#HOGWARTS

[snowdropssunflowers]

Out of Hogwarts for a few years, just starting their own lives and careers, but there’s always time for catching up with old friends over a cup of tea🫖🍪

[defka99]

READ BETTER BOOKS

The Earthsea series from Ursula K. Le Guin is incredible,

Terry Pratchet's Discworld will have at a minimum one book that strikes your fancy,

I myself have recently been meaning to revisit the Bartimaeus Trilogy.

You deserve better than the fucking pit of derivative mediocrity that is Harry Potter. You deserve better than to support a billionaire who lobbies her government to attack human rights.

Harry Potter is fucking unsalvageable at this point and it doesn't matter how much you seperate yourself from the artist/author when the author's bigotry and transmisogyny heavily overshadows anything in that mediocre book.

at this point it signifies that you are complicit in the genocide of trans people, especially trans women and that you don't care that Rowling is profiting off of HP while pushing for the removal of our existence.

love our trans sisters, especially trans sisters of color, more than this fuck ass book.

[thedeadpoets-blog]

“honestly, don’t you two read?”

— hermione granger, harry potter and the philosopher’s stone

[rainydayathogwarts]

Not okay - mattheo riddle x lestrange!reader

summary: when your mother breaks out of azkaban, mattheo is quick to spot your shaky hands and follows you down the hallways to offer you some comfort wc: 0.6k+ cw: throw up so ive basically written the same scenario before but i felt like writing it like this so i did

The daily newspaper shook in your hands, the paper rustling because of your tremor. You dropped the paper to try and hide the vulnerable shake of your hands, but your fingers shook with such violence that you couldn’t hide it, opting to clasp your hands together in a meek attempt to halt the uncontrollable movement.

Alas, the shake instead climbed down your hands and reached your forearms, so you shoved your hands under the table, laughing nervously. Theo and Pansy looked concerned for you, uncomfortably looking back and forth between you and their plates. Mattheo, however, looked empathetic, an apologetic look on his face. He understood how you felt.

Having manic parents was not for the week.

Of all the people in your friend group though, Draco seemed the most unconvinced by your terrible act to behave as though everything was okay.

Because everything was not okay.

Especially not now that your mother had broken out of the most protected prison in the world.

Due to your parents being in jail for as long as you could remember, you’d grown up in the Malfoy household, meaning you and Draco had learned each other’s manners and etiquette like the back of your hands.

A call of your name had you inhaling sharply, and you looked up at Draco with a smile that did a terrible job of camouflaging the tears gathering in your eyes.

“I’m fine!” You squeaked loudly as you stood, attracting several pairs of eyes towards you. Hushed whispers gathered in the great hall as you rushed out of the room, everyone holding the same newspaper in their hands that projected the image of your cruel mother, laughing psychotically in her mugshot.

Your legs carried you across the empty hallways, a single pair of feet following you into the first floor girls’ bathroom. Instantly regretting your decision to put any food in your stomach before the mail arrived, you barged into one of the stalls, falling to your knees as you kneeled over a toilet seat, throwing up whatever you had eaten minutes prior.

Two hands gathered the hair around your head as you gagged, one hand moving to rub your back soothingly as the other held your hair in a make shift pony tail. “It’s okay, let it out.” A sob wracked in your chest as you expelled whatever was left in your stomach from your mouth.

You leaned your forehead on your arms when you were done, sobbing into the edge of your toilet seat to hide your face from Mattheo, and his attempts to comfort you.

Standing on shaky legs, you flushed the toilet, walking out of the stall and towards the sinks to splash some water on your face. Mattheo looked at you through the mirror’s reflection, taking a few steps towards you when you finally seemed to come out of your dissociated state.

The boy wrapped his arms around you, tugging you towards him. You sighed as tears continued to silently run down your face, dropping your head down to rest your cheek on his chest.

“I know it sucks.” Mattheo blatantly stated, not attempting to sugarcoat anything. “Hey, we can make it through the summer together. Try not to get killed by our parents.”

“I don’t wanna live with them. I wanna stay with my- with the Malfoys.”

“I know baby, I know. They’re your family.”

And as the summer rolled around, you kept echoing Mattheo’s words in your mind, thinking: The Malfoys are your family, they can’t take you away from them. But when you walked into the Malfoy Manor, taking note of the swarm of death eaters roaming the halls, you reminded yourself Mattheo’s other words would be more important. “We can make it through the summer together. Try not to get killed by our parents.”

[mtheonott]

She’s just helping. He’s just… watching.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

⌗ ancient egypt au, pharaoh x scribe, pharaoh!ThedooreNott historical fantasy, soft, unspoken feelings

word count: 613

note: again? I think there will be smth else later. no, I promise!

Quiet, without his entourage, without announcement. Just the sound of soft footsteps, the faint scent of incense, the rustle of fine linen—and you already knew it was him.

The Pharaoh.

Theodor.

“I need your knowledge again,” he said, leaning casually against a shelf like the library was his private chamber.

You didn’t flinch. Just nodded and returned to the scrolls, fingers moving carefully—gently, like a healer tending to veins.

He watched you. Too closely.

“You shouldn’t come here so often,” you said calmly. “People might start to suspect that the Pharaoh cares more for texts than for power.”

Theo smirked.

“Don’t you like that I care about what you keep?”

Your brow furrowed slightly, eyes never leaving the scrolls.

“I like when people read. Doesn’t matter who they are.”

Theodor stepped closer, not waiting for an invitation, and spoke low—nearly a whisper:

“Not everything I come for is written down.”

You glanced sideways at him.

“I can bring you more on astrology. Or translations. Or—”

“No, no,” he interrupted gently, now very close. “I want something you’ve read. Something you remember. Something you love.”

You paused for a moment, as if flipping through a mental catalog of knowledge.

“Hm… there are some poems from the time of Amenhotep. They’re rarely read. Very… personal.”

Theo leaned in, their faces nearly aligned.

“Personal is perfect.”

You didn’t understand. Not the tone, not the look. You took it all literally — as always.

“All right. I’ll make you a list. They might help with your... internal unrest.”

He let out a soft chuckle.

“And what if you are my internal unrest?”

You blinked.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he waved it off. “Tell me about the records you brought.”

You laid the scrolls out on the low table. Theo sat beside you, resting on one knee, not looking at the text — but at your lips as you explained the meanings of the ancient symbols.

Your fingers moved gently across the lines, your voice focused, even.

“This symbol — the eye surrounded by a serpent — it means protection and hidden feelings. It often appears in the writings of priests who speak of forbidden love.”

He leaned in closer.

“And who do you think such feelings are usually hidden from?”

You answered without a hint of irony:

“Usually — from the Pharaoh. Or from the gods. Or… from oneself.”

Theo smiled, a little bitterly.

“Interesting. And you — can you hide your feelings?”

“Of course. Even I’m a scribe, not an actress. Though… I don’t always succeed. Sometimes people read me like a book.”

He met you gaze.

“Don’t worry. I read slowly. So I don’t miss anything important.”

You didn’t reply.

Just kept organizing the scrolls — unaware that he wasn’t speaking of the papyrus at all.

After a while, he stood again, adjusting his cloak, and stepped toward the door.

“Thank you… for your help. And for being you.”

You nodded, a little confused.

“Do you always thank your scribes like this?”

He lingered at the threshold.

“Only the ones who make me want to come back.”

You blinked.

“You speak in riddles.”

Theo laughed as he left:

“And you still read everything literally.”

You was alone again. Looked at the scrolls. At the door. Shook your head.

“He’s strange. Smart. Impossible. And he stands way too close when he talks.”

You didn’t even realize you was smiling.

[iamaya03]

WHAT DO Y'ALL KNOW ABOUT A HOGWARTS CHALLENGERS AU??!!1!11 (dividers from: @bernardsbendystraws)

slytherin's princess and quidditch captain, tashi duncan. she can be seen around campus with her two boys who she treasures with all her heart (even if she doesn't show it), but that won't stop her from destroying them in a match when she has to. her black cat acts just like her mother; calculated and observant. if you're not worth her time, she'll walk right past you with her henchmen trailing closely behind her. tashi's patronus is a fox.

patrick zweig who was accepted as a prefect because his charisma was powerful enough to charm all of the professors despite how low his marks are. behind the doors of the gryffindor common room, he's a huge frat boy, always seen with a girl under his arm (who means nothing to him) or on some muggle drug he was offered by one of the half-bloods. he ABSOLUTELY chose a pet rat and named it art the second, saying that it looked exactly like him. his patronus? the bear.

an absolute god at wizard's chess. he makes it look so easy, always winning against patrick when they have time to play. this makes him feel good about himself, making up for the losses he's faced against patrick during their quidditch matches. he has a ginger cat which he loves and peppers kisses on when he's alone. art's not like the other hufflepuffs, always keeping to himself and lying when necessary. he lied straight to his best friend's face about his patronus; he said that he got a doe, when in reality, it was a snake.

AAAAAND, art and patrick are both the seekers in their quidditch teams which makes it much more one-on-one. when art loses, patrick gets all cocky, waving the snitch in his face once he catches it.

[dragon-of-grandeur]

As someone who has never read or been interested in Harry Potter:

Can we stop being little arogant pricks about Harry Potter fans? Fuck JKR. She's an awful woman who shouldn't be defended. She's transphobic trash. We can all agree on that.

But what the hell do you think you're accomplishing by making book fans feel guilty? Do you really think you're so smart, so morally superior, so original? When you leap at the opportunity to crush something that once helped someone connect with themselves? Something they loved, most likely as a CHILD?

Any media can be criticized for its flaws. Some are more glaring than others. Children don't choose what brings them joy and comfort. And it isn't like you can just erase all of that. I'm sure everyone has a certain media they enjoy that falls short of being progressive. Especially older media.

You can like Harry Potter without liking or supporting JKR. The books don't promote transphobia or homophbia, right? So, who cares? You want to do something that will actually have a slight impact? Help people find ways to get books and merchandise second hand. Let people like Harry Potter while speaking out against JKR. Steal Harry Potter from her like the gays stole the rainbow from god. If we can reclaim words, then why not a whole book full of them? Fuck's sake. You people are nicer to people who read the fucking bible.

[everydayxfangirl]

Okay okay okay listen here, Garreth has been on the sidelines for too long (on my feed at least), and you have to admit, he'd be such a good boyfriend 😍

Golden retriever vibes, Prince charming type, goofy personality, just an all around good boy 😇

But also, I'm a die hard for Seb and Ominis so 🙃 expect to see their chibi art soon hehehehhe

Forgive me, I'm still trying to figure out how I wanna portray my mc, so you get a blank slate for now lolllll

Okay have a good day!! xx

[love4ng1e]

˗ˏˋ "ⅈડ 𝕥ꫝⅈડ ꪖꪶꪶ 𝕣ꫀꪖꪶ?"

I was rewatching Harry Potter today, and a particular scene, one I’m sure many of you know well, really resonated with me.

...

"Professor, Is this all real? Or is it just happening inside my head?"

"Of course it's happening inside your head, Harry, but why should that mean that's it's not real?"

Your imagination is the real world. The Law of Assumption teaches us that what we assume to be true in our minds and what we persist in believing will reflect in our physical reality.

Everything begins within. Everything you want already exists in the unseen. And just because it's unseen doesn't make it any less real.

So when you see that version of yourself in your mind living your dream life, feeling the joy, being who you truly are don’t question if it’s real.

It is real because you imagined it. It exists because you assumed it. And with persistence, the world has no choice but to mirror it back to you.

So don’t underestimate what happens “inside your head.” That’s where worlds are born.

...

" Assume it, and it shall reveal itself. " Angie. - 𝜗𝜚

[monyokami]

Father and son

Yes, I love chubby Sebastian

[spencerrsmopbucket]

The Party & The After Party | Oliver Wood

Pairing: Oliver Wood x Reader Summary: After three years of dating, you and Oliver come to the conclusion that you're better off without each other. A few months later, at the start of 7th year, you realize just how wrong you were. Oliver had always had a quick temper, but seeing you being flirted with at a post-victory party seemed to push it to new limits.

You'd grown and matured so much since your first year at Hogwarts.

When you'd arrived, you were sorted into Gryffindor; though you were welcomed, everyone had wondered how. You were quiet, timid, but intelligent and fun when you were yanked from your shell. As the years progressed, you got more confident, until finally, in your 4th year, you met Oliver Wood. He changed everything for you.

Confidence came easily to him. He was good at what he did —Quidditch. He worked hard, played harder, and when he met you, it was the first time ever that he thought of something that wasn't quidditch.

He thought you were beautiful, like the quidditch field early in the morning when it had fresh dew on it. You were polite, oh so smart, respectful.. Everything that Oliver had wanted in a girl, though he didn't think about them very often.

You’d always liked Oliver from afar. Everyone did, really. He had a presence — loud, determined, fearless. But he never looked at anyone the way he eventually looked at you.

It started small. A smile in the corridor after practice. A shared seat in the library when all the others were taken. You didn’t think much of it, assuming he was just being polite — friendly, maybe. But Oliver wasn’t friendly just to be friendly. He was focused, always moving with purpose, and if he gave you attention, it was because he meant to.

He’d wait for you outside of Transfiguration. Offer to carry your books. Leave you notes scribbled on crumpled bits of parchment, full of inside jokes or casual compliments that made your stomach flip. He’d never been good with words — not the flowery kind, at least — but he was honest. Blunt, even. And you liked that about him.

When he asked you out, he was straightforward, cheeks red but eyes steady.

"Look, lass," he'd started, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I don't really do the dating thing, but.. I think of ye a lot and I'd really like to take you to Hogsmeade. Just us, if that's alright."

Of course, like every girl that swooned over the quidditch star Oliver Wood, you were floored. You said yes immediately.

The years that followed weren’t perfect — but they were real. You laughed together, studied together, had late-night walks through the castle where he’d sneak you into the pitch just to show you the stars from the stands. He always said the world looked best from up there, and the only thing that ever rivaled that view was you.

But as sixth year came and went, Oliver began to drift — not in love, but in time. His dream of going pro was so close he could taste it. Every spare minute went into training, every conversation turned back to strategy. You tried to understand. You tried to hold on.

But slowly, quietly, you started to feel like a benchwarmer in your own relationship.

And so, by the end of that year, standing near the lake under a sky full of summer heat and quiet heartbreak, you sniffled quietly: maybe it wasn’t working. Maybe you were growing in different directions.

The breakup didn't come easy. Oliver hated losing above everything he'd ever hated, and being broken up with meant he'd be losing arguably one of the most important things to him. You. He hadn't meant to direct so much of his attention to quidditch — but as he thought more, as he got angrier and more hurt about you breaking things off, he thought that maybe it was what he needed.

It was the final push. With one less distraction, he could go pro. The word distraction echoed through his head, making his chest tighten. Were you really a distraction? Or was he just a fucking git?

Regardless, there was no going back. He couldn't change anything now. You'd left and Oliver wasn't a sorry beggar that was going to grovel at your feet to get you back.

The months of summer passed. You were wounded, suffering — but you'd grown into yourself quite a bit over the summer. Your hair got longer, your shape got fuller, you got more confident, you got more fiery.

Oliver, to be honest, hadn't done the same. He was going to come back to Hogwarts the exact same he'd been, besides the absence of you and the little bit of dimness it had shed onto the light of his personality. He held it together, but he knew. He was an injured dog, wanting to spend more time huddled in a corner trying to heal than do anything else. He missed you, he missed your presence. Without you, it felt even harder to focus.

Seventh year arrived in a haze of new beginnings and old wounds.

You didn’t expect much from Oliver — not anymore. You weren’t even sure if he’d say anything when he saw you. But when you stepped onto the Hogwarts Express that morning, your heart betrayed you, thudding hard against your ribs when you saw him across the platform. He looked the same — same tired eyes, same determined jaw. The same Oliver, and yet... not.

He didn’t approach. Didn’t wave. Just stared for a moment too long before boarding the train.

And that was it.

That's how the first couple of weeks of school went. Your mutual friends noticed it immediately, how you avoided each other, refused to speak, refused to be friends. You sat through lessons, avoiding even looking at each other from across a classroom.

Oliver threw himself into quidditch the moment it started, burying himself in the only thing he'd known besides you.

Gryffindor’s first win of the season had the common room buzzing, students spilling in from every direction with sweets, music, and alcohol. You hadn’t planned on staying long, but your friends had insisted, dragging you into the crowd with promises of a good time and better company.

This party was only for 6th and 7th years. Only for the people that could keep quiet about it.

Oliver, on a winning high, sat in the back of the room on the couch, his friends surrounding him. You didn't even look, though you heard his thick accent and booming voice. Him and his friends laughed, drinks in their hands. He was finally happy for a moment. For one little moment.

Your refusal to look at him wasn't the same on the other end. His eyes zeroed in on you as soon as you'd gotten tipsy enough to come out into the open, not stand in the corner. You wore a skirt, a red mesh crop top, signifying Gryffindor. Your hair was messy. You were evidently buzzed, hanging off from Lavender Brown's arm and laughing lazily.

You were beautiful. As beautiful as the moment he saw you. The moment was almost blissful, a chance to look at you without a returning glare or a tense realization that you were being watched. He'd missed looking at you. He felt a warm buzz travel through his body as his hazel eyes softened.

Until the moment was ruined. He'd finally seen what you and Lav were laughing at.

A tall Hufflepuff boy, clearly streamlining lame jokes into you and your friend's ears, trying to impress. Oliver's blood went cold, his jaw clenching. George was the first to notice.

"Wood, mate. Easy."

But Oliver wasn't listening. He'd always been hot-blooded, easy to frustrate. But this? This was something new. Something he'd never experienced.

He couldn't listen. Not when the Hufflepuff twat had the nerve to lean closer to you, elbow brushing yours like he had any right.

"She's laughin'," He muttered to himself, his eyes narrowing and grip tightening on his cup. "She's actually bloody laughin'."

"Because she's drunk," George reminded, with Fred placing a hand on Oliver's shoulder to reinforce him. "Not because she's interested."

Oliver's glare heated up as the Hufflepuff boy nudged your shoulder playfully.

"Aye, well, drunk or not, that's my girl he's tryna pull."

Fred gave him a look. “Ex-girl.”

“Shut it, Weasley,” Oliver snapped, his voice sharp, too sharp. “I ken what I said.”

He didn’t mean to stand up. Didn’t mean to slam his cup down so hard it sloshed onto the floor. He didn't mean to wrench both of the twins' hands off from his arms, strength doubled by how upset he was. But he was already up, the noise of the party falling away beneath the pounding in his ears. Fortunately, Fred and George followed, trailed by Harry too.

You didn’t see him coming.

Not until he was there, towering behind the Hufflepuff with a scowl that could curdle milk.

“Oi,” Oliver barked, accent thick and venom-laced. “Ye lost, mate? Thought the badgers burrowed down in the dungeons.”

The boy turned, eyebrows raised in confusion. “Er—what?”

“She’s not interested,” Oliver growled. “So why don’t ye take yer shite jokes and piss off before I throw ye out meself?”

The Hufflepuff blinked, confused, glancing between you and Oliver. You looked equally stunned.

“I was just—"

“Flirtin’. Aye. I saw. Now jog on.”

Your jaw dropped. You’d never seen Oliver so mad, so confrontational. It just wasn’t him. He was civil — not afraid to call someone out on their shit, but civil. This.. This was just plain old aggression.

There was a beat of silence before the boy muttered something to himself and, stupidly, decided to be brave. Clearly he didn’t know Oliver as well as the rest of Hogwarts did. He puffed up, turning his face straight to Oliver’s and said six words, six dangerous words:

“Why don’t ya make me, Wood?”

The room froze. Even the music seemed to stutter, as if the castle itself knew what was about to happen.

Fred and George stiffened. Harry cursed under his breath.

Oliver’s fists clenched at his sides, knuckles already white.

“Ye sure about that?” he growled, stepping forward until there was barely an inch between them. “Cause I’ve had a shite week, my tolerance for gobshites is sittin’ real low, and I’ve not thrown a punch in a while.”

You begged in your head for the boy to stop. This Hufflepuff must’ve been foolish, absolutely brainless. The strongest, most decorated, most known quidditch player in school, recognized for brute strength and temper, recognized for you, and he still has the nerve to push on. You didn’t know if he was brainless, like you’d thought before, or brave.

“Oh, I’m sure,” the boy asserted, almost nose to nose with Wood. “I’m certain. You might scare every other git in this school away from a pretty girl, but ya don’t scare me.”

Oh, bloody hell. You nearly winced.

You could feel the shift in Oliver’s body before he moved. Like a storm right before it breaks—quiet, charged, dangerous.

Fred muttered, “Right, well, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard all week.”

George followed with, “Poor bloke’s gonna get launched into next Tuesday.”

Oliver’s jaw ticked, his nostrils flaring. His voice, when it came, was low. Controlled. That was worse.

“Ye’ve got guts, I’ll give ye that. Shame you’ll be wearin’ them if you open that mouth again.”

And then—he lunged.

You barely had time to react before the twins were moving, Fred hooking an arm around Oliver’s chest while George stepped between him and the Hufflepuff, arms raised.

“Woah, WOAH, alright! That’s enough!”

“Oliver, mate, c’mon,” Harry grunted, trying to grab his other arm. “Don’t punch this lad at a party, yeah? Save it for the pitch.”

But Oliver’s eyes never left the Hufflepuff. His chest rose and fell rapidly, like a caged dragon just barely kept at bay. The muscles in his arms were taut beneath Fred’s hold, his fists still clenched like they could fly at any second.

“He thinks he’s brave,” Oliver snapped, voice rough and shaking. “But he’s disrespectful. Sayin’ I scare the rest o’ the school? Sayin’ I don’t scare him? I’ll show—”

“Enough!” You finally snap, your eyes narrowed. “Enough, Oliver.”

His eyes softened, but hardened yet again. Fred and George’s arms tightened around him, like a vice.

“What the hell are ye playin’ at?” he snapped, glaring down at you. “Paradin’ around like—like that, lettin’ some idiot make eyes at ye like I’m not standin’ right fuckin’ here?”

Your eyes widened, and then narrowed just as quickly.

“Excuse me?” you said, voice low and dangerous. “I’m not ‘parading’ anything, Oliver.”

“You are,” he hissed. “You bloody are. You ken what yer wearin’? What yer doin’?”

“What I’m doing is moving on,” you spat, stepping toward him now, flushed with drink and fury. “Isn’t that what you wanted? You, your broomstick, and your bloody dreams?”

That hit. Hard. You saw it in his face—the way his jaw flexed and his eyes flickered with something raw.

“I didn’t want this,” he bit out. “I didn’t want you makin’ me feel like this. D’ye ken how hard it is, watchin’ ye pretend I never meant a thing?”

The room around you had gone quieter now, the music thumping faintly behind the tension. Eyes were starting to linger.

“Oliver,” you warned, heart racing. “Don’t do this here.”

“Why not?” he said, voice breaking just slightly. “Ye don’t want me anymore, fine. But don’t stand there actin’ like I was nothin’ to ye.”

Your breath caught. Everything fell away—the party, the Hufflepuff, the gaping onlookers. Just you and Oliver and the aching history between you.

“C’mon,” Fred said, tugging at his arm, sensing the shift. “Let’s go cool off before McGonagall shows up and gives us detention ‘til Christmas.

Oliver didn’t move.

His jaw flexed like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. Not to you. Not to anyone.

With one last searing glare at the Hufflepuff—who had the good sense to take a step back this time—Oliver turned on his heel.

“Fuck this.”

The words were quiet, half-muttered, but they carried enough venom to make a few nearby students shrink away. He shouldered past a cluster of seventh years, shoving open the portrait hole so hard it nearly bounced back into Harry’s face.

Fred and George exchanged a look, then quickly followed.

“This is gonna be fun,” Fred mumbled sarcastically.

“Aye,” George sighed. “Let’s make sure he doesn’t punch a wall this time.”

Harry hesitated for a moment, offering you an apologetic glance before trailing after them, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, surrounded by the aftermath.

The room buzzed with murmurs, but no one dared say anything too loud. The tension Oliver had left behind clung to the air like smoke.

And you?

You just stood there, Lavender hovering at your side, one hand lightly gripping your arm.

“Are you okay?” she asked, softer than usual.

You nodded absently, eyes still on the portrait hole. But your mind was miles away—storming off down the corridor with Oliver.

Because that wasn’t nothing. That wasn’t casual jealousy. That was a boy who still had something burning deep inside him.

And Merlin help you, you felt the same fire.

[epsilonblack]

Where The Stars Dance

The sun had always been at the center—warm, blinding, golden.

James.

The world spun in his gravity. Sirius had orbited him since childhood, basking in the light, reckless and radiant.

But then came the moon.

Quiet. Steady.

Remus.

And suddenly, it was the moon everything revolved around.

Not loud, not demanding, but present. Day and night, whether the sky was clear or storm-wracked. Whether cloaked in shadow or shining full. The moon was constant. The moon was everything.

The stars, bold, burning.

Sirius.

Found himself dancing in circles around it. Not because he was told to. Not because he was asked. But because something in him knew he was made for this.

To light the sky only so the moon could shine brighter.

Sirius had never known such gravity.

[thrillofcontrol]

be right back | f.w

Fred Weasley x reader

summary: Y/n always dreamed of her and Fred growing old together, but she's now stood wishing she has spent more time in the present and that she had told him how much she loved him just that little bit more, staring at his lifeless body during the battle of Hogwarts.

word count: 3.5k

Warnings: angst, grief, death.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☆⋆⋅☆⋅⋆☆⋆⋅

She spent hours sitting by the window, looking out over the fields that stretched beyond the Burrow, lost in thought. The fields were quiet now, lush with new grass and tiny blooming flowers, the green too bright for how she felt. The kind of stillness that only comes in May, soft and unreal.

The spring air was peaceful, but it didn’t matter. She couldn't attempt to feel any passion towards new beginnings. The warmth didn’t touch her, she was numb in the kind of way that went deeper than skin. The songs of the birds, the gentle sway of the trees, all of it felt so painfully familiar, but without Fred, it lost its meaning. May had passed her by, and with it, the last pieces of him.

Everything reminded her of Fred.

The rustle of leaves in the breeze, the way sunlight filtered through the tall trees, even the faint scent of honeysuckle from the garden—all of it felt like echoes. Shadows of moments that used to mean something when he was here. Now they were just fragments. Almosts.

She thought of the last time they laughed together. Something small. Something stupid. His eyes crinkled at the corners, that boyish grin lighting up the room. Neither of them had known it would be the last. If she had, would she have held on a little longer.

It had always been Fred.

From the moment they met, there was an undeniable pull between them, like magnets destined to meet. Y/n still remembered the first time she’d laughed at one of Fred’s ridiculous jokes, how the sound had seemed to spark something in both of them.

Their connection had been instant,effortless, as if they had always been meant to find each other. Fred was everything she had ever wanted he was spontaneous, mischievous, and endlessly charming. He would make her laugh until her cheeks hurt, pulling her into all sorts of ridiculous adventures. Whether they were performing pranks or hiding from Filch in the corridors, their days at Hogwarts had been filled with joy and a sense of wild freedom. There was no moment too small, no day too ordinary, that didn’t feel like magic when they were together.

They had made promises, as young lovers often do, promises that in their hearts, they believed were unbreakable. They talked about the future, their lives beyond Hogwarts, the twins' dream of running the joke shop, and how y/n would be their biggest supporter, which she was. Fred had always imagined his life being surrounded with chaos and laughter, and along the way imagined y/n in every aspect of it, y/n obviously felt the same, her heart already intertwined with his in a way that felt as natural as breathing.

“I’m never going anywhere,” Fred had told her one night as they sat by the fire, his arm draped lazily over her shoulders.

“You and me. Forever.” And she had believed him. Of course, she had. How could she not? Their love was a constant, that bit of hope in a world that often felt uncertain. With Fred, everything had felt possible. Everything felt like it could last forever.

But forever came sooner than it should have.

Hogwarts was no longer safe, the castle began to stir, uncertainty was spread across everybody's faces, as quiet footsteps echoed through the stone halls. The battle had begun. Voldemort’s shadow loomed closer with every second, and the future for Hogwarts was in danger, and the future y/n and Fred had imagined together felt suddenly fragile.

She thought about that night more than she'd care to admit.

How in the calm before the storm, just hours before the battle began, they’d found a rare, quiet corner in the castle. Fred’s hand had been warm in hers, always warm, always steady, his thumb brushing gently over her skin like he was memorizing the feel of her. They didn't say anything at first, letting the silence settle between them.

“I hate this,” she whispered finally, her voice barely holding together. “I hate not knowing.”

Fred sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. “Me too.”

She turned to look at him, analysing how the usual light flickering in his eye was now dimmer, quieter.

“Are you scared?” she asked, clinging onto his hand tighter.

He hesitated. “Yeah. I am.”

There was something unnerving in the way he wasn’t trying to make a joke, or brush it off like he usually would. He was just real, he was scared, and there was nothing that could change that.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “We’ll stay together,” she said, as if saying it could make it true. “No matter what.”

He squeezed her hand once more, gently. “That’s the only way I know how to do this.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he rested his cheek lightly on her hair. For a while, they just stayed like that, holding onto one another while the world beyond them began to shake.

Fred leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Whatever happens, I’ll always love you.”

It had been the first time he said it like that, not joking, not teasing, not hidden behind that grin. Just raw, real and slightly afraid.

And all she could do was smile like a fool and say, “Nothing will happen. But I love you more.”

She hated how light her tone had been. How certain she’d sounded. As if love alone could make them invincible. Which they relied on happening, whilst they simply waited, terrified, for it all to commence.

But before they knew it things spun out of control quicker than any of them imagined. The pair desperately attempted to stick by eachother, but the war didn’t wait. Orders were shouted, spells began flying, and just like that, they were pulled apart.

The last thing he said to her was so casual, so tragically ordinary.

“Be right back.”

He’d kissed the top of her head, and then he was gone, disappearing into the firestorm that swallowed the castle.

She fought like hell, but her eyes kept darting through the smoke, desperate to catch a glimpse of red hair, the sound of his voice, her mind wasn’t focused on survival. It was focused on him. The thought of him getting hurt, of not being there to help him, terrified her more than anything the war could throw her way. Every curse she deflected, every narrow escape, wasn’t driven by fear for her own life, it was fear for Fred’s.

She hadn’t even realized where her feet were taking her until she found herself in the Great Hall. The air was thick with silence, broken only by quiet sobs alongside the distant, muffled echoes of war still rattling the castle walls.

And then she saw them.

The Weasleys, gathered on the cold stone floor, a tangle of red hair and grief. At first, she didn’t understand, as her eyes scanned their faces, counting them, searching.

Until she found him.

Fred.

Lying so still, as if he were just sleeping. But the light in his face, his light, was gone.

A sound tore from her throat before she could stop it. Her legs gave out as she dropped beside him, her hands shaking as she reached for him, for anything. His skin was still warm. That had to mean something, she kept telling herself. His face was peaceful, like he was just resting, but the spark, the mischief, the life that had always danced behind his eyes was gone.

Another broken sob escaped her as she reached out again with trembling hands, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Fred,” she whispered, barely able to speak. “Fred, wake up. Please wake up”

He promised. He promised he’d be right back.

Molly pulled her into a hug from behind, arms wrapping around her with that same motherly strength y/n had always known, but now it shook with grief. George sat in stunned silence, his face blank, hollow, as though a physical part of himself left when Fred did.

“He was looking for you,” George said, voice barely audible. “Kept asking where you were.”

Y/N’s heart cracked under the weight of it. She wanted to scream. To turn back time. To make him open his eyes and grin at her like he always did. But instead she leaned over Fred, pressing her forehead to his, her tears falling onto his skin. “I should’ve been with you,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there.”

The world felt like it was slipping from beneath her feet. The promises they had made, the dreams they had shared, all of it now so far out of reach. She couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe it. She hadn’t been there in those final moments, hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye. The guilt washed over her in waves, but the emptiness inside her was deeper than any pain she had ever known.

No one said a word. They didn’t need to. They just held each other, broken in different ways, united in the unbearable loss of someone who should’ve had forever.

She didn't remember how she left the Great Hall, how the battle ended, how the world kept spinning without Fred. Everything after the moment she had seen his lifeless body was a blur, the faces speaking to her, the hands guiding her somewhere safe, the rising sun shining down onto a world that no longer felt like hers. Somehow, amongst it all, she ended up at the Burrow.

In the days that followed, y/n found herself far from Hogwarts both mentally and physically, surrounded by the Weasley family, each of them stitched together by grief, holding on as best they could, attempting to carry on with the weight of loss hovering over them. The house, once so loud with laughter and life, had fallen into a hush that didn’t suit it. Everything felt quieter now. Fragile, the absence of Fred lingered in every room, every corner.

It hadn't truly registered in y/n's head that Fred was gone forever, that soon enough he will return and everything will be back to normal. But as she attempted to hold, what felt like, the weight of the world from crashing down on her, she couldn't help but doubt if she had done enough for Fred. Had their time together been enough? Had he truly understood how deep her love was for him? They had so many plans for the future that y/n couldn't help but question if they truly made the most of what they had whilst he was still alive, she thought so carelessly about mapping out a future instead of living in the moment, but how could she prepare herself for the death of a person she was meant to spend forever with.

The weight of their final interaction bores down on her every day,

"be right back"

She never saw him again.

If she had known, if she had even felt the smallest negative feeling hidden amongst her gut, she would have held onto him, gave him one last kiss that was filled with the love and passion they have built up through the years. She would have held him back, ignored every call to fight, forced him to stick beside her despite everything coming their way from every angle. She would have followed him into that crumbling corridor, into whatever darkness waited, she would've done anything to be there with him, be there for him.

That night has caused her brain feel as though it is rotting away, taunting her of how she could've prevented it all, or it least tried to. She would’ve traded anything to be with him in that final moment, sticking together like they had promised. It sounded selfish, and maybe it was, but part of her wished she had been there, as though her company alone would've stopped his miserable fate. Or at the very least her companionship would've caused her to have faced his end with him, that he hadn’t died alone.

She knew it was a brutal way to think, but she couldn't help but wish she made the decision to wander off before he did, and leave him exactly where she stayed, she'd give her life in a heartbeat for him, but that meant Fred would have to live with the pain she's currently experiencing. There was no right answer to this cruel existence.

Since that night there was never a moment doubt didn't creep in and shove itself through each crevice of her brain, wrap itself around each segment of her heart. She feared most of their time wasn't deemed as valuable, so they wasted it away, was he able to live a fulfilled life with her by his side? She spoke far too much about the future, did she give him enough affection and attention in the moment? Had she loved him loudly enough, clearly enough, for him to carry it with him in those final moments?

A few mornings later, feeling like she was slowly wasting away, y/n wandered out into the garden, surprised to find George already there, his hands busy with the flowers, though his eyes were distant, as they always were now. He's been constantly trying to distract himself from the fact that he longer has his built in best friend constantly by his side, trying out new hobbies, keeping himself motivated, but y/n could tell none of it was working, he had that look, the same one she had been failing to hide.

She approached slowly, her steps unsure, similar to how most of her actions have been since Fred's death. George briefly noticed her figure stood watching him, and gave a small nod in greeting. For a short while he didn't say a word, letting the calm breeze take over the silence, hoping that good company and beautiful scenery alone would be enough to fill a hole left in both of their hearts. After a while the quietness turned miserable, awkward almost, as though they wanted to speak but simply couldn't make out anything to say.

“I used to think the silence after a joke didn’t land was the worst sound in the world,” he said with half a chuckle finally breaking it. “But this is louder than anything I’ve ever known.”

He stared up at y/n, analysing her dreary facial expression for a long moment, before speaking softly with a sad smile placed on his face. “You can't carry on like this, y/n. You’re disappearing, bit by bit.”

She blinked, looking away, taken back by the brutal truth.

“He wouldn’t want this,” George continued. “Fred wouldn’t want you wasting away like your heart got buried with him.”

She continued to look down at her feet before her glossed over eyes finally made their way back on George, who now not only looked miserable, but deeply concerned about the wellbeing of one of his closest friends.

“I don’t know how to be without him,” she whispered, trying to not choke on her words. "It wasn't supposed to end so soon"

She would replay every memory, every word, every shared laugh, trying to find reassurance in the way his eyes had lit up when he looked at her, in the way he’d reached for her hand without thinking, in the softness he reserved only for her. But it was never enough. Not when the ending had come so quickly, so cruelly.

She was terrified that she'd start making scenarios up to fill in for the things they missed out on, terrified that she'll accidentally fixate on an idea of him, rather than just appreciating the time they had shared together. It was hard to not pretend he was still here, but she can't live vicariously through fake potentials, risking merging fake and reality.

If she had known how short their time would be, if she had even caught a glimpse of what fate had waiting for the life of her lover, she wouldn’t have waited for things to fall into place. She would’ve ran to him the second their eyes met across platform 9¾ on that very first day. She would’ve grabbed his hand, skipped the years of maybes and slow burn glances, and told him she loved him right then and there. No games, no waiting. Just the truth.

They had a lifetime’s worth of love squeezed into just a few fleeting years, and while she wouldn’t actually trade those moments for anything, very grateful in their relationship being gradual, she simply just wished that the conclusion would've been different, that it could've continued, that she could've had more. More time. More kisses. More of him.

They stood in silence for a while, watching the wind stir the tall grass.

“He talked about you all the time, you know,” George said quietly, not looking at her. “Not just in the way you’d expect, though Merlin knows we all had to put up with how sappy he got when you weren’t around. Things he was nervous to say around you, he didn't want to ever say the wrong thing, or accidentally jinx "the perfect thing he has"”

That drew a faint, broken smile from her.

George went on, voice steadier now, like it mattered that she heard every word. “When he talked about the future, you were always in it. Always. You were the forever plan. He never said ‘if’, it was always when. When we open the shop, when we get a place, when I marry her. Like it was already written. Like you and him were just a fact of the world.”

Y/n didn’t look up, but a soft breath escaped her, almost a laugh. "I did the exact same" a hint of joy in her voice. “I just wish it could've all been true”

She knew Fred loved boasting about the future they had planned, how every upcoming event in his life featured her, and hearing it aloud brought a red flush to her cheeks, but she didn't quite realise how passionate Fred was about her for the long run, how he had made her a definite in his life. Knowing how much he spoke about her, in the most desired way, flickered warmth in her chest, made her feel whole again.

But the warmth didn’t last. The weight of reality settled quicker than ever, he wasn’t here to live the future they’d imagined. And that hollow ache returned, sharper than ever. Everything they had both pictured would never reach its finality, it'll forever just be a desire, and that tore her apart.

“And he knew how much you loved him,” George added after a beat, finally turning to look at her. “I promise you, he knew. He was always bragging about how somebody as brilliant as you wants to spend their whole life with him."

Y/N nodded, blinking against the sting in her eyes. She didn’t know what to say. No words could match the ache in her chest. George took her silence as an answer, and simply did nothing more than wrap his arms around her, both of them needing the comfort and warmth of somebody who cared.

She closed her eyes and held onto the material of George's shirt, sniffling away her tears. “I talk to him, you know. Every night. Just in case he can hear me.”

George gently pulled away from the hug, quickly and delicately wiping a stray tear on her cheek. “Then keep talking, but don’t stop living. If he’s listening, I know that’s what he’d want to hear most of all.”

Even filled with grief, the Burrow remained a place of strange comfort. The house creaked with memories. The walls still held their laughter. Fred’s absence was a wound, but it was also a reminder, of just how deeply he’d lived, and how much he has been and will forever be loved.

That night, as the rest of the house settled into sleep, she slipped outside. The sky was clear, the stars aligned so bright and beautifully. She lay in the grass, arms folded beneath her head, and stared upward, the chill of the earth grounding her as the ache in her heart floated somewhere above.

“I'll love you forever Fred” she whispered into the night. “I hope you know that. I hope wherever you are, you’re still laughing. Still causing trouble. Still being you.” She closed her eyes, a sad smile hung on her face.

A soft breeze stirred the leaves and just for a brief moment, she felt something brushing her cheek. Someone. She held her breath, let the silence wrap around her like a memory, as she pictured him beside her, as though he came right back and was simply lying there with her.

Just watching the stars.

[rainydayathogwarts]

Wishing you were somehow here again - Remus Lupin

ˋ°•*⁀➷ Phantom of the Opera

☆ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ☆ 𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐒 ☆

summary: you bring remus home to meet your parents, introducing him as your finacé. luckily for you, your parents approve of him, and you take remus out on a stroll in the vast gardens whilst your parents deliberate the wedding details. wc: 3k+ cw: smut, semi-public sex (in a garden, but there is privacy)

“Okay just smile, that’s what my mum wants to see. Plus, you’ve got a very handsome one, so you’ll win some extra points.”

Remus remembered the words you told him last night over dinner as you ran your fingers through his hair to make sure every single strand was in perfect place. He felt as though you were preparing him to meet your mother in that instant, but reminded himself to calm down; he had more than twelve hours.

But now, as he stood in front of the large, wooden double doors of the Black Manor, he felt as though he took those hours for granted, wishing you were somehow here again, with him. Preparing him like a pig for slaughter. Remus swallowed thickly, loosening his grip on the bouquet of blue tulips he held. Your mother’s favourite, according to you. When Remus finally knocked, the doors took less than three seconds to swing open, but instead of being invited inside, you slammed the doors shut behind you as you joined Remus outside.

Remus smiled at you nervously and you returned the smile, taking in his appearance from head to toe. “You look amazing.” You mumbled, quickly pressing yourself on your tippy toes to gently kiss him. Remus grinned; he knew he looked amazing. After all, you had insisted on dragging him to your family’s tailor to get him a fresh new three-piece suit.

“You got me a ring, let me get you this one thing.” You had pleaded, but your eyes warned him that there was no room for argument.

Satisfied, you reached for the door handle behind you, welcoming Remus into the house just in time for your mother to come into view, not a single wrinkle on the long dress she wore. As per usual. “Mother, this is-” “Remus Lupin. Pleased to meet you.” He said with a gracious smile. A smile that seemed so well practiced, just like every pureblood child had mastered. Except his was authentic.

Remus — forgetting his practice — offered your mother his hand for a hand shake but he quickly caught himself when she presented him her hand, palm facing the floor. He shook it awkwardly, bowing his head down before eagerly letting go. He tried hiding the blush on his cheeks by giving her the bouquet of flowers.

Your mother deeply inhaled, her nose snug against the flowers, closing her eyes as she relished in their scent, and sighing deeply. You shifted your weight from one foot to another, hesitating before informing her “He is my fiancé.”

Walburga summoned Kreacher to take the flowers away, and for a long moment she stared at you and Remus with menacing eyes that turned into slits, walking around the pair of you like a predator would to its prey. Finally, she put on an artificial smile, tilting her head to the side with friendliness she couldn’t make look natural even if she tried. She ignored your announcement, fixing her gaze onto the tall man, daring him to look away. “Remus, dear, I have to say, when I heard through the grapevine that you’d been spotted around my daughter, I came rushing to see you perform. So did Orion.” As though at the mention of his name, your father came strolling into the room, his chest puffed up. It didn’t take brains to know that he owned the place; held the power in the family. “That we did!” You father gruffly said, adjusting the lapel of his blazer.

Both you and Remus held your breath.

You approached your fiancé, linking your arm through his, hope fluttering in your chest. Your parents’ opinion on Remus’s performance would be their deciding factor on whether they would allow you to get married. “We thought you were absolutely wonderful.” You didn’t bother hiding the relief on your face, but Remus had more class than you, smiling politely at your parents.

“I’m glad to hear that. Mr. and Mrs. Black, I know it wasn’t very traditional to propose to your daughter without asking first, but I still want your blessing for her hand in marriage. Otherwise, I don’t think we’d be able to go through with it.” Remus looked back at you, and you nodded solemnly; all an act to make your script look convincing enough.

Your father stepped forward, clasping a hand on Remus’s shoulder. You couldn’t read his face, blank and neutral.

Terrifying.

“Remus Lupin,” He started, staring at the taller man directly in his eyes. “Welcome to the family, young man.” Your arms fell by your side in relief and you glanced towards your mother, who was making her way over to hug you. Just like you and Remus had to keep up your act, so did she. It was unusual for her to be affectionate, whether it was for show or now, but you would take it. Turning around to look at Remus, who was just being released from your father’s tight handshake, you couldn’t stop yourself from throwing your arms around him in a tight hug, digging your face in the crook of his neck.

Remus’s face flushed brightly and your mother laughed, scolding you softly. “Oh don’t embarrass the poor boy.” You sighed in annoyance at her words, but Remus was quick to get rid of your forming frown by ducking his head down to press his lips against yours softly. “Oh, never mind what I said, he isn’t shy in the least!” Remus kept you close to him even after you parted from each other, a soothing hand on your waist.

“Sweetheart, how about you show Remus around the grounds while your mother and I discuss important matters before dinner?” You nodded obediently, fingers sliding into Remus’s hand, intertwining with his as you dragged him back out the front door and into the enchanted gardens. Walburga huffed at the informal gesture when you turned your back, but Orion chuckled “Oh, let them celebrate. She doesn’t have any suitors or families to impress in her own home.” Walburga spun on her heels, and her husband immediately followed her into the living room to discuss the terms of your engagement.

Not only would the wedding details need sorting, but so would business negotiations. It was about time a theatre was named after the family name in Charing Cross, and that could quickly be arranged as a celebration of the news of your marriage. Besides, some people owed your father a couple of favours.

Outside, Remus cursed quietly as he tripped over the steps in front of the intimidating front doors of the Black Manor. His stress subsided into laughs, reflecting the ones that were flying out of your mouth as you dragged him further down the garden and into the tall hedge maze, where you’d debatably get the most privacy on the entire property. You didn’t stop running for a while, turning sharp angles to drag Remus down a memorised route, practiced steps leading you into the hedge maze’s centre.

Finally, you came to a halt, letting go of Remus’s so you could spin around, throwing your arms over his shoulder to slam your lips onto his. Remus gasped against your lips, hands coming down to rest on your hips. He chuckled quietly, breathing heavily into the kiss. Your hands trailed down until you were cupping Remus’s cheeks, humming into the kiss.

Remus broke the kiss, raising a hand to rest on the side of your neck, thumb caressing your skin softly. “We did it.” He whispered in a celebratory tone, a boy-like giggle ecstatically flying out from between his parted lips. One of your hands lowered to wrap around Remus’s wrist with the hand on your cheek. You pressed yourself on your tippy toes, kissing him softly again.

An unexpected whine broke out of Remus’s chest and you gasped as his fingers gripped your hips tightly, pushing you back until your back hit the edge of a pedestal, the sculpture placed upon it looming over you both. Remus gently sunk his teeth into your bottom lip and you parted your lips for him, opening your mouth slightly to meet his tongue in a passionate dance.

Remus tilted his head to the side so he could deepen the kiss and you cried out as his hands explored your body until they landed on your ass, groping at the flesh eagerly. One of your hands shot out to grip the collar of Remus’s shirt, tugging his body closer to you until it lay flat against yours. You desperately thrust your hips forward, grinding them against Remus’s. Your fiancé separated his lips from your momentarily as a primal groan rumbled in his chest.

“Are women in the Black family also expected to wait until marriage?” You breathed heavily, grinning up at him with a mischievous twinkle in your eye despite his question being sarcastic. “If they are, I’ve already broken that rule.”

Remus chuckled against your lips, a silent question lingering in the air. “So, are you going to touch me or not?” Remus’s breath got caught in his throat as you asked the question, almost unable to believe that the words were stumbling out of your sophisticated mouth. “Yes, I’d love to. I-uhm, I’m just not exactly sure how to.”

An unexpected laugh tumbled out of your mouth and Remus’s eyes widened as he realised what he’d just said. “Not in that sense! Not in-Your dress! Your dress is just so… elaborate.” Indeed, it was. The long layers of your dress went past your feet, so the tip of your heels were barely exposed when you took long, elegant strides.

“I don’t want to ruin it.” He added with a sheepish mumble. You curtseyed slightly, lowering your body down so you could grasp the bottom of the skirt of your dress. Remus stepped back, watching as you pulled the skirt higher and higher, until the lacy top of your stockings were exposed, held up by the garter that lay snug around your waist, underneath the structured torso of your dress. Remus gulped, an arm hooking around your waist to pull you towards the other side of the statue, where you would be hidden if anyone were to take a peek into the entrance of the hedge maze’s courtyard.

You gasped, eyes drawn to Remus’s hands which were quickly working to undo his leather belt. His trousers were quickly falling to his thighs, and you had to fight the urge to reach out to take his boxers off yourself. You gulped thickly, watching as Remus’s cock sprung out of his boxers. Before you could help yourself, your fingers were already wrapping around his length, stroking him teasingly.

Remus’s hips thrust upward at the sudden pleasure, leaning deeply into your touch, nosing at the soft skin of your neck as he inhaled deeply, a guttural moan ripping out of his chest. Remus blindly searched for the hem of your underwear beneath the skirt of your dress you were helplessly holding up for him. His breath was shaky as he pulled your panties down, a loud rip echoing in the space. Remus’s eyes shot open and he was instantly apologising, unaware that his desperation had gotten the best of him, causing him to use more power.

“It’s okay Remus - just - put it in.” You let go of his cock, unconsciously licking your lips at the sight of the beady pearls of cum dribbling down his thick length. “Okay, fuck.” Remus cursed, eyes glued to your pussy, wet with arousal. Your knuckles were white with the tight grip you had on your dress, allowing Remus a full view of your cunt.

As Remus’s tip caught on your entrance, he brought his second hand down to rub unforgiving circles on your clit. As he pushed deeper into you, Remus let go of himself, a hand coming up to rest on the sculpture’s base next to your head. You moaned quietly, sighing in satisfaction as Remus dipped his head down to kiss you.

You brought a hand up to the nape of Remus’s neck, letting one side of your dress to fall back down, giving you partial modesty as your most private parts were covered back up. Remus leaned down a little bit, but he kept your lips linked in a thirsty kiss as his hands trailed to the back of your thighs. Suddenly, he picked you up, and you moaned loudly as he pressed your back against the sculpture behind you, gravity driving you down onto his cock with indescribable force.

You cried out loudly into the kiss, both hands flying to grip Remus’s shoulders, your dress bunching up around your connected pelvises. You broke away from the kiss, resting your forehead against Remus’s, eyes glued shut as a string of pleasured moans flew from your parted lips.

Remus grunted with every thrust of his hips into you, cock driving into you with a power you couldn’t understand. A choked out moan was stuck in Remus’s throat, his eyebrows furrowing at the feeling of your constricting walls sucking him into you, every ridge of his cock driving deeper into you.

“Faster, please.” You whimpered, guiding Remus’s face back towards yours in a desperate, open mouthed kiss, your tongues immediately tangling together in a messy kiss.

Remus was conflicted.

Your lips felt so good against his, and he revelled in the feeling of your tongue dancing with his. But he knew he would cum faster if you kissed him for any longer, and he didn’t want this moment to end, no matter the risk that someone may walk in on both of you. Either way, Remus continued kissing you, feeling as though he was a teenager again, having his very first kiss from the way his lips tingled, a knot of pleasure rolling in his gut.

He obeyed your request, driving his hips into you at a faster pace, bouncing you up in his arms so he could get a better grip on your body. One of his arms flew around your waist tightly, the other one snaking underneath your dress to caress your thigh before snaking up and grabbing a handful of your ass. He pushed his body further against you so that your body was propped up between him and the structure behind you, the base of his cock driving further into you so he pushed deeper into you with every drill of his cock.

You keened loudly, the only sound in the air apart from you and Remus’s moans being the slap of his meaty balls against your ass. “I’m so-” But you couldn’t finish the sentence, words getting stuck in your throat as you panted heavily.

But Remus got the message, moving one hand down to your front to abuse your clit with the tips of his rough fingers. He gasped loudly as your cunt clamped down on his cock, driving his hips forward and stilling his movements as a rush of pleasure overcame him, spilling his pleasure into you. He cursed loudly, increasing the speed of his movements on your clit as he realised he was coming before you.

However, at the realisation that your thighs had begun shaking, pussy fluttering around his cock as you suddenly let out a high-pitched cry of his name, Remus slumped in shoulders in relief, seeing you come undone in front of him. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to your forehead in a long, reassuring kiss.

“Fuck, I love you.” Remus mumbled, gently returning your legs to the ground. He kept a secure arm around your waist, just in case the muscles in your legs had failed you, but you were solidly standing, picking the layers of skirt off the two of you so Remus could pull out. “I love you more.” You finally replied with a sigh, leaning your head back against the stone behind you.

Remus chuckled with a shake of his head, muttering “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” He crouched down, reaching underneath your skirt to pull your underwear back up from where it resting around your ankles. There was almost no use though, the lace holding several holes in the fabric due to Remus’s rash movement.

“Give me a kiss.” You requested, reaching out to hold Remus’s jaw gently. He obliged, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, loving kiss. When you pulled away, you ran your hands down Remus’s chest, pulling your wand out of a secret pocket in your dress and muttering a quiet spell.

Instantly, all the creases that had been made on Remus’s suit disappeared, and with a repeat of the words, so did the creases on your dress. “Just so you know, when we return to the house to have dinner, my parents will probably have the wedding sorted out.”

Remus’s eyes widened and he laughed nervously, spluttering “Really!?” You hummed, guiding Remus to sit down on a stone bench with you. Running your hand through his hair, you pushed the strands back into place. Your eyes were filled with admiration as you stared at the man in front of you. He picked up your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.

“That’s probably what they’re discussing.”

Remus grinned, standing in front of you and offering you a hand. “Well in that case, should my fiancée and I take a walk whilst her parents organise our wedding?” Giggling, you took his hand, letting him pull you off the bed.

“Mhm, let me show you my bedroom. I won’t be living here much longer if I’m getting married.” Remus wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you to his side snugly, but before you could wander far away, Kreacher apparated in front of you.

“Mistress Black has advised for Miss Black and her fiancé to come inside for dinner.” “Oh, thank you Kreacher.”

You shot Remus an apologetic look, but the man seemed happy nonetheless, giving you a sly wink. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to go explore your bedroom.”

“Okay. If they ask any questions you don’t have answers for, make it about your successful career, okay?”

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[shiftingwithrae]

It's crazy to think that I've obsessed over wanting to go to Neverland and be in Hogwarts and now I can. If you told me three years ago that I would be enrolled in Hogwarts and just living my best life I would've told you, you were crazy.