#Fred Weasley cameo

[mamalunawolf]

Cameo

I don’t think I posted it on here. I’m not sure. But I had done a couple cameos. From the voice actor for Gale (Tim Downie) and Jason Anthony for Rookwood. And anyways. For a Christmas gift. My husband paid for James Phelps to cameo for me. And it was amazing. So I wanted to show you guys the video. I’ll tell you what I wrote him under the video.

Gosh he is amazing 😻

Anyway I wrote to him that Fred Weasley was my favorite character and told him to NOT tell his brother, Oliver. But he most likely did anyway. That goofball. And I also said that because of him. I wanted to thank him for helping bring the magic of Harry Potter to life. And to this day I will always enjoy it. Also told him I was a Slytherin lol 😝

[theostrophywife]

devil eyes.

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: devil eyes by hippie sabotage.

author's note: this spicy fic is in collaboration with my darling @writingsbychlo. make sure you check out hide and seek. we've been scheming for weeks and i'm so happy to finally share this fun little story with all of you. keep an eye out for some cheeky cameos 👀

The cardinal rule of Gryffindor House was plain and simple—never ever make a bet with the Weasley twins. 

Anyone stupid enough to do so either found themselves out a pocketful of galleons or worse, owing Fred and George a no questions asked favour that the pesky redheads could cash in at any time. 

Unfortunately, you were a little more than tipsy off of a bottle of firewhisky and bet one of the twins, Fred? George?—you couldn’t remember which ginger you’d sold your soul to—that you could easily outfly him on the pitch during a quidditch after party. After a violent hangover, the annoying git actually showed up outside of your dorm with a Firebolt in each hand. 

“Let’s see those skills in action then, Y/N.” 

On a normal day, you might’ve managed it. You were smaller and lighter than Fred, which gave you an advantage in flight, but as your head pounded and your stomach churned, you knew there was no way you were getting on that bloody broom. Though your house motto was all about being bold and brave, you weren’t reckless enough to risk it. 

Instead, you settled for a favour. 

In hindsight, you probably should’ve just stuck to death by eating shit on the quidditch pitch. It would’ve been a hell of a lot better than trying to squeeze yourself into a stupid tiny little costume that bordered on exotic dancer more than scary witch, but it’s not like you had much of a choice. You had a debt to settle. Fred made sure to remind you of that.

While the rest of your housemates headed to the Forbidden Forest, you were busy preparing for the vital role that your ginger overlords had assigned to you for the night. Since it was Fred and George’s last year, the twins were determined to solidify their status as Hogwarts legends. What better way to leave their mark than throwing a huge rager in the forest? Thus, the All Hallow’s Eve Fest was born. 

As far as your professors knew, it would be a small festival to celebrate the season complete with carnival games, enchanted rides, and cornfield mazes. All harmless fun. But the student body knew that the Weasley twins had something far more devious up their sleeves. 

From what Fred told you, the night would be full of secret passages, elaborate tricks, and actors and actresses who would add to the whole allure. You were to be one of them. Tonight, you were playing the part of a seductive sorceress who ripped out the hearts of unsuspecting men. 

You were practically made for the role, Fred joked. 

You threatened to resort to method acting and grabbed at the front of his shirt with every intent to rip his heart out of his chest. Luckily for him, George came to his rescue and tore his twin from your grasp before you could inflict damage. 

“See you at the Forbidden Forest at seven sharp,” Fred called as he tossed the costume at you. “Don’t be late, Y/N!” 

At half past six, you almost considered skipping the event altogether, but that would mean owing the twins yet another favour. It was best to get this over with as quickly as possible. Sighing, you tugged on some fishnet tights and slipped into a pair of high-heeled boots that laced all the way up to your thighs. You placed a hand on your hip, frowning at your reflection in the mirror of the prefect’s bathroom. 

“Are you trying to scare the masses or seduce them?” 

You turned around to find your friend Chloe perched up against the sink, smirking as she raised a brow at you. 

“I’m supposed to be a bloodthirsty sorceress,” you said as you snatched her tube of lipstick and painted your lips with a fiery red shade. “Know any men who wouldn’t mind having their hearts ripped out?” 

She chuckled, swinging her legs in the air. “A few. The boys will be in skull makeup tonight, so aim for them first. Save the curly one for me, though.” 

“You’ve sent Riddle out on that wild goose chase of yours, then?” 

Chloe smirked and blew on her freshly painted nails. “He’s got until midnight to find me.” 

“What happens when the clock strikes twelve?” 

“Let’s just say that I’m fully prepared to live up to my house’s name and let him slither in.” 

“At least one of us is having fun tonight.” 

“Who says you can’t? You may owe Fred a favour, but that doesn’t mean you can’t cause a little trouble.” 

You smirked in the mirror as you put on the final piece of the costume. The gold mask fit perfectly over your eyes and truly completed the sinister seductive sorceress part that Fred cast you as tonight. 

“I like the way you think.” 

The promise of mischief and chaos helped to put a little pep in your step as you and Chloe parted ways. You didn’t even recognize the Forbidden Forest as you stepped foot into the haunted woods. There were colourful tents set up all around the clearing, some containing mirrored mazes and others promised fortunes readings. The combination of red lights and creepy fog gave the demented looking carnival an eerie feel. As much as you hated to admit it, the twins have really outdone themselves tonight. 

After running through the spell that conjured a hyper realistic heart that you’d be ripping out of unsuspecting victims all night, Fred directed you towards the east side of the forest. 

“Remember, it’s not a good night unless someone’s pissed themselves out of fear,” Fred reminded you for the thousandth time. 

“You’re a sadist, Forge.” 

Fred placed a hand over his heart. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Y/N.” 

“Piss off, yeah?” 

He chuckled. “I’d tell you to act scary, but you’ve got that down pat.” Fred cocked his head, examining your costume. “Although, would it kill you to show a little more leg?” 

“It won’t kill me, but I might kill you.” 

Fortunately for Fred, George plucked his twin away from your murderous clutches to start greeting their guests. By the time it was half past seven, the clearing was full of your fellow students. Despite your initial reluctance, scaring the absolute piss out of people was actually a lot of fun. As Fred predicted, you had a natural talent for it. 

The first group that wandered into your neck of the woods consisted of your fellow housemates. Dean and Seamus led the pack while Ron and Harry followed close behind. The Chosen One was as pale as Peeves. Weasley, on the other hand, looked as though he might vomit at any moment. Leading the rear, Hermione shook her head and marched forward. Neville matched her pace as he nervously darted through the twisted roots choking up the forest floor. 

You waited until their group passed through the twisted willow tree before jumping out. Dean screamed in surprise while Seamus scrambled away from you. Thanks to Fred’s little trick, your hand went right through Finnigan’s shirt which caused him to shriek in terror. With a twisted smile, you yanked the hyper realistic heart out of his chest and cackled in delight. 

At the sight of the beating organ in your hands, Neville nearly passed out. Dean hauled Seamus to his feet while Ron and Harry hightailed it out of there. Hermione chuckled, shaking her head at the boys. 

“Well, they lasted longer than I thought they would,” she said. “Stuck out here for the night, Y/N?” 

“Unfortunately,” you replied as you vanished the dry blood with a quick spell. “Anyone you want me to scare the absolute wits out of tonight, Mione?” 

She chuckled, shaking her head. “No, I don’t have any scores to settle.” You nodded, wishing her a good rest of the night. 

Hermione bid you the same and started to follow the direction that the boys fled to. Before she disappeared through the thicket, a familiar, drawling voice called her back. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the golden girl.” 

Draco Malfoy appeared in the clearing. There was skull makeup on his face, but the shock of platinum blonde hair gave away his identity almost instantly. He stalked towards Hermione with that arrogant aristocratic smirk, completely oblivious that you were lurking in the dark. 

“All alone in the woods, little lion?”

Hermione’s gaze flickered towards you. A smile curved against her lips as her honey eyes glimmered with mischief. “On second thought…” 

The golden girl hadn’t even finished the rest of her sentence before you yanked Draco by the wrist and pushed him up against the weeping willow. The blonde blinked, his silver eyes full of surprise and terror as you raked your nails along the column of his throat. The red varnish looked like blood against his pale skin.

“All alone in the woods, little serpent?” 

Draco steeled himself. “And who are you supposed to be?” 

You smirked. “I’ll be whoever you want, darling.” Malfoy shivered as you pressed a palm against his chest. He leaned into your touch, his heart beating erratically underneath your fingertips. For Godric’s sake, he was truly making this way too easy. “As long as you give me your heart.” 

Never in his life had Draco Malfoy looked so terrified. The colour drained from his face as you reached through his perfectly tailored button down shirt, fingers slipping through the expensive silk material. You laughed maniacally and caressed his cheek. 

“Brace yourself, sweetheart. This might hurt a bit.” 

Without warning, you yanked his heart out of his chest. Draco stared in utter horror as blood dripped from your fingertips. The tell-tale heart pounded in your palm,  the mess of flesh and tissue covering your arm with carnage. To Malfoy’s credit, he didn’t scream or flee like your housemates. Instead, the Slytherin appeared rather impressed. 

“The spell work’s not bad.” Draco said with a smirk. He lifted your palm and examined the heart. “A word of advice, though. I would’ve turned the heart black. It would’ve been more realistic.” 

Just as you rolled your eyes, a deep, husky voice pulled your attention away from the blonde. 

“Who even knew Draco Malfoy had a heart?” 

You turned to find a gathering of serpents in the clearing. They were all wearing matching skull makeup, but you could clearly tell who each male was. The gang of Slytherins were pretty infamous and easily recognizable. The curly headed one had to be Mattheo Riddle. His gaze darted through the trees as though he expected someone to appear out of the thick fog. You had to hand it to her, Chloe had the Slytherin eating right out of her hand. 

The one beside him stood a little bit taller and though his face was smeared in the same white and black paint, there was no mistaking Enzo Berkshire’s lopsided grin and soft hazel eyes. Flanking either side of him was Blaize Zabini and Pansy Parkinson, the it-couple of your year, which only left one other serpent to account for. The male that had spoken earlier had to be none other than Theodore Nott. 

You turned your attention back to him, squinting in the faint light as he prowled towards you. Theodore was considerably taller than the rest of his friends, but not in the awkward scrawny way that most boys his age were. He was slim yet strong, sculpted by years of playing quidditch. The makeup only accentuated his high cheekbones and his ridiculously sharp jawline, but it was his eyes—those dead, cold eyes that had half the school swooning over him that gave you pause. 

Theodore grinned as you released your hold on Draco. He cocked his head, arrogance and swagger radiating off of him in waves as his eyes roamed your body. There was something unsettling about his gaze—Theodore’s eyes were neither green nor blue, but rather some undiscovered shade that reminded you of watercolours bleeding into each other. 

The manner in which he ogled you was shameless. He drank in your tight corset, the fishnet tights, and the thigh high boots like you were a painting on the walls of a gallery, pinned up for his viewing pleasure. You held your head high, completely undeterred by his stare. Besides, two could play that game. 

You schooled your features into indifference. “Who are you supposed to be? The Pumpkin King?” 

Theodore flashed you a charming smile that you had no doubt made the rest of the student population swoon. “I’ll be your Jack if you agree to be my Sally, sweetheart.” 

As slowly as possible, you dragged your gaze from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. Theodore smirked as you surveyed him just as he had done to you a few moments ago. Staying true to his Slytherin roots, Theodore wore a black suit and matching freshly pressed trousers, but the silk shirt underneath was maroon—Gryffindor colours. Your house colours. 

“Brave of you to wear rival colours.” 

“I thought you’d be happy,” Theodore drawled. “Better to hide the blood when you rip my heart out, darling.” 

“You think I care about making a mess?” you said with a smirk. “That’s half of the fun.” 

Theodore flashed you a smile that spelled nothing but trouble. “Oh, I think you’re just my kind of witch.” 

“Oi, Notty boy! If you’re done flirting, we’re heading to the mirror maze.”

Blaise was regarded with a wave of dismissal. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.” 

Hermione lingered by the edge of the clearing. She raised a brow in a silent question. You merely shrugged. Theodore Nott wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle. 

“Give Longbottom my apologies, Mione. And a calming draught,” you added as an afterthought. “The poor bloke will need it.”

Your friend smiled. “Sure thing. Shall I tell the twins that you’re…indisposed?” 

“No, let my wardens sweat it out a bit.”

Hermione chuckled and waved you off. The rest of the Slytherins followed shortly after, leaving you alone with Theodore. You locked eyes for a moment before you spun on your heel and walked off in the opposite direction. The brunette stared after you in stunned silence before you looked over your shoulder and smirked at him. 

“Well, are you coming or not, Theodore?” 

The sounds of the leaves crunching below his boots indicated that Theodore had snapped out of his stupor and was catching up to you. He did so rather quickly, thanks to those long legs of his. One of his strides was equal to three of yours. It took little to no effort on his part before the two of you were walking side by side. 

“You know who I am, then?”

You shrugged. “It’s not hard to tell you and your cronies apart.” 

Theodore grinned lazily and cocked his head at you. He squinted against the faint light, no doubt trying to ascertain a hint of your identity from underneath the gold mask. 

“It hardly seems fair. You know who I am, but I have no idea who you are.”

You smirked at him. “I’m Sally, remember?” 

“Does that mean I’m your Jack?” 

“For the night, at least.”

He seemed content with that answer. “Where are we headed now, little witch?”

“The Graveyard.”

Theodore appeared slightly baffled, but brooked no argument as you led him through a thicket of trees. You chuckled at the sight of him following you blindly. “A strange girl just told you she was leading you to a graveyard and you didn’t even bat an eyelash. I thought you Slytherins were all about self-preservation?”

“I have no intention of preserving myself tonight,” Theodore drawled. “Feel free to ruin me, Sally.”

“I suppose you think you’re rather charming, don’t you Jack?”

“I don’t think, darling. I know.” 

You rolled your eyes and walked toward the lone tombstone in between the weeping willows. Theodore watched as you waved your wand and muttered an incantation. The ground rumbled beneath your feet, clearing the leaves until an ominous set of stairs appeared in front of the grave. 

Theodore peered over your shoulder. “I suppose you won’t be telling me what’s down there, will you Sally?” 

“Don’t worry, Jack. I’ll hold your hand in case you get scared.” 

It was meant to be a joke, but Theodore took the jest to heart and slipped his hand into yours. You smirked as you intertwined your fingers. If he thought a little hand holding would bother you, then Theodore had no idea what he was in for tonight. 

“Lead the way, love.”

You led him down the steps, plunging into darkness the lower you went. Theodore took the opportunity to press up behind you and kept a hand on your waist as the two of you descended. He was so close that the scent of his expensive cologne mixed with cigarette smoke assaulted your senses.  

A red hazy light flashed up ahead. The pounding music and excited chatter of your fellow classmates grew louder as you and Theodore were transported into the speakeasy. The bar was stocked with alcohol, shots and cocktails floating mid-air with themed drinks like Merlin’s Mourge-a-rita, Witches’ Brew, and Cauldron Colada. You hailed Parvati down who was apparently serving as the bartender tonight along with her twin sister. 

“We’ll take two El Diablos.” 

Theodore raised a brow, but didn’t protest as Parvati presented the shots in front of you. Your fellow housemate also floated a salt shaker and a bowl of limes on the counter. You sprinkled salt on the back of your hand and grabbed a lime wedge in preparation. Theodore did the same, minus the lime. 

“Bottoms up, Jack.” 

“Cheers, Sally.”

After licking the salt off of your hand, you clinked your glass against Theodore’s and knocked the drink back. The El Diablo certainly lived up to its name. The drink was a combination of tequila mixed with pepperup potion and topped off with a hint of cayenne. Needless to say, it had a bit of a kick. 

With a slight grimace, you bit down on the lime, which helped with the unpleasant aftertaste. Theodore caught your wrist and held your gaze as he directed your hand up to his mouth. He mimicked your move and sucked hard on the lime, his lips brushing your fingers as he licked the juice from where it had dribbled onto your palm. 

A shiver snaked down your spine. You may be a shameless flirt, but Theodore was definitely matching your energy. 

“I can’t believe the twins built a speakeasy down here,” Theodore said. He leaned in close so you could hear him over the music. “I’m almost impressed.” 

“I’ll tell my wardens you said that.” 

“You keep calling them that,” Theodore said, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You wouldn’t mean that one of the weasels is your ball and chain in a literal sense, right?”

“Are you jealous, Jack?” 

He smirked. “I just want to know which twin I’m sending to the infirmary tonight.”

You chuckled. “I’m not dating Fred or George. I just owe them a favour. Speaking of which, I’ve got some men to scare. Be a good boy and wait for me here.”

Theodore shook his head. “Oh, I’m not letting you out of my sight. I’m yours for the night, remember?” He toyed with the laces on your corset and pulled you towards him, your breasts pressing against the hard muscles of his chest. “I have a proposition for you, little witch.”

You quirked a brow, which made Theodore chuckle darkly. “Not that kind of proposition, principessa.” He twirled the lace between his fingers. “I say we terrorise the student body together.” 

“You want to help me do my job?”

Theodore shrugged. “Why not? We can be partners in crime.” 

You cocked your head. It certainly would be more fun to have someone else partake in your chore. Curling your fingers around his maroon tie, you pulled Theodore down to your level. His gaze flickered to your mouth and you couldn’t help the thrill that buzzed in your veins as you watched him swallow thickly. 

“You’ve got a deal, Jack.” 

As it turns out, Theodore was an excellent partner in crime. The two of you concocted a rather effective formula to inflict fear upon your classmates. The Red Room soon became your hunting grounds. In the creepy blood soaked maze, Theodore chased groups through the enchanted room while you lurked in the shadows. As soon as they thought they were safe from skull face, the groups were then led right into your trap. 

You could hardly count the amount of people you scared shitless tonight. 

Eventually the two of you returned to the bar for more drinks. You ordered another round of shots, which Theodore accepted without question. By the time you were six shots deep, the tequila had annihilated any sense of personal space between you. Theodore leaned down to take a sip of your drink. 

“Trying to get me drunk, love?”

“That depends,” you quipped back. “How many drinks do I need to plie you with until you agree to dance?” 

“With you? I’d say yes while stone cold sober.”

You grinned. “Come on, then.”

Theodore allowed you to guide him away from the bar and into the throng of your fellow classmates. It was total debauchery out on the dance floor. The music pulsed seductively as bodies writhed to the hypnotic beat and the red light bathed the crowd in a sinister glow as the alcohol loosened both limbs and lips. 

The warmth of the tequila made you feel flushed, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Theodore’s hands on your waist. With your back pressed against his chest, you swayed your hips to the beat of the music. You rocked side to side and grinded against him, which caused his grip to tighten. Theodore’s fingers dug into your sides as you wrapped an arm around his neck and arched your back against his chest. 

His dark lashes fluttered as your lips brushed against the column of his throat. Theodore shuddered when you nipped at his skin. A low groan escaped his mouth as he tried to chase your lips, but you dropped low to the floor and left him in a daze. 

Theodore caught your wrist and pressed you flush against him. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s not polite to tease?’ 

“Do I look like someone who gives a shit about being polite?” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck. “You should know that I have a terrible habit of playing with my food.” 

Theodore smirked and fisted your hair between his fingers. “And you should know that I have no qualms about being toyed with. As long as you promise to devour me later, little witch.”

You brushed up against him and felt his hardness rub against you. “Cross my heart and hope to die. I’ll get my taste of you tonight.” He inhaled sharply as you tugged him down to you. His eyes fluttered, fully expecting a kiss. “But before that, would you be a dear and get me another drink? I’m absolutely parched.”

A pained expression dawned on his handsome features. Theodore was fully aware of the little cat and mouse game you were playing, but he seemed keen to play along. If only to please you. 

“You’re killing me, bella,” Theodore said with a sigh. He leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss on your cheek, a promise of what was to come. “I’ll be right back. Stay here, yeah?” 

“Don’t take too long,” you said with a wink. “I might get impatient.”

With that, Theodore hustled back to the bar. You chuckled at the sight. Your amusement only grew as Chloe approached. As soon as she was within reach, you tugged your friend onto the dancefloor. She happily obliged, the moves flowing naturally. The two of you were known to bring the whole house down at countless parties. 

“I take it Riddle hasn’t found you yet?” 

“No, but he’s close.” Chloe shouted over the music, motioning to the bar where her boyfriend was currently standing. Mattheo, Theo, and Draco were talking in hushed whispers, looking rather serious. 

“Gettin’ colder, he and Draco are heading toward the exit.”

The poor Slytherin was chasing after some unsuspecting blonde girl who looked a lot like Chloe from behind. A mischievous grin curved against her lips as she watched Theodore weave his way back to you, toting a drink in each hand. 

“Is that Theodore Nott you’re flirting with?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” you replied with a coy smile. “He doesn't know it’s me, though, so if he asks you, you have no idea who I am tonight.”

“My lips are sealed.” 

With a wink, Chloe slipped away just as Theodore returned. He handed you a drink and watched as you sipped it slowly. Theodore downed his cocktail in less than a minute and tossed his cup into the nearest trash can. 

“Impatient, aren’t we?” 

“You promised a taste.” 

You smirked, chugging the rest of your drink and wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb. Theodore watched intently as you set the empty cup down. “Come and get it, then.”

The words had barely left your lips before Theodore kissed you. There wasn’t a hint of timidness in the way that his lips crashed against yours, a soft moan escaping his mouth as he tilted your chin up to gently bite down on your lower lip. You gasped when he nipped at you, leaving your mouth open for his tongue to slide into. 

The taste of him was intoxicating as he massaged your tongue against his, licking the roof of your mouth before he kissed you sloppily, open-mouthed and positively obscene despite the crowd dancing around you. What started out as a kiss turned into a full blown make out session in the middle of the dance floor. Neither one of you felt a hint of shame as you shared another filthy kiss. With a groan, Theodore’s hands roamed along your back and squeezed when he reached your ass. 

“Fuck, you have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.” 

You smirked, already equipped with a salacious response when your gaze caught on the clock behind the bar. It was nearly midnight and the twins had instructed all the actors and actresses to gather in the main entrance for the grand finale. Fred and George would have a fit if they found out you had abandoned your post. The twats would probably demand another favour out of you. There was no way you were going to shackle yourself to the Weasleys a second time. 

“Shit,” you hissed under your breath. “It’s almost midnight. I have to get back.”

“I thought you were my Sally,” Theodore drawled. He looked slightly dazed, his curly hair dishevelled and his lips swollen from your kisses. “Not Cinderella.”

“I’m being serious, Nott. If I’m not back before the clock strikes twelve, I’ll have to owe the twins another favour.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you back in time. Besides, if we’re playing into this whole Cinderella fantasy then let’s skip to the good part and see if it fits and by it I mean me inside of you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. Before you knew it, you were dragging Theodore out of the speakeasy. The two of you climbed the steps three at a time, nearly tumbling over one another as you raced up the stairs. The woods were dark and foreboding, but provided plenty of cover for your illicit activities. 

You tugged Theodore along by his tie and he pressed you against an oak tree, the bark biting at your exposed skin. You were kissing again in no time and the sounds the two of you made were downright lewd. Theodore reached for your mask, but you swatted his hand away. 

“The mask stays on.” 

He smirked. “I didn’t think it was possible to get any harder, but you seem to be an overachiever.”

“I aim to please.” 

Theodore smirked against your neck as he hiked you up and wrapped your legs around his waist. His hand wandered underneath your skirt and those deft fingers of his teased along your soaked core. 

“You’re so fucking wet, little witch.” You groaned as he plunged his fingers between your folds. “Such a pretty cunt too. Will you clench this tightly around my cock when I fuck you?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” you whispered huskily. 

A stream of curses fell from Theodore’s lips, but not in a language that you understood. Italian, perhaps. Whatever it was, it sounded sexy as hell. You unbuckled his belt and slipped your hand into his trousers, feeling his hard length twitch in response. A choked groan rumbled through his chest as you pumped him between your fingers. 

You swallowed thickly. Theodore was long and hard, his cock almost too big to fit inside of you. But you always did like a challenge. 

Those watercolour eyes that had been pinned on you all night turned positively dark. The strange blue and green shade that you had grown familiar with was now swallowed by darkness, leaving Theodore with a gaze that would’ve rivalled Medusa’s. You felt it searing into your skin as you sank down on his length, biting your lip as he stretched your walls. 

“Merda,” Theodore cursed. “So fucking tight. C’mon pretty girl, that’s it. I know you can take all of me.” 

You shuddered a breath as he pushed inside. Theodore watched with hungry eyes as you took him inch by inch. It seemed never ending. “Fuck, you’re so big.” 

Tears pricked the back of your eyes. The stretch was an equal measure of pain and pleasure. You could feel every ridge and vein on his cock and your pussy hugged around him as he throbbed inside of you. 

Theodore caressed your cheek. “It’s alright, little witch. I know you can take it. I’m yours, remember? Your partner-in-crime. So use me, dolcezza. You’re in charge tonight. Just set the pace and I’ll follow.”

The reassuring words encouraged you to slowly grind against him. Theodore hissed as you lifted your hips until only his tip was inside of you. His mouth was hot and needy against yours as you grinded down to take all of him again.

“Che cazzo,” Theodore murmured as he bottomed out.

The drag of his cock was delicious. He filled you to the hilt and pressed his hand on your stomach to feel his length buried deep inside of you. The tightness it caused made the both of you groan. You rolled your hips and set a steady pace, lowering onto his cock over and over again while you whimpered.

“Oh, fuck. It feels like you’re splitting me apart.”

Theodore groaned as he sucked and nipped at your neck. The heat of his tongue was everywhere, leaving marks on your skin in his wake. It would be a pain in the ass to cover, but you didn’t care as you continued to ride him.

“Salazar fucking save me, your pussy feels like heaven.”

Theodore chuckled darkly as you clenched around him. He untied the laces of your corset impatiently, freeing your breasts from the constraints. Theodore brushed his thumb over your hard nipples before taking one into his mouth. He watched with eager eyes as you moaned, sucking and swirling his tongue while you picked up the pace. 

“You look so pretty when you fuck me,” Theodore hummed as he flicked his tongue against your stiffened peaks. “Ride me harder, little witch. That’s it. Yeah, roll your hips just like that. Good girl.”

“Gods, I didn’t expect you to have such a filthy mouth,” you said with a low laugh. “You’re always so quiet in class.”

“So we have a class together,” Theodore said as he thrusted upwards to match your pace. “I thought you sounded familiar.” 

“Is that so?” 

“It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can't quite grasp it. I guess I’ll just have to pay extra attention to all the Gryffindor girls in my classes.”

“I’m a Gryffindor? How do you figure that?”

“Besides your entire personality? You seemed friendly with Granger and though you complain about the twins, I’d wager that you’re mates as well.” 

“Smart and handsome,” you said with a smirk.  “You’re full of surprises aren’t you, Jack?” 

Theodore smirked and thrusted sharply inside of you. “You have no idea, Sally.”

“I thought I was in charge tonight,” you said in a stern voice. 

“You are, but I think you could use a little encouragement. You’re holding back.” 

You circled your hips before lifting them and slamming back down. Theodore’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. 

“Does it feel like I’m holding back?” 

“I’m a patient man, but if you keep toying with me like this I might just have to fuck that attitude right out of you, little witch.” 

You tilted your chin up and smirked. “So do it.” 

All that bravado left your body as Theodore rutted into you. He drove his cock deep within you, stretching your walls until you were clawing at his back. Theodore grunted as you squelched and squeezed around his length. His pace was relentless and punishing, guiding your hips to bounce on his cock while you moaned in pleasure. 

“Oh gods, right there.” You cried out, burying your face into his neck. 

You inhaled his scent greedily and sank your teeth into his flesh. Theodore slowed his pace and chuckled darkly when you whined. 

“What’s the matter, little witch? Can’t take a dose of your own medicine?” 

“Don’t stop,” you whimpered. “Keep going. I’m so close.” 

“Beg me, darling. Tell me how desperate you are. I want to hear those pretty little words.” 

Theodore halted his movements, his tip barely inside of you as he teased along your folds. He held your hips in place so you couldn’t sink down to take more of him. Usually, you were used to taking charge, but the way he put you in your place had you creaming all over him. Needless to say, you weren’t above begging at this point. 

“Please, I need you. Fuck me harder. Give me everything. I can take it. Every fucking inch.”

“Merda, you’re fucking filthy. Begging for my cock like a good little slut. Brace yourself, bella. Remember that you asked for this.”

A whimper fell from your lips as Theodore bucked into your cunt. His cock impaled you, splitting you apart and knocking the very breath from your lungs as he fucked you roughly against the tree. He squeezed your ass, keeping a firm grip to secure you in place as he jackknifed into you. 

“Oh gods,” you sobbed, raking your nails underneath his shirt and dragging red lines all along his back. Theodore hissed as you clawed at him, thrusting so hard that your teeth rattled every time he drove into you. “Fuck, it’s too much.” 

Theodore grabbed your chin harshly. “No, it’s not. You begged to be fucked, now take my cock like the perfect little whore I know that you are, yeah?”

You nodded. Words escaped you at the moment. The filth coming out of Theodore’s mouth aroused you in more ways than one. Who knew that the silent Slytherin fucked like a god?

A stray tear rolled down your cheek. Theodore licked it away and chuckled as you whimpered. “Are you crying, sweetheart? Such pretty little sobs. Don’t worry, you’ll get your reward. You’ve been such a good girl for me and good girls get to cum.”

At that, Theodore rubbed your clit and pushed you over the edge. His fingers were magic against your sensitive bundle of nerves and it wasn’t long before you were clenching around him, making his hips stutter as the orgasm blindsided you. A scream echoed through the woods and it was only when Theodore covered your mouth when you realised that the sound had come from you. 

“Fuck,” Theodore cursed, dropping his forehead to yours. “Merda, I’m not gonna last much longer. Not when that pretty pussy of yours is milking me dry. Oh gods, I’m gonna cum—“

You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist as his body seized underneath you. Theodore bit into your flesh as he came, leaving a bruised purple mark on your collarbone. You had never seen anyone look as beautiful as he did when he lost control, lips parted, cheeks flushed, devil eyes rolling back as the orgasm thoroughly rocked him. 

The stillness that settled over the Forbidden Forest was almost eerie. The two of you looked at one another, dazed and confused as though you weren’t even sure who or where you were at the moment. Through all your romps, no one has ever put your body to the test like Theodore has. You could tell by his intense gaze that he likely felt the same. 

Theodore set you down gently. Compared to how rough he was a few moments ago, the contrast almost made you laugh. You heard the chime of the clock echo a beat later. 

Fuck. That only gave you a minute to sprint through the woods and make it back in time before the twins reached your clearing. You frantically re-tied your corset and straightened the skirts of your dress. Theodore was busy buckling his belt. 

“I have to go,” you said as you shrugged your robe back on. “I’ll see you around, Jack.”

“Wait, you never told me your name!” 

But Theodore was too late. You were already gone by the time he looked up. He sighed and started making his way back to the festivities. The last chime of the clock indicated that it was midnight. He could only hope that you’d gotten back in time. 

Theodore paused as something crunched underneath his feet. He peered down at the forest floor and found something golden peeking out amongst the leaves. With a smile, he picked up the golden mask. 

It looks like his mystery girl left him a clue after all. 

Theodore would find his Sally. 

He’d make sure of it. 

Theodore couldn’t remember the last time he was this excited to attend class. 

After the All Hallow’s Eve party, he’d done everything he could to dig up information on his mystery girl. Theodore had even gone as far as to interrogate the Weasley twins, but as usual, the redheaded menaces were unnecessarily difficult about it. 

“Sorry, mate, but we don’t reveal the identity of our actors and actresses,” George said with a shit-eating grin. 

Fred nodded in agreement. “Confidentiality and all that. We wouldn’t want to go around spilling trade secrets. It’s bad for business.”

The weasels stayed mum even after Theodore offered them a ridiculous amount of money to reveal his mystery girl’s identity. Unfortunately, his desperation only served to intrigue the twins and the sadistic little gits seemed to derive pleasure in seeing Theodore grow more and more frustrated. 

“Best of luck to you, Nott,” Fred said with a little smile. “If you do end up finding her, you’ll need all the fortune you can get. She’s a feisty thing, that one.” 

“I know,” Theodore said with a glare. “That’s exactly why I want to find her.”

George chuckled. “Godric bless your heart.”

If the twats weren’t his main weed suppliers, Theodore would’ve punched their teeth in. Despite Fred and George’s general uselessness, he was in a good mood when Monday rolled around. Equipped with the knowledge that his mystery girl was in one of his classes, he made sure to pay extra attention to every Gryffindor girl. It was only a matter of time before he found her. 

“You’re smiling,” Enzo commented as he caught up to Theodore in the courtyard. “What’s happened? Did my cousin fall down the moving stairs again?”

Theodore snorted. “Even better, Berkshire. I’m going to find my mystery girl today and you’re going to help me.”

“How?” 

“You’re friends with literally everyone. Someone has to know who she is.”

“Hmm, come to think of it Mattheo’s girlfriend is good friends with a lot of the Gryffindor girls. I bet she’d know who it is.” 

“Good, let’s start there. Where is Chloe anyways?” 

“Probably in the Great Hall with Mattheo.”

The two of them headed over to where the rest of the castle was currently having breakfast. Enzo made a beeline for their usual table where Mattheo, Blaise, and Draco were seated, but Thedore didn’t follow. He stopped in his tracks when he spotted Chloe seated with a girl who looked vaguely familiar to him. Theodore was sure that you had Charms together. More than that, you were wearing a red and gold tie. A Gryffindor. 

Theodore inched closer, skirting around the edges to listen in on the conversation. 

“How was your weekend?” 

Theodore froze. He knew that voice. It was husky and seductive and sounded exactly like how his mystery girl had when she’d whispered in his ear. 

It was you. 

It had to be. 

“It was good,” Chloe responded with a grin. “Really good.” 

“Mattheo found you after all, then?” 

“He did and suffice to say he liked the second part of my costume more than the first.” 

You laughed in response. Chloe leaned in and lowered her voice. “What about you? You disappeared from the speakeasy, so I’m assuming I’m not the only one who had an eventful night.”

“It was fine.” 

“Just fine?” 

You flushed, biting your bottom lip. “It was the best lay of my life.” 

Theodore smirked. So it wasn’t just him, then. The sex had truly been something else entirely. He had been confident that you must’ve felt the same way in the moment, but doubt crept in since you’d run off so abruptly. Now he had confirmation and it was satisfying as hell to hear you say it. 

“There you are,” Enzo said from behind him. “I brought Mattheo, so we can ask Chloe about your mystery girl.”

“That little witch of yours really put a spell on you, huh, Nott?” Mattheo teased. “Let’s go, then. Maybe my girl can help.”

Chloe looked up and smiled as Mattheo leaned down to kiss her. You glanced up at the exact moment that Theodore came into view. He clocked the way your cheeks flushed as your gaze landed on him.

“You know my boyfriend,” Chloe said. You nodded at Mattheo who shot you a polite smile back. “That’s Enzo and Theo. Boys, meet Y/N. Y/N, meet the boys.” 

Theodore took your hand and brushed his lips against your knuckles. “Hello, Sally.” 

You smiled back in return. “Hello, Jack.”

Chloe’s eyes widened, immediately taking stock of the situation. Mattheo and Enzo were slower to catch on, but luckily she ushered the boys away. 

“We’ll give you two some privacy.” 

You tried not to laugh as Chloe winked behind Theodore’s back. 

“I found you.” 

“So it seems.” 

“I guess you won’t be needing this anymore,” he said as he pulled out the golden mask from his backpack. Theodore’s intense gaze swept over you, cataloguing your features. 

“You kept it,” you said with a small smile. 

“I would’ve returned it sooner if you hadn’t left in such a haste after we—“

“Fucked in the woods?” 

You were amused to find Theodore blushing. “I was going to say hooked up, but I suppose that’s another way to put it. Anyways, you left in such a hurry. You didn’t even give me your name.”

“Didn’t really think you wanted me to stay.”

“Are you kidding? I haven’t been about to think about anything else since that night. You’ve taken over my thoughts. It’s fucking maddening.” Theodore caressed your cheek and tilted your chin so he could look at you better. “My mystery girl. You’re more beautiful than anything I could’ve ever imagined.” 

“Well, you have the real thing now. It’s your move, Jack.”

Theodore shook his head. “No, not Jack. Theo. That’s the name you’ll be screaming from now on. After I take you out on a proper date.”

You raised a brow. “What makes you think I’ll say yes?”

The devilish grin on his face sent shivers down your spine. “You’re really going to turn down the best lay of your life?” Your eyes widened, which made him smile even wider. “That’s right, sweetheart. You’re not the only one who can sneak up on people. So, what do you say?” 

“Pick me up at eight. Don’t be late, Theo.” 

Theodore winked. “It’s a date, Y/N.”

TAGLIST

@annaisabookworm @marina468 @yaraasthings @the0doreslover @bubybubsters @moony-artemis @natasha887 @lucyysthings @criesinlies @bunnymallowo @niktwazny303 @letmedownslows @siriuslyalovergirl @wordsarelife @clairesjointshurt @daydreamingabthar

[desideriumwriter]

Anyone But You | Chapter 6 | F.W. x Fem!Reader

Chapter Summary - Sore and waking up in a familiar room, reader figures out what the aftermath of last night was for her.

Pairing - Fred Weasley x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Category - enemies to lovers + hurt/comfort

Content Warnings - cursing, mentions of bruises and injuries

Word Count - 1.8k

A/N: trying to get back into my groove, so this is just another filler chap ig, i don't like it but i hope you enjoy

Series Masterlist | F.W Masterlist | Previous | Next | Navi

The strong light of the sun peeked through the window. Your eyes fluttered open, the last thing you remembered was passing out in Fred’s arms. There was a pounding in your head and your entire body was sore as you took in your surroundings. The worst amount of pain came from your right arm. Which was wrapped from your hand to your elbow in bandages.

You looked around the room you were in, it definitely wasn’t a hospital room.

It was familiar but it wasn’t yours.

It was the twins.

And the throw blanket with a large “F” stitched into it told you whose bed you were in.

What the fuck were you doing in Fred Weasleys bed?

You groaned when you tried to sit up, pain and soreness shot through your entire body immediately, causing you to drop back down onto the bed. You laid there, weakly holding your torso in pain.

However, Freds bed was surprisingly comfortable, despite the amount of soreness you felt. The mattress sunk underneath you, the multiple pillows sat cool under your head nicely, and the blankets were soft. You hate to admit it, but it was cozy.

You had to get out of it eventually, and you couldn’t be seen here, in his bed.

You threw the sheets and blankets off your body, revealing your legs, scattered in small and large bruises, a few tiny scrapes and scratches made their cameos as well. You grimaced at the sight of it. It only gave you reminders of what happened last night, where you were last night. Bleeding and stuck in the dirt.

You really couldn't remember much, memories of last night turned foggy.

You pushed yourself up using your good arm, still wincing and whimpering at the small stings of pain. Your backpack sat on the floor, leaning against a wooden leg of Freds bed frame.

After successfully moving your feet to the floor, you shuffled them across the old wood, practically limping as you made it to the bathroom, not bothering to close the door as you looked in the mirror at your injuries from last night.

You looked ghastly.

There was gauze wrapped around your head, a very prominent bruise around your left eye, shades of purple painting your under eye. There was still some dried blood stuck in your hair, some stains of it on the side of your face.

You turned in the mirror, lifting up your shirt slightly to find one large bruise painting the left side of your ribcage.

You felt ghastly.

You tried to wiggle your fingers and roll around your hand with the bandages wrapped around it. It only ended up in you wincing at the feeling of a million little stabs going through your wrists.

“It’s broken.” A voice muttered from the side of you. You looked to the direction it came from, and there you saw Fred standing awkwardly, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“Your hand. Arm. It’s broken.” He repeated, wincing at his own words.

“Really? How do you know?” You shot at him, slight sarcasm in your voice.

“Well, other than the fact of how you can’t move it without making a painful noise. I was there while my mum tried to fix you up.”

“Oh.” You said softly, focusing your attention back to your broken bone, trying to ignore that he stayed with you even after he got you back here.

“She couldn’t do much to it so she only used ferula on you. She was able to repair your bag too, there were a few small rips.”

You only nodded your head, hoping he would get the hint to leave so you could. You didn’t want him to see you limp back to the bedroom, you didn’t want him to see you in any form of vulnerability. Though with what happened the previous night, he somewhat already has.

“This might be bad timing but…” Fred held up something, you could see him in the corner of your eye, whatever he was holding was dangling and twinkling.

Shit.

“I reckon you said you had gotten rid of this?” His mouth curled into a sinister smile, you recognized it was that dumb necklace.

“Where’d you get that?” You limped over to him quickly. Getting a better look at the gem, you realized your body wasn’t the only thing of yours that was damaged in the events of last night. The moonstone was cracked.

“It was dangling out of your bag.” He shrugged. You attempted to snatch the jewelry out of his hand, he was quick and darted his hand back. “I just want to know why you brought it along?”

“I didn’t.” You lied. “It was probably just sitting in the bottom of my bag.” Another lie.

���Really? ‘Cause it was right on the top of all your things.” He tilted his head at you.

“Could you just give it back?” You tried to grab it again, you nearly lost your balance doing so, you held onto the doorway for support.

“Tell me why you brought it first.” He chuckled, finding your weak attempts to take it from him amusing.

“Give it back-” You made the mistake of letting go of the doorway completely when you tried to reach out for it again, you lost all balance and your body started heading for the floor.

You were stopped by a large arm wrapping around your waist, causing an extreme amount of pain due to the pressure against your bruised body, but preventing you from getting any more from the wooden floor. You cried out in pain as his arm hooked around you, bringing your back to his chest.

“Shit! Sorry! Did I hurt you? Are you alright?” Fred's voice was full of panic and his eyes widened in fear, worrying that he made your condition worse. Even though the pressure hurt on your body, it was kind of nice. The proximity was kind of nice, you felt almost safe for a second.

Then you had to remind yourself, this was Fred Weasley.

“I’m fine.” You grunted out, turning to face him. His arms still lingered on you, holding the sides of your shoulder. “Can you let go of me?” Fred ripped his hands away from you, muttering another apology.

You stumbled slightly and held onto the railing next to you for stability once you were free from his grasp.

“Here. I’ll let you have it back.” He held the necklace out in front of you. You hesitantly grabbed it from him, waiting for him to dart his hand away again, he didn’t.

The necklace sat tangled in the palm of your hand. You sighed and rubbed your thumb over the splits in the moonstone.

“Maybe my mum might be able to fix it. I can see if she will. She probably can if you want!” He babbled.

“No, no. It’s fine.” You were obviously upset, now Fred felt guilty.

There was a moment of silence, Fred looking at you, you looking at the damaged gem.

“My dad said he’d call your parents once you wake up, so I guess I’ll tell him.” He exited himself from the conversation, moving backwards towards the stairs.

“Yeah.” You nodded, letting him go. He turned and began to walk down.

“Hey.” You stopped him, he turned and looked at you, his brows raised in concern.

“Just because you got me out of there doesn’t mean we’re friends now..or that I don’t hate you anymore.”

“Noted.” Fred gave a tight lipped smile before making his way down the staircase.

You went home within the next hour. Your parents didn’t trust getting you home by apparating because of your condition. So Mr.Weasley let them use their car.

Your parents took you to a muggle hospital for some reason, to get a “proper cast” on.

They never really did trust mending spells for broken bones, especially after what happened to Harry Potter in his second year. No one really knew if Brackium Emendo was an actual spell anyways.

Whatever. The next day you were already getting an abundance of cards.

From Cedric, apologizing that he couldn’t help you and was carried away by the crowd. From Mr. and Mrs.Weasley. Even Ron, Harry, and Hermione sent one, but they were just simple “Get Well Soon!” cards from the store.

The only letter that stuck out to you was from the twins. Hidden inside another small gift box.

You unraveled the ribbon that held the box together, popping off the lid, a small folded piece of paper sat on top.

Bruise cream. Homemade by yours truly! It’ll get rid of those nasty marks! Not completely, but it’ll fade them!

Love, Gred & Forge.

P.S. It won’t turn you into a canary (hopefully).

You let out a breathy laugh at the message. Under the wrapping was a white tube, a piece of painters tape over it and bold letters written with a black marker saying: BRUISE CREAM

Another small piece of paper with instructions came along with it.

You inspected the tube, still not trusting it. They wouldn’t prank you while you were injured like this, right?

The only bad thing could happen is that it doesn’t work and messes your skin up.

You took the risk and squeezed a small amount out, you chose a smaller and less prominent bruise to rub the cream onto.

You did as the instructions said and waited about two minutes before wiping it off, as the instructions stated. And it worked. The bruise was completely gone, no evidence of it ever being there.

The cream worked on your bigger and dark bruises, it didn’t get rid of them entirely, but it made them faint and less noticeable.

The only problem was it didn’t get rid of the soreness from where the bruises were, and it sure as hell couldn’t fix broken bones.

You wished it would, you didn’t know how you would be able to use your quill with a giant cast covering most of your hand.

You’ll figure something out. All you have figured out is that you’ll have this damn thing on for the next six weeks. Great.

You thought about writing a letter back to the twins, thanking them. But you couldn’t write and you hated them, what they did was nice, but you still hated them.

In the living room, the Daily Prophet sat on the small coffee table in front of the couch.

It was already reporting about the attack at the Quidditch World Cup. The Dark Mark in the sky. The muggle family you saw being tortured. Even some about how Harry was left behind and saw it too.

A heavy sigh of exhaustion left your body, you absolutely knew it would be all you'd hear when you went back to school.

And you were not ready for it.

tell me what you thought! :) or ask tba to the taglist!

TAGLIST: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @five-seconds-flat @nal-leo-17 @rhunew @albertdabuttler @weak-aesthetic @whotfskai @m00nymarauder @miaandthediamonds @hpstuff244444 @tarzanathetumblingwarrior @isabellavolere

[camelliacats]

not for all the gifts in the world

Having some feels with an old ship off the pro Quidditch pitch~ ;)

Fic: "not for all the gifts in the world" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: Angelina Johnson/Lucius Malfoy, with cameos from Alicia Spinnet & an OC

Rating: K+

Words: ~1,530

Additional info: romance, angst, Next Gen era, 3rd person POV

Summary: Angelina Johnson, ace of the Ballycastle Bats, has a secret admirer. But that's all he'll ever be. She swears.

      She's used to having her share of fans. Being around the Weasley twins and Lee, Angelina can rebuff the best of them with a smile one second and slide into an easy joke with her mates the next.

      But it's different, having fans and playing in front of people, in a world that's still rebuilding.

      The stands aren't full to capacity the way they were back when she longed to turn pro. People come for the spectacle, of course, and the most diehard of fans will cheer as though Dark forces didn't almost win several years ago. But the living, breathing thing that is the crowd just isn't the same.

      The permanence of change surrounds Angelina, no matter how far she flies.

      It irks her, how those around her go with the flow and aren't bothered in the same way. Alicia debates reconsidering the Quidditch life, since she's still a reserve, and even Katie puts aside these same ambitions, but that's easy enough to guess why, since Fred narrowly escaped death with the castle crumbling around him and George in the war. Katie used to be one of Angelina's and Alicia's primary fans, but she's a rare sight these days, trading off with Lee, assisting Verity in the shop with looking after the twins.

      The reminder of the twins, with a renewed bond no one can come between, makes Angelina tug harder than necessary on her gloves, and she winces as the motion yanks on her wrists uncomfortably.

      "Watch out there," Alicia warns from the locker beside hers. The shorter woman pauses changing out of her Ballycastle uniform. "You're wearing quite the dour look after flying one of the best games in your life, you know."

      Angelina cocks her head to one side, because Alicia's exaggeration hardly warrants comment. Staying steady on one's broom during a downpour is a basic skill, as far as Angelina's concerned.

      A knock at the locker-room door alerts them to the presence of one of their team's Beaters, Kolchak. She grins from ear to ear while carrying a gigantic box under her arm. "You've got another one, Johnson."

      Angelina holds out her hand, ignoring Alicia's gape and Kolchak's feline curiosity. The box weighs the same as a Quaffle, and she undoes the bow and tears at the paper while Alicia stares.

      "I can't believe this is still going on! A secret admirer—and you don't care? The coaches don't care?"

      Kolchak shushes her. "Of course the coaches care. Why do you think I wasn't here sooner? They were busy checking it over, using all sorts of Scanning Spells and some such. They take anonymous gifts seriously, even seven years after the war."

      Angelina opens her mouth—but stops short of correcting them. Instead, she runs her fingers over the bonbons and picks one up to try. They're filled with treacle tart and dusted with a red powder. "Fizzlesticks," Angelina mumbles around a bite.

      "What'd you say?" Alicia furrows her brow.

      "These are special-made," Angelina says, "from a place in Belgium. They dust these with crushed, homegrown Fizzlesticks." With every word she speaks, the tingle on her lips intensifies but pleasantly. By the time the chocolate-and-treacle mixture melts away on her tongue, the tingling sensation fades.

      She doesn't have to look up to witness the expression the other two witches exchange above her head. "Fancy chocolates and flowers," Alicia comments. "And you don't want to meet your secret admirer?"

      Angelina eats a second bonbon and shrugs. Then she changes out of her uniform and hits the showers, leaving those two behind her to gossip. She breezes through the task and dresses in denims and a worn but loved rouge blouse before pulling her cloak on. "See you next practice, guys," Angelina says by way of parting, and she slips the box of bonbons into her Expanded rucksack before exiting.

      The rain's let up, so Angelina doesn't bother with a charm to send the drizzle away. She passes the coaches on her way through the pitch and to the main exit—they check with her that she received her mystery gift and Kolchak didn't open it for her—and Angelina nearly makes it past the ticket booth, home free.

      Then she notices the disruption in the rain up ahead, to the right, and catches sight of his shoulder. She almost smirks, because of course he can't be caught in today's weather.

      "You knew what today's conditions would be," Angelina pipes up, sidling up to him on his left. The drizzle is a drizzle, yes, but a few minutes of it do begin to weigh her locs, and she pushes away a stray one clinging to her cheek. She takes a step closer, falling under his Repelling Charm. "Lucius."

      Lucius peers down at her—not by much, since Angelina nearly matches him in height. But his lips are a straight line until he raises one amused eyebrow. "Indeed I did. However, as a dedicated Ballycastle enthusiast…"

      She grins. For a man who committed crimes but did his time and testimonies, Lucius Malfoy is a man of simple pleasures. And, amidst all the change in life (her future with Fred shot down, her friends mostly wandering far and not sticking close, his ex-wife and son cutting all ties, the Ministry thankful for his obedience but done with him all the same), Lucius' attendance at Ballycastle Bats matches has been the one constant these last few years.

      Well, that and—as of a year and a half ago—the gifts.

      "The bonbons are delicious, by the way," she remarks.

      "As I insisted they were when I brought Maierwells up at our last meal. They put Honeydukes to shame," Lucius huffs. He begins walking, knowing Angelina will fall into step.

      She does with a shrug. "Yeah, well, us common folk don't hop around from country to country, usually, even with magic in our pocket." Angelina sighs. "…the thought's nice, though."

      They walk for two minutes, far enough from the pitch to Disapparate. But, when they come to a stop, Lucius turns to face her. "I take it my proposal's no longer under consideration, then?" And perhaps it's a trick of the overcast light, but his eyes are heavy with disappointment when he asks what they both know is all but a rhetorical question.

      Angelina adjusts the straps of her bag over her shoulder, the bonbons weighing her down—much like all the gifts before. Because Alicia's right and wrong, really. It's flowers and chocolates. And sometimes it's been a rare Quidditch collectible or nice gear. Once it was jewelry, but Angelina opened the box and shut it just as quickly and shoved it back into Lucius' hands months ago. So today it's bonbons.

      But last week was a bouquet of deeply pink peony buds, plump and saturated and colorful like mulberries, and they came with a note: By the time these bloom, you'll be ready to accept me.

      Angelina frowns and stares into his eyes for a heartbeat before lowering her gaze. Her eyes land on the fluffy collar of his cloak (always something exotic with these Malfoys—is that mink? No, too red, maybe something else, like fox or marten), and then Angelina glances at her own ensemble…something she could never picture a Malfoy in, something she can't ever picture being allowed into Malfoy Manor.

      Dinner is one thing. Dinner can be had, with a fan.

      So she shakes her head. "Things are better like this. I prefer them this way," she says. Unchanged, she doesn't add.

      Lucius rolls his jaw, souring on the thought but accepting it surprisingly well. He turns away and gives her a curt nod. "I see." He nods a second time and takes a step away from her, taking his magic with him. "Good luck on your next match, Miss Johnson," he bids her, and with a POP he vanishes in the blink of an eye.

      The drizzle kisses her skin once more, and Angelina frowns where Lucius had been a moment ago. "So, back to 'Miss Johnson' after all these years…," she murmurs. And yet it's no surprise, because she knows she couldn't give him the answer he wants.

      After all, the flowers were never going to bloom, not when they were shriveling up and rotting away just days after she received them.

      Still, Angelina wonders when she Disapparates from the pitch and heads home. She wonders what things might've been like if she hadn't left Lucius merely a fan, just another rebuffed name on her list…

      At home, she sinks into her lumpy sofa and pulls the bonbons from her bag. She lifts another to her lips but doesn't take a bite, instead choosing to observe the red dust on top. Angelina presses the bonbon to her lips, and the Fizzlesticks' sensation returns, but the tingling sensation skitters down to her arms, and she thinks of Lucius.

      Kissing him—kissing him might be just like tasting Fizzlesticks powder.

      (But, in time, the desire to know what he tastes like fades, much as the flavors melt away into nothing. And Angelina moves on to more important things, like disposing of the dead flowers sitting on her kitchen sill.)

Done for the If You Dare Challenge (for prompt #215: mink) in the HPFC forum on FFN. OH, MAN. I've not written Angecius in…more than a decade, oops. But I had a hankering, and I got inspiration from peonies we had in our house recently; bought as blooms that legit just never opened up, that simply died on us. I've a long-running hc Ange becomes a Ballycastle Bat and have written about it here and there, but funnily enough writing this reminded me a little of the vibe Louis and Draco give me in all my Loucos from yesteryear (a whole series, but starts with "Tomorrow Still Comes"). Here, tho, Ange sticking to her desire to maintain the status quo, while still upset at all the change around her and how certain of it affected her… I feel a bit for Lucius, bc I like this pining side of him. But idk, I like the tone of this piece and the thread with the bonbons. Btw, the peonies aren't a random inclusion, either; in the language of flowers, the peony can mean a very deep or passionate love (esp when a deep pink/red; respect or adoration/admiration when more purple), so Lucius was being quite earnest here, a broken man hiding a little behind some aspects of his old personality (the extravagant gifts, the haughtiness) but still trying to make a grab for smthg/someone he desires. GAH. Will I ever write a happy Angecius? WILL I? Who knows. *says the girl who adores Daphcius, so ummm*

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

[firstprince-ao3feed]

The Boy They Never Knew

by Rami137 In a world where magic and mystery intertwine, follow the journey of a young boy as he navigates the delicate balance between reality and prophecy. At the age of five, visions begin to haunt his dreams, foretelling a destiny intertwined with the fate of the wizarding world. As he uncover the truth of his magical heritage, he is thrust into a whirlwind of discovery, facing loss, revelation, and the daunting realization of his true power as a true seer and wizard. With each revelation, he inches closer to their ultimate purpose: to vanquish the darkness that looms over the wizarding realm. Along the way, he grapples with the echoes of a past he never knew, uncovering secrets buried deep within his family history. And as he reaches the age of fourteen, he embarks on a journey to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he will unravel the mysteries of their identity and confront the challenges that await him. Join him on an enchanting odyssey of self-discovery, magic, and destiny as he comes to terms with who he is and the role he is destined to play in the battle against the dark forces that threaten to engulf their world and universe. Words: 4063, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M, M/M, Multi Characters: Oskar Anderson (OC), Bill Weasley, Harry Potter, Weasley Family (Harry Potter), Hermione Granger, Michael Corner, Luna Lovegood, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, Malfoy Family (Harry Potter), Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, Fleur Delacour, Viktor Krum, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Nick Fury, Other Marvel Characters, Teen Wolf Characters, Arthur Fox, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Beatrice Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, RW&RB characters, Erik (Young Royals) Relationships: Oskar Anderson (OC)/Bill Weasley, Harry Potter/Fred Weasley, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Oskar Anderson (OC)/Others Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, True seer OC, Seer Luna Lovegood, Albus Dumbledore Bashing, POV Alternating, Horcruxes, Only Briefly - Freeform, Red White Royal Blue characters, Wordless Magic, Wandless Magic (Harry Potter), Bill & Percy weasley are unidentical twins, OC is Timothee Chalamet lookalike, Human Hale Family (Teen Wolf), but some of them are wizards, teen wolf cameo, Post-Movie: Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014), Erik Lives (Young Royals), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Young Royals (TV 2021) - Freeform via https://ift.tt/LRTtovS

[unimportantweirdo]

i have several different types of handwriting up my sleeve now

[siriusly-lucius]

Fred: What if we pull a prank on Hermione?

George: Would you be in?

Ron: No

George: Why?

Ron: Because Hermione scares me

Hermione: *From the house* Ron!!!

Ron: Pray for me

[makingitreyyna]

hey friends guess what happened a while back??? yeah... i still haven’t recovered :)

[acciojaeyun]

magnetic field | ron weasley smut

pairing: ron weasley x fem!reader warnings: smut, nsfw (18+). i was listening to line without a hook while writing this. does that say something??? THIS IS ALSO A FUN SMUT kinks: mummy kink, sub!ron, dom!reader, oral (male and female receiving), innocence kink of some sort (if you squint), humiliation kink, spitting, getting caught sksksk prompts: "i'm bloody half-naked in my horrific pants, y/n -" "yeah, makes things easier for me."

a/n: IDK FSDUFHSDJKFHDKSJFH i hope i did this justice i WANT TO MAKE THIS FUN and i was running out of product ideas but hey the weasley twins and weasley sister had a cameo here. thank you for this request, anon!

summary: if there was a pair known for mutual pining, it would be ron weasley and y/n y/l/n. the magnetic field was two strong, just like two opposite charges in an electric field - however, they act as if they were the same to repel each other. but just like any law, it was time for fate to finally step in - through a product from the weasley's wizarding wheezes which also defied physics laws.

To say that Ronald Bilius Weasley is shy around Y/N Y/L/N is an understatement. He was at the borderline between intimidated and completely, utterly, head over heels attracted in all plausible ways to her.

Such is the reason he tried everything and almost anything to impress the lady she was absolutely smitten with - which included the aspects of the physical, intellectual, emotional, and well, sexual.

Not that the both of them had reached that level of their relationship. No, Ron was too shy to admit his liking towards her — and still continued to divert topics whenever he was asked about it. However, they were both aware of the feelings they held for each other. Just really a bit too stubborn to seal whatever they have right now.

But just like how fate meddles with things that are meant to be when it decides it is — fate had decided to act upon the withholding pair.

“Y/N’s here!” Ginny announced as she opened the door where Y/N outside at.

Other than Y/N was a potential love interest of one of the Weasley’s, she was loved and accepted as if she was Molly and Arthur’s own child; protected and annoyed by Fred and George; adored and looked up to by Ginny.

One way or another, it had placed an immense amount of pressure to Ron.

He, Ginny, and Y/N were invited by Fred and George to their shop one afternoon for them to try out their new product. And Y/N, being muggleborn and the one who had explained to the twins about gravity and its possibility to be defied after endless queries from the duo, was considered as the key person for the production of the prototypes. It is only required for them to invite her over for her initial thoughts as well as her criticism.

"Ah, there is the woman behind the amazing madness!" Fred grinned as he nudged George who was busy making a run-over at the couple of hats which Y/N assumes as the prototypes.

Y/N rolled her eyes, "You flatter me too much, Fred."

Fred winked at her and smirked knowingly at Ron, making the youngest brother to roll his eyes out of annoyance. He dare not say it, but Ron had always been a tad bit jealous of Fred, knowing how the older twin knew his way around girls - a part of him is convinced that his charm could be effective on Y/N.

"You brought us here for hats?" Ginny narrowed her eyes at the two, her train of thought clearly not following whatever her older brothers had in mind.

"Ah, not just any hats." George smirked as he stood up from where he sat on the stool beside the counter where the hats were stacked upon each other. "You see, Y/N here," Fred starts as he flashes yet another wink at Y/N - which, annoyed Ron to an infinite extent - none that Fred didn't know, though.

"Had explained to us about the existence of gravity and we've decided to defy it."

"Like the muggle scientists ourselves -"

"Who believes in fun rather than science itself."

"Well, what does it do?" Ron asks as he leans forward to reach for the hat before George takes a hold of it to put down. "Might wanna be careful playing with these, ickle Ronniekins."

"You don't want to float away - though, we wanna ruin your day."

The twins exchanged 'hey's' as they shared a high-five over Fred's hint, making the three exchange confused looks at what they're trying to imply.

"I think we would be much more of use if we knew how it works." Ginny rolled her eyes as she takes the then-seat of George, getting a candy from the counter for her to chew on as she starts to think how she had just exchanged Quidditch training just for the sake of visiting her brothers.

"Ah, right!" Fred beams, giving a hat to George. "George will be demonstrating the product."

George placed the hat on his head, and sooner enough, it flew as if someone was pulling the hat way from him. And George, being the 'best demonstrator' as Fred complimented, acted though as if he didn't know about what the hat does; gasping as if he was intensely distressed at his hat floating upwards whenever he tries to reach for it.

"Anti-Gravity Hats," Fred starts.

"A perfect gift for every gentleman."

"Makes them really ungently, if you ask me."

Y/N smirked at the magical item, and as the twins looked over her, they were immensely satisfied by the look of approval which Y/N exuded. "Well, I've got to say, you defied gravity there."

"Are you going to try it out on someone?" Ron asks as he steals the candy which Ginny was opening for him to eat. "I mean, you've gotta try this on at least not you - because who knows if it's faulty on anyone."

The twins and Ginny raised their eyebrows at Ron's comment, as if they did not expect the words coming out of his mouth. The younger brother rolled his eyes at the trio as Ginny slow-clapped at the idea.

"Oh, ickle Ronniekins!" Fred exclaimed, wiping non-existent tears with his finger.

"What a lovely idea coming from a lovely gentleman!" George adds as he gets a hat that sat on the counter.

Almost as immediately, another hat was placed on Ron's head, making Ron exude a look of worry and shock.

"What the bloody hell, Fred?! George?!" he exclaimed as he started feeling his body be stripped of the existence of gravity as he felt his clothes being sucked out of his body.

As the idea that it was not the hat floating through space but rather Ron's clothes being flown upwards along with the hat dawned upon the twins, and quickly coming to their brother's help, Fred and George had raised their wands in attempt to stop the faulty prototype.

"Arresto momentum!" Fred casts.

"Descendo!" George follows suit.

The hat, along with Ron's clothing, had decreased velocity and sooner enough floated downwards. But the items descended, a sheepish look was all Fred and George mustered as they walked towards the two girls and a scarred, confounded, and almost frozen into place Ronald Weasley.

"That was a faulty prototype." Fred starts as he discards of the hat with a shake of his head.

"We're sorry for that, Ronnie." George looks at him, trying to not laugh as Ron stood in nothing but a pair of boxers - but not just any ordinary boxers.

"Now, that, my friend is a prank!" Fred exclaims, snapping Ron out of his shocked state as he realises that he was only in his pants which had multiple, red hearts patterned nicely across the fabric. And while Ron was used to being put into embarrassing situations because of pranks done by his brother - he certainly didn't like the fact that he was almost half-naked, not to mention, in front of Y/N.

"Bloody hell, you two!" Ron scowls at them before hurrying up the stairs to the twins' flat at the floor above the shop. The twins and Ginny had erupted into amused laughter as Y/N blushed over what she had seen.

Though she thinks it might have been traumatising on Ron's part, she couldn't help but feel herself getting turned on at the exposure of Ron's body - which, Y/N notes, had been toned due to excessive Quidditch training in their schooling years - as well as Ron's flustered state when their eyes have met.

Y/N excused herself from the trio and followed where Ron had ran upstairs. Pushing a door which was slightly ajar which had notified her that Ron may be inside, she was met by a frantic ginger trying to scurry in closet after closet in the hopes of trying to clothe himself with.

"Ron?" Y/N asks as she steps inside in with a light knock, and as Ron turns around he lets out a small shriek as he covers his torso with a rather small shirt which he throws away to replace with a much smaller one.

The girl laughs at Ron's attempt to shield himself from her eyes, which makes Ron flustered even more. Much to Ron's objective to free himself from an embarrassing exchange with the girl he is head-over-heels attracted to, he finds himself running towards George's bed to hide his body underneath the thick duvet of his brother's bed.

"I - er, bloody hell, Y/N. That was embarrassing, I'm sorry -" Ron apologises, refusing to look into Y/N's eyes which, had Ron been closer to look at it clearly, had darkened in lust at his incessant humiliation.

"Something I like," Y/N smirks as she walked towards Ron who scurried backwards until he found himself reprimanded as his back hit the headboard of the bed.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" he asks as Y/N never ceased in walking slowly towards him. "Testing out the waters," Y/N replied casually as she takes a seat on the bed, "you're taking an awful lot of time, Ron."

"I'm bloody half-naked in my horrific pants, Y/N -"

"Yeah, makes things easier for me."

Ron lets out a breath as Y/N towers over him to finally taste what they had been withholding themselves from. Her hands tugging firmly on the duvet which reprimands her from being able to take in the sight before her, she pulls it down from Ron's body as the boy reciprocated the action by pushing himself out from the doubling warmth erupting from the kissing as well as the thickness of the duvet.

"Y/N -" Ron objects as he realises Y/N was a virgin.

"Ron, I'm ready," she states as she straddles his waist, hands reaching for Ron's wand that had fallen at the ground to cast a locking spell on the door before ridding herself her upper garments.

Unbuttoning her blouse, she rocked her hips back and forth on Ron's clothed crotch, making his cock harden underneath the feeling of her warm, clothed cunt running over it.

"Oh, mummy, that's it," Ron nods as he takes a hold of her waist, pushing her down on his crotch to increase the pressure on his dick, making the both of them moan in the euphoric feeling.

Something about what Ron had called her clicked inside of Y/N, and though she was nothing but innocent and inexperienced, she clasped the claw clip that held her hair in a bun to let her locks flow from her head, leaning forward to hold on the headboard as she meets Ron's eyes which held the same lust and love as that of her's.

"Yeah, you like what mummy's doing to you, Ronnie?" she bites her lip as she increases the speed of her rutting on Ron's crotch, making moaning as Ron unclasped her bra for him to suck on as she towered over his body.

Ron let out a moan of approval to her question as his nails dug deep on the skin of her waist as he sucked, bit, and licked her perky nipple in his mouth, eliciting a long moan from Y/N.

"Mummy likes her tits being sucked, baby," Y/N whimpers, feeling herself pooling in arousal as she started not just to rut but also to hump on him, "you're being such a good boy for mummy, Ron."

"Oh, fuck," Ron moans as he lets go of her right breast in order to bite on his lips as he feels his climax approaching him faster than expected. "Mummy, don't stop - please, gonna come - n-not gonna last - ah!" he exclaims as his hips meet the thrust of Y/N, chasing his orgasm.

"That's it, fall apart for mummy, darling." Y/N taunts, as she brought Ron's hand on her breast for him to pinch as she watches him fall apart in her hands.

"Y/N, mummy -" Ron gasps as he came inside of his pants, cheeks reddening at the thought, but he couldn't care less. "Merlin, fuck, I - that was -"

"The hottest thing I've ever seen." Y/N commented as she leaned forward again to push her tongue on Ron's mouth. This time, harsher and much more passionate than the first.

Ron's hands tugged on Y/N's trousers, making her chuckle, "Wanna see mummy naked like you, don't you, baby?" she asks breathlessly.

"Mhm," Ron agrees, "don't want to be the only one half-naked, mummy."

Y/N pulls herself away from the kiss as she tugs her trousers down, arousal in her underwear pooling at Ron's hungry stare over her exposed body. "Mummy's so beautiful," Ron murmurs as his hand went to her neck to pull her in a loving kiss, the endless pining finally coming to a resolve.

Sooner enough, all of their clothes had been discarded on the floor as they devoted themselves in kisses and tongue. With the tip of Ron's cock teasing her entrance, and with every rock of her hips had her moaning at the unintentional teasing, she pushes herself up from her leaning over Ron.

"Gonna try something, baby, is that alright?"

"Do whatever you want, mummy,"

Ron watches Y/N swivel her body around as she pushes her underwear down. In about a matter of seconds, Ron was in between of her thighs that held such a small confinement to his head.

"Shit," Ron gasps as he felt her hands holding his erected cock. "Baby's firm. Who did this to you, baby?" she asks as she ghosts her fingers over his member, making Ron shiver in delight.

"You, mummy," he replies as he leans forward, wrapping his arms around her legs to push her farther to lick a bold stripe on her dripping cunt, "you."

Y/N moaned as she finds the strength of her knees failing her when she relishes in Ron eating her out as his hands knead her ass. "Oh, Merlin, Ron - right there - oh, my god," she drawls as her right hand comes to her breast for her to pinch her nipples.

"Doing so bloody good for mummy, aren't you Ron?" she tries to ask as her left hand takes a firm grip on Ron, making him reply in a groan. She opens her mouth to spit on Ron's dick, spreading her saliva around him as she tightly jerked Ron off who soon became a whiny mess as he tried so hard to lap on her pussy.

A gasp from Y/N and a groan from Ron was heard as she takes his length inside her mouth when Ron pushed a finger inside her with his hips snapping up which made Y/N choke on his dick.

Moans and groans, as well as the wet slapping of skin, were heard throughout the room as they desperately tried to chase their high.

"Doing so good for mummy, Ron," Y/N moaned as she felt the third finger being inserted into her after Ron felt like she was being accustomed to the constant addition of fingers, the idea of her being new to all of this (much to Ron's disbelief), "Fuck!" she drawls as she halts from giving him head to dwell in the pleasure, her hand replacing her mouth.

"Mummy, you're so bloody amazing - i'm about to -"

"Yes, baby, I am, too."

As they continued on bringing each other over the edge, they both soon came, the coil at the pits of their stomach snapping as Y/N let out a squeal as she feels Ron lapping on her pussy as she came.

"Fuck," she whispered as Ron decelerated in his movements, his head falling limp on the pillows. She licked Ron's cock in the attempt of having a taste of his cum, making Ron squirm at the sensitivity.

Y/N hoisted her body up as she turned around to lay down on Ron's body as he still recovered from his orgasm. As they laid in silence, Ron leaned down to kiss on her hair as his hand ran through her hair.

They were about to completely doze off and completely forget where they were until they heard George's voice inside the room, making the couple shriek and Ron cover the duvet around their exposed body.

"Cast a silencing charm the next time you decide it to do it in our room," George chuckles as he gets something from the dresser. "Also, I expect my bed to be clean the next time I'm here."

"I've got to say, ickle Ronniekins," Fred suddenly joins as he eyed them whilst leaning on the doorframe, "our Anti-Gravity Hat did so much more than defying gravity, don't you think?"

"Sod off," Ron grumbled, while his heart fluttered at Y/N's laughter.

"About time they did something, though." George nodded at him as he still continued rummaging through his dresser. "Could you please hurry up, George?" Ron groaned, running a hand over his face.

George turned around to throw him a shirt, "Hey, I didn't interrupt you having sex," he turned around as he took a hold of his beanie, "this is the only way you could thank me."

"Oh, Georgie, we're expecting more than words of gratitude." Fred laughed as he pushed himself away from the doorframe, receiving the beanie and scarf which George gave him, "We'll be at the Apothecary, Ginny went to training." George says as he takes a hold of the doorknob.

"Congratulations, also, Ron and Y/N." Fred winks.

"And Y/N," George called out, "take care of our ickle Ronniekins, yeah?"

[ao3feed-fremione]

5 Times That Fred Weasley Cheered Hermione Granger Up And One Time That She Cheered Him Up

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/24168742

by DaniJ

Summary:

What it says on the tin. Fred Weasley somehow always knows when one Hermione Granger needs a shoulder to cry on or someone to listen to her. And really, they have to stop meeting like this.

Words: 8490, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Rating: Not Rated

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: F/M

Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Relationship: Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley

Characters: Hermione Granger Fred Weasley Background & Cameo Characters

Additional Tags: 5+1 Things Sweet Hurt/Comfort Slow Burn Rare Pairings Not Epilogue Compliant Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Everybody Lives Fluff Kissing

[ao3feed-romione]

Waltz for the Moon

Waltz for the Moon by RoyalMagicianMoogle

Percy was certain he was about to get everything he deserved. Perfect NEWTs, a good job at The Ministry, and the respect of his family. However, a horrible accident while looking for his younger brother suddenly derails the plans he's been working toward his entire life. Cursed, scarred, and abused by the system he once idolized, Percy will either revolutionize the Wizarding World, or become another footnote.

Words: 2320, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Percy Weasley, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Lee Jordan, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Bill Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Molly Weasley, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore, Dolores Umbridge, Cornelius Fudge, Oliver Wood, Background & Cameo Characters, Background OCs

Relationships: Percy Weasley & Weasley Family, Lee Jordan/George Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Angelina Johnson/Fred Weasley, Past Percy Weasley/Penelope Clearwater

Additional Tags: werewolf!Percy, Percy Weasley-centric, No Bashing, Hurt/Comfort, Percy has a superiority complex, It gets challenged to hell and back, Percy Weasley is a good brother, He just kinda sucks sometimes, book canon, With some headcanons mixed in, And some Rowlingisms removed, Also George and Lee are boyfriends, Deal With It, AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Starts at the end of PoA

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37887055

[ickle-ronniekins]

- fic recommendations -

everybody has been super kind as far as these fic recs go and honestly it’s time i’ve returned the favor; i’ll certainly be doing another one of these because i’ve found new writers who i absolutely adore — so consider this to be the first of many :)

for all you writers out there — thank you for doing what you do. we appreciate all of your hard work even if it doesn’t get the recognition it deserves. your stories and writing make the world a brighter place. never stop creating art. you are the reason we feel things so deeply. queue lucas/peyton from one tree hill — “your art matters.” (goddamnit now i have oth feels son of a bitc—)

also apologies — i normally don’t read any other fics besides fred/george. but if i find others i like i shall DEF recommend.

1. Contest for the Best - @angelinathebook | fred x reader

↳ the cutest lil fred fic you will ever read — fabulous banter, adorable story line, and i especially love the dumbledore cameo which we don’t see lots of in fics, at least that i’ve noticed! i’m a sucker for fluff and this for sure gave me my fill. i just absolutely LOVE the idea of the twins challenging you to a contest because of the cheeky bastards that they are — i’m undeniably obsessed. lena will leave you wanting more, for sure!

2. The Name of the Game - @harrysweasleys | george x reader

↳ omfg alexa literally slayed me with this — give me a frustrated, flustered, can’t-keep-his-cool george and i will melt, no doubt. i’m undeniably obsessed with this story. i just adore the gryffindor/slytherin game, rather than the normal hatred we see between the two houses, especially the reader being hermione’s friend. i love george being so in love he can’t handle his own goddamn emotions. draco being a git and george pining dramatically with a happy ending? sign. me. the. hell. up.

3. I Wish It Was Me - @theweasleysredhair | fred x reader

↳ GOOD GOD. by far one of my all time favorite fics i’ve ever come across. it’s like chloe wrote it specifically for me. if you’re looking for angst, it’s got it. if you’re looking for fluff, it’s got it. if you’re looking for a passionate, desperate kiss to send you over the moon, IT’S GOT IT. the friendship between the reader and george is adorable — especially how he just knows her, you know? and fred, my sweet boy, who’s so in love and can hardly handle his own emotions. a freaking good one. just do yourself a favor and read it over and over.

4. Elementary, My Dear Weasley - @writesowhatnext | fred x reader

↳ this one legitimately had me SQUEALING out loud at my laptop; it’s just about the cutest thing you’ll ever read. love letters, george being a right prat, fred being a complete cheeky bastard, reader being way too relatable when describing their feelings — ugh, it’s so bloody perfect. actually every single story is perfect. read them all, would you? sincerely one of THE greatest writers i’ve come across. i highly recommend going and binging the entire masterlist because this writing is just so eloquent, will leave you so hungry for more, i just — ‘brilliant’ does not seem to be a strong enough word.

5. Love Poems - @thoseofgreatambition | george x reader

↳ i discovered leeann’s writing when she was inactive and my heart broke, but thankfully she had a masterlist of like, 100+ stories, WHICH I BINGED. i read this one right before my breakup and oof when i tell you, my heart broke even more in the most beautiful of ways. not to sound too overdramatic, but it almost helped me through my breakup? because the right person will work with you through rough patches if they want too; if they want to be with you, they will make it known and will put in the tiresome hours and push through the arguments and won’t give up — which is exactly what i needed to hear to get over my dumbass ex who didn’t give a fuck about our relationship at all. this will leave you f u c k i n g sobbing, i promise.

happy reading, babes. promise i have more lined up — y’all are way too talented and i’ve been so blessed with your stories.

[camelliacats]

What Comes Next

A post-war HarrySusan slow-build. -w-

Fic: "What Comes Next" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: Harry Potter/Susan Bones, Hermione Granger (w/some bkgd Romione), & Kingsley Shacklebolt,  with cameos from the Weasleys, Padma Patil, Neville Longbottom, Justin Finch–Fletchley, Hannah Abbot, Ernie Macmillan, & Kreacher, as well as a few others

Rating: K+

Words: ~13,060

Additional info: romance, family, hurt/comfort, Harry's era, 3rd person POV

Summary: No one told him what the world would look like without a Dark Lord in it. But Susan gets it, actually.

      When the battle ends and the sun sets, Harry spends the rest of the evening with Hermione and Ron. Or, he spends as much of it as he can with the pair of them. It feels too soon and yet a lifetime later when Ron pulls away from him and Hermione to join his family in mourning Fred.

      Hermione falls back with Harry, resting her head on his shoulder as they watch the Weasleys from afar. "To think—it's only been…not even a day, Harry," she realizes.

      He nods. He hasn't thought on it long either. Time has felt like a fickle friend the past year, having spent most of it on the run with his best mates. "These things… It will get easier," he says vaguely, his voice sounding scratchy after the war, the skirmishes, the close calls, the losses. Harry can't bring himself to specify.

      But Hermione does it for him, picking her head up and raising her eyebrows at him (he catches the look out of the corner of his eye). "Time will make it hurt less, you mean?" She hesitates, taking in a breath and then— "Has that helped you? With Cedric? With Sirius?"

      Harry purses his lips. "I wonder," he thinks aloud, because he's never stopped to consider it.

      And that's the crux of it all. For all Harry's been angry or somebody's hero, he's never stopped. He's never had the opportunity to stop, to take a break.

      But he's just earned the longest respite in his life.

      It's him and Hermione for the first few weeks at Grimmauld Place as the Weasleys are still tender in the aftermath of the war. But that's probably wise, given that Hermione comes and goes at all hours of the day, inserting herself into new business at the Ministry of Magic right away.

      "You really ought to be joining me, you know," she chides him over breakfast and occasionally at supper.

      Harry rolls his eyes. Having Hermione prod him like this—it's one thing that won't change, whether they dine in the Great Hall or in the Black ancestral family kitchen (and he wouldn't change a thing about it). "Why's that?"

      "Because half the time when I'm proposing new legislation to Kingsley—who swears up and down that he's only going to be Minister temporarily, so please convince him otherwise, by the way—he's really only half listening, Harry. Oh, good Godric, you're only half listening, aren't you?"

      "Hmm? No, no, I'm listening, Hermione, honest! Kingsley doesn't want to be Minister, you wanted the marmalade spread—"

      She huffs and flares her nostrils. With a flourishing wave of her hand, she gestures to a plate free of toast and only a few bites of scrambled eggs left. "As I was saying, you should come along with me. I know you're not really cleaning around here…"

      Harry frowns. "Hey! Kreacher likes taking care of Grimmauld Place."

      "You need something to do, Harry. I know you told Kingsley you weren't going to jump right into the Auror Office, but at least come speak with him. It'd do me a world of good." She finishes with an imploring look. The only thing is, on Hermione, imploring just as easily reads as intimidating to Harry and Ron, who've known her the longest.

      He sighs. "…all right."

      "Fantastic. Then let's go."

      "You meant today?!"

      But Hermione means business and is in no mood to hear protests of any kind.

      They take the visitors' entrance to the Ministry since Hermione isn't an official employee yet (she keeps talking of juggling Ministry work with an eighth school year, but Harry worries that's impossible even for her, with or without a Time-Turner). Once inside, the hush Harry encountered before the war greets them, when eyes fall on the pair of friends. Sometimes he thinks he'll get used to the unwanted attention. But mostly he stares forward, at a point on Hermione's shoulder, while the genius witch leads the way.

      Outside the Minister's office, Percy bumps into them. He's pale as Death with eyes as red as a rabbit's, and he startles when he sees them. "Harry. Hermione," he says instead of greeting them.

      Harry and Hermione screech to a halt. "Percy, hi," Harry starts. "Ah…" The usual friendliness escapes him. You don't ask someone who's lost a brother "How are you?" or "How've you been?" or anything of the like.

      Percy sniffles. He gives them a brittle smile. "Good to see you," he manages. He makes to pat Harry's shoulder and reaches up partway before changing his mind and scuttling off between them.

      Harry winces and exchanges a look with Hermione. "I thought none of them have been past the Ministry?"

      "To my knowledge, no. Both Arthur and Percy have taken a leave of absence."

      "Have you ever known or seen Percy pat someone on the shoulder?"

      Hermione frowns in response.

      But a better answer awaits them in Kingsley's office. The older wizard sorts through endless stacks of parchment with a grunt and happily dismisses the task when Hermione lets Harry and herself in. "Ah! Miss Granger and—ah. Mr. Potter."

      Harry quirks an eyebrow. "From Auror to Minister and now you stand on formalities, Kingsley?"

      Kingsley grins and laughs. "You'll have to forgive me, Harry. Learning decorum around here is one of the tasks I haven't taken to as interim Minister—"

      Hermione coughs at the title. But Kingsley ignores the interruption, as if he hadn't heard or he's used to her opinion on the matter by now.

      "—but people like the formality, it seems. I will endeavor to keep friends close, however," he finishes, getting up and walking around to the front of his desk. He sits on a front corner. "I was just telling Hermione the other day that we could use your face around here."

      Harry frowns. Beside him, Hermione crosses her arms in front of her chest and settles Kingsley with a look. Kingsley, for what it's worth, realizes very quickly how his words sound.

      He grimaces and holds up a hand. "Revered Rowena—that's not what I meant, Harry."

      "Yeah, I've had my fair share of being played by people on both sides…"

      "What I meant is that it'd be great to have someone around who remembers the politics but can navigate them," Kingsley corrects. His usual confident grin is small and tired. "You remember a lot of what this place was like before the war."

      "I do, but I wouldn't say I navigated anything," Harry points out. He sticks his hands in his denims' pockets. "If anything, I said a million things that came close to landing me in Azkaban. And that was just for uttering a syllable in Fudge's presence."

      Kingsley shrugs but nods, as if he, too, recalls a similar interaction with the disgraced former Minister. But then his dark eyes land on Harry. "…Harry, honestly? If you're not ready to be an Auror, then you could consider this as part of your Auror training."

      Harry pulls a face.

      "Come in and learn to comingle with other departments."

      "You say that, but I'm hearing 'show your face around here,' and I'd like to know why, Kingsley."

      Kingsley's demeanor shifts. He isn't hostile, but more of his exhaustion bleeds into his body language and he gestures to the door behind them. "Look, you two. I'm having a hard enough time around here, with Percy out—"

      That makes Hermione loosen her arms. "Nothing's changed, though, right? Nothing else—?"

      He shakes his head. "He just came in to explain about extending his leave of absence. Arthur's work will be there waiting for him in his department when he returns. But Percy? I've promoted him to Senior Undersecretary. Honestly, I think he'd be an excellent right-hand man."

      Harry risks a tiny smirk. "Kingsley, you realize I'd make a terrible replacement for Percy?"

      "And that's why I'm not asking you but am in talks with an old classmate of yours, a fellow eagle. No, I've got Percy's assistance covered for now, thank you." Once more, he gestures to the door. "But, out there, people work in a building, a Ministry in which they aren't confident. Few of the war's heroes come around here, if they survived."

      Harry frowns again. "So…what? You want a sign of unity? A show of strength?"

      Kingsley strokes his chin before shaking his head again. "…no. Honestly, I'd like for you to offer some comfort."

      The Boy-Who-Won blinks. Then he blinks again. Then he gapes and turns to Hermione, whose expression mirrors his. "…comfort?" Harry clarifies.

      "People like heroes. But people like you, Harry."

      "Not everyone."

      Kingsley chuckles and stands. "You have a way with people. Talking to them plainly. Rallying them to a cause. Simply rousting them, my friend. If you wouldn't mind interacting with them, I'd appreciate it."

      Harry pulls another face and glances at Hermione. But he finds her shrugging off her earlier surprise. "You, too, Hermione?"

      "Well…you never did want to lead the D.A. But it's your frankness, being yourself, that garnered support, Harry. I hate to say it, but Kingsley has a point." As if to emphasize things, Hermione sighs and walks to Kingsley's window, where she peeks between the shutters. "Morale's always shaky after a regime change," she mumbles.

      Neither wizard remarks about the heft of her chosen words, but it's hard to deny them. So Harry nods. "…all right."

      "Thank you, Harry."

      "You're welcome, Minister Shacklebolt."

      Kingsley cocks his head to one side. "This isn't an order, and you can stop if you wish. Honestly," he adds the longer Harry stares at him.

      "…I'll hold you to it, Kingsley. But I'll start tomorrow."

      "I'll see you then."

      Harry leads the way out of the Minister's office, Hermione right on his heels after pulling the door shut behind them. "You definitely had no idea? That he was going to propose that and persuade me?"

      "Honest, Harry, no. I thought he was just going to bring up the Auror Office again, was all." She walks with him to the exit, all the while darting her eyes around the Ministry, taking in the sights anew. "…but it makes sense. I've ignored it, so focused on changing things. But—"

      Harry finally picks his head up out in the lobby. Even the people who come and go watch him and Hermione with careful eyes, their stares lingering on him longest. Sometimes there's a familiar detail about a certain individual—the moustache on one wizard, the shaking frame of one witch. A few times, he picks out familiar faces, like Penelope Clearwater or Hestia Jones. It's only when he meets the unsurprised gaze of Susan Bones that he feels less uneasy, and he acknowledges her with a brief, polite nod.

      "I'll see you at home then," Hermione says, interrupting his observations.

      He blinks, and Susan's gone, another face lost in the crowd. So he returns his attention to Hermione. "Er, yeah. I'll see you then."

      "As far as first days go, this…is not spectacular," Harry says, grumping beside Hermione in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement the next day.

      But Hermione whizzes through the files before her as though it's time to cram for exams once more, completely in her element. "I'm not sure what you expected. Kingsley spends quite a bit of time holed up in his office. He's not out and about as much as he'd like."

      Harry frowns from where he stands behind Hermione's desk, and he takes it all in. Nothing can be said for the Ministry's overall décor, which is dark and dim everywhere, but at least it reads warmer here, with more mahogany and oak and birch details in the furniture and wall decorations, as if this place was decked out by former Aurors, who knew they needed something cozy after a long, Dark day. Actually, if one hung a few tapestries, Harry wonders if he wouldn't feel at home, back in Gryffindor Tower…

      "…to me? Just a head's up."

      Harry snaps out of his reverie. "Sorry, what?"

      Hermione groans and rolls her eyes (he can tell even from behind, by the fall of her shoulders; she'll always be Up To Here™ with him and Ron, and that's a fact). The bushy-haired witch turns to face him and points with her quill. "You didn't hear a word I said. I was warning you, that—aside from shadowing me, lingering in the corridors—there will probably several events coming up."

      He furrows his brow. "What do you mean, 'events'?"

      "I mean those things that make you sweat small talk. Things like parties. Dances. Soirees."

      He blanches. "But—" He grasps for a logical reason why he won't be attending any such awful thing. Bill and Fleur's wedding was one thing, and even that didn't go as expected. "But we've just achieved peace," Harry states rather weakly.

      "That's the point. Next week will be a month, Harry."

      Her voice is so light and airy in contrast with the reminder of the war that the reality hits Harry as if he'd walked straight into Hagrid. "But we've just achieved peace," he repeats dumbly.

      Hermione watches him for a full minute. "Harry? Are you all right? …it's not that bad. It won't be like one of Slughorn's parties, I promise. If I don't have Ron with me and Ginny with you, then I'll stick with you. You won't face these things alone."

      His shoulders sag and he glances at her. "I've written Ron a few times and Floo'd Gin once. But how are they?"

      Hermione sighs. She pauses her work to run a hand through her hair. "I've been by a few times. The Burrow's a bit full again, with both Charlie and Percy home, but." She doesn't remark about Fred's absence. "…it's tough. Molly's always made me feel like one of her own, but suddenly it's hard to breathe around them, as though I'm an outsider."

      He nods. He fears the same thing, which is why he hasn't inserted himself into their daily lives as of late, not to mention that one chat with Ginny… But he shakes himself free of the thought. "They need time. I don't know how much, but they just need time, Hermione."

      She nods, but her eyes have this far-off look to them, and Harry doesn't need to ask. Since sharing Twelve Grimmauld Place means seeing her daily—not to mention there was that chunk of time without Ron while hunting for Horcruxes—he's come to recognize when her mind's off in Australia. He's asked her before, about getting her parents back, but she shuts the conversation down every time.

      The soft click of heels on a worn floor draws Harry's attention from his and Hermione's corner of the room. "Hermione, this was the passage you were looking for—oh, sorry," Susan says, noting Hermione's absent gaze.

      Harry steps forward, subtly bumping his best mate to the present while engaging Susan. "Susan, hullo. I thought it was you I saw the other morning."

      "Hi, Harry." Her smile is small and soft, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. She slides the parchment in hand under Hermione's nose as the brunet notices they have company. "Have you come to join the department?"

      "Er, no…" He dodges the knowing look Hermione gives him and scoots away from her desk. He falls into step with Susan as she heads back to her own, smaller desk across the room. "I'm—" Harry decides to lean in to Kingsley's initial euphemism. "—getting acclimated to the Ministry air. In preparation for Auror training."

      Susan nods. "That makes more sense, knowing you."

      "I suppose I had 'Future Auror' tattooed across my forehead…"

      She glances back at him. Her blue eyes zero in on his infamous scar and her cheeks pink as she tamps down a more genuine smile.

      "Aside from what already occupied some prime real estate there," Harry quips. He reaches up to fiddle with his fringe, ensuring that, no, his scar is covered as best can be. "I didn't expect to see you in here, though."

      Susan shrugs but doesn't move to sit at her desk, instead preferring to glance over her work while on her feet beside him. "I have to wonder if it's in my blood, too, you know. Ministry work. It wasn't just my aunt who worked here. There've been loads of Boneses throughout the Ministry's history, you see," she elaborated.

      "Oh. I didn't know." He pauses, wondering if it'd be all right to mention that he'd liked Amelia, even though their connection was brief.

      But the moment passes and Susan dismisses the tension with another, tinier shrug.

      Hermione was right. He really hasn't gotten any better at small talk… But that brings to mind another question. "Have you been here long?"

      She taps a finger to her lips. "Not very. I came on about a week after Hermione, looking to help out." Susan casts her eyes around with a frown. "It's calmed down a little, but it's rather chaotic around here. They can use the help." She meets Harry's eyes. "But you're not in the Auror Office. I'm not stunned to see you here, but…this seems relatively quiet for you, tagging along with Hermione."

      "Ah. Well…" Harry fidgets. He doesn't want to expose Kingsley's lack of confidence in running a post-war Ministry of Magic, even to a friend and fellow Dumbledore's Army member.

      "Good for you, though, Harry."

      He stops fidgeting and looks at Susan with wide eyes.

      But she can't hold his gaze for long. It's easier to say this next part while fiddling with the quills and pencils in her pen cup instead. "Sometimes the quiet is what's good, especially after"—she gestures vaguely—"everything."

      Harry chuckles, earning him a concerned look from Susan. "Sorry, just—I've been dreading what comes after. To think it's just the quiet, that it might be good. It's a tad difficult to wrap my head around."

      "Oh." Her concern melts into that old, friendly smile of hers. "You had me worried for a second. But I reckon I'll just see you around here more often?"

      Had someone asked him that an hour ago, he would've told them he was quitting today, despite his agreement to try for Kingsley. But Harry finds himself returning Susan's smile. "Yeah. I'll see you around, Susan."

      Susan's words stick with him over the next several days. At home, he muses on the quiet (which is relative, because Kreacher skulks about but isn't as quiet as the house-elf wishes he could be); at the office, he tries not to stick to Hermione's side, which serves the dual purpose of letting his friend carry on with her work and allowing him to roam the Ministry more.

      Kingsley's got such high hopes for him, though, Harry fears. Every time he goes out and about into the halls and offices (even the lifts), he's got eyes on him. What he didn't notice before is the grimaces. But mostly Harry reads caution in the visages that pass by or leer. He would ask Hermione for her opinion, but she loses herself in perfecting a rough draft that she insists Kingsley read over before tomorrow's small commemoration ceremony.

      That's why Harry asks Susan to join him for lunch and they walk together to the cafeteria. "I've not set foot outside Magical Law Enforcement or the Minister's office much because of this," he whispers to her, looking straight ahead but giving a subtle jerk of his head to the other workers who pass by them.

      Susan's good at taking in the situation at a glance without giving it away. "Oh, Harry. I'm so sorry. I thought I'd noticed more people distracted around here lately, but to be the center of attention again—"

      He frowns. She's right. Had anyone else said it, such as perhaps Ernie or an unusually bitter Seamus, he would've heard jealousy in those words. From Susan, it's just a statement of fact, tinged with sympathy. "It's life," he sighs.

      "No, it's not." She stops him with a hand in the crook of his right elbow, turning him slightly so he can see her frown. "Harry, are you really all right with lingering around the Ministry?" Susan narrows her eyes at him, as though she can see through to the truth of Kingsley's demand.

      "I've dealt with worse," he reminds her. "But it'll get better, I'm sure."

      Susan gives him a sympathetic smile and shakes her head. "'Dealt with worse,' Harry Potter says. As if we didn't just go through the same seven…well, ish years of school together," she pokes, heading for the cauldrons of stew.

      He hears the teasing lilt in her tone. "I'm just being optimistic, Susan…!"

      She grins.

      They grab their meals and find a table for two. Having talked about it, it's difficult to ignore the stares of others in the cafeteria, but Harry does his best to focus on Susan. "So, tomorrow," he prefaces.

      Her grin from earlier dims. She prods her bowl of stew with her spoon. "It's going to be a rough day. At least it's just the ceremony and a day off."

      Harry nods.

      "Are they making you speak?"

      Oh, no. "That never occurred to me," Harry says. "So I never asked… Padma's quite efficient, organizing something like this at the last possible second; she's been a great help with Percy still out. But neither she nor Kingsley mentioned that I would have to…" Suddenly his cup of soup and sandwich smell sour. "It's one thing when adrenaline's pushing you through. But all those times before—I mean, even back in fifth year, at the Hog's Head."

      "The D.A. interest meeting. I remember."

      "I had no speech prepared. Hermione was so instrumental then."

      "True, but you still had the history even if you lacked the words." Susan knocks her knuckles with his. "And Hermione wasn't the one running the D.A. meetings afterwards. Not her or Ron, but you, Harry."

      "But—that was winging it."

      Her sympathetic smile returns. "Isn't that sort of your style?"

      Harry pushes his food away and runs a hand over the back of his head. "…give me a Death Eater, and I know what to do. But public speaking or school work, and I'm flummoxed."

      "You'll get through tomorrow, Harry," she assures him, pushing a lock of red hair behind her ear and finding her appetite again.

      "How do you know?"

      "Because you've dealt with worse."

      His camaraderie with her melts some of the tension in his shoulders. Suddenly tomorrow doesn't seem like such a big hurdle, just the next day.

      …then tomorrow arrives and Harry muses that he spoke too soon.

      He and Hermione arrive at the Ministry midmorning since the Weasleys are coming as a family. They funnel into the largest courtroom floors below, because this was the best place to transform into a reception hall for the ceremony.

      At first, Harry flinches, as does Hermione, because neither of them has been into the bellows of the Ministry for a long while. But he freezes when he sees the rotating, floating display in the center of the room.

      Crystal globes in assorted colors (not merely House colors) swirl gently in the air in silence. On each globe is captured the countenance of the fallen. The magic keeping them in motion shimmers as the globes revolve and face out at everyone in the room.

      But, for Harry, the display is an unpleasant reminder of the Battle in the Department of Mysteries. All of the prophecies lost…and the one that cost him someone very dear… He nearly walks out, seeing the display.

      "Padma wouldn't've known," Hermione whispers to him, bringing him back to his senses.

      He nods. Of course not. Only he, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Neville would, as well as surviving members of the Order there that night…which, he thinks grimly, primarily leaves him and his friends with this unwelcome flashback.

      Though they came separately, the Weasleys have Hermione and Harry sit with them. Hermione tucks herself in between Ron and Harry, but she rests against Ron's left arm and holds Harry's hand, as if making up for lost time with her boys.

      Much of the D.A. shows up, interspersed throughout the crowd. Katie, Alicia, and Angelina sit a few rows below Harry and company. Across the way, he spies Michael and Terry, the only eagles remaining in their year along with Padma. Dean and Neville sit with the Hufflepuffs by the exit. Harry's not surprised by Seamus' or Parvati's absence, since Lavender is still touch-and-go in St. Mungo's right now.

      Not unlike having Hermione between him and Ron, Susan and Neville have a pale Hannah propped up between them. Susan brushes back a loose strand of hair away from her friend's face before she picks her own head up and scans the room. Her blue eyes stop on Harry, and she nods to him. Her words go through his head once more: "Because you've dealt with worse."

      He nods back, taking some comfort from her encouragement. Then Kingsley walks into the center of the room, shooed there by Padma.

      Kingsley clears his voice before pointing his wand to his throat, nonverbally casting the Sonorus Spell. "Welcome, friends," the Minister says, his voice filling every space in the converted courtroom.

      Not a single person moves or so much as coughs.

      "Today we mark a month since our world changed," Kingsley continues. He pauses, as though the heaviness of his prepared speech hits him in this moment. "For better, for worse. Our world as a whole. Our own private worlds… Much changed in a day."

      Harry catches Susan's eye again. Her concern is evident: If Kingsley continues down this road in opening this morning, then Harry undoubtedly will be invited to share some uplifting words. The thing is, he hasn't got any, especially not after seeing the crystal globes.

      "But a day is just that," Kingsley adds after an odd beat. "And we have seen the days after that, the weeks. We have made it a month now, friends. We are slowly rebuilding. We rebuild, but we do not forget." He waves to the displayed globes, which come out of column formation to float more loosely around the room so each face and name can be seen. "We remember, but we press on. Because it is only in living on that their memories will stay alive with us."

      Someone in the back of the room coughs at the cheesy line closing his speech. But Kingsley lowers his wand and doesn't budge in spite of the awkward moment. A second later, off on the sidelines, Padma starts clapping, but the sound is so soft and doesn't echo much in the room, so Harry joins in, and then Susan, and the rest of the D.A. follows suit. It catches on, a polite reception for a man trying his best at a job he quite despises, and Kingsley respectfully tips his head before stepping away, letting people take everything in on their own.

      Harry exhales a sigh of relief. He does his best to ignore the globes—he's not ready to look yet—but he looks his friends over. "Hermione?" he whispers.

      She gives him a wet smile and releases his hand. "I think I'll stay put for a bit."

      As if voicing his opinion, Ron adjusts his cheek atop her head. Harry reaches around Hermione to give Ron's shoulder a squeeze. They lock eyes and it's the first time in a while that Ron's looked so alive.

      Harry gets to his feet. His legs protest as if they've been sitting here far longer than they realized, but it feels good to descend the rows and see others. The usual feeling of having eyes on him doesn't weigh so heavily today; several times he returns the stares, finding a familiar, friendly face waiting for him.

      He means to find Kingsley and congratulate him—that wasn't bad for his first, small commemoration—but Harry's eyes are drawn to the badgers. Susan's not with them any longer, Justin having taken her seat.

      Ah, well. She had brought up the fact that today would be a day off from work, after the ceremony. Harry muses that he hasn't exactly taken a day off from anything in a while, despite the few weeks in May being quieter than normal. But even those were filled with support and waiting and writing and talking, all because of—

      "Oh, Harry," Kingsley says, meeting him near the exit. His dark eyes are bright, his grin too tight. So stunning to see a battle-hardened man like Kingsley Shacklebolt nervous. "Good to see you. Apologies I haven't been as available to you as I might've suggested I'd be."

      Seeing him anxious the way Harry felt leading up to today relaxes Harry, lets him know that this position won't go to Kingsley's head. "It's all right, Kingsley. You did well, by the way."

      "Short and sweet, as suggested," Padma chimes in, appearing at Kingsley's side. She crosses something off on a clipboard and glances at Harry. "I'm glad you could make it, Harry. But, Minister, we have a few remaining tasks this afternoon, if you're done here."

      Kingsley sighs. "Yes, Miss Patil… Here's hoping this interim business doesn't persist," he mumbles to Harry before following Padma out of the hall. Of course, he says that, but there's extra pep in his step after Harry's and Padma's compliments on the job well done.

      Someone taps Harry's shoulder, and he turns to find Susan behind him. "You lucked out," she says, that soft smile of hers gently tugging at the corners of her mouth.

      Harry chuckles. He motions to the nearest row of seats so they don't end up underfoot for those leaving early. "I did," he agrees after they sit. "Kingsley will get better with practice or perhaps he'll channel his inner Dumbledore. Whichever the occasion calls for."

      Susan stifles a giggle, especially when the sound catches the disapproving eye of an elderly couple. "Oh, dear. This really is a terrible place to chat."

      "I've—"

      "—dealt with worse," Susan says along with him. Her eyes crinkle with amusement when Harry huffs at being predictable.

      "Are you going home after this?"

      The question catches her by surprise. "Well…sort of. I'm going out with Hannah and the rest for a bite." Susan's shoulders sag and she darts her eyes across the room to where Harry sat earlier. "What about your lot?"

      "Not sure. Hermione and I are there for them as needed, sort of on call, but." Harry removes his glasses and pinches the tension in the bridge of his nose. "It's not easy."

      "Being relied on when you're mourning, too?" She nods.

      He replaces his glasses, catching the ghost of her pout in the process. "…see you tomorrow, then, Susan?"

      Her smaller smile returns. "Of course, Harry."

      He nods, but, the funny thing is, neither of them makes to leave. They just sit awhile, together, glimpsing the crowd and peeking at the crystal globes that drift past their heads.

      It's easier, Harry realizes, accepting the reality of a post-war world sitting beside someone like Susan.

      And he wonders why that is.

      "Susan, I'm off to Level Five—want to come with?" Harry asks her later in the week.

      Susan smiles before tearing her eyes away from the form she's busy stamping and checking for errors. "The Department of International Magical Cooperation? What takes you there, Harry?"

      He pauses, the truth making him feel a touch silly. But he holds up a scroll. "…actually, running an errand for Hermione."

      She giggles but stops when he pouts. "Sorry, just. That fits." She stands and grabs a stack of files after sending an interdepartmental memo flying off on its own with a flick of her wand. "I just wonder if you're not looking for excuses to poke your head into each and every department."

      "Well, I'm a little curious about the countless offices that run this place," he supplies, still careful not to show Kingsley's cards.

      Susan hums to herself on their way to the lifts and gives him a long appraisal from the corner of her eye. "Harry, do you explore the Ministry much without me or Hermione by your side?"

      He blinks in surprise. He opens his mouth and splutters, but that's not really an answer.

      Her smile is soft but a bit hurt, too, as Susan furrows her brow. "I only ask because. Today, Level Five. Yesterday, Level Three. The day before, Level Four, to two different divisions." She clutches her files to her chest and stares at the lift gate as they wait. "One would wonder if you prefer a buffer, precisely because you're at the Ministry, where you feel uncomfortable."

      Harry closes his mouth, a guilty lump forming in his throat. He's always known Susan to be a kind person, a good person, and he can't fault her for politely calling him out on his actions, even if he'd been doing this subconsciously.

      Susan nods, mostly to herself, and then the lift arrives. They wait half a beat for the carriage to empty and then step in. Susan musters another smile for Harry, as if proving she won't let it bother her much.

      But then other workers enter the lift, too, crowding them and shoving Harry into the corner and into Susan. He puts an arm out on the wall, bracing both of them. "Sorry," he rushes.

      Susan's cheeks pink and she shakes her head, accessing the situation and dismissing it in one motion.

      Still, being squished back here gives Harry the time to dwell on her difficult question. True, Kingsley asked him here. And, true, he's gone around with Hermione a few times. But mostly he's joined Susan for lunch or on a walk to stretch their legs or simply asked her to join him. Susan's great to haunt the Ministry with, really. He can talk easily with her about school memories and the difficulties of having little to no family in the same breath, without weighing their moods down. Susan didn't fight Voldemort herself, but there's so much overlap of her life with Harry's that it's easy to talk about anything and everything, plain and simple. And that's without being the Chosen One or the Boy-Who-Won or Harry Potter. That's just being Harry. They're Harry and Susan, plain and simple.

      When the lift dings a heartbeat later and the flow of bodies spills from the carriage, Susan stumbles and nearly drops her thick stack. But Harry's still got his arm in front of her, so he catches both her and her work. "Oh! Thank you, Harry."

      He nods and runs a nervous hand over the back of his head as they make for the International Magical Office of Law. He waits until the pink fades from her face, hoping she's comfortable around him once more before he starts, "You're probably not wrong."

      Her blue eyes flicker to him. "Sorry?"

      "About the buffer thing. I hadn't even realized—and I'm sorry about that."

      Her eyebrows rise into her fringe, but she gives him a curt, single nod. "Well, thank you for that, Harry. I hope you know it wasn't my intent to be so harsh."

      He chuckles. Is it a Hufflepuff thing or a Susan Bones thing to be this nice? "No, you're all right. But also—you're not entirely correct."

      Susan slows her steps, allowing Harry to catch up with her quick pace. "Oh?"

      Harry nods once more with growing confidence as they walk together, falling into step with her. "The only one I keep asking to join me is you. I enjoy your company, Susan."

      "Oh," she repeats, and the pink creeps back into her cheeks. But it's not as alarming this time, because her blue eyes glitter like the Bluebell flames lighting some of the sconces on this floor.

      Harry smiles, at ease seeing Susan's reaction.

      It will only hit him later, when recounting this exchange to Hermione over supper, that he inadvertently pointed out he's been asking Susan out all this time. (Or, rather, Hermione will hit him, with her napkin, and call him daft and groan before abandoning her plate for the work she brings home that evening.)

      Tap-tap-tap, scritch-scratch.

      "Harry, were you planning on getting that?" Hermione asks him that Sunday.

      Harry picks his head up from the telly he's still trying to set up in the sitting room. Honestly, there's got to be some trick to getting Muggle technology working in the Black house… "Get what? Did I drop something?" He searches the carpet and doesn't count extra pieces past what he's supposed to have lying around…he thinks. "I reckon it was just Kreacher."

      As if summoned, Kreacher snorts from the doorway and shuffles on. "Filthy gadgets… Mudblood mischief, Kreacher says…"

      Harry rolls his eyes and looks up at Hermione in her chair. "I can order him to swear off all the nastiness forever, you know."

      But she shakes her head. "Don't bother. It's in his nature to stick to his ways, Harry, and ordering him around is wrong. I thought he'd improved with you after the incident with Regulus' locket, but." She stops there. "Anyway, I meant the post. Sounded like an owl tapping at a window on one of the upper floors."

      He rocks back on his haunches, rolling to his feet. "I'm not expecting anything."

      Hermione shrugs, but she's curious, too, and watches him dart upstairs. Likely she has the same redheaded family on her mind as does he as Harry goes to check the post.

      None of the Weasley family owls greets him where he locates the noise, at a third-floor window. Harry finds a black owl whose feathers are speckled with brown and gray, and its amber eyes follow him tiredly until he conjures up a treat. The owl cheerily chomps down, allowing Harry to remove the little scroll attached to its right leg. Harry unfurls the missive and reads it twice on his way back to Hermione.

      "And?" she prompts when he returns to the sitting room.

      "It's something for me," he answers, tucking it into his back pocket. He sits back in front of the telly and picks up a small screw from the back panel.

      But Hermione nicks the letter and holds it out of reach, not reading it but staring Harry down. "Is it something of consequence, Harry?" She narrows her dark eyes.

      "…it's an invitation, Hermione."

      Her eyes widen, and she flips the envelope over to check the return address. Her mouth forms a small "o." "When you said 'invitation,' I thought perhaps my suspicions about Ministry events had been confirmed…" She passes it back to him, although now she smiles encouragingly. "Though I suppose it wouldn't be unreasonable to describe this as Ministry-adjacent," she gently teases.

      Harry settles her with a dirty look. "Just because I bumped into Susan at the Ministry—" He sighs and collects the remnants of the Muggle device in front of him. "It's just lunch with her and the other Hufflepuffs."

      "Well, no one's accepted Smith back into their circles, last I knew, so you won't have to deal with him. And you always got along with Justin. Hannah and Ernie were solid by the time the D.A. came to fruition." Hermione ticks off on her fingers, quietly folding down three for Megan, Leanne, and Oliver, who were amongst the fallen over a month ago. "…you'll have to ask Susan about Eloise and Wayne, though. Eloise was a sweet girl, but boys were never very nice to her," she finishes with a puckered face.

      Harry sighs, giving up on the telly. "Is this your subtle way of telling me to let you handle this and just leave already, Hermione?"

      Hermione pats him on the shoulder and waves her wand, levitating the strewn mechanical parts to a cloth on her lap. "It's best to be early. Witches love punctuality, you know."

      Harry rolls his eyes for the second time that late morning. "Am I bringing anything back for you?"

      "Surprise me within reason, thanks." And then she buries her nose in the manual for the set. Before Harry's left the sitting room, most of the telly's back in one piece, and he wouldn't be surprised if they're able to watch Muggle broadcasts by the time he's home, thanks to that brilliance of hers.

      He washes up and changes shirts—no matter what they do, there seems to be a permanent stuffiness to Grimmauld Place they can't Scourgify for the hell of it—before grabbing a cloak and leaving. Out on the steps of Twelve Grimmauld Place, he pulls Susan's missive and reads it once more:

      Hi, Harry—

      So sorry you and I didn't go anywhere before… But the cete's getting together for lunch today at half past noon. It's at a Muggle pub, in London. If you want to join us, meet me outside the Leaky Cauldron a bit before then.

      It's all right if not. You and I can make plans for another day.

      Sincerely,

      Susan

      He doesn't linger on the mystery of "cete" (must be a Hufflepuff thing), because he keeps rereading her last sentence, which makes his stomach do a happy little flop. Funny how often Susan has him hoping these days.

      He Disapparates to Diagon Alley, though he does so on high alert. Even with the war behind them and the Ministry using Aurors and Hit Wizards to monitor the Wizarding mecca, Diagon Alley and its side streets have yet to bounce back as spryly as other locations. Hogwarts took the most damage, but there's a pervasive rot around this shopping center that was allowed to seep out the last couple years, and it's not so easily swept back under the cobblestones. It's that rot that hastens Harry to the pub and past Tom the barman's friendly wave and through the Leaky Cauldron's door nearly twenty minutes early.

      And he crashes into Susan just outside the door.

      With an "oof!" Susan stumbles, her red plait swinging behind her. But she has enough footing to stay upright and catch Harry this time. She grins when they keep standing. "Reckon I had to return the favor somehow," she quips.

      They laugh as Harry adjusts his tilted glasses. "I got your owl," he says.

      "I can guess."

      "But aren't we both horribly early?"

      Susan checks her watch. "Somewhat. But Justin's footing the cheque today, and he likes to arrive as early as possible, so we're quite on time, really." She tugs on his arm. "It's not a long walk. You'll see."

      Harry obliges, letting her lead the way and in no hurry to pull his arm free from her light hold. Although his curiosity regarding one thing does win out. "I have to ask, though: What's a 'cete'?"

      She laughs. "Not like 'seat,' like 'set.' It's a collection of badgers. You never wondered about the collective noun for your House animal?"

      "Never stopped to think about it…although, I confess to having spent far too much time dealing with various dens of snakes," he darkly remarks.

      Susan gives his arm a squeeze, not letting him linger in those thoughts, not today. "Well, you're in good company today, Harry."

      They lapse into a comfortable silence the last couple of minutes to the pub. Susan hadn't exaggerated, saying it's close. At their brisk pace, she and Harry cover just over a block in about five minutes, then they cross after a few yards at the next. At first, Harry misses the restaurant altogether, because the shiny, dark façade blends in with the other storefronts on the street and the pub sign isn't prominent. In fact, Harry misses the name when he and Susan enter, but he becomes distracted by the interior.

      If there had been a sign outside reading "The Hog's Head," Harry might believe it. Given the layout, Harry does a double-take and half expects to find Aberforth behind the counter…but, no, this place is cleaner, newer, and lacks nods to Hogsmeade with its Muggle décor. But the coziness still draws him, and Harry smiles when they spy their friends at one of the larger booths in the back.

      "You lot come here often?" Harry quietly asks Susan before they reach the others.

      "Yeah, actually. There's something about it, don't you think?"

      He chuckles to himself. To think that Dumbledore's Army is still linked in certain ways…

      Justin chokes on his drink when he catches sight of Susan's shadow. But he beams at Harry while the pair hangs their cloaks up. "Harry! Good to see you. Welcome to Brunch with the Badgers."

      "Stop calling it that, Justin," Ernie huffs from across the round table. "We're not giving Sundays an official name, least of all one as ridiculous as that." Ernie glances at Harry and politely nods before patting the open spot beside him. "Regardless, welcome aboard, Harry."

      "I, uh—thanks." Harry slides in, sandwiched between Ernie and Susan on the end. He raises his eyebrows at Neville across the way, settled between Justin and Hannah, and understanding passes between the lion friends.

      "You get used to them," Neville assures Harry with a gentle smile and chuckle, which earns him a "HEY!" from Justin.

      But Harry laughs, too. Even having Susan beside him, it still feels good having another, much more familiar face at this table.

      "We ordered drinks but waited on the rest until you showed," Justin says, though that's primarily directed at Susan. He sticks out two fingers to flag down wait staff. Then he beams at Harry again. "Oh, feel free to order what you like, Harry. Today's on me."

      "That's kind of you, thanks." He fidgets. "Is there a special occasion?"

      "Hmm, today? Not really. We tend to take turns, but it's my preference, really. Although," he says with an emphatic twist of his head in Hannah's direction which makes that curled lock of hair in front of his face bounce, "someone will be turning eighteen later this week and refuses to let us throw her a party…"

      Hannah rolls her eyes and leans against Ernie on her left. "And I've told you a million times already, Justin. I'm simply not interested in one! Da said he wants just him and me to do something that day anyway."

      Ernie shakes his head at Justin. "See? Can't win against family, Jus. So let this one go already, mate."

      Justin pouts but nods. With him easing up, Hannah heaves an audible sigh of relief and sits a bit straighter, closer to Neville once more. Justin eventually perks up, too, when the waiter finally comes over and takes their orders.

      "Hard to think any of us are eighteen or going to be," Neville thinks aloud once the waiter disappears.

      Harry runs his hand over the back of his head. "You and I still have a bit of a wait, Neville."

      "True. But I'm thinking planning an eighth year might help me pass the time a bit faster."

      Harry's mouth falls open. He knows Hermione wants an eighth year, but he hasn't considered who else in their year might return to school. "No joke?"

      Neville shakes his head. "I figure, if I want to teach Herbology someday, it couldn't hurt."

      Harry looks at the Hufflepuffs in turn. "What about the rest of you? Eighth year?"

      Ernie takes a long swig of his beer and shakes his head. "Not for me. I'm…thinking of travelling."

      There's some surprise around the table, with a little gasp from Susan and raised eyebrows from Justin. But Hannah gawks at him. "You are?"

      "There's too much history here, Hannah. I need a change of pace." Ernie answers her, but he does so while looking into his glass. It's a brief exchange and reads as something private that none of them are supposed to witness.

      Perhaps Justin picks up on that, because he jumps right in. "I want to teach, too." He bumps his shoulder with Neville's, drawing most of the table's attention on the pair of them. "So it'll be you and me then, Neville. Although you can keep your Herbology. Muggle Studies sounds right for me."

      Neville smiles warmly. "That'd be great." Neville raises his eyebrows at Susan.

      "Oh, no, I'm good. No teaching or eighth year for me." She steals a peek at Harry, who already knows this part. "The Ministry's probably right for me."

      Harry tamps down his smile. He doesn't know how long he'll be doing his favor for Kingsley or if the Ministry really is his future—but he likes to imagine these days spent with Susan, and that's not a bad plan. He tries to keep his focus on the group, though, since he was so warmly welcomed. "So, Hannah? What about you?"

      But it's terrible timing. Hannah distractedly tears her eyes from her best mate, who still finds his drink utterly fascinating, and seems to realize that Harry is, in fact, still with them. "Hmm? What? Oh. Me? No. No plans." She frowns, aiming it Ernie's way, and that's that.

      Harry winces and frowns in apology to Neville and Justin before glancing at Susan. Each of them is concerned at the sudden shift in mood at the table, but they're all at a loss of how to handle it.

      It doesn't get much better when the food arrives. The food's delicious, and Harry makes a note to order the same pot pie for Hermione because he's glad for her encouragement and she deserves something nice, and Justin does his best to up the table's spirits with tales of his family's antics while the Finch–Fletchleys were on the run and in hiding from the Muggle-born Registration Commission last year ("You'd swear my mum thought we'd have to go without running water, forgetting half the time that, yes, she's a Muggle with a wizard son"). But it's doesn't erase the awkwardness that comes from Hannah and Ernie abstaining from chatter, and Susan tugs Harry out of the booth the minute both of them finish their meals.

      "Won't they think that was rude?" Harry frets outside the pub.

      Susan shakes her head. "No. So long as you don't interrupt Justin in the middle of a story, you can come and go as you please, though I am sorry to leave Neville in the middle of that mess." She frowns and throws a look over her shoulder at the door.

      But Harry rubs her arm. "Neville and Hannah became close last year, right?"

      She nods.

      "Then he'll be all right. As for Hannah and Ernie…" He squints and stares at the door for a beat with her. "I can't begin to unravel something so obviously bad it was apparent even to me."

      Susan gives him a thankful smile. Then they turn and meander up the street, in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. "Sorry, by the way," she says after a moment.

      Harry tilts his head her way. "For what?"

      "Well, for cutting lunch short."

      "I'm lucky the waiter brought Hermione's takeaway while I was still eating." He pats his Expanded pocket. "But it's all right, Susan."

      "It's not the first time they've brought up post-Hogwarts plans, you know."

      Harry doesn't comment. Susan pauses, but it's not a pause to be filled with their back-and-forth. So he waits.

      "I'm…also sorry for poking at you over needing a buffer or not at the Ministry." She chuckles, but it's a hollow sound. "Justin and Neville bring up their grand plans to teach so easily. And me? I say 'Ministry' as if it's a plan. But…I'm using the Ministry as a crutch. Given my family's history, it feels as though I'm duty-bound to that place, and I think I took that out on you some." It's quite the apology and a revelation, though it's wrapped up in hesitancy, as if Susan's not painting the entire picture.

      So Harry shakes his head and encourages her, "Go for it."

      Susan quirks an eyebrow.

      "I understand the burden of legacy, Susan; if you need to vent or lash out any, then why not to someone who empathizes?"

      She smiles, soft, slow, content. She doesn't answer him nor take him up on the offer right then and there. It's as if Susan only needed those words. So, instead, she leans on his shoulder as they walk, down the street, past the Leaky Cauldron, spending the rest of their afternoon in Muggle London this way.

      Together.

      June wears on rather much like their walk that day. Harry doesn't think he'd change much about it, really. He stops pestering Hermione altogether at the Ministry, leaving her be to do the things she does best, and that frees up more of his time to spend with Susan. It doesn't, of course, mean he bothers Susan all the time, since she actually works there, but Harry does catch Kingsley in passing a few times, and the black wizard raises a handsome eyebrow at how dutifully Harry approaches several of the departments. But Harry pointedly ignores Kingsley's curiosity, because he doesn't feel ready to jump into the Auror Office, not yet.

      Sunday lunch with the Hufflepuffs becomes a regular thing, too, although the first Sunday after he and Susan cut out early is a bit stiff with Hannah and Neville's notable absence. No one says anything at lunch, though Susan confides in Harry afterwards that she's concerned about a possibly larger fight than expected between Hannah and Ernie. As if confirming Susan's speculation, the next lunch sees Hannah and Neville back, but Ernie's gone, left to travel already. Still the others say nothing, but it gets easier with each passing week, as if only these five—Susan and Harry, Hannah and Neville, and Justin—had ever arranged to meet to start.

      His summer is filled with Susan, old friends, the Ministry. But there's still one niggling item on Harry's mind, in Harry's heart, that he wishes to address before he even begins to consider what awaits him when the summer ends.

      And, for that, he and Hermione in July pay their first visit to the Burrow in…good Merlin. Half a year? No, longer.

      It strikes him hard, how much he misses the familiar, lopsided home in Ottery St. Catchpole. Hermione's only been once or so, because the Weasleys have asked everyone for time and space, but arriving at a small hilltop nearby and spying the Weasley home from a distance makes the pain of not seeing them come rushing forward, best as Harry and Hermione have done to set it aside. Harry literally stops in his steps and grimaces.

      Hermione stops two steps ahead of him and turns back. "Harry?"

      He spent so much time here that it came to feel like home… But Harry shakes his head and catches up with her. "Sorry. I'm good."

      Hermione eyes him while they walk. "I feel the same as you, you know."

      Harry feels the familiar burn of irritation, because it's not quite anger, roiling in his chest. "No, you don't," he supplies. They love these people; they're like family. But, at the end of the day, Hermione has her parents to go home to—or to go out and find, whenever she decides to put that on her to-do list.

      Perhaps she knows she's overstepped. Her cheeks flush and she settles him with a severe look, caught with her foot in her mouth. But Hermione takes three breaths and reaches for his hand, both as an apology and as a comfort.

      It does the trick. Ages ago, it wouldn't've, but Harry figures he's learned by now which arguments are worth having.

      The closer they get to the Burrow, the louder the noises turn. It's not just the animals the family keeps, either. There's a genuine din in the back, and Harry and Hermione exchange a look of surprise before entering the home.

      "Ah! Perfect timing, Harry, Hermione!" Molly says, her hands full of trays of food and another levitating behind her. She puts the ones in her hands down, flicks her wand, and sends everything gliding out the back before she throws her arms open wide. "Well? No dawdling!"

      Harry can't help but grin and dive into her arms. Molly Weasley has the strength to crush him against her without magic, honest, and he doesn't mind one bit. "It's so good to see you," he says while Hermione has her hug next.

      Molly's smile is as big as ever, but there's a constant dampness to her eyes that she blinks away. "Good to see you and have you back around here, Harry, Hermione." She ruffles his hair and pats Hermione's cheek. "We really should've had you back ages ago, but—"

      Hermione shakes her head. "No, it's all right."

      Molly nods, happy not to explain. Then she puts her hands on her hips and cocks her head behind her. "But I really did mean you have perfect timing. Hermione—still hate flying, dear?"

      Hermione turns a pale shade of green. "I Apparate if I can."

      "No worries. Well, I think they're still short several players, but you can make it a little more even, Harry."

      Harry doesn't even ask. They follow Molly and the extra food out into the wide backyard and find a rather lively party taking place: Streamers float through the air along with the food, someone keeps setting off little fireworks, and… "There are more people here than I thought," Harry blurts.

      Arthur chats with Xenophilius by the drinks. Luna lifts her Spectrespecs up and waves lazily at Harry and Hermione from where she sits atop an old milk crate by the shed. Up in the air, George, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie beckon to Percy, trying to coax him onto his broom, while Charlie goads his younger brother from the ground. Ignoring the teasing are Bill and Fleur, eating together at one of the few tables set up, and Ginny and Demelza, also up in the air on their brooms but tossing a Quaffle back and forth. The missing face appears around his mother with a comfortable grin on his freckled face, as if he's ready to rescue Harry and Hermione from certain danger just like all these past years. "Pictured us still wallowing, did you?" Ron asks, straight to the point, the moment Molly leaves to join Arthur.

      Hermione, sickly green a moment ago, reddens. "Absolutely not, Ronald!" She fusses with her hair while she and Harry take in the sights. "But—what then—?"

      "Ah, just a little sendoff for Charlie." Ron sips his butterbeer and looks between his best mates. "Charlie's heading back to Romania tonight. It was something good to celebrate." He glances back at his father. "I think it's given Dad and Perce the kick in the pants to head back to work, too. Bill's been doing limited work, but Fleur got him back in fulltime last week. And George…" He shrugs. "Well, I offered to help George reopen the shop, if he decides that's what he wants to do."

      Harry raises his eyebrows. "That's…"

      "Generous, I know." Ron ducks his eyes.

      "I meant you dumped a lot on us in one breath." Harry grins at the glare he receives from the other wizard. "But I'm glad to hear you lot have plans." He doesn't wait to draw Ron into a brief hug.

      Ron claps him on the back. "Yeah, this summer… It's been a mess, mate." He twists his mouth around as the three of them look out at the gathering. "I've always heard that being around people and talking about loss is supposed to do the trick. But that's not always the case, is it? Sometimes…" He sighs. "Just us Weasleys, being together, hurting. It felt like the right thing to do."

      Harry and Hermione don't have to exchange a look this time. Him on Ron's right, her on Ron's left, they stand together, not touching but close enough. Some things don't have to be expressed between friends, certainly not after everything they've been through.

      "OH! Hey, Harry's here!" George calls out. Several heads turn their way. "And Hermione, too! Well, hello, Hermione, but really we need a Seeker if we're going to muster up a round of Quidditch!"

      "No team with Harry gets Charlie, though—equal division of Seekers," Angelina warns as Charlie lights up at the possibility of playing on the same team. Alicia and Katie cheer Angelina's declaration.

      "If Harry's here, then you don't need me anymore," Percy insists. "So just—"

      "It's a numbers game, Perce," George interrupts. "So get on the broom already!"

      Harry stares at Ron over the rims of his glasses. "How long has this been going on?"

      "Since the girls arrived," Ron says with a gesture to their elder Chaser trio. "And, no, not a lick of Quidditch has transpired yet."

      "They do realize Ginny's a hell of a Seeker, right?"

      "They do, but Ginny's not been very interested in a full match. She and Robins have mostly kept to themselves or hung out with Luna." Ron pauses, his brow furrowing. "That's right. You and Ginny…"

      Harry clears his throat then, keeping Ron from finishing his thought. "I'll go say 'hi' and see if we can't have at least one game before Charlie leaves." He walks away from his best mates before they can offer their opinions.

      Ginny and Demelza hover high up on their brooms above the trees a bit away from the party. When Harry approaches them, Ginny throws the Quaffle to Demelza, but Demelza keeps it, her brown plait swinging behind her as she smiles at Harry in greeting. She tips her head to him and pulls up on her broomstick, flying back to the others. Doing so leaves Ginny and Harry alone.

      Harry shields his eyes from the midday sun. Ginny makes no move to descend, so Harry sighs to himself and pulls his broom from his Expanded denims pocket (thank Merlin for Hermione and her love of Expansion Charms). He mounts it and shoots up to Ginny's level but doesn't draw too near.

      But Ginny acknowledges him. "Hey, Harry."

      "Hi, Ginny." He stares at his broom handle for a second. Then a topic occurs to him and he tilts his head behind him, where Demelza flew off. "Nice to see Demelza again. You and she returning for—?"

      "For seventh year? Mum wouldn't have it any other way." She frowns at the harshness of her own words. "But, yeah, we and Luna will be back in school in less than two months now."

      Harry nods. "You'll captain Gryffindor's team, won't you?"

      Ginny blinks, as though this never occurred to her. "…do you think they'll have Quidditch again, the first year back?"

      He shrugs. "Perhaps." When he sees her hesitate, he continues, "Well, either you or Demelza would make a great choice."

      That earns him a Ginny Weasley smirk. "Demi's fab at a bunch of positions…but, if anyone's going to captain, it's me." She laughs and glances at the party. "I bet Charlie would love that."

      "He'd probably find some reason to leave Romania and watch your matches."

      She laughs again. "You're not wrong…!" She calms and swipes at her eyes. Harry realizes she holds his gaze, stops avoiding him. "Harry, how are you? Good?"

      He nods. "I'm good, Gin. You?"

      Ginny bites her lower lip and drifts closer to him. There's a sorry pinch between her brows. "You know I'm not talking about Fred and the others right now, right?"

      Harry does. "Yeah, Gin, I know."

      She frowns. "Sometimes I wonder about why we broke up, why I asked you not to wait for me. I think—was I being impulsive again? Was I just not thinking?" Ginny sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "But…being focused on Fred's absence and my family and my grief…it's given me time to think."

      He knew. He knows. He vividly recalls their Floo call when she broke up with him.

      "But—and, good Godric, I sound like such an arse saying this, Harry—but I don't disagree with what I said back in May?" She musters a smile despite the tears in her eyes, and she laughs at them when she wipes them away. "I thought I acted too quick, calling it quits when I lost my brother, but I've had time to focus on the past year. And all I can think is that I wasn't ready for romance yet."

      Harry frowns but nods.

      "I mean, you just asked me a simple thing about being Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and I didn't even have an immediate answer for that because I hadn't been thinking about it properly at all." She exhales and looks out not at the party or the Burrow but at the land all around them. "Sometimes I wonder what else I haven't thought about. What else I never stopped to experience."

      "I can commiserate," he says, sensing it all right to chime in.

      Ginny's brown eyes meet his green, and she smirks at him. "Really talented at making it up as we go, aren't we, Potter?"

      "Winging it can take you far, Weasley," he teases.

      They laugh together, hard and loud enough to draw some of the others' attention. But it's easy to dismiss their curiosity and outright rude questions ("So are you two happening again?" George inquires with all the delicacy of a troll waltzing into the Yule Ball) and play a modified six-on-six game of Quidditch, because Harry and Ginny are good. They stay broken up, but they're still good friends who've been to hell and back, and that counts for a hell of a lot.

      For a post-war world, things nearly seem all right again. Then the notices go up around the Ministry a week before his birthday, plastered on the wall here and there:

      Three Months! An Evening at the Ministry to Consider Our New State of Peace and Patrolling Our Hard-Won Future. Join Us, August 2nd, in…

      Harry practically races to Hermione's desk that morning on his way back from visiting Arthur. "Didyouseeit," he blurts on his last breath.

      Hermione quirks an eyebrow at him while Harry collects himself. "If you mean, did I see that my prediction came true, then yes." She goes back to sifting through parchment.

      "Hermione!"

      She huffs at him. "Harry, what is the trouble here, really?"

      He straightens up and sheds his cloak, draping it over a free corner of her desk in spite of her pout. Running here or the realization has stifled him. "I thought that perhaps that nonsense wouldn't occur, with Percy back."

      The thought gives her pause. "Hmm. Well, in another reality, I'd say Percy would think of such a thing as an unnecessary frivolity when the Minister has better things to do—"

      "Right! So—"

      "—but Kingsley's kept Padma on along with Percy, Harry." She shrugs his discomfort off. "Padma's been a huge help the last several months, and she told me recently that she's thinking of taking the post fulltime, if he'll have her. Though she has to make up her mind soon. She's another debating an eighth year," Hermione elaborates at Harry's puzzled stare.

      His shoulders sink. "Great. I mean, truly great for Padma. But…" Harry shakes his head. "'Parties. Dances. Soirees.'" He grimaces at Hermione, who has the humility to redden when she hears him quote her.

      But Hermione waves him off with her quill. "I don't see why you'd be as scared as before. Aren't things a little different now?"

      Harry doesn't answer.

      "Susan," Hermione hisses under her breath, glancing around him at the desk across the room. Hermione looks back up at Harry with a smile. "I'm sure she'd love to be your plus-one, Harry. But, of course, Ron, Ginny, and I are still here for you as needed." She says that last part with a teasing tone, though he knows the offer's genuine, because he'll never be short of reliable friends.

      That said, Hermione and Susan have quite the busy day that Friday, and the witches have a working lunch at their desks, leaving Harry to his own devices and wandering back to Arthur's office for company, which delights the Weasley patriarch.

      It's not until after Sunday lunch with the usual gang that Harry brings up the Ministry's upcoming event. He and Susan have taken to walking around Muggle London every time after lunch on Sundays, and today's no different. They're eyeing a ride up in the London Eye since Susan told him last week that she's never been up in a Ferris wheel, and Harry leans Susan's way. "So, the posters about next month's little ceremony…"

      Susan grins and tilts her head back, amusement lighting up her blue eyes at the poor segue. "Hermione insists it's supposed to be something small, nothing too grand. Like a cocktail get-together." She rests her head on his shoulder. "Still scared you'll have to speak?"

      Same as last time, that hadn't occurred to him. "Well, no," he says truthfully. He wonders if there's a way to ask her to go with him, though, that won't make it seem as though she'll be his buffer; he still tries to be conscious of that these days.

      "Harry, go with me, then?"

      It takes him a minute to realize Susan beat him to the punch. He stares down at her, since she hasn't moved from his shoulder. He gapes a bit but quickly closes his mouth. He's so thankful to his brain when all he gets out is, "Yeah."

      Susan beams. The sun is getting low in the sky, and it casts a golden glow over her face. The glow, her smile—it's tempting to kiss.

      Harry doesn't, and they don't ride the London Eye that day, but there's an air of expectation between them when they part that day, and suddenly Harry finds himself looking forward to the Ministry function.

      For a post-war world, things definitely are looking up.

      He arrives at her Chelmsford home half an hour early as settled on and knocks. Harry tugs at the collar of his dress robes, but he's thankful they're not the extremely formal set the Yule Ball required years ago or that he needed for Bill and Fleur's wedding last year. Hermione swore up and down that tonight's event is something nice but lighter, like one of Slughorn's infamous parties.

      The comparison isn't comforting, but it does warn Harry of what's to come when they arrive at the Ministry.

      …that is, if they go at all. He frowns and furrows his brow, knocking again on the dark wood door to the Bones home. He takes a step back, too, and checks the number. Yes, Number Ten, and Harry spies lights on up on the second floor through a curtained window. Strange.

      Harry continues to wait. A couple minutes later, there's a clamor on the other side of the door, and he wonders if perhaps Susan's parents will answer. The mere idea sets his spine straight, because he hasn't the foggiest how he'll look in front of them or what to say—

      Susan gets the door, cracking it open a sliver. Somewhere far behind her, down the dark hall, is a light, so she's faintly silhouetted. "Oh. Hello, Harry."

      "Susan. Is everything all right?" It's not just her monotone that concerns him. He glances past her head…or tries. He and Susan are around the same height, so he can't see beyond her.

      She shakes her head. "It's nothing. Um, could we step outside and talk, Harry?"

      "Of course."

      He makes space for her, backing off the stoop, and Susan darts out of her house, yanking the door shut behind her. The door slams shut quite noisily. And, as before, another clamor occurs inside the house. Susan winces.

      Harry looks between the door and Susan. "Did something fall?" That's when he realizes Susan's still in her clothes from earlier today when they met the others for lunch. If she's comfortable, then that's well, but he and Susan parted directly after lunch specifically because she and Hannah meant to go shopping. He wonders if this and that are connected.

      Susan tugs on the hem of her button-up top and eyes the ground. "It's—It's just stuff, Harry. Can we sit?" she says, rushing her words and dropping to the stoop before he agrees.

      "You understand I'm happy to sit with you but only worry more the longer we linger here," he says, sitting beside her and observing her profile. His stomach drops, seeing normally happy Susan so stony-faced.

      "I don't want you to worry, Harry. I—I quite like spending time with you." The street light a stone's throw from the door shows a healthy flush across her cheeks. "But, in trying to get ready for tonight, I just…" Her voice catches. She rests an elbow on her knees and holds her head in her hand. "It's a mess, Harry. I'm a mess."

      He shakes his head. "I don't understand."

      Susan squeezes her eyes shut. Her breath shudders through her, but she's not crying, not yet. "I couldn't find anything to wear when I was out with Hannah today. So I went looking through the house, to no avail. Looking through things, bumping into things… What you heard were boxes falling, Harry. I've been dealing with falling boxes, knocking boxes over, boxes, boxes, boxes—all day long!"

      Harry's shoulders fall. "Boxes? Wha…?"

      "From all the estates. I keep putting off looking in them—" Her voice catches again. Another shudder seizes her.

      All Harry hears is "estates." His blood goes cold. In all the time they've spoken about their shared experiences, about their wins and their losses, Harry thought he knew. Edgar and his family had been lost in the first war. Amelia was taken in the second. But for Susan to be this rattled— "Susan, your family…"

      Finally, she looks at him. Her damp eyes glitter. "I'm the last Bones, Harry."

      It's the final piece of the puzzle; he now sees the entire picture. Why they have such a cozy kinship. Why Susan's been hesitating, discussing her future whilst stuck in her morbid present and past.

      Susan sits here beside him with the weight of her family's legacy, essentially the weight of the world, on her lone (lonely) shoulders.

      His heart breaks, seeing her like this, recalling similar odd, heavy feelings once he learned he was the last Potter. But memories of nights spent in front of the Mirror of Erised and others spent wishing for any place outside the Dursley home are strong reminders that he's at peace with his reality, that he's gotten to this calm point with his reality, as best as one can be with such news. It's a process, but one can get there. So Harry presses his arm against hers, lowers his volume out of respect for the dead, and returns the advice Susan once gave him. "You can mourn them without being tied to the Ministry, Susan. It's your choice how to spend this life."

      Susan's bottom lip quivers, but she hears him out.

      "If I get to enjoy a quiet life now, after Voldemort, then you can choose any life you want. It doesn't have to be a Ministry one, Sue. It can be any place, anywhere in the world." He flourishes with a gesture at her yard, though really it's just for demonstrative purposes. The glimpse he's had of Chelmsford, coming up her street, is quite nice; he wouldn't mind getting to know the lovely town a bit better. He musters an empathetic smile for her.

      Susan stares out at the yard with him, taking it all in, dwelling on his words. She leans against his arm, too, almost as if she needs propping up.

      Harry watches her carefully. He could care less about Ministry cocktail parties right now. He's more worried Susan might sit out here all night if he budges.

      "With anyone?"

      He blinks as Susan turns back to him. "Sorry?"

      "Any place. Anywhere in the world." Her eyes, even in the terrible yellow of the streetlight, are still a deep, startling blue. "With anyone?" Susan repeats.

      Harry doesn't want to jeopardize her chances nor his…but he acknowledges, too, that he's lost a lot of good in his life, and so has Susan. So he lowers his head, peering up into her eyes, their faces close. "Anyone you choose," Harry clarifies.

      It's the answer Susan wants. She wraps her arms around Harry's neck and kisses him. The kiss is salty from her tears, but Susan laughs into it, at the absurdity of things—their disastrous night, their morbid connection, their rough kiss. But, when she pulls her lips away from Harry's, she's smiling.

      And Harry's stomach and heart swoop.

      "…you know, if I take a vacation from the office, I bet Minister Shacklebolt will miss the boost you give to his ratings," she quips, in one breath both implying Harry will be by her side and that she's surmised Kingsley's plan this whole time. How shrewd of her. Harry knows he likes Susan for more than just her sweet and politely blunt sides.

      He rubs his thumb over her cheekbone to wipe away some tears, smiling with her, their noses bumping. "Perhaps," he admits. "Although, Sue, if you take a break from the office, Hermione will go nutters having to do everything herself."

      Susan raises her eyebrows. "True…" She smiles against his lips. "I suppose we could wait until our friends are happily ensconced in their eighth year then?"

      "Sounds like a plan." He kisses her again.

      Susan sighs happily. But then she squeezes his neck and peers at her front door with a frown. "Is it bad that I'd happily go into work right now when the thought of those boxes scares me like a boggart?"

      Harry shakes his head and pulls Susan to standing with him. He loosens his tie and keeps hold of her hand. "Not at all. No one says you have to deal with the boxes tonight, tomorrow, this year or the next. But, when you're ready, Sue, you won't be alone."

      At last, Susan brightens. She squeezes Harry's hand and, together, they go inside.

HOLY HELGA, IT'S DONE! D8 As a pal of mine knows, this story idea popped out of nowhere one week in…March?? And quickly spiraled into a big beast of a thing that refused to end, simply bc there was so much story that wanted to be told. The original inspo for this was "What if Harry didn't automatically jump into the Auror Office?" bc, given his life, diving right into more action seems like hell, imo, *lol*. So throw in some strong Harmony friendship, a good dose of Kingsley (bc I'm biased -w-), some Hufflepuff banter and drama bc I love my badgers, and I finally had a nice concept to write a proper story for one of my lowkey OTPs. Sincerely, it always struck me as odd that, given their similar histories, Harry and Susan never had a shot in canon. Thank Merlin for fanon, tho! :'D I included the Weasley stuff I did bc I do like the Weasleys (love Ginny :3c) and it felt impt to show on-screen that Hinny were broken up, too. But I liked the slow-build of HarrySusan and how Sue had one final hurdle to overcome, sharing the totality of her loss with him. Deffo smthg they can share together, and I like to imagine them spending some days going thru the boxes, perhaps at times with Justin and Hannah to help, just. Healing together is so impt! It is, as the title says, one of those things that come next. ;)

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

[meganlpie]

Pranking Lockhart

Anonymous asked: Would you write something where the Twins prank Lockhart? Like putting hair dye in his shampoo or something in his tooth paste that turn his teeth into different colours? (Perfect if both of them CHANGE colours so they always clash with his clothes.) As some kind of ‘welcoming’ him to Hogwarts? Sorry if this is not enough to work with.

Here you are! I added the reader as a professor! ALL HP characters belong to J.K.Rowling. 

Warnings: Harmless pranking. I think that’s about it. Humor. 

Pairings: Professor!Reader, Weasley Twins, Gilderoy Lockhart, Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, and a little cameo from Peeves

There was hardly a dull moment teaching at Hogwarts, especially when you taught some of the most…creative and inventive students. You were, of course, thinking about Fred and George Weasley. Of all the Weasleys you’d taught before, they were the most mischievous and the most fun. That was certainly true when Gilderoy Lockhart was hired as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

         Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award, was an absolute idiot in your mind. He was an arrogant narcissist who thought more about his looks than anything else. He seemed to believe the world would just fall at his feet, yourself included. So it came as no small pleasure when Lockhart became the newest victim of a Weasley prank.

         When you glanced up to see Lockhart entering the Great Hall, you had to fight back a gasp and then a chuckle. His normally golden hair was the color of a plum, clashing horribly with his choice of robes for the day. The bright smile that usually painted his face was replaced by a sullen pout.

         "An interesting choice of color today, Gilderoy,“ Dumbledore commented. You looked around the table to see the other professors biting back laughs. Poor, typically reserved Minerva was turning beet red as she fought to hold in the laugh very clearly bubbling in her throat. You were right there along with her, as was Filius. Even Severus was smirking a bit. If nothing else, the prank united several professors for a good laugh. "Hmm? Oh yes, quite. It seems I’m being welcomed in a most unique fashion by a few students.”

         "Surely you don’t believe a student is responsible, Gilderoy?“ you spoke up, choking down a laugh, "Perhaps there was a mix up at the apothecary or perhaps Peeves was up to his tricks.” Peeves was at your elbow in an instant. “Not me. Not me. But I like what I see so you won’t get a hint of who it could be.” It drove you nuts when he spoke in rhyme. You shooed Peeves away before Argus could come barging in yelling at the poltergeist. “Nevermind, I’m certain it will be sorted by tomorrow,” Gilderoy claimed with a smile.

*time skip*

         It most definitely was not sorted the next day. Or even the day after that. You had no idea what it was the twins did, but you were grateful every day for the laugh. Gilderoy’s hair color changed every single day and never once did the color match or even coordinate with his robes. It went on for nearly a month before you finally decided to “catch” the twins. You couldn’t let it go on forever. You wouldn’t be a very good professor if you did.

         "Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley, please stay a moment,“ you said after your class. They froze where they were and waited. "Something wrong, Professor?” they asked at the same time. “I’m afraid so. I know you two are the ones behind what is happening to Professor Lockhart. It has to stop,” you said, looking at them. You hoped you sounded at least a little stern. You were really enjoying Gilderoy’s ever-changing hair after all.

         "It was just a little welcome, Professor.“ You shrugged. "Be that as it may, I’m afraid I have to take you to Professor McGonagall. As she’s your Head of House, she will discipline you accordingly. Come along.” The twins followed behind you to Minerva’s office. Minerva looked up when you entered.

         "Minerva, I’ve found the students responsible for Gilderoy’s mishap.“ Minerva looked at the twins sternly over her glasses. "Why am I not surprised?” Fred and George gave her identical, charming grins, but didn’t reply. “You do realize how wrong your actions were? Having to take points from my own House is embarrassing.  Severus will never let me hear the end of it,” she said. The smiles fell a little.

         "Still, it must be done. I think five points would be sufficient, don’t you, Y/N?“ she asked, shooting you a grin. That’s one of the things you admired in her. As stern as she was, she still had a mischievous streak in her. "Oh, most assuredly.” The twins looked between you and her, not daring to believe what they were hearing. Were they really going to get away with only a five point deduction? “After all, no one was truly harmed and, as Fred and George told me, they were merely trying to welcome Gilderoy in their own unique fashion.”

         Minerva’s smile grew and she pushed a plate of biscuits toward the twins. “Have a biscuit, boys.” The smiles returned to the twins’ faces as they each reached for a biscuit. “Y/N?” You took one for yourself. “Don’t mind if I do. I was laughing a bit too hard at Gilderoy’s hair this morning to eat. However did you manage to get his hair to turn that shocking shade of tangerine?” Before the twins could reply, Minerva told you not to encourage them and sent them on their way with a promise not to mess with Gilderoy’s hair any more.

         The next morning, it appeared as though the twins were true to their word. Gilderoy’s hair was back to its natural hue. “Good morning, Gilderoy,” you greeted. He flashed you a smile and you nearly fell out of your seat. “Gilderoy…what on earth have you done to your teeth?” Severus asked in his usual drawl. Gilderoy peered into the nearest reflective surface and looked like he would faint. You couldn’t resist laughing any longer. The twins had certainly not done anything with Gilderoy’s hair. Minerva hadn’t said anything about his teeth, however. You met Minerva’s gaze and the two of you hid laughter behind your hands as you shook your heads at the Weasley twins.

(a/n: I hope this is what you were looking for!) 

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard​ @brewsthespirit-blog​ @aikibriarrose​ @esoltis280​ @lady-of-lies​ @sirkekselord​

Harry Potter Tags are still open!

[mooncat457writing]

Sieste D’été

I threw in a cameo from my original character in OWLs. I haven’t gotten this far in canon in that story yet, but I love Emma, so I had to throw her in here.

This is not beta-read and it’s been years since I’ve taken French, so if you catch any mistakes (English-wise or French-wise), send me a dm so I can fix it.

Written for A Very Potter Summer Challenge

Fandom: Harry Potter

Ship: Bleur

Rating: T

Prompt: Afternoon Naps

Summary: Bill and Fleur get a rare moment to themselves before their wedding.

Word Count 1.8k+

Bill slumped down onto the couch, exhausted from the late July heat after spending the past four hours de-gnoming the garden with Charlie. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck and the sides of his face, making his long red hair cling to his skin despite the braid his fiancée had styled earlier that morning. He lifted the hem of his t-shirt and brought it up to mop his face.

“Oh, well, there is my sexy husband to be,” a softly accented voice he’d recognize anywhere rang out from the doorway to the kitchen.

He dropped the hem of his shirt and looked up with a smile as Fleur walked, or more like glided, over to him carrying a glass of fresh lemonade. “You’re an angel; you know that?” He said, looking fondly at her as she perched herself on the arm of the couch and handed him the glass.

“You must be delirious from the heat,” she teased, brushing a piece of hair out of his face fondly.

“It’s possible,” he said with a laugh, “but I appreciate you, nonetheless.”

She flashed him that dazzling smile he’d fallen in love with the moment he’d first seen it when she first started working at Gringotts. He was just leaning up to kiss her softly when Fred and George burst into the room, followed shortly by George’s girlfriend, Emma, who looked positively pissed and slightly damp.

“You two are going to be the death of me!” Emma shouted at them, her eyes nearly as fiery as her hair. “George, don’t think that just because you lost an ear, I won’t still hex you!”

Bill and Fleur shared an amused look.

“What have they done now?” Fleur asked.

“These two—” Emma jabbed a finger at them— “thought it would be a good idea to slack off from cleaning out the shed like they were supposed to, and instead tried to have a water fight. Except, they missed each other and got me instead while I was trying to put the finishing touches on the floral centerpieces.” She glared at the twins, who didn’t look at all perturbed. In fact, they seemed almost pleased with themselves.

“Oh, come on, Sweets,” George crooned, walking over and pressing a kiss to her damp hair. “You looked like you could use a bit of fun.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry, it’s just— well, you know I love your mother but—”

“She’s driving you insane?” George finished.

“Toi et moi, les deux,” Fleur echoed. “Je ne sais pas combien je peux supporter.”

Emma laughed, and it took Bill a moment to translate, but then he did, too. “Tout va bien, ma moitié,” he said comfortingly, rubbing a hand up and down on her upper arm.

Fleur looked at him with surprise. “As tu—?” she faltered.

Bill simply smiled at her.

Her face lit up, and she looked as if she was about to lean in and kiss him, not caring that there were other people in the room, when Molly appeared, almost out of nowhere.

“What is everyone doing standing around? Fred, George, did you finish with the shed? And Bill, did you finish with the de-gnoming?” Molly asked in her classic mum tone. “And Emma, why on earth are you wet?”

Emma opened her mouth to explain, but Molly waved a frazzled hand at her.

“Never mind. We don’t have time. Fleur, dear,” Molly started, “I need to head into town to get a few more things, would you give me a hand?”

Fleur gave Bill a desperate and weary look, so he opened his mouth to come up with something to get her out of the possible trip, but Emma cut him off.

“Actually, Mrs. Weasley, I was about to ask for Fleur’s help with the centerpieces.”

“I thought you finished those, dear,” Molly said skeptically.

“I did, but a few of the garden gnomes got to them before Bill was able to get them all over the fence, so I’ll need to completely start from scratch.”

Fleur let out a soft gasp. “Mon dieu, non!”

“But how—?” Bill started.

Then Emma shot them both a subtle, pointed look. Bill nodded in understanding. Thank Merlin for Emma.

“Ah, yes. That would go much faster with both of us,” Fleur said, playing along.

Molly let out a heavy sigh. “I guess I could get Ginny to go with me,” she said wearily.

“Mrs. Weasley, why don’t you go out with Mr. Weasley,” Emma suggested. “Shouldn’t he be coming home for lunch right about now?”

Bill and George both raised an eyebrow at her. What was she planning?

“What about Mr. Weasley?” Arthur said jovially, coming in from the garden through the kitchen.

Emma smiled. “Mrs. Weasley said she needed to go into town for a few more things for the wedding and asked us to lend an extra set of hands, but we’re all busy taking care of things for the wedding. So I thought it might be nice for the two of you to get out of the house and get a nice lunch together. You both have been so kind to have us all here, and you deserve to take a bit of a break.”

Arthur looked at Emma for a moment, perplexed, then looked around the rest of the room and nodded. “Ah, yes, what a fantastic idea, Emma,” he said with a smile. He stepped behind his wife and placed his hands fondly on her shoulders. “How about it, Mollywobbles? It seems like the kids have got everything under control.”

Molly craned her neck to look at him, and he quickly pecked a kiss to her nose. “Oh, alright,” she sighed, but she still smiled. “But, Bill, I’m leaving you in charge. You make sure that everyone stays on task,” she said sternly.

Bill gave her a little salute. “You got it, Mum.”

“We will be back in a few hours, kids,” Arthur said, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders to steer her toward the kitchen.

Everyone nodded and held their breath until they heard the telltale crack of disapparition then let it out a collective sigh of relief.

“Brilliant, Sweets!” George exclaimed, scooping Emma into an enthusiastic hug. She let out a little yelp.

“Just to make sure, the centerpieces— they are alright, yes?” Fleur asked tentatively.

“Georgie, put me down—” Emma scolded him playfully. “Yes, the centerpieces are perfect. I just thought you two could use a break, and then I thought— well, we all could really.”

“Thank you, Emma,” Bill said sincerely. He loved his mother with all his heart, he truly did, but she got into planning mode, she was almost unbearable.

“No problem,” she said with a smile. “Come on, Georgie, let’s take a walk.” She took his hand and pulled him through the kitchen toward the garden.

“Oi, what am I supposed to do?” Fred called after them, but they were gone.

“You could go finish cleaning out the shed, as Mum asked you to,” Bill pointed out.

Fred gave him an incredulous look. “What? By myself?”

“Get Charlie to help you,” Bill said with a shrug before standing up and taking Fleur’s hand. “Allez, ma moitié. Allons à l'étage.”

Fleur looked at him half-dazed but followed him as they climbed the stairs up to his childhood bedroom, hand in hand. Once the door was closed, she rounded on him. “Since when do you speak French?” she demanded, jabbing a finger at him.

He laughed and looped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his chest. “Well, I picked up a bit from you, but Gabrielle has been teaching me. I wanted to surprise you at the wedding, but then I decided I wanted to surprise you early.”

Fleur made a soft sound and lifted a hand to caress his face. “But why?”

“I know you moved here from France to improve your English, but I wanted to bring a little bit of your home here.” Bill put his hand over hers and turned to kiss her palm. “I’m not fluent by any means, and my pronunciation is probably bloody awful—”

“Your pronunciation is not so bad,” she said with a laugh. She lifted onto her toes and kissed him hard on the mouth. “You are the sweetest man. I am so lucky to be marrying you.”

He smiled softly and tucked a strand of her silver-blonde hair behind her ear before twirling it around his finger. “Je suis le chanceux.”

Fleur smiled and wound her arms around his neck, dragging him down to meet her for a slow kiss. Bill smiled into the kiss and slid one hand into her hair while the other splayed across her lower back, pressing her closer to his chest. She made a pleased, soft sound and nipped at his lower lip lightly before pulling away.

“As much as I’d like to, on ne devrait pas avoir de relations sexuelles dans la maison de tes parents,” she said, taking more care to pronounce the words more slowly than she usually would.

He laughed. “Thank you for speaking slowly; it helps.” He gave her a quick, chaste kiss. “But, you’re probably right. And, to be honest, I’m kind of knackered.”

“Knackered?” she asked, her mouth stumbling on the word.

“Fatigué,” he supplied.

Her face lit up. “Oh, it is much easier to learn English… slang—?” she waited for him to nod— “when I don’t have to translate twice,” she said with relief. “But yes, I am tired also. I don’t sleep as well when you are not next to me.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Me neither, ma moitié,” he murmured against her skin. “We have a few hours, I expect. Voulez-vous faire une sieste?”

“Mmmm, oui,” she said with a nod.

With a mischievous grin, he scooped her up into his arms like a princess, earning a surprised giggle, and strode over to the bed, gently placing her on it. She shifted up onto the pillows and beaconed for him to join her. Although he was much too tall for it in the full-size bed from his childhood, he laid down with his head on her chest so she could play with his hair, something he’d started doing when he was recovering from Fenrir’s attack. She whispered something in rapid French he couldn’t quite catch as she took the elastic out of his hair and carded through the strands to loosen the braid. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pressing his hand under her shirt, splaying his fingers across her ribs, and sighed contentedly at the feeling of her soft skin contrasted beneath his calloused hands.

“Je t’aime,” he mumbled.

“Je t’aime, aussi,” she murmured back, and they both fell into a light sleep, limbs entangled, oblivious to everything outside of that room that wasn’t each other.

[ao3feed-snape]

Take Me Home

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/3DkNGlK

by MistressKira

When another Triwizard Tournament is announced, fear is all that is found. Nearly a decade after the previous tournament, the former champions are called back to participate to this newer version with new tasks and new rules. This time, they get to work in teams. Oh, and only one will survive.

Words: 2981, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi

Characters: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Severus Snape, Neville Longbottom, Fleur Delacour, Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Rabastan Lestrange, Background & Cameo Characters

Additional Tags: Original Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Action/Adventure, Romance, Fluff and Angst, Triwizard Tournament, Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, Hogwarts

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3DkNGlK