, instead of walking towards the door, Malfoy walks straight into the wall. Harry winces in sympathy at the loud sound.

Though he hadn’t gone far the first few nights, sleeping-Malfoy has evidently gotten better at it, because he doesn’t walk into the wall this time. Harry knows that - logically - he should let it be. He doesn’t care where Malfoy goes. If the git ends up falling down the stairs because he thinks he has to go up them, Harry doesn’t mind.

Hogwarts has a lot of stairs, he thinks, chewing on his lower lip.

Fuck, but he already knows what he’s going to do.

Grabbing the cloak and cursing colorfully, he slips out the door and follows Malfoy. He manages to get out of the common room without hurting himself, but when they’re outside, he takes a wrong turn and nearly falls down the stairs.

Harry casts a levitating charm just in time - he’s not going to touch Malfoy because he doesn’t want to wake him - and the prick regains his footing, seemingly okay with the fact that he’s going down the stairs when he meant to go up them.

Harry follows him throughout the castle - he has to intervene and turn Malfoy around, levitate him, or outright grab the collar of his shirt to keep him from falling down or knocking into walls - and soon enough he finds himself in the seventh floor corridor. He doesn’t know where Malfoy thinks he’s going - he was muttering a lot about cruppies and warm - but the door he opens happens to be the one to the room of requirement.

When he walks in, the place has a few sofas, a fireplace, and books. A lot of books.

Bloody nerd, he thinks, rolling his eyes fondly.

Malfoy sits on the couch and snuggles into the cushions. It’s…

Not adorable, Harry thinks firmly. Not again.

Malfoy begins muttering about grades and papers that are due - Harry half wonders if Hermione does that - and Harry sighs and sits on the other sofa, settling in for whenever the blond git decides to go back to their room.

It becomes a routine. Harry sleeps lightly, and any sound that alerts him that Malfoy has gotten up wakes him up. He follows the git to the room of requirement again, then to the library, even to the astronomy tower - Malfoy, even asleep, looks confused when he sits down and there’s nothing - evidently not the room he’d meant to end up in - and after he falls on his arse and merely sighs and gets up again, Harry realizes that he’s a deep sleeper. A very deep sleeper.

Harry - because he doesn’t have the time to wait around for when Malfoy decides to go back to their room, and sometimes Malfoy doesn’t even do that, merely falls asleep soundly wherever they are - has taken to carrying Malfoy back to their dorm.

He doesn’t know why, but when he’s holding Malfoy close to his chest and he’s muttering about assorted sweets, face slack and sweet, Harry feels… content.

Giddy, even.

It needs to stop.

Of course, Malfoy hasn’t become less of a git when he’s awake, but Harry… doesn’t quite mind it now. It seems impossible to take Malfoy’s insults seriously when Harry’s heard him babble about how much he loves potatoes in his sleep.

So, instead of insulting him back, Harry has passed on to complimenting him.

It makes Malfoy turn red, and Harry doesn’t want to think about why that’s the most satisfying reaction he’s ever gotten out of Malfoy.

Of course, when he discovers that calling Malfoy sweetheart literally turns him scarlet, he begins calling Malfoy that every day.

Both Ron and Hermione seem very confused as to what’s going on.

Harry is, too, if he’s honest, but he’s rolling with it.

“You’re being weird.” Draco snaps outright at Potter.

Potter only raises an eyebrow calmly, not bothering to look up from the book he’s reading.

“Am I, sweetheart?” he asks.

The common room is emtpy - it’s Friday afternoon, and everyone’s watching the Quidditch match - except for them.

“Yes,” Draco huffs. “So cut it out.”

“Cut what out?” Potter asks. He looks up for a moment, and then back down at his book. “You have nice eyes.”

Draco’s entire face burns. “That!” He snaps, ignoring his blush. “Complimenting me. Calling me sweetheart.”

“No?” Potter asks. “Would you prefer love? Darling?”

Draco would very much enjoy to be called that. By Potter, specifically.

“No!” He says anyways.

“I like that it makes you blush.” Harry says.

Draco’s face gets hotter, and he splutters for a second. “I - you - I - no.”

“Yes,” Potter affirms.

“No!” Draco says. “I mean no! That’s not what we do!”

“What do we do again?” Potter finally looks up from his book and at Draco, and Draco’s satisfied for a moment, until Potter stands up. He’s not taller than Draco, but he’s broader around the shoulders, and the way he’s staring at him… it makes Draco feel odd. “Argue? Throw insults? I’m finding this to be way more fun, sweetheart.”

And then he presses a kiss to Draco’s nose and leaves.

A kiss.

To Draco’s nose.

And leaves.

Draco collapses on the couch.

That night, Harry’s woken because someone draws the drapes of his bed back. He’s about to say something when he realizes it’s Malfoy, and that he’s asleep.

Malfoy crawls into his bed and snuggles close to Harry - Harry freezes, because as much as the flirting was fun when it flustered Malfoy, this is… actually not entirely uncomfortable, he realizes.

It feels nice.

He wraps an arm hesitantly around Malfoy - Malfoy lets out a very attractive, satified moan - and Harry groans and slaps a hand to his forehead.

Fuck, he thinks. I like him now, don’t I?

This was a bad idea.

————————————–

Send me a Request :D

If you enjoyed this, please consider buying me a kofi

Masterlist: [1] [2]

Commissions

#drarry #fanfic #mine #i wrote this instead of doing homework

2K notes · View notes

arrow-guy · 4 years ago

Text

Author and Auror (5/??)

Synopsis: Eleanore Vaughan has never been one for the spotlight. Her cousin, Rosaline, is the one best suited to the limelight, and is happier for the attention. Though Nora is most comfortable tucked away in her book shop, what happens when Grindelwald’s sudden takeover flips her world upside-down and thrusts her into the inner circle?

A/N: Back again with another installment in my collaborative work with @thorne93. For anyone who’s keeping up with both fics, please note that I am severely behind of where Thorne is with her half, but I’ll catch up eventuaTime for a date? Question mark? Who know’s what it is (I do, I know what it is, because I wrote it.) Regardless, time for almost drunk adventures with Theseus and Nora, please enjoy!

Previously, with Rosaline…

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong

Pairing: Theseus ScamanderxOFC

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: None

Part 4

“We’ve reached a deal with the American Ministry to allow us to take on Ms. Goldstein as a liaison.”

“Really? That’s wonderful!”

“She’ll be housed by the Ministry from now on, so your parents will be freed up a bit.”

“Does this mean the Aurors are able to begin working on the Grindelwald case? Actually looking for Rosaline instead of badgering Newt and I for information?”

“Thankfully, yes.” Theseus sighs and combs a hand through his hair. “We’ve made enough progress that the department head finally took the issue seriously.”

“Well it’s not as if he’s been a particularly huge fan of anything that Dumbledore gets himself tangled up in. I’m not surprised he’d put off this investigation for as long as possible.”

Theseus snorts. “He’s a stubborn man.”

“Mmm, that he is.” I watch as he scratches a few notes into the margin of the file he’s working on. “You should come to pub night.”

“You want me to do what?”

“Come on, Theseus, it’s our monthly pub night. Come with us!”

“I’m not drinking with James and Tessa,” he says. “They’re practically children!”

“I never said you had to drink with them. They invite their friends and they have a nice time on their own.” I lean on his desk. “You’ve been working really hard. You deserve a break.”

“I don’t know…”

“Fine,” I sigh loudly. “This is a thinly veiled attempt to ask you to get a drink with me. You caught me.”

I watch as a smile slowly shapes his lips and he finally looks away from his work. “Ms. Vaughan, are you flirting with me?”

I smile and tilt my head to the side. “Guess you’ll have to come to pub night and find out.”

“Aw, come on!”

I push off his desk and head for the door. “Ten tonight, Theseus,” I call over my shoulder. “Don’t be late.”

“What pub?” he calls back.

“The one three doors down from my store. Don’t. Be. Late.”

“You actually invited the Head Auror out for a drink?!” James asks. “Who are you?”

“Your boss.”

He nods. “Very true.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

“You think he’ll actually show?”

I shrug. “He might. If he doesn’t I’ll head home early. No harm done.”

Samuel knocks twice on the bar in front of me. “Looks like you’ll have to stick around a while yet.”

I look up at the bartender, confused. “What?”

He gestures to the door. “Your boy just walked in.”

Theseus stands just to the side of the doorway, next to the coat rack, scanning the late Friday night crowd. I lift one hand and wave to him and when his eyes settle on me, he smiles and his shoulders relax. He carefully picks his way through the throng of people and meets me at the bar.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.”

He shrugs. “I was held up at the office.” He tilts his head to the side. “You changed.”

“Oh, yeah,” I kick at a loose nail sticking out of the floor and the flowy leg of my dark maroon slacks swishes. “I was working on that book I’ve been writing and knocked over the ink pot. Couldn’t really go out with a huge ink splotch on my trousers, could I?”

“You look nice,” he says. My face heats. “It’s a good color on you.”

“Glad you think so.” I gesture to the bartender. “What’s your poison?”

James snorts beside me and I shove him away. He muffles his laughter and wanders off in search of Tessa and their friends. Theseus smiles and orders firewhiskey. We take our drinks to an open booth and Theseus sinks into the soft leather of the bench seat.

“You know, I haven’t been out like this in probably five years.”

“You were in a relationship.”

“Yeah, but I still could have gone out for pub night.”

“With your subordinates?”

“You do it!”

“Tessa and James aren’t my subordinates. They’re my employees. It’s different.”

“How?”

“They’re basically family. How many of your Aurors could you say that about? Sure, you’ve got each other’s backs, but are they truly your family?”

He scowls. “Bloody Ravenclaw.”

“That’s not an answer, Theseus.”

“You always want answers, don’t you?”

“I’m a poor mix of Ravenclaw and Head Auror’s best friend. It’s in my nature.” I watch as he sips his drink. “You don’t have to actually answer.”

“No, it’s fine.” He shakes his head. “I never thought of it like that before.”

“You don’t have to. I overstepped.” I chew at the inside of my cheek. “I’m projecting. It’s not fair to you, especially after the month you’ve had.”

“You’ve been holding everyone together since Paris,” he says softly. “I’m surprised you’ve fared this well.”

“Someone has to take care of you idiots,” I mumble and fold my arms on the table.

Theseus reaches across and grabs one of my hands and squeezes gently. “Maybe you should take your own advice then, hm?”

“And what advice is that?”

“Let someone else take care of you for a change, Nora.”

I laugh. “Yeah, maybe.” I rest my chin on my forearm. “You think we could start over? Just have a few drinks and talk about work? Forget about everything else that’s happening for a bit?”

He nods. “Sounds doable.”

I grin. “Fantastic.”

“I don’t remember you being such a lightweight,” I laugh as Theseus slings an arm around my shoulders.

“I wasn’t!” he insists. “I just have-haven’t had much to drink recently.” “Sounds like you should have watched what you were drinking instead.”

He hums. “Yeah, maybe. You still seeing that bloke from down the street?”

“Robert?” I shake my head. “No, I proved to be too much of a challenge for him halfway through dinner and he excused himself.” “Halfway?” I nod and he whistles. “Weak. Men are weak.”

“You’re a man, Theseus.”

“Was I saying I’m exempt?”

I laugh. “He wasn’t as nice as I hoped he’d be. It’s fine.”

“You deserve someone so much better than that tosser.”

“I appreciate that.”

He pulls me firmly against his side when he stumbles slightly and I do my best to right him.

“I didn’t mean to drink so much.”

“Then why did you?”

Theseus laughs and leans heavily on my shoulder. “I don’t know. Liquid courage? Being around you makes me nervous sometimes.”

“Wait, what?” My arm around his middle tightens and he chuckles to himself, pressing one fist to his mouth. “Why on earth would you be nervous around me?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs and I lurch forward under his weight. “Where are we going?”

“Back to mine. You’re too drunk to apparate. You can spend the night.”

“I don’t want to impose,” he slurs out.

“Theseus, you’re completely pissed, and I’m tipsy. There’s no way I’d be able to safely get you back to your place myself.”

“Alright.” He nods in quick jerky motions. “Why are you so nice to me?”

“Because you’re my friend and I care a great deal about you.”

He falls silent and allows me to walk him back to my home. Halfway there it begins to rain. Theseus casts an umbrella charm that only half works and we’re nearly soaked by the time we’re twenty feet from my stoop.

Theseus seems to have sobered up some and has stopped leaning on me and instead leans on a lamppost. He tilts his head towards the sky and let’s the rain slick his hair back. I shove my hands in my pockets and watch.

“I remember the last time you got caught in the rain,” I murmur. “Something changed that night. Between us, at least.”

He sighs and nods. “The last person who had treated me like that had been either Leta or Newt.”

“Like what?”

“Like you cared.” He finally opens his eyes and holds out a hand to me. “You… I’m not sure. You’ve always been here. And I’ve been too daft to understand what that meant. My head still gets a little fuzzy when I think about it too long.”

He pulls me closer when I take his hand. “We’ll get sick if we stay out here much longer. We should go inside.”

He tilts his head to the side. “May I kiss you, Nora?”

“You want to?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“And is this something you’ve thought about outside of being drunk?” He frowns. “I only ask because I don’t want to… to get my hopes up and then have you waking up in the morning and changing your mind.”

“What? Why would I change my mind?”

“You watched your fiance die, Theseus. I don’t want to be her replacement. I don’t think I could handle it. And how am I supposed to be sure that you’re ready to move on?”

“Merlin, Nora.” He places a hand on either side of my face. “You could never replace anyone. You are so bloody special. Shit, I swear you’re the only one who’s made me feel anything in two months.”

“You never curse,” I squeak.

“Is that all you got from that?!” His head falls back against the lamppost with a soft thud.

“I don’t-fuck, Theseus, I don’t know!” I pull his hands away from my face and wrap my arms around myself. “It’s freezing out here and we’re both soaked. Can we please go inside and talk about this when we’re sober?”

He stares at me for a moment before he nods and pushes off the post. He reaches out and takes my hand. I’m surprised by it’s warmth and unintentionally hold on tighter. Once we’re inside, Theseus heads to the guest room and I watch as he closes the door behind him. I pull a towel from the linen closet and close myself in my room.

As soon as the door is closed, I strip down and towel off as best I can. I wrap my hair up in the towel and dress in flannel pajamas. I sit on my bed and pull open the drawer of my bedside table. A phial of sobering potion sits nestled between pepper up, wide eye, and my emergency wiggenweld. I pluck the sobering potion from among it’s friends and place it in my pocket. I wring as much water from my hair as I can and comb through it before sliding my feet into a pair of slippers and heading downstairs. I start a fire in the hearth and move on to make a pot of tea.

Theseus enters the kitchen as I’m pouring a dose of sobering potion into each tea cup. I hand one to Theseus and sit down at the table. I drink my tea quickly and rest my head against the edge of the table. I wait till Theseus has set his teacup down to look up again. He sits across the table, regarding me calmly.

“I think that got a little out of hand,” I say softly.

“So me telling you how I feel is out of hand?”

I shake my head. “That’s not what I mean at all.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I care about you so much, Theseus. But the last thing I expected you to do tonight was ask to kiss me. Hell, I never expected you’d ever want anything more than a hug from me.”

“I figured you’d prefer that I ask to kiss you rather than just doing it.”

“I don’t understand why you’d want to in the first place.”

“Because you’re you,” he says. “You’re the one who took me in and made sure I took care of myself. Or even left the house, for that matter. You’re the one who made me go back to work and realize that I have people who care about me. All of the time that I have spent with you since we came back from Paris…” he shakes his head. “You are the first person I think of when I wake up in the morning. Somehow, I think it’s the same for you.”

I bite the inside of my cheek and nod. “It is.”

“Then what was that out in the street?”

I swallow thickly. “I don’t kiss drunk men.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Is that it?”

My shoulders sag. “You scare the shit out of me and you have since day one. If all you wanted from me was one night, there’s no way I would go through with it. I don’t want… You’re my best friend-”

“Newt is your best friend.”

“You’re one of my best friends. If our relationship changes, I don’t want it to be because of a mistake.”

“If I wanted a mistake, I wouldn’t have spent the night with you.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Eleanore, you are much more important to me than a one night stand.”

“So… two nights, then?”

“Three, actually. Maybe four, but then I’d have to cut all ties. Can’t let feelings get involved, now can we?”

I laugh. “Obviously not.”

I watch as he slowly gets up from the table. My smile slips away as he pulls me to my feet and dips his head so he can look me in the eyes.

“I never, ever want to hurt you, Nora. Never. I just want to be near you. And if you feel for me as I do for you, I’m going to keep asking to kiss you till you let me.”

“Promise?”

He nods. “I promise.”

“Thank you.”

He smiles and pulls me into a tight hug. I press my nose to his chest and hug him back. He kisses to the top of my head.

“Am I still allowed to stay the night?”

“Of course.” I feel a hum rumble through his chest and I hug him tighter.

Theseus catches me as I leave my room the next day. He smiles warmly and leans on the guest room door frame. He’s already dressed in his suit from the night before.

“Good morning,” he says.

I scrub my hands over my face and try to smooth down my hair. I breathe deeply before responding.

“How do you look like that after drinking like you did last night?” I shake my head. “It’s like you’re not human.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“You look like a normal, operational, handsome person. I just look like rubbish in the mornings.”

He frowns. “I don’t think you’ve got that quite right. I feel rather lucky to be able to see you before you’ve fully woken up.”

I scowl at him. “Don’t lie to me, Theseus.”

He moves across the hallway and leans on my bedroom doorway. “Is there any way I can prove to you I’m not lying to you?”

“No.”

He laughs and pulls me into a hug. “I’ll have to work on that. I’ve been called into work. There’s new information about our case.”

I frown. “Alright. I’ll be at Newts tonight, if you need me.”

“I’ll try to visit if I can get away.”

“Be careful.”

He smiles. “You know I will.”

I press a quick kiss to his cheek before he slips his jacket on. He glides down the stairs and pauses at the door to wave to me. The door closes and I sigh before going back into my room to get ready for the day.

----------

Part 6

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, please reblog, comment, and/or shoot me ask! Feedback would be greatly appreciated!

#theseus scamanderxreader #readerxtheseus scamander #theseus scamander x reader #reader x theseus scamander #theseus scamander #newt scamander

22 notes · View notes

lesserfandomappreciation · 4 years ago

Note

Red shoes and the seven dwarfs cuddling headcanons for all the f7 dwarf and human forms

Yay more Red Shoes and the 7 Dwarfs! I have already done Arthur and Jack here: https://lesserfandomappreciation.tumblr.com/post/626983721767223296/so-i-heard-you-took-red-shoes-the-seven-dwarfs

Now onto the rest! Warning: Very long post

Cuddling with the F7

All:

The majority of them are varying levels of touch starved, due to past/curse/circumstances.

Merlin

Both

Unsure when it comes to affection. Unlike a good chunk of the F7, Merlin is arguably the only one who did not seek it out during the movie. In every case, it was Red Shoes who initiated contact. I’d argue based on the evidence that Merlin is picky about affection, being much more private about that.

Most cuddling will happened behind closed doors as a result. If he’s going to get cuddled, he wants his partner’s full attention without having to share it with anyone else.

Secretly adores the attention, he just likes to be a drama prince.

As a dwarf

In this form he’s not a very big fan of cuddling, particularly towards the start of getting his curse. It’s not a form he’s comfortable in, and the fact he can so easily be held doesn’t sit right with him.

In private however (and with some time to adjust to the curse/someone he trusts), Merlin is the type to plop down next to them to demand some attention from time to time. Loudly sighing, fidgeting, trying to get the other person to ask if they want to cuddle.

Once past the dramatics, Merlin does like to be held. His size actually acts as a boon in this as he can lay down on top of the person and be held comfortably, or be cuddled into their side with little issue.

Once comfortable in a relationship, his theatrics to get cuddles get more obvious. It’s a game between them, though his partner has only succeeded in getting him to admit it a few times.

As a human

There is more variety in this form in terms of affection since this is the form he prefers. Shallow confidence leads him to be more assured in what he’s doing, though he is still very private about cuddling, and still prefers for his partner to initiate. He does get somewhat better about initiating first.

It’s when he’s sleepy that he actually makes a move to start. Imagine for a moment - his partner is working late into the night, or has of yet to come to bed. Suddenly there’s a pair of arms around their shoulders or waist and a very tired voice by their ear asking for them to go to bed. Merlin leaning his head against their shoulder or on their head as he does everything he can to get them to go to bed. Theatrics still there.

Has days where he could spend hours in a hold, relaxing with his partner as they read or work on things. Has days where it’s going to only be for a little bit. It fluctuates.

Still likes being held, though prefers side by side these days.

Hans

Both

Hans is similar to Jack and Merlin when it comes to this, though in different ways. Like Jack, he does actively look for it, but like Merlin, is picky about it. What this means is that in order for him to do this it has to be with a person he’s really close with. Once he is close to that person, he will be happy to initiate even at the oddest times. Picky about the person, but then actively happy with the activity.

Starts getting fidgety after a while. The only time he really stays in a cuddle for a while is if he’s asleep and even then, more often than not, he will move a lot.

Do not let him bring food into cuddle time. It sounds good, but the crumbs get every where and that drives him nuts.

As a dwarf

He was very unsure about cuddling in this form at first. Beyond him being picky about who gets to, there’s also the concern that he’s not the most comfortable person to cuddle with. He’s small, his proportions are all over; he’s worried his partner will not enjoy it.

Someone cuddle him anyway. He needs to know that his partner does not mind this, and his insecurities are not factually based.

Prefers loose cuddles to tight ones. As previously mentioned, he’s a fidgety person and after a while he needs to move. Hans is used to almost always be doing something, be it cooking or keeping the F7 in line (Team mom), so after a while he needs to move. Any hold where he can’t escape from he’s not a fan of.

He can however be lulled into cuddling longer. Trace patterns over him, play with his hair, speak in low whispers and the man is a goner. Goodness knows he needs the nap anyway.

As a human

Ranks only second to Arthur in terms of how comfy he is to cuddle with. He’s a furnace, soft as heck, and gives some of the best hugs out there. His partner would be fortunate in that once they’re together, the cuddles will be constant throughout the day, even if he does fidget out of them from time-to-time.

Is a fan of the sneak cuddle. He doesn’t look like it, but there’s a side of mischief to the Team Mom. If his partner is busy, he’ll sneak behind them and drag them into affection. It happens when they least expect, and almost always devolves into a giggly mess.

Same thing if they sneak onto him. He’s baking, they get their arms around him and suddenly the kitchen is filled with laughter and soft affection.

Will casually be affectionate with s/o around the F7. not as over the top as Jack, but definitely still there. He knows these guys, and is comfortable enough to show this part of his life with them.

Pino

Both

I headcanon Pino as the eldest of the triplets, and the most “responsible”. He’s the leader of the group, the group manager of a lot of their projects to keep them on task. Getting him to settle down long enough for a cuddle during the day is impossible. Night time is a different story.

Cuddling is a guaranteed way for this man to sleep. It’s the one time of the day where he’s not working on a project, brainstorming with his brothers, helping out the F7 or worrying about deadlines (why he chooses to make deadlines for projects that they came up with is a mystery). All it takes is a warm hold, sweet affections and he’s out.

As a dwarf

It’s notable that canonically the triplets are the only ones who aren’t shown actively seeking out love interests. They are still dwarves by the time some of their teammates have 4-6 year old kids. It can be assumed they’re not all that uncomfortable with their dwarf forms. In fact, they like it! Being that small lets them work on very small details and has proven handy in the past.

Pino, as a result, has no insecurities or hang-ups about cuddling with anyone he knows/trusts. Knowing the triplets they probably cuddled as a family a lot.

There’s no such thing as a bad cuddling position. Back-to-back, side-by-side, nose-to-nose, spooning, hand-holding - all of them are very much lovely, and all of them will lead to him dozing off.

As a human

More likely the result of he and his partner falling asleep than him actually successfully breaking the curse since, as stated above, he seems to really like being a dwarf.

Positions are pretty much the same as they were when he was a dwarf, as its the result of whatever position he fell asleep in. The man falls like a log every night and cannot be awoken by anything short of either painfully sweet gestures or an explosion from the lab.

Has the very bad habit of forgetting that he’s not as light as he was during the curse. Has crushed his partner before, and it’s taken every ounce of upper-body strength they have to remove the sleeping beanpole on top of them before he destroys them in his sleep.

Noki

Both

Noki is a ball of energy. Nothing, not even a blizzard, can keep his energy down. None of the F7 are as bouncy as he is, though his brothers come extraordinarily close. If it wasn’t for Pino, he’d work for days before falling asleep in the weirdest spot. So for cuddling, good luck.

Less sleepy time cuddles, more “wanna hear about this cool thing” cuddles. Cuddling time is a time to work and talk with s/o, catching up on each other’s days and rambling about the latest project. May eventually fall asleep if s/o keeps him cuddled in the bed away from the lab.

Will wake up in the middle of the night to write down an idea before going back to cuddling.

As a dwarf

How a man so small can be so hard to get a hold on, no one is sure. Hans fidgets out of concern that he should be doing something. Noki is a body motion that will stay in motion, be it working on something, reaching for a writing utensil, excitedly gesturing with hands what happened that day. Cuddles for sure are very fun with this one!

Like to be in s/o lap while they’re doing something and he’s working on something, or being on top of them as they lay down and talk about the day/read.

Has 0 shame about cuddles. In fact s/o will have to be the one to tell him “no” a few times because even though they want to cuddle, and even though it would be much better than paying attention to the situation they’re in, you can’t cuddle in the middle of a ballroom in the middle of an event, Noki.

He will try his best to convince them otherwise of that though.

As a human

Before breaking the curse, it’s more like Pino’s situation. They fell asleep and whatever position they were in is the position they are in now.

After though is where things get interesting. He forgot how much he weighs, how tall he is and how strong he is. S/o was nearly crushed the first time Noki went in for a cuddle, forgetting just how much he had grown from dwarf to human.

Now that he has long limbs again, he uses them to entrap s/o into cuddle time. He will still move a lot after a while, but it is nice to be the one in his lap , back to chest as he holds them close. It makes it harder to escape the cuddles though when he falls asleep and dang it Noki there’s places to be!

Once accidentally elbowed S/o because he forgot how long his arm was now, and apologized for ages about it. Didn’t cuddle again until S/o told him it was okay to and even then he was very careful about it for a while.

Kio

Both

Baby. Sweet boi. Shy darling.

Kio is the youngest by seconds and somehow that has resulted in him being quieter than his brothers. He’s usually the last to chime in whenever they say anything, preferring to take their lead. He’s a shy, big-brained goober who can be a little unsure about a few things. Cuddling with a partner is new to him.

Always asks if its okay if they could cuddle. It’s impossible to tell him no because the look on his face is so guilt-inducing.

As a dwarf

Another one comfortable with this form. But he’s not worried about his comfort, he’s worried about his s/o’s. Anxiety gets in the way a lot. Are they comfortable? Is his hat in the way? Sure he’s small but it can’t be fun having a small weight here right? Are they tired of cuddling already? It takes a serious heart-to-heart between them for him to lighten up about this, but he eventually reduces this to occasionally checking in to make sure it’s still okay.

A quieter cuddler. Likes to listen, or read, or be doing something quietly while they’re together. From time to time, they’ll just lay together and enjoy sweet silence away from the craziness for a bit.

Kio is flexible in terms of position, but he has two caveats he just can’t let go of. 1) He prefers to see their face to know what they’re feeling and 2) he wants to hold their hand. Doesn’t matter the position, they are holding hands. In quieter moments he likes to compare the differences and similarities in their hands.

As a human

Legit never expected to turn back to human. He was pretty happy being a dwarf and wasn’t actively looking for anything, and yet here he was, back to normal as if the fates had allowed for this.

The insecurities from the past rear up again as he wonders if his s/o is still going to like cuddling with him. After all, his body has undergone a massive change. He’s not as small or easily held as before. What if they don’t like the change? What if they don’t want to anymore? Communication saves the day again though. Along with experimentation - it’s very different hugging a beanpole than a dwarf, there’s going to be trial and error.

One thing that hasn’t changed is his need to hold hands. The new differences to be seen are fascinating to him, and even when they’re talking he’ll play with their hands.

41 notes · View notes

miyamorana · 4 years ago

Text

First Lines

Stolen from @katvonbirb

Rules are: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.

—

Tinsel and Mistletoe (VLD)

The sun is peeking through the curtains, the single ray of pale morning light landing right on his eyelid. Lance grabs the edge of his bedsheet and drags it over his face, smothering the light and silently cursing his past self for not properly drawing the curtains shut.

There Be Dragons (HP)

Harry and his godfathers move to London just after his 11th birthday. Sirius’ estranged mother passed away, and he inherited his childhood house.

Finally Free (JatP)

They’re arguing about the harmonies of their newest song when Flynn pushes open the door and announces that Julie and her need to talk about outfits.

“We don’t even have our next gig yet,” Luke replies. “We should finish working out this bridge before talking about costumes.”

Something Cosmic (RNM)

Guerin is… No, not Guerin, Alex admonishes himself. Michael. Michael is waiting for him by the car, leaning against it in a very cowboy posture, thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. He seems relaxed, but the way he quickly licks his bottom lip as he looks at Alex betrays his nerves. Alex smiles softly, pushing down his own nerves knotting his throat.

In the Morning (RNM)

Michael wakes up to a thundering headache, which isn’t fair. He didn’t even have anything to drink – he’s not stupid, he knows his metabolism doesn’t handle alcohol well. He does remember the taste of punch on his lips though. No. Not on his lips.

Rush (TW)

The snow creeks under Stiles’ feet, a soft, muffled sound in the stillness of the night. Everything is soft in the park. Muted, somehow, even though he can see in details he wouldn’t have been able to make out in daylight before.

Recommencement (Merlin)

Arthur déplaça la bougie afin de pouvoir lire le nom de la petite ville à l’orée de la forêt, faisant attention de ne pas faire couler de cire sur la carte. Il n’était pas sûr de quand la nuit était tombée exactement, mais les lampes avaient été allumées et une assiette de nourriture, toujours pleine et désormais froide, avait été posée à côté de lui.

Of Magic and Duty (LoL)

Sometimes, Darius wonders how long Zaun is going to last before some experiment accidentally turns its already heavily polluted atmosphere completely toxic, or maybe simply makes the whole place explode. He just hopes it doesn’t happen while he’s there. That would be a very disappointing way to die.

In Earth’s Cradle (DA2)

Fenris moves through the battle, Fade-stepping to get faster, to dodge attacks and projectiles. One second he’s not-quite-there, and the enemy sword is ripping through air, the next he’s material again, his fist becoming solid inside the soldier’s chest, flesh and bone ripping to make space for him.

He’ll Bite (CA)

Sam’s the one who finds Bucky, or maybe Bucky finds Sam, neither mentioned much about how it happened but now Bucky’s sitting in Sam’s kitchen, hands wrapped around a warm cup of coffee, and Steve doesn’t know what to say.

Sugar and Spice (Angel)

Wolfram & Hart is no more, and Angel Investigations moved back into the Hyperion hotel. Spike tagged along, because really he has no other place to go to, and he did help save the world after all. (“Twice!” he would insist on pointing out.)

It Must Be (BtVS)

“You cannot tell anyone,” Anya hears as she walks past the door to Dawn’s room.

She stops, carefully tiptoes towards said door and presses her ear against the wooden panel. What is Dawn up to this time? With the First after them, they really don’t have time for more of Dawn’s teenage crisis. She thought they were past this.

Derrière la Porte (TW)

Pourquoi est-ce que personne ne lui avait dit que les études universitaires, c’est dur? Stiles se masse le front dans l’ascenseur, essayant de faire disparaître le début de mal de tête qu’il sent déjà poindre. Il est tard, plus tard que l’heure à laquelle il rentre d’habitude, et son portable n’a plus de batterie, aussi espère-t-il que Derek ne se soit pas trop inquiété.

Sleepless (DA2)

Fenris first notices it after they kill the dragon at the Bone Pit. Well, the new one. Hawke has a claw stuck through her arm, and though she says it’s fine he insists on dragging her to the clinic, even if he has to break the door and shake Anders awake. There is no door-breaking or shaking required, because even though it’s so late some might call it early Anders is up, working, organising the potions on his shelves and listing the things he’ll need to procure soon.

Dearest Laura (TW)

Dearest Laura,

I've been staring at these two words for the last ten minutes, wondering how to start this, but I'm not even sure why I sat down with paper and pen in the first place. Maybe I'm feeling lonely, now that Derek and uncle Peter are gone. Maybe I'm feeling guilty... guilty of so many things, none the least what happened all those years ago.

Cyberwolf (TW)

There are many ways to cheat death if you have the knowledge and the resources, Peter had once said in one of his weird speeches in which he gives you disturbing information you didn’t want, and none of the information you actually need. They were probably discussing the subject of Lydia’s nature, and wondering how Peter had been able to use that to come back from the dead, which still made absolutely zero sense to Stiles. But the words had stuck in his mind, burrowed deep, and started growing into questions and ideas.

Respite (TW)

Derek’s eyes open as he gasps for breath, panicking. For a second, he doesn’t remember where he is. For a second, he can still feel the arms of his nightmare holding him up, can still feel his claws sinking into Boyd’s chest, Boyd’s energy seep out of him and into Derek.

In Wolf Skin (TW)

“No,” Stiles says, pointing a finger at the teenager in front of him. “No no no! You give it back right now!”

New Spark (TW)

Isaac is sitting on Scott’s bed, shuffling through the songs on Scott’s ipod, trying to find one he can actually focus on. There’s no use, he can’t help himself, his ears stay tuned to the sound of Scott and his mom’s conversation downstairs.

Burning Embers (TW)

Peter looks down at Cora’s face, trying to match the features of the teenager in front of him with his memories of the eleven-year-old kid he last saw half-an-hour before the fire. Her presence here makes no sense. She must have been in her bedroom, doing homework, when the house burst into flames.

—

Firstly, it is sad that I had to go back all the way to 2013 for my last 20 fics. I really need to write more. T_T

As for a pattern, idk, I don’t really see one? Sometimes I drop the reader in the middle of things, sometimes I set up a scene with descriptions, sometimes I go into a character’s head... Do you see a pattern in my fic openings?

My favorite of these is a toss up between In Wolf Skin and Tinsel and Mistletoe, I think, even though they are very very different.

I’m “tagging” anyone who feels like doing this?

#writing #fandom #fanfics #long post #meme

2 notes · View notes