#Fairestoftherare | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

notsissannis · 6 years ago

Text

—I’ve Been On My Knees for A Minute

Marcus Flint x Hermione Granger

One-shot: complete

Rated: General

World: Post-Hogwarts

Read on [AO3][FFN]

“You gotta be shitting me,” he muttered, halting his walk when he saw the back of the ever growing big hair, turning to the same corner as him. He slowed his pace, fully intending to have a bit—large—distance between them. He didn’t fancy meeting anyone here; especially today.

“Okay,” he told himself when her hair was out of his sight, “let’s hope she doesn’t go to that building.”

But of course, she had to go to that building. Of all the buildings in the world, it had to be the one building he wanted to go. His hand itched to pull the crazy hair off her head, turning it into a fucking curly lasso to throw her out with, and then screamed: ‘There! Go to that building! Ravage it! Fucking piss on it! Own it! Leave this one for me!’

He lingered at the entrance as his eyes followed her movement. Once she stopped by the receptionist counter, he started to run for the lift and grinned stupidly, satisfied, when his lift filled up nicely.

Merlin, yes! Pack this bloody thing up, my peasants. We don’t want Medusa incarnation to join us, do we?

But, who was he kidding? He was not in the Wizarding World. There was no Merlin here. So of course, his prayer was denied by those Muggles’ deities. He saw her hand shot up, asking for his people to let her in.

Cheesus, if you’re listening up there, please, make her hair stuck in someone’s armpit so she won’t make it here. Please, Cheesus!

“Thank you!” She said to the first Muggle that he would Avada later for holding the door open for her.

“You’re welcome. Did you hear about the hurricane? Jesus, it was crazy,” the dead man started a conversation.

Embarrassingly, he realised that His name was, in fact, Jesus. Not Cheesus.

“Terrible news,” she said, pressing a floor button that he couldn’t see from his stand.

Jesus, he thought sheepishly, I admit, it was quite an insult to you that I got your name wrong. And perhaps, that’s why you didn’t grant my small request. But Jesus, please, I’m begging here—my knees are virtually on the floor now—I don’t want to be on the same floor with her.

When the door slid open, revealing a placard which has ‘Wilkins Dentistry’ written on it, he snuck himself out as sneaky as a Niffler while she was saying goodbye to the overly friendly man.

He went in to announce himself and was relief to know that he was not late for his appointment. He even still had ten minutes to spare. So, he told the pretty, green eyes blondie his name; with a wink, of course. He went to sit at the corner, picked up a magazine, and just waiting for his name to be called by the lady.

Pretty little thing, she was, in her pink transparent blouse. Muggles sure were fashion forward compared to them.

He lifted the magazine higher, hiding his face as he ran his tongue across a line of jagged teeth. He wasn't insecure of it, per se. He had his handsome face and big built to go by. Teeth was a small flaw that he didn't mind having. It just that, he really didn't want anyone to see him there.

People walked past in front of him, but his mind was elsewhere; recalling the things he’d heard of the tools Muggles used to fix their teeth.

“They have this small thing that could drill a hole in your teeth. And this clip to pluck them out. Messy, they are! Blood and flesh, and more tooth out, down to its root!” He had heard from his teammate who was dating a Muggleborn at that time.

“Then why did you try it?” His other teammate had asked.

“Mate, the ladies there don’t wear robes. I could still feel her tits on my cheek.”

He didn’t come here for the tits; though if the teeth healer was someone like the pink lady, he wouldn’t mind.

“Marcus Flint,” the pink lady called him.

He could hear the smile in her voice. As he saw her red-painted lips has actually curved a smile for him, he thought, Yup. Won’t mind her tits at all.

But dreams of tits has stopped dead as he did at the opened door. He looked up to the ceiling calmly, but his mind was screaming at the top of its mind-lung:

What the fuck, mate?! Thought we had a deal!

“Well, well. If it isn’t our favourite Quidditch Captain. The one and only, Marcus Flint in the flesh,” she said in way of greeting.

“Hermione Granger,” he said.

That was it. Short and simple. Didn't have to mention her position as Hogwarts’ Deputy Headmistress, nor her being the right hand of Minister Shacklebolt, nor, of course, the fact that she was the saviour of the Wizarding World—their sweetheart, the brain of the Golden Trio, the one that had once rode a fucking dragon.

Okay. Maybe she did deserve some recognition.

Hermione Granger,” he repeated and added, “The Collector of Quidditch player.”

He has regrettably signed his death.

She looked amused though, smiling toothily and showing off her perfect pearls.

Listen, he wanted to say as he took a seat across the table from her, your teeth were worse than mine, okay. They were possibly the worst-est in the whole fucking world. So, back off with that twinkling teeth of yours, witch!

“So, tell me,” she said, leaning forward and palming her chin, “what are you doing here?”

“You’re the smart one in the room. You tell me,” he answered, leaning forward, also with his palm under his chin.

Her eyes gleamed with something that he had seen on Malfoy's before. His stomach went queasy.

“I believe you were informed of how we do things here?” She asked with a smug smirk that could easily mistaken for a sneer.

Who is this? Is that really you, Malfoy? Are you taking a piss on me?

“‘Course." He shrugged his shoulder. “Just tell me where to lay down.”

That smirk widened into a full-fledged grin. He swore he went blind for a moment there when her teeth were showing. She stood up, carrying a thin file with her and leading him to another room.

“Please, lay down here,” she patted the weird looking couch with some sort of table lamp, small basin, and small table attached to it. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

A room inside a room. He could barely hear anything from outside in the previous room. Imagine the quietness of this deeper room.

He sat on the couch, wiggling his arse about. It was quite comfy.

She came back with a tray of shiny trinkets. “Lay down, Mr. Flint.”

He did. As she busied herself with the big couch: fixing the height of it and tilting the lamp to shine right in his fucking face, he recapped the drill his teammate had talked about. If she was going to drill his mouth down to his throat, down to his lung, and drilled a hole—or more, why stop at one?—on it, no one could hear his scream. Not even the pink lady.

She asked him to open his mouth, and instantly, one latexed finger slid along his teeth as he had done with his tongue earlier.

He kept his gaze far away across the room to the large picture of a perfect white tooth. Trust Muggles to keep a picture of a tooth as a piece of decoration. Whatever next? A spotless toe?

“Oh, Mr. Flint,” she said, her voice was muffled by the white mask, “we have a lot to work on.”

He turned his gaze to her then. Meeting her eyes and saw that Malfoy's gleam swirling in them.

Yes, he remembered what it was now. It was torment. Evil and wicked and ugly.

He cleared his throat before he asked, “What kind of work?”

“I assume you want to straighten your teeth?” She asked.

“Yeah,” he hated to admit it. "Pretty bird in pink said something about braces?”

“Pretty bird in pink’s name is Summer,” she sounded amused.

“And yes, braces. To put it simply,” she pushed her finger deeper to the last tooth in line, “first, we will thoroughly clean and dry your teeth. Next, we will apply the bonding glue to your teeth and attach the brackets. The glue may taste unpleasant, but it’s harmless. Finally, we will place the archwire in the brackets and secure it with elastic bands. It is so we can connect your teeth in line and forcing them to band together nicely.”

It was so... academic. She said it all so matter-of-factly, and he quickly agreed with the rest of Hogwarts’ students, that yes, she was a swotty, know-it-all witch. His Quidditch brain couldn't digest a thing.

She freed his mouth from her vicious finger and took off the latex before she wrote something on his file.

He looked back to the tooth and asked, “So, no drill, right?”

He literally, literally, could feel her eyes gleamed brighter. It pierced the corner of his eye like a lightning. Too much brightness.

“Oh, yes. Yes, there is, Mr. Flint,” she said, sounding too please about it. “I did say we need to clean your teeth first, right? Cleaning, polishing, and filling, they all need some drilling.”

Jesus, my man, what the fuck?!

“Unfortunately,” she pulled her mask down, “your appointment for today is only for consultation,” she informed him, pouting as she offered him a cup of water.

Fucking pouting. As if it was so unfortunate for them—only her—to not be able to drill the shit out of his teeth.

“So unfortunate,” he muttered, rinsing his mouth and spitting the water into the small basin.

“Devastating, really.” She stood up, taking out a candy from one of the drawer. “You do know I’m a witch, right?”

As if to prove it, she elevated the candy for him to snatch.

“Of course.”

“And you’re a wizard.”

It was his turn to prove his wizardry by vanishing the candy's wrapper before chewing the strawberry candy into smaller pieces. He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Granger. We did go to the same school, remember?”

“Then you know I could just fix them with a flick.”

“No,” he shook his head.

“No?” She blinked. “Why? It’s painless. No drilling, no pain. It would only take less than five minutes. And it won’t even cost you knuts.”

He rubbed his face, contemplating if he should tell her his stupid reason or not. But, when he looked up and caught her eyeing him curiously, he gave in. He knew her enough to know how tenacious she could be. Sooner or later, she would drill—literally—the answer out of him.

“It’s a challenge.”

She raised her eyebrows. “To what? To see who would survive braces?”

“My friend Maximus, told us about his experience with Muggle's dentistry. I told him it couldn't be that bad, that he was just being a pussy."

At this, he saw her nose twitch. He reminded of the old tale he'd heard in passing, about a small lady whom had fought for House-elf’s right. He was done with school at that time, but he could imagine her twitching nose at every dig from other students, an obvious show of her distaste. Then it would followed up with a lengthy preach.

He had experienced it first hand, after all, during Quidditch practice when Malfoy had joined the team for the first time. He couldn’t help but smirk at the memory.

She narrowed her eyes when she found him smirking. "There’s nothing funny about having a pus—a vagina.”

He guffawed then. How could someone who had seen the world at its worst in their early youth could still be this gullible? It was endearing—not in a ‘Hey, you're cute’ way, he corrected himself, but in a ‘Hey, that kitten is adorable’ way.

“Ain’t got problem with vaginas here.” He had a sudden realisation that he had never said the word vagina. He, like any other men of his age, preferred cunt or pussy, or maybe, if he were one funny arsehole like Terrence, he would have called it Meat Wrapper.

“ So, yeah. I told him he was just being a vagina. And most of our team laughed with me—not because of vagina. Relax, Granger—and then, you know, the usual ‘I dare you' shit.”

“And you just happen to stumble upon the Wilkins?” She asked suspiciously.

He had to roll his eyes. Who did she think she was that he would track her down like a creepy stalker? “Don’t flatter yourself. How would I know this place is yours? You’re not even a Wilkins, Granger.” He laid out the crystal clear fact.

“Unless,” he looked down at her fingers, noticing how slender they were.

It finally dawned on him that one of them had been in his mouth. It had slithered along his teeth like his tongue had done, like a lover’s tongue would have done.

Jesus, Flint!

He looked up again. “There’s no ring. Did you marry and get divorced?”

She made a funny face as though she was chewing something sour. “No, I’m not married. Not a divorcee, too. And Flint, it’s a new millennium. People can change their name to whatever they want.”

“Even your last name?” He asked incredulously. It was preposterous to even think of it.

“Of course!” She said loudly, showing her Muggle pride by puffing her chest out and daring him to question her.

Normally, he would. Because, as a Pureblood, his last name was sacred for him. It was a legacy, a proof of his bloodline. Yet, today, he felt like indulging the feisty living hair in front of him. So he let it slide.

Instead, he said, “So, if I wanna change my name, what, I just need to fill a form?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“I can change my name to anything? Like to Marcus Flamel, or even better, Macadamia Fireborne?” He laughed at the funny names he came up with.

“Yeah, or Marcus Bint,” she said, her eyes shone with mischief, “since, you know, you love vagina so much.”

“Marcus’ Bint?” He was amused, not gonna lie. This was straight-laced Hermione Granger he was talking with. And she just cracked a joke. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t be calling yourself name.”

Dear Jesus, please stop my mouth.

“Oh?” One corner of her mouth turned upward. “Me? Marcus’ Bint?” She tucked a wild lock behind her ear, her cheeks coloured in the softest pink he has ever seen. “Hmm. Somewhat possible. You are, after all, a Quidditch player.”

Sweet Cheesus. That’s enough. No need to reply. Get off the couch and walk your arse out and ask the pink bird if she wanna grab lunch together.

“Ah. And not just a Quidditch player, at that. It’s Captain, Marcus’ Bint. National Team’s Captain.” He took pride when the colour extended down to her neck.

That’s it, he thought arrogantly, You’re done for, Granger. Now shut the hell up and let this go already. For both of our sake!

“My, my. Now that’s a catch. Only fools would let him go astray, letting him free for other bints to claim,” she replied, one hand splayed against her neck, as though it could hide her flushing skin.

He didn't expect a reply. The Granger he’d known of didn’t have this... this balls. Flirty and—

He looked back to her neck where her fingers has it wrapped, the finger that had been in his mouth. He noticed the flushed skin squeezed between her fingers; rosy, pink, nearing to red. She was flirty and—

Alluring.

“Are you a fool then, my bint?” He held her gaze and saw her emotions laid bare: surprise, uncertain, daring, and curiosity. So curious.

He has always preferred his women with soft-coloured eyes. Blue or green or grey, like the tender thing they were. But this brown was strong. Fearlessly invited him in like no other had done before.

He saw her mouth starting to part and brace himself for her answer.

But, he did called him Cheesus again, didn’t he? So, of course they would be someone behind the door now, knocking.

And just like that, the tension ebbed away. He cleared his throat, stretching his collar out because the damn cloth was crushing his windpipe. He could breathe easier now.

Granger opened the door. “Yes, Summer?”

Summer snuck a look at him, smiling shyly with her fluttering eyelashes. She didn’t do it on purpose, he could tell. And he found himself feeling relief for Granger for not having an airhead as her assistant.

“Mrs. Gaylord is here,” Summer said steadily, as if Gaylord was a common name.

No wonder Muggles were eager to change their name.

He saw Granger's sideway smile when she studied the file Summer has given her. “Of course. Mr. Flint here was leaving, anyway. Tell Mrs. Gaylord,” she met his eyes and—fuck him inside out—his heart actually skipped a beat, “to come now.”

He laughed out loud. It came out so easy and genuine with her. Who was it that he’d heard from about Granger being boring? This was far from boring, mate. The lady was funny as fuck.

“Oh, that remind me. Do you want to proceed, Mr. Flint? In your next appointment agenda, our orthodontist would be cleaning your teeth. In your case, that would be our Dr. Granger here. Then, from there, you need to schedule another appointment to finally start with the process of assembling your braces.

You can make an appointment now if you want to,” Summer said to him, her thick eyelashes complimented her green eyes nicely.

He turned to Granger. She was meeting his eyes unflinchingly. She had huge, expressive doe eyes: beautiful and brilliant. It sounded crazy, but he could see his reflection swimming in the vast pool of brown. He couldn’t decipher what it was in her eyes now. But he knew what it was in his.

Curiosity.

He was curious of this Hermione Granger. Older and seasoned with past hardship. He wanted to know more. To peel her off, layer by layer, and—

That’s it, Marcus. You’ve gone mad. Mental! Avoid this danger! Granger Danger!

“Yes,” he turned to look at Summer again. “Make it as soon as possible, can you, dove? I’m on my one month break now. So I’d appreciate it if you could schedule it sooner.” He smiled, and of course, he winked.

Summer blushed furiously, reciting to Granger of her tight schedule. Granger, on the other hand, still kept her eyes on him when he saw the small grin on her face. So small that he could barely see her shiny pearls this time.

“Next week,” she told him instead of Summer.

This was it. Marcus Flint was done for. By a moving, breathing big hair; a Medusa incarnation—in a way, she was, as his eyes now froze on hers. And what was it that I say about doe eyes? I take it back. This is no doe eyes. This is a fucking dragon eyes—the breaker of Quidditch player’s heart.

The one and only, Hermione Granger.

“Next week it is then, Miss Bint.”

She replied with the widest grin a woman could have possibly mustered. It was scary, if he was to be honest. But, it was scarier how his cheeks hurt from his own widest grin. He swore he could feel them stretched to his ears. Fucking Muggles and their unreliable gods. This whole thing wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for His easily mispronounced name.

When he walked out of the room, he didn’t stop to ask Summer out for lunch. He didn’t even Avada the friendly man when he, again, shared the same lift with him.

He ran his tongue against the line of his teeth, humming when he felt a sure, slender finger instead of his soft tongue.

He was done for, thoroughly done for. Front, back, inside, outside, left, right; thoroughly done for. How insane it was for it all has happened in a span of less than an hour?

But of course, who was he kidding? Just like his teeth, his life was funny like that.

#marcus flint #Hermione Granger #slytherdornet #fairestoftherare #hprarepairnet #hp rare pair #hp fanfic #fic #hp #i dont know whats their ship name??#flinger???#flinger #hahahahahhaha #mine #i've been on my knees for a minute #marcus x hermione

19 notes · View notes

kaarina-riddle · 7 years ago

Photo

Chapter four is LIVE!!!!! Nurturing the Darkness Within Rating: E for later chapters Pairing: Tomione Characters: Hermione Nott, Tom Riddle, Theodore Nott Snr, Aldrich Avery, Emerald Black Chapter Summary: Hermione writes a letter to her mother and Dumbledore gets cunning. What happens in the next part of their journey? Links to chapter 4: FFN: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12822592/4/ AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13210851/chapters/32109426 Story summary: Hermione Nott becomes fast friends with Tom Riddle and together they find a Darkness inside that only grows as they age. What will Hermione being born in a different time and to a different family change in the world? Rated E for later chapters Link to full story: FFN: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12822592/1/Nurturing-the-Darkness-Within AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13210851/chapters/30219477 Once again alpha love goes @missrissa1219 to for all her encouragement and help plotting.

#tomione fic recs #hermione x tom #tomioneishotanddark #tomione #tom riddle #hermione granger #harry potter fanfiction #fairestoftherare #respect is rare #Kaarina Riddle

19 notes · View notes

squarepeg72 · 7 years ago

Photo

Inspired by this post and @xxdustnight88‘s prompt: Exquisite, Touch, Pounding, “And in all honesty, I just never thought that I would feel this way for you.” Haunted Sonata

Pairing: Remus/Tonks Rating: M Remus faces another full moon. Can Tonks find him before his change destroys him? FFN:https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12676074/35/From-the-Peg-Board Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14223156

#remus lupin #nymphadora tonks #remus x tonks #remadora #hprarepairnet #fairestoftherare #from the peg board

4 notes · View notes

dragonsandotters-dh · 7 years ago

Photo

They hate themselves more than they hate each other, and in a world where they’re both outsiders

that’s the best they can hope for.

Pansy & Theo

[lyrics on the edit from “Alright” by Keaton Henson]

#pansy x theo #theo x pansy #hprarepairnet #rare pair #fairestoftherare #pansy parkinson #Theodore Nott #theo nott #hp #hp edits #d&o edits

100 notes · View notes

cece2046 · 7 years ago

Text

Close the Curtains - Chap 3

Thank you my beta @reynardinepttr! for loving the direction this is going!

Teddy Lupin × Hermione Granger

FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12748991/3/Close-the-Curtains

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12922338/chapters/30119079

@sissannis Come on here and rant to me and ask your damn questions about that song!

It surprised me a bit that I never met her in this house again after that night. It shouldn’t, but it did. I know all the facts. She’s back for a reason. Since she’s back for Harry, then good chances are she’s back for some serious shit that’s going down in the background that we innocent citizens have no clues about. In that case, she must be busy, so it’s perfectly reasonable that she’s never at home for dinner, never home before everyone went to bed, and never home after everyone got up. If it weren’t for the soft footsteps I heard in the midnight from my room, I’d say that she never came back, ever.

Sometimes I sit on my floor beside my bedroom door and just wait. I can hear her. My hearing ability is quite impressive. Not like dogs or something. I can’t predict earthquakes. No. But I can hear her movements in this house. She’s opening the front door. She’s stepping into the house. She’s closing the door. Silence. What’s she doing? I imagine her leaning on the wall and staring blankly, exhausted from all her work. Whatever that is. I want to go down there and comfort her, maybe get her a cup of tea, but something’s holding me back. I can still feel her on my fingertips. I can feel her whenever I close my eyes. Was I overstepping? Would I be overstepping again? She’s obviously busy. Is this really the best moment to make my move?

Timing is a mystery.

Ah, she’s coming upstairs. She moves slowly, almost contemplatively. I rest my head on the wall and watch clouds flowing past the moon outside my window. She walked past my door. No, that’s not quite right. She walked to my door, paused, and continued down the corridor. Yes, that’s better. Somehow this moment, this pause, is more intimate than anything else I’ve ever shared with her.

I can’t stop thinking about the fact that our rooms are on the same floor. If I tear down all these walls between us, would this become a little easier?

I’m still the king of calmness, though it’s not like there’s anyone here to witness this incredible achievement. James and Albus and Lily are all back at school. Harry’s too busy. Ginny’s too occupied with her magazine career and strengthening her bond with Harry, as if three kids are not enough. She visits him almost everyday. At least that’s the impression I get since whenever I go to the Auror Office to chat with Harry for a bit she’s always there.

She’s here today. He’s happy about that, I can tell.

I chuckled. Harry gives me a confused look.

“Nothing.” I said, “Just thought of someone and their problem with happy endings.”

“Who’d have problems with happy endings?” Ginny asked absently.

“Realists?” Harry suggested.

“Sounds bitter to me,” Ginny teased him.

I can’t help but get defensive. “Well you got your happy ending years ago, but not everyone has your luck.”

Ginny snorted. “People don’t need luck to find their happy endings. They need to fight for it like hell.”

I stood up and turned to leave. “I think I know one person or two who fought as hard as you that never got their happy endings. Like my parents.” I raised a hand as a goodbye. “See you later, Harry.”

I walked to the Minister’s Office. Time for the weekly briefing from all departments. Our Department Head recently developed an illness that made him unfit for this routine. The symptom includes cursing verbally, hexing, and attacking physically, all towards the Minister. Not good at all. No one knows what happened. Might be related to the rumour that his daughter loves politics, but loves politicians more. I don’t even want to know. You’d think after so many years leading the Department of International Magic Cooperation, he could be more… diplomatic about it.

Am I angry? Nah. I admit that I could’ve backed off for a bit in Harry’s office, but for a split second I decided not to.

Maybe that’s because deep in my heart I know that someday I need to stand up to them for a more serious matter. Hermione. I don’t know the origin of my confidence. I just know that there’s something there even when she has given me zero reason to believe it. How arrogant is that? I’m preparing to fight for her before anyone mentions a duel. Before the reason for a duel happens, really. At this point, I don’t know what’s making me more excited - the possibility of her becoming something more than a friend to me, or the prospect of wreaking havoc?

I don’t want myself to sound like a cheesy romantic novel, but the wolf in me is pacing.

Oh my fucking Merlin’s in-laws, scratch that. That’s worse than I expected.

“And the DIMC? Any issues you want to address this week, Mr. Lupin?” The Undersecretary asked.

“Not really,” I responded. Since the instruction for me is simply “kill him off Teddy when you get the chance”, I guess there’s nothing especially important happened. “The Norwegian Diplomatic Department still refuses to have a nice and long talk about the dragon blood import clause, despite our efforts. We’re prepared to explore other options from Russia or Finland. The proposal will be submitted to the Minister within one week.”

“Very well. Have a nice weekend, gentlemen.” The Minister dismissed us.

Ms. Lou from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes seems extremely displeased, but she didn’t say anything until we’re all outside the Minister’s Office.

“He wouldn’t forget the ‘Ladies’ there if I’m representing the DMLE,” she said acidly.

“You, darling?” Oliver Wood laughed, “You won’t survive DMLE for one week, believe me.”

“You’re saying a woman wouldn’t qualify for law enforcement?” Her voice got a little shrill.

“Of course not!” he said, “But you have to be extra intelligent and ruthless to be there. I’ve only known one or two witches who can do it without years of struggle.”

“Oh, like who?”

“Hermione Granger, for one,” he said. I adjusted my steps to fall behind them discreetly. “That girl could’ve become the Minister if only she stayed.”

“The Golden Girl, huh? I heard she’s back?” Ms. Lou asked, the wisp of hostility gone.

“Yep. I wonder why, though. I hope she’ll come work in the Ministry. It’ll be nice to have someone with that sharp a mind as a colleague.”

“Even if she’s back she won’t be working in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, Wood.”

“Hard to say. She’s always got an eye for Quidditch players.”

Interesting.

“Why did she leave anyway? She had a future here, didn’t she? War heroine and all that.”

He shrugged. “Do I look like a gossip expert?”

She laughed. “I bet you’d know all about it if she played Quidditch.”

He turned back suddenly, “Ain’t Hermione living in your place, Teddy?”

“Harry’s house, yes.” I nodded absently as if I wasn’t listening in their conversation just moments ago.

“Tell her Oliver Wood said hi, alright? And if she wants to try her out-of-the-world organisational skill in my department, I’ll be so grateful.”

I highly doubt Hermione will be willing to become a secretary, but I said okay anyway.

It’s not like I know what she’s planning to do.

Or rather, what she’s been doing.

It must be over a month before I saw her again. It was two o’clock in the morning. I was planning to get a drink from kitchen because I couldn’t sleep, and imagining her smile doesn’t help. Reading the dullest report doesn’t help. Jerking off doesn’t help, either. I was on the top of stairs when I heard someone talking quietly in the kitchen.

“You can’t expect me to let you do this alone,” Harry said.

“It’s no big deal, Harry.” That’s Hermione.

“How is that not a big deal? It’s dangerous.”

“You say that like it means anything.”

“What, dangerous? Of course it means something, Hermione. I don’t want to lose you again. Ron doesn’t want to lose you again. He’s with me on this, you know.”

“Of course he’s with you. He’s always with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No. I’m sorry. Ignore me. I’m just so tired.”

“Take an assistant. Take an Auror with you. That’s all I’m asking.”

“I don’t want to, Harry. I have to build trust with them and that’s just so damn much work.”

“Why can’t you just trust them first until they give you a reason not to?”

“Because trust-worthy people are so rare, Harry.”

“I trust my men.”

“Oh, Harry,” she sounds incredibly sad, “I’m sure your men are loyal to you.”

Silence.

“Are you saying the loyalty to me doesn’t necessarily equal to the loyalty to you?”

“Are you angry?”

“No.” He paused for a bit. “No. I think I understand.”

“It was good, wasn’t it? Our old days in school.”

“Yeah.” There’s smile in his voice. “So dark and dangerous, but you two were always there.”

“We’re never going back, Harry. You know the moment my blind loyalty to you ended.”

“I know.”

I walked down the stairs softly and sat down on the last step. There’s flickering light filtered out under the kitchen door. I imagined them, two best friends, sitting on the opposite sides of a table, years and years between them like a river.

“So you know after that every time I stand with you, I make that choice consciously all over again?”

“Oh.”

“I’m with you, Harry. I made that choice before I came back. I make that choice everyday here. I’m not doing this for old time’s sake. I’m doing this because I choose to. You can trust me.”

“I know.”

“I wish she knew that, too, years ago.”

“Hermione - ”

“I know. I know. Merlin almighty I’m not starting that again.”

“You just started it.”

“I’m sorry. Okay? Just forget it.”

“I never asked you to leave! She never asked you to leave! You left me when it was so bloody hard to cope so you don’t get to come here and accuse the person who got me through the funerals and heartbreaks!”

For a long while she didn’t say anything.

And then I heard her sigh.

“I don’t want an Auror with me because I’m an independent consultant. I will be making my own decisions, which you may or may not agree with. I’d rather not kill my assistant every time that happens just so he wouldn’t be able to tell you.”

“I would never spy on you - ”

“Oh you would, Harry, you definitely would. Twenty years ago you wouldn’t, but we’re here and this is now. If you don’t spy on me, you are not a competent Head Auror. I’m just sorry that I can’t make it easy on you. I really do.” The scratching sound of a chair against the floorboard. “I will find an assistant from independent resources, though. I’ll give you that.” A kiss on the cheek. “Good night. Love you.”

“Love you.”

I didn’t move. I had plenty of time to creep back up the stairs and into my room, but I didn’t move. I was still processing all the things I’ve heard. So many questions without answers. So many questions that I’m not sure I want answers for.

She didn’t see me until she’s directly in front of me. She didn’t jump or yelp. She just paused for a bit, and proceeded to walk past me.

My left hand circled her left ankle at the last moment.

She didn’t say anything.

“Do you need an assistant?”

“Yes.”

“May I apply?”

“Teddy - ”

“May I?” I asked again, for the first time looked up to her face. She looked calm, composed, and determined.

“No.” Not one ounce of apology behind the word. This woman can be admirably hard and cold when she wants to.

Thankfully I can feel her pulse, which might be the only thing that’s keeping me sane. Her quickening, mad, erratic pulse. In my palm. Like a dying butterfly struggling for life.

My sign. My revelation. My reason for a war.

#Teddy Lupin #Hermione Granger #fairestoftherare #hprarepairnet #Teddy Lupin×Hermione Granger #I... have nothing to say #happy 2017?

15 notes · View notes

lilbit903 · 7 years ago

Photo

Sirimione Aesthetic

His knuckles were bloodied and bruised, and he hissed as he lit the cigarette in his hands. Staring at the boy below him he felt a smirk grace his lips. Fucking prick. As if he had a chance with her? As if he would just let her go to some unassuming arsehole. No, while he was still breathing, Hermione Granger was his. As long as she wanted him, he would stay by her side.

Squatting to stare at the idiot before him, he flicked a bit of ash on the bruised boy. “Let this be a warning to you. Next time you put your filthy paws on my girl, I’ll do more than break your nose.”

Standing he sauntered off to find his girl. Maybe he could get away with the bloody knuckles if he blamed it on a Slytherin.

#respectisrare #fairestoftherare #drabble #sirimione

58 notes · View notes

coriesocks · 7 years ago

Link

I wrote a wierd crossover thing because I love Draco and I love Dorian

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Dorian Pavus Characters: Draco Malfoy, Dorian Pavus Additional Tags: Fairest of the Rare, Dimension Travel, No Plot/Plotless, Love Fest 2018, wand fight, dorco, Drinking, Crossover Summary:

Draco is shocked when a strange man appears in his living room, but maybe it's not as bad as it initially seems.

#harry potter #dragon age #draco malfoy #dorian pavus #Crossover #fanfic #fairestoftherare #lovefest #lovefest2018

2 notes · View notes

nellietrelawney · 7 years ago

Photo

The Perfect Gift - Sybill x Regulus

(Written for the Fairest of the Rare Christmas Advent)

Sybill wants to get the perfect Christmas present for Regulus, but there’s not much the wealthy heir doesn’t already have.

#sybill x regulus #sybill trelawney x regulus black #sybill trelawney #regulus black #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic #respectisrare #fairestoftherare

8 notes · View notes

synoir · 7 years ago

Photo

Encore: Chapter 4

"Sirius?"

Sirius jumped and turned to the owner of the voice. Hermione stood there, wearing a pale pink dress. A nightgown maybe, he wasn't sure, but it made her skin glow. Her hair was free of the confines she often put on them. No hair band nor products to keep them tame. Instead, it looked clean, shiny and soft.

And wild.

On pasts that haunt, pink toenails and late night conversations.

#Fanfiction: Encore #Sirius Black #Hermione Granger #Hermione x Sirius #Sirius x Hermione #Sirimione #Sirius Returns from the Veil #Veil Return Sirius #The Grimmauld Place #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfiction #fairestoftherare #Fanfiction by Synoir #Harry Potter #Regulus Black #Lily Potter #James Potter

18 notes · View notes

darkangelofsorrow · 6 years ago

Photo

Title: A Love That Sparks Author: DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns Rating: M Pairing: Pansy Parkinson/Thorfinn Rowle Warnings: n/a Summary: For Pansy sparks flew, literally; and it doesn't end for her there. Written for Sing-Me-A-Rare V3 on Fairest of the Rare, Runner Up for Best AU! Link: (AO3) https://archiveofourown.org/works/18545839 (FF) https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13290976/1/A-Love-That-Sparks @fairestoftherare

#Pansy Parkinson #thorfinn rowle #Pansy #Thorfinn #Harry Potter #Rare Pair #Pansy/Thorfinn #singmearare #fairestoftherare #hpsummeroflove

1 note · View note

notsissannis · 6 years ago

Text

—Sanctuary

Hermione Granger x Kingsley Shacklebolt

One-shot: complete

Rated: General

World: Post-Hogwarts

Read on [AO3] [FFN] — Thank you, my bb girl @honeyweeds , always there to fix my mess.

This is a belated birthday gift for @snipandsnail my love, my neighbour! I know I’m late by six months, but, a gift is a gift! Happy belated birthday, love. I hope you enjoy this story!

Her fingers were dainty, he noticed, as they danced languidly against the morning sun streaming through the blinds.

“What are you thinking of, little bird?”

Captivating, he decided, in a way they tried their hardest to grasp the tiny particle of dust light.

“What is it, little bird?”

“I’m thinking.”

He outstretched his larger hand only to hold the smaller hand delicately, worried his strong clasp would snap each of her lean finger. It was a wasted concern, he believed, as she was full at strength in this room.

“Of?”

“Of my lost boys.”

She curled her fingers around his. Pale against dark, and oddly, feeble, he noted, at least against his firm hold.

“What of them, little bird?"

“I want to know.”

Her eyes glimmered, unblinking under the glaring sun. Her face was a perfect portrait: still, vacant, unreadable. Her lips said otherwise, he considered, as they curved slightly into the tiniest of grin.

“What is it you want to know?”

“Are they still lost?”

He hummed curiously, grazing his thumb on her nail rhythmically. The pinkish hue of it matched that of her cheeks, he observed, faint and feminine. He pulled them tenderly to meet his lips.

“Lost?”

“Hopelessly.”

She freed her fingers from his, moving freely about like the motes in the sunbeam that she had tried to catch before.

“Hopelessly, little bird?”

“Without me.”

“Maybe they’re simply waiting for you.”

Her brown eyes widened remarkably as she met his black. There were specks of gold, he realised. Luminous, golden, brighter than the morning ray itself.

“For me?”

“Oh, yes.”

She rolled to his side, brown curls drooping around her flushed cheeks. There were honey highlights, he noted, as the colour shined like a halo before him. Her velvety hand rested on his bristled cheek.

“Can I see them?”

“Anytime.”

She laid on her back, covering her pleased smile with her hands. Her whole body was buzzing in excitement, he mused, enticing an amused grin of his own.

“Will you be there, too?”

Her voice was small, a huff of breath, easily mistaken as a passing breeze. She was unsure, he recognised, from the way she coiled a wayward tendril of hair around her finger.

“If you ask for me.”

“I am.”

“Then I will.”

Her relieved sigh at his presence sang to him. She found his hand again. It was warmer, he felt, and it kept getting warmer and warmer as she molded them together.

“Did they defeat the evil man?”

“They sure did.”

“How was it?”

“They did tremendously, little bird.”

Her laughter filled the air around them. It was melodious, he noted, how sweet it sounded, dulcet and child-like, a faraway life she wasn’t marred by.

“Obviously. They are my boys.”

“Still helplessly lost without you.”

He straightened up before he offered his other hand to her. The bed was giant, he studied, as he watched her legs sway airily before she tiptoed to reach the floor.

“Can I see them now?”

“Of course, little bird.”

He walked backward whilst she forward. Face to face, hand in hand, slow and careful. She was flourishing, he gushed, as her white dress complimented the curvaceous body, clinging to her as if they were sculpted together.

“What if they don’t want to see me?”

“They do.”

She nodded subtly. She was avoiding his eyes, he figured. Her face tilted down, watching every small step she took.

“What if they don’t need me?”

“They do.”

He pulled his hand back. The cool air was quick to replace her warmth. It was comforting, he admitted, to feel her warmness enclosed him familiarly. He twisted the doorknob as quietly as he could.

“Are they here?”

“Been here for months.”

“Why?”

“Why, waiting for you, of course.”

Her rosy cheeks painted into a deeper shade. The image suited her, he noted, making his heart race, stirring the tiny hairs on his neck.

“Stay with me, please.”

“Of course, little bird.”

He pulled the door open. It was dark, cold and disquieting. His foot planted outside, his other one still inside. The difference was palpable, he assessed. Dark and light, like morning sun and night sky, like her hand and his hand; different yet needed, entwined together.

“Where are they? There’s no one.”

“They’re here, little bird. We just have to walk out of this hallway.”

“It’s scary.”

“It is. But I’m here.”

She didn’t move. He didn’t push her. She bit her bottom lip. He waited. Every single time.

Every single visit.

Every single try.

He waited.

And waited.

Ever so patiently.

“I’m scared.”

“There’s nothing there.”

“It’s dark!”

“I’ll be here.”

“She’s here!”

“No one’s here.”

She wiggled out of his hold, pushing him completely out of the sun, into the night. His two feet now glued outside. Her face scrunched in anguish. She curled into herself, a safe haven to her loneliness.

“I thought you’re here to help me!”

“I am.”

“I thought you were the king, the knight that would lead me to my boys!”

“I am.”

Her nails dug deeper and deeper under her skin. Red lines carved onto her arms. Suddenly she stopped. Her body stilled, devoid of emotions and actions.

“You’re not real.”

“I am.”

“You think I’m the hopeless one. The helpless!”

“You’re not.”

“Kingsley.”

“Hermione.”

His name sounded divine on her heart-shaped lips. Her name tasted nectarous on his tongue. It hasn’t dawned on her, he realised, how the sun room was her own conjurance. How she was trapped. How she needed to escape. It ached him.

“You’re not real.”

“Hermione.”

“This is all their game. Diving into my brain, prying for information and intel!”

He looked around the obscurity. Memory after memory appeared in a foggy form. She had been captured by a group of Death Eaters. Hidden in their deepest lair.

Grainy, ghostly, like the dustlight she was dancing with. He turned to her, watching in pity as she delved into her darkest memory over and over again. In a loop. A never ending torture.

“Hermione.”

“I’m not stupid, you Death Eater scum! You can torture me all you want! To insanity! To death! I will never betray Harry!”

It pained him to watch as she withered before his eyes: the prominence of her collar bones, the razor sharpness of her shoulder blades.

“You have to walk through the darkness, little bird. You will find your boys in the light once you past all of this."

“No! This is another trick! I won’t fall for it!”

Gone were the rosy pink cheeks; the glow it radiated. In came the lily white skin; a cadaverous facial tint that could paint a hospital wall.

“Hermione, please.”

“Shut up, you imposter. You’re not Kingsley!”

She tripped herself as she walked backward. Tears dimming her once brilliant eyes as they streamed.

Yet, her now-gaunt face morphed into determination. Her magic flared, circling her protectively. A flame no one could ever extinguish. Not even death. It never failed to amaze him. Her lioness’ fierceness, her admirable Gryffindor’s loyalty.

He always looked forward to it.

“Leave!”

Her scream slammed the door to her small sunlit room, pushing him out of the puzzling mess of her mind. He closed his eyes. Devastated. Failed. Exhilarated.

He opened his eyes to see her motionless, anchored to her St. Mungo’s bed. Snow white and frozen, one with the bed sheets, as dull as the walls, a porcelain doll.

He held his dainty fingers, lifeless and cold, he noted, an incredible contrast to the warmth he’d previously felt from their touch.

She was everything here that she was not there. Feeble, frail, gaunt, ashen. A spiritless body.

And her mind was too broken, a shattered glass.

“Minister, how is she?”

“Still unconscious unfortunately. I’m sorry, Harry.”

“I see. No. We’re sorry for borrowing your time every single day. But you’re the only Legilimens that we trust.”

“Don’t mention it. This is the least I can do to show my gratitude. The whole wizarding world owed you three so much.”

“It’s been three years. I fear I might never get the chance to ever talk to her again. I’m starting to forget her voice.”

He remembered everything about her.

“I’ll assure you we’ll get her back.”

“Thank you, Kings.”

He was once again left alone in the room with her. He brushed her untamable curls sideways, resting his forehead against hers.

“Legilimens.”

She was in her bed, ever present, waiting for him and only him. Her false saviour, a selfish man, who wanted nothing of her freedom but only her seclusion, in this small sunlit room of hers, and she of his.

Her fingers were dainty, he noticed, as they danced languidly against the morning sun streaming through the blinds.

“What are you thinking of, little bird?”

#Hermione Granger #kingsley shacklebolt #hprarepairnet #fairestoftherare #happy birthday lils!!#hp rare pair #hp fanfiction #hp #fic #mine #sanctuary #kingmione #is that even the ship name??#but i think this is the best ship nme ive ever came with #after flames

31 notes · View notes