#Harry Potter x Reader

[lqveharrington]

Masquerade Ball | D.M.

summary: The Malfoys hold a masquerade ball in hopes of finding Draco a wife.

pairing: prince!draco malfoy x lady!potter!reader

includes: use of Y/N, mutual pinning, both oblivious, really just fluff with a tiny bit of angst

a/n: it’s like a mix of benedict’s story but not

As a child, Draco never understood how important he was to England’s society. He was always confined within the palace walls—forced to attend endless galas and balls hosted by his parents until his feet ached. Perhaps he could have escaped those obligations when he was younger, but now, he was trapped in a cycle of socializing with eligible maidens in hopes of finding a wife.

He had tried running away once at the age of seven but ran back to his mother the moment he encountered a beggar at the palace gates. It was then he realized how sheltered he truly was, unaware of the hardships beyond the gilded walls.

When Draco once questioned his status withing the kingdom, Lucius merely replied, "You will rule when you turn two and twenty." As the sole heir with no sibling, the weight of the kingdom rested squarely on Draco's shoulders.

Yet, as the years ticked closer to his inevitable coronation, he made no progress in finding a bride. Lucius' patience began to wane, culminating in the grand decision to host a masquerade ball to enhance his son's chances of courting a suitable queen.

And of course, Draco had words to say about the situation.

He adjusted his dark suit and spun the silver ring on his finger, meeting his mother's eyes through the standing mirror. "Mother—"

"Do not fuss, Draco," Narcissa chided gently, wiping invisible dust off her son's perfectly pressed suit. "Your father has made up his mind. You are to take the throne in two years. This must be done."

"And if I find no one?" He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, tilting his head at the piece of hair sticking out. It wouldn’t lay flat if he tried gelling it down.

"Then we will try again next month," She said softly, squeezing his arm. She looked between his eyes and sighed, "Please, try, my love."

"They don't care for me, mother," Draco muttered and turned to face her, rolling his shoulders back—already dreading dancing with women who want the fame and fortune. "They care about being a queen."

"Which is why it is a masquerade ball," Narcissa explained and grabbed the mask that resembled a peacock. "You will blend with the crowd, your identity hidden." She slipped the mask over his head and patted his cheek. "Get to know them without the burden of your title."

"And you believe this will work?"

"I do!" She smiled brightly and stepped away from him, ready to make her arrival with her husband. Narcissa gave him a reassuring smile and nodded. "Tu es très beau, Draco. Just... be yourself."

Draco gave her a weak smile and watched her leave his room, letting his shoulders slouch down the second the door shut. He ran his fingers through his hair again and let his mind dwell on thoughts that were unbearable.

"When has that ever worked out for me?" He muttered underneath his breath, looking in the mirror again to notice the only identifiable thing about him was his piercing silver eyes.

"Papa, why are you staring at me like that?" You asked, adjusting your flowing gown while your mother fussed with your hair.

"Yes, James, what are you staring at her for?" Lily inquired with an arched brow, perfectly pinning your hair into a dolled up bun and slipping a silver rose in its center.

"Nothing." James grumbled and fiddled with the peacock feathers on the end of your mask, thumbing the string. "Just... be safe, alright? This is your first time attending one of the King's socials without us. What if you get kidnapped?"

"James!" Lily gasped and smacked her husband on the chest, snatching the mask from him and handing it to you instead.

"Papa!" You laughed and kissed his cheek, pulling the mask over your head. "I'll be fine. Hermione and Ginny will be there, and Harry too." You pull your curls free from the mask and tilt your head at the mirror, touching up minor details such as the skewed mask and stray pieces of hair. "Besides, I doubt I'll dance much. Champagne and people-watching sounds far more appealing."

"Maybe mingle a little," Lily suggested and pinched her fingers together, leaning into her husband’s touch. "It's for the young Malfoy to find a wife, after all."

"I'm not fraternizing with Draco," You huffed and adjusted the silver necklace resting on your collarbone, the setting sun shining across the jewelry. "Harry and he practically hate each other. Not exactly ideal courtship material."

"Imagine you as queen," James mused and pretended to command a group of handmaids to fetch more books for your extensive library. You were always going to be a bookworm like your mother and he bet you would do anything to have a room the size of the palace for your books.

"James!" Lily scolded jokingly once more before smiling softly at you, clasping your hands in hers. "Just be safe, Y/N."

"Of course," You squeezed her hands and smiled back before heading out the door, tilting your head as you called out for your brother. "Harry!"

James winced as your voice echoed throughout the foyer, Lily letting a small laugh slip through. "Bloody hell, that girl can shout.”

"Why does this place look fancier than usual?" Ron grumbled, glancing around the grand ballroom adorned with glittering chandeliers and cascading drapes.

It wasn't odd to see the palace all dolled up, but everything looked so much more expensive and one of a kind. Like it was an even more special experience. There were pyramids of champagne in every corner and in the center of the ballroom was one of the largest orchestra groups you’ve seen in years.

"Because it's a masquerade ball, Ron," Hermione rolled her eyes and tightened her grip on his arm, making him kiss her cheek to make up for his remark. "Honestly."

"So, Y/N," Ginny nudged your shoulder—a mischievous smile decorating her face—ignoring Harry’s warning look. "Anyone you're hoping to dance with tonight?"

"I don’t think so, Gin.” You push your mask up and stare at all the people entering the palace. Even they were surprised at all the added decorations.

"Boring," Ginny teased before leaning into Harry and whispering something inaudible, making you roll your eyes at the two of them. If they had to be so in love, they shouldn’t do it in front of you.

Just as you opened your mouth to retort the sickening sweet scene, trumpets blared from the top of the staircase, redirecting everyone's attention to the far end of the ballroom where Lucius and Narcissa stood—the couple adorning their own masks.

"Please welcome His Majesty, the King, and Her Majesty, the Queen!"

Lucius made quick remarks about the importance of the evening before a sly grin appeared on his face, earning quiet whispers from the audience. "Enjoy yourselves tonight! For who knows when the prince will arrive..."

The whispers only intensified at the mention of the prince arriving at a later time. Could he possibly be avoiding the event himself? But that would make sense, not when the event was for him.

"Interesting," Hermione murmured as if she read your mind, making your brows raise in amusement.

"What is?" Ron asked.

"Draco isn't here for his own ball," She noted, glancing around the room for any signs of the prince.

You huff and push her toward her beloved. You would make sure Hermione had a good time rather than dwell on something that didn’t matter too much. If you had to see your brother and Ginny be all lovey, you would have Ron and Hermione do the same.

"Go dance with Ron."

Hermione sighed and took Ron's outstretched hand before looking back at you, narrowing her eyes. "Do not be a wallflower tonight. I expect you to dance with someone at least once.”

You shrug your shoulders and watch her disappear into the dancing crowd before spinning toward one of the many towers of champagne. Unfortunately, someone just had to come find you.

"Lady Y/N!" A familiar voice called out, making you freeze at how awful this coincidence was. It wasn’t like you could’ve avoided the man for too long, especially when the whole bloody kingdom was invited to the ball.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." You muttered under your breath and presented a fake smile to him, hands clenching by your sides in annoyance as you gave him a short curtsey. "Lord Cormac."

"How delightful to see you!" Cormac grinned and eyed you up and down like you were his next meal, your mind and body hating everything about him. "Would you like to accompany me this evening?"

Your eyes widened in fear and disgust, mind racing millions per hour to find a plausible excuse. “Actually—“

"Is there a problem?" A smooth, unfamiliar voice interrupted your pathetic excuse, allowing you to recollect your thoughts.

Cormac's grin faltered at the sudden interruption, taking a short step back at the sight of the taller man. "We were talking."

"I believe the lady declined," The newcomer said evenly, keeping his face as schooled as possible.

Cormac huffed but retreated in annoyance, making you grin. You turned to the stranger to find him staring McLaggen down until the boy finally moved to the other side of the ballroom. His mask obscured most of his face, but his silver eyes gleamed with amusement and victory. Funny, you found his McLaggen’s obedience quite amusing as well.

"My knight and shining armor." You quipped and tucked your hands behind your back, taking small steps toward the champagne tower you were supposed to be minutes ago. "Have we met?"

"Not officially," He smirked beneath his mask and followed, copying your small movements. "A masquerade ball is about knowing someone without truly knowing them, isn't it?” He took two glasses from the tower and handed you one—doing his best not to knock any other glasses down. “Forgive me for keeping my identity a secret.”

"Then I'll do the same, my knight." You give june a curt nod before taking a sip, the drink fizzing down your throat.

"Is that what I am now?" He chuckled and looked at you from above the rim of his own drink, silver eyes shining with interest.

You grin, "Yes."

He hummed and tilted his head at you, "Then you shall be my Ivy.”

"Unique." You raise your brows and take another sip of champagne. "Why Ivy?"

"You're dressed in a deep green," He noted. "And as unassuming as you may look, I sense there's poison beneath."

"You say that like you know me already," You narrowed your eyes playfully, placing your glass back on a passing tray as a song finished.

"A quick interaction is all one needs." He countered and finished off his champagne. He waited for the music to start up again before offering you a hand, "Care to dance?"

Without a second thought, you took his hand and readied yourself in the starting position, joining the rest of the partners on the floor. Your right hand was gently clasped in his left and his hand was warm on your waist.

It all felt different than the other times you’ve danced. It felt comfortable.

You tilted your head up as he spun you around, your eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Tell me about yourself."

"Well, I’m an only child," He said as you moved to walk around one another, eyes still locked onto yours. "Rarely left home unless dragged to events like these. Not much of an exciting life."

"Surely there's more. Friends? Acquaintances?" You press and take hold of his hand as he glides you across the ballroom—each note from the orchestra filling the background.

"Most used me for status." He admitted and quickly adjusted his mask and hold on you. "I learned from it.” You nodded and lightly held onto his arms when he dipped you, faces mere inches from one another. He pulled you up, “And you?"

"One older brother. Protective to a fault. Thinks every man is a threat." You rolled your eyes and separate yourself from him, letting him follow before clasping his left hand again. "I’ll admit, I came to the ball to be with friends.” You follow his steps as the dancers created a gorgeous pattern from above. “Dancing wasn't on the agenda, but... this isn't terrible.”

He smiled at your confession before remembering what the point of this ball was for. "What are your thoughts on the prince?"

"He can be...” You hesitated and looked around like the prince himself could hear you. “Difficult."

"Difficult?" He echoed and tilted his head to the side in interest.

"My brother has always had a grudge against him." You explained before spinning, heels clicking against the marble flooring. "I've had to endure their spats. Not the best memories. But it's not like I'll speak to him tonight."

He chuckled softly, silver eyes glinting behind his mask. "You never know. Masquerades are full of surprises."

And as you danced together, the room blurred began to blur, the weight of titles and expectation fading into the music and laughter. You found yourself relaxing, allowing the mysterious man to guide you across the floor with ease. His hand on your waist was steady yet respectful, and for the first time, you found yourself enjoying a ball.

"You're a good dancer," You remarked, glancing up at him through your mask—his blonde hair perfectly combed except for a small curl at the front.

"I've had years of practice," He replied smoothly. "Though I usually find these events unbearable. This is... different."

You smiled. It’s like you had the same thoughts. "Perhaps the mask makes it easier to be yourself. No judgements. No expectations."

He hummed thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on you. "Perhaps. Or perhaps its the company."

Heat crept up your neck, and you glanced away, spotting Ginny grinning at you from the sidelines. You shot her a playful glare before focusing back on your partner. "Careful, my knight. Flattery might get you into trouble."

"Is that a risk you're willing to let me take?" He teased and dipped you, your eyes quickly darting to his lips before meeting his eyes again with your wide ones.

Before you could respond, the music shifted, signaling the end of the dance. He gently released you, bowing with a flourish. "Thank you for the dance, Ivy."

You curtsied in return, heart pounding from whatever feeling you just experienced. "The pleasure was mine, Knight."

As you parted ways, you found yourself glancing back at him, only to see he was doing the same. You quickly turned, chastising yourself for the flutter in your chest.

Draco leaned against a column, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. There was something about the girl—the way she challenged him, spoke without pretense. He shook his head. It was foolish to dwell on a fleeting interaction. Yet... He couldn't ignore the way his chest tightened at the thought of her laughter.

"Enjoying yourself?" Blaise sidled up next to him, nursing a glass of champagne.

Draco kept his eyes locked on the many guests in the ballroom, scouring the place for his Ivy. He wasn’t sure if this was what his mother told him about when he was younger. That maybe those silly fairy tales were true.

"Surprisingly," Draco admitted and let out a small chuckle. "Met someone... intriguing."

Blaise arched a brow, "Do tell."

Draco merely smirked, "Just someone worth dancing with.”

The night wore on with more dances, laughter, and champagne than you anticipated. Yet, your thoughts kept drifting back to the silver-eyed stranger. When you finally decided to seek fresh air, you slipped out to the palace gardens, the cool breeze a welcome relief.

"Running away?" A familiar voice drawled, your insides warming at the sound.

You turned, finding him seated on a marble bench beneath a canopy of roses. "Escaping," You corrected and fiddled with your necklace. "Balls can be… suffocating."

"Agreed," He nodded and patted the space beside him, tilting his head at you. "Care to join me?"

Hesitating only a moment, you sat down, the silence between you comfortable. Stars glittered above, and for a while, neither of you spoke. It felt nice.

"Why Ivy?" You asked suddenly. You were sure there was something more to the nickname than what he previously said.

He chuckled and leaned back on the bench. "Told you. Your dress. The presence you carry. You cling to walls but have thorns when approached. Fascinating contrast."

You rolled your eyes but smiled, humoring him. "And you? You're alright with Knight?"

"You said it yourself. Rescuing you from McLaggen was quite the heroic act." He grinned and met your eyes.

Laughing, you nudged him with your shoulder. "Hardly slaying dragons."

"Ah, but you never know." He mused, gaze drifting to the sky and tracing the stars his mother taught him about all these years. "Like I said, masquerades are full of surprises."

You glanced at him, wondering what he meant by that, but the sound of the final dance being announced interrupted your thoughts.

"One more?" He offered, standing and extending his hand.

"Why not?" Taking it, you let him lead you back inside with a smile your swore would hurt your cheeks the next day.

The ballroom felt different this time. More intimate. As you danced, you realized you didn't want the night to end. There was something inexplicably magnetic about him, something you couldn't place but didn't want to let go of.

"Do you think we'll meet again after tonight?" You ventured and glance between his eyes.

He hesitated, something flickering in his gaze. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it's best we don't. Some things are better left as a beautiful memory."

Your heart sank at the thought of truly knowing who your knight was. "I suppose that's true."

As the music reached its crescendo, he leaned in, voice a mere whisper against your ear. "Thank you for tonight, Ivy."

Before you could reply, he stepped back, bowing deeply. And then, just like that, he disappeared into the crowd.

You stood frozen, scanning the room, but he was gone.

"Y/N! There you are!" Hermione’s voice suddenly filled the space as she grabbed your arm. "The prince is about to reveal himself. Come on!"

Reluctantly, you followed her to the front of the crowd, mind half-heartedly paying attention to the reveal of the prince. Trumpets blared once more, and the King stepped forward, his wife grinning brightly by his side.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending. Now, allow me to present my son, your future king. Prince Draco."

Your breath caught as a figure ascended the stairs. The crowd parted, and there he stood—silver eyes, blonde hair, and the very same mask now resting in his hand.

Your heart stopped.

No. It couldn't be.

His gaze swept over the crowd... and landed on you. His expression mirrored your shock, realization dawning.

You were Ivy.

And he was Draco.

Neither of you spoke. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in the middle of the grand ballroom.

Masquerades, you thought dazedly, really were full of surprises.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[rainydayathogwarts]

hey! first want to say congrats on 3k i love your fics sm and you deserve it!! 🫶🏽

so i saw your 3k celebration could i please request Harry Potter x Fem!Reader. is it okay if i choose two seasons? 😭

autumn x spring tysm! there are so little for Harry so js want to say ty again

More than anything - harry potter

summary: keeping your relationship a secret is difficult when you just can't stop staring at your boyfriend wc: 1.1k+ i'm sorry, this turned out angsty too. i didn't mean it, it just happened.

Harry Potter was not the man you expected to be romantically involved in, but it was difficult not to be when he was so attractive and would not stop shooting you these gorgeous smiles from across the room. This romantic involvement though? Difficult when your parents are on the same team as the man who wants him dead. “Stop being so obvious.” Pansy hissed in your ear, sending a sharp kick to your leg under the table. You yelped, eyes going wide and you instantly dropped the smile from your face, looking back down at your food. Pansy was right. There were moles everywhere, and if any of them realised that you were dating the boy who lived, you were fucked.

You glanced up once more, eyes meeting Harry’s, and you watched as he stood up, keeping his gaze fixed on you before walking out of the great hall. “What’s going on with the pair of you?” Asked Draco, sat directly facing you. Both you and Pansy went silent, noticing how he, Theo, and Mattheo stared straight at you. You glanced at each other, and you swallowed a mouthful of food before turning your attention back to the three boys. “I have a crush on this Hufflepuff guy.” You regretted the words as they came out of your mouth, watching the three boys twist their torsos in unison to get a good look at the Hufflepuff table. “Which one?” Theo asked, craning his neck. “Yeah, they’re all ugly.” Added Mattheo.

You huffed, and took that as a perfect time to exit, with one last comment “You boys are mean.” As you walked away, you saw Mattheo throw his hands up in surrender. “Well, she must really like him.” You sped up your pace, taking the first staircase up as you made your way to the astronomy tower.

“Took you a while.” Commented Harry, a smile on his face when he finally laid his eyes on you. You panted, falling into his open arms for a hug. “I had to tell the boys I like a Hufflepuff kid because I — oh these fucking stairs — I was being too obvious.” Your arms snaked around Harry’s torso, and you felt his chest move as he chuckled. “At least you have Pansy to keep you in check. I felt that kick from where I was sitting.” You laughed whole-heartedly, looking up at Harry with a smile on your face. Harry leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss. When you broke the kiss, Harry noticed the sad look in your eyes. He sighed, moving one hand to rest on your cheek lovingly. “It’s a shame things just keep getting harder every year.”

Harry smiled sadly, pulling you back into the hug. You were right. When you had first formed your friendship in fourth year, things weren’t too bad. You could sit together in the library, studying with him and his friends. People shot you the occasional look, but none of your friends ever said anything about the friendship you'd formed with the golden trio. Political ties hadn’t been formed yet. In fifth year, you joined Dumbledore’s army. Sneaking around give you a thrill, and at least you could share you secrets with Pansy. Harry would often come to your dorm using his invisibility cloak, and he’d spend the night with you, whispering loving words to each other and gossiping with your best friend, who endlessly made fun of you but secretly admired your loving relationship.

But after the battle at the ministry? You couldn’t risk anything. When the death eaters made their presence known, you had run away, hiding behind thick rows of prophecy orbs and firing a curse that had hit your own father in the face, freeing Hermione from his violent grip. Unfortunately, that had attracted attention from the death eaters, and you had to run before you father could find out where your loyalties rested.

That night was the first night you and Harry realised the war would make your relationship harder than you thought. Many nights like those followed, including this one.

“Come sit down with me.” Harry mumbled, tugging you towards the edge of the tower. You both sat down, swinging your legs over the edge. You leaned your head on Harry’s shoulder, and thought out loud. “Do you think things will be different after the war?” Harry’s laugh surprised you, but he quickly explained himself. “Love, the second I kill that noseless freak I am finding you and kissing you no matter who is watching. Anyone who has a problem with us can fuck off.” You smiled, your eyes tearing up with guilt.

“I wish I could help.” Harry swung his legs up so he could shift to face you, and you mimicked his movements, now sitting face to face. “You have been helping. Remember when you taught everyone that wicked curse in the DA last year?” You laughed at Harry’s poor attempt to cheer you up, wiping at your cheeks when teardrops rolled down your face. “And don’t you remember how you sent Professor McGonagall an owl over the summer, telling her about everything Voldemort was saying in meetings? Who else could have done that?” You shrugged your shoulders, still feeling useless. “That could have gotten you killed.” You raised your gaze to meet Harry’s, and the boy mimicked your earlier movements, catching your tears with his thumb before softly kissing you.

“And when the war is over, we’ll buy a house at Godric’s Hollow. You’ll become a healer and I’ll be an auror, and if I ever come home hurt, you’ll take care of me.”

“I’ll take care of you whether you’re hurt or not, Harry James Potter.” Harry smiled at your words, grasping both your hands.

“But then we’ll take a a couple years off work because you’ll be pregnant and I can’t miss a second of our baby’s first year. And then we’ll have a couple more kids, and obviously I’l have to be there for them too.”

You laughed, “What, you think we’ll get by without working for the rest of our lives?” Harry shrugged. “I’m Harry Potter. I killed Voldemort. I can do anything I want.” You grabbed the front of Harry’s jumper, pulling him towards you to kiss him again. This time you didn’t pull away for a while, letting Harry keep you close to him by the hand on the back of your head. You felt Harry’s smile against your lips, and you giggled, pushing your boyfriend away from you by the chest. You didn’t stay apart too long though because you were on your knees in an instant, moving closer to him and throwing your arms around his shoulders. Harry uncrossed his legs, letting you straddle his lap, his hands on your hips. He swallowed thickly, feeling your lips hovering over his. “You’re confident we’ll win against them?”

“More than anything.”

[theemporium]

Could I please request a hockey Sirius blurb, maybe a reunion after a long road trip????

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

By all means, it hadn’t been the longest roadie of his career. 

Truthfully, it was one of the shorter ones of the season. He had left Thursday morning, played a game on Friday and another on Sunday and was back before midnight. It was only a few days but the days had dragged on, coupled with lonely winter nights in hotel rooms that felt impersonal and clinical and made him itch for something that felt more like home.

It was late by the time he was walking towards your shared apartment, suitcase rolling behind him as he fought the key into the door and shoved it open with a half-hearted push. Mentally, he was already curling up into bed with you, letting the exhaustion of the game he just played hours prior and the travelling catch up to him once he was finally in his own bed.

However, he stopped short when he saw the light in the kitchen was still on. 

Sirius quickly shut the door behind him, abandoning his suitcase in the hallway and made a quick move of shrugging his jacket and shoes off. His face was already breaking out into a grin as he moved through the apartment, towards the kitchen where he could hear you moving around.

He paused in the entryway, leaning against the doorway as he took in the sight of you. You were in one of his team hoodies, his name and number sprawled possessively over your back. Paired with some cosy pyjama trousers and fuzzy socks, you were lost in your own world with your head in the cupboard to even have noticed him. 

If he wasn’t endlessly endeared by the sight, he would have been offended.

“Don’t tell me I’m chopped liver in my own home.” 

Your head instantly snapped up at the sound of his voice, only to let out a hiss when it smacked against the edge of the counter. Sirius was by your side in seconds, his big hands soft and gentle as he took your face in his hold. 

“I know I’m a knockout but that seems a bit dramatic,” Sirius murmured, though his brows were furrowed in concern as his fingers gently smoothed over where you hit your head. “You good, love?” 

“Better if you kiss it better,” you retorted, grinning a little when he leaned down to press a careful kiss to the top of your head. You wound your arms around his waist, nuzzling your cheek against his chest. “I thought you’d be back later.”

“Wanted to get home to my girl,” Sirius answered, his smile widening when you playfully pinched his side. “And I may have bribed the team with a round on me to celebrate the full road game sweep if we left earlier instead of staying behind to celebrate.” 

You tilted your head back, looking unbelievably fond. “You’re such a sap, what happened to the stereotype that hockey players weren’t romantic?” 

“I’m Sirius Black, love,” he grinned as he squeezed you closer. “I’m better than a couple of stereotypes.”

“And humble too,” you teased. 

“More humble than you could ever imagine,” Sirius nodded, his hand slipping under your (his) hoodie. “Humble enough to admit you look better in this than I do.”

You shrugged. “It’s a part of my charm.”

He beamed. “Just as humble as me.”

.

[imagineweasley]

Our Scarred Hands

Harry x reader

summary: you hate umbridge just along with about everyone else at hogwarts. you earn detention with her and harry happens to see what she's done to you.

warnings: none

y/n: your name

y/l/n: your last name

submit a request!

You trudge through the silent halls of the castle. It's late at night and everyone is either sleeping or poring over homework in their respective dormitories. You've wrapped the sleeve of your sweater around your hand, which is bleeding quite a bit.

"Mimbulus mimbletonia." You whisper hoarsely. There's a lump in your throat that stops you from speaking any louder. Thankfully, when you step through the portrait and into the common room, it's empty. You find your way to the armchair in front of the fire; you just want to sit down for a moment before you try to find something to wrap around the words etched onto your skin. You are so exhausted and in pain that you don't notice the boy with messy dark hair in the seat.

At first, this mess of hair doesn't notice you either, but he jumps when he realizes you're standing over him.

"Oh! Y/n, I didn't see you there." It's Harry Potter; of course, everyone knows him, including you, but other than polite smiles exchanged in passing and a few hellos when you run into each other at the library, you haven't had much interaction with him. He smiles at you and you wrap your sweater around your hand even tighter.

"Sorry Harry, didn't mean to disturb..."

As you turn to leave, you feel his hand on your arm holding you from going any further.

"Hold on y/n, you're hurt." You freeze and stay turned away. Harry gets up and makes his way to face you. He's trying to read your face, but you avoid his eyes. His gaze drops to your hand, still clutched in your other, and he gasps.

"Merlin, you're bleeding a ton!" You look down and realize the blood has started to drip thickly down your hand and onto the ground.

"Shit." You whisper under your breath, heart racing.

Harry reaches for your hand but you instinctively pull back. He looks up at you, and his eyes ask you permission to approach. You hesitate but end up raising your hand to him. He gingerly takes it, and you refuse to look at him as he examines the I must not interrupt class carved into the back of your hand. There's a moment of silence as he stares. After what seems like an eternity, he speaks.

"How long?"

You blink at him. "What?"

"How long did you get?"

You're stunned but you answer, "A week."

He sighs and pulls back to run his hands through his hair.

"How did you know?"

There's another pause that lingers in the air before he shakes his sleeve back to reveal a faded but still legible I must not tell lies on his own hand. A new scar to add to his collection. You gasp softly and look up to see he's half grimacing and half giving you a knowing smile.

He covers his hand back up and, taking your unmarred hand in his, leads you to the nearest couch. He pulls you down next to him and starts digging around in his pants pocket.

While he concentrates on getting whatever he's trying to get out, he asks, "What did you do?" You watch curiously before muttering, "She was going on about her 'amazing ministry' and I got annoyed and turned her into a slug."

Harry laughs out loud, too loud for this hour, eyes sparkling at you.

"That's brilliant!" He cries out in between laughs, "You're absolutely brilliant! A genius!"

You can't help but join in with his contagious glee. When it finally dies down to giggles, he's wiping tears from his eyes.

"Y/n, you have to tell Mcgonagall, she'll give Gryffindor at least 100 points"

"Maybe I should tell her, I would love to see the look on her face."

Harry grins at you and seems to lose himself a bit in your smile, but then he clears his throat and shows you what he has in his hand.

"Murtlap."

You take the small bottle from his hand and examine it. "Hermione gave it to me for exactly this." He watches you turn it in your hands.

His shoulders suddenly droop and he takes the bottle back. He slowly uncorks it while sighing. "I'm sorry, y/n. I didn't know she was doing this to anyone else. I figured she was only doing this to me because of, well, because of who I am. If only I had known--"

You interrupt, "Harry, how were you supposed to know? Also, what could you have done anyway?"

"I don't know, hex her until her memory is gone." You both chuckle and then realize that your hand has drifted to his knee. You snatch it back with a slight blush and Harry coughs awkwardly before turning his attention back to the open vial of ointment. He holds out his hand and you place yours in it. He begins gently tracing around the words, lost in thought. It's still raw, and you wince when he accidentally gets too close. He quickly stops with an apology and dips his finger into the murtlap. He carefully dabs it on the wound, and it stings, but you grit your teeth through it. About one minute later, he's placing your hand back in your lap. He recorks the vial and slips it back into his pocket.

"D'you feel better?"

Blinking back tears, you nod. You don't really know why you're crying, but Harry catches it and he doesn't ask why . He scoops you into his arms and lets you sniffle into his shoulder. You stay like this for god knows how long, letting his embrace and the fire warm you. Finally, you pull back.

"Thank you Harry."

He wipes a lingering tear from the corner of your eye and smiles, "I'll look after you, y/n." You don't quite know what this means, but you smile anyways. "I'll walk you to the stairs."

This makes you chuckle. "The stairs are about fifteen feet away."

"Fifteen more feet to spend with you, then." With another light laugh, you let Harry accompany you to the stairs to the girls' rooms, and then turn to him one last time.

"Thank you again, Harry. I don't know... I don't know if I could have dealt with this alone." He pulls you into another hug and whispers in your ear, "Don't worry about being alone."

Despite the horrors of tonight, you're able to push the dread of tomorrow night's detention to the back of your mind and sleep soundly.

--

You're back in Umbridge's office. 11:45 pm. The blood is now flowing freely, staining the parchment in front of you. You're gritting your teeth; the last thing you want to do is give Umbridge the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

Ahem. She coughs her shrill cough and you barely look up at her. She clicks over to your desk and jerks your hand towards her to examine the wound.

"That should be deep enough for now, miss y/l/n. I will see you tomorrow, 8 o'clock pm. Don't be late."

You pack up your things and after throwing a glare over your shoulder, stalk out of her office.

Once you're out of there, you start speeding up, desperate to get back to your bedroom.

"Psst, y/n!" A whisper from the dark corner behind you makes you jump. You turn around to see Harry appear from thin air. He's pushing himself off the ground and a cloak materializes in his hand. An invisibility cloak.

He catches your bewildered look and simply explains, "It was my dad's" before pulling out the vial of murtlap.

"C'mere." He pulls you into him and wraps you both in the cloak, and you're gone to the naked human eye.

You can feel his gentle breath on your hands as he applies the ointment onto your hand the way he did last night.

"How long were you waiting for?"

He doesn't look up as he answers, "Since 9:00. I figured you'd be in there a while but I wanted to be safe." His brows are furrowed in concentration.

Finally, he releases your hand after applying a generous amount of murtlap. You hold your hand close to your chest before whispering, "Thank you." He shakes his head, indicating he doesn't need thanks, then wraps his arm around your shoulders. He holds the cloak above you both and leads you back to the dormitories. The silence is both comfortable and sparking with electricity. When you reach the portrait of the Fat Lady, she's dozing off but still opens at his whispered, "Mimbulus mimbletonia."

The common room is once again empty except for you two, so he swings the cloak off and starts folding it up.

"Harry, I'm really sorry you had to wait so long."

"No, y/n, I wouldn't have been able to rest knowing that you were in there and would have to walk back alone."

"Still, you barely know me and you're doing so much for me--

Suddenly, you're pressed against his chest; he's pulled you into a tight hug and you freeze with your arms out before melting into him. He tucks his face into the curve of your neck. For the first time in months you finally feel safe and you let yourself relax.

"I've known you a lot longer thank you think. You know that people notice you, right? Including me." He's speaking into your neck and his words are muffled, but you can hear them loud and clear, "Plus, I told you I'd take care of you. We're in this together." He pulls away and his eyes flicker to your lips before meeting your eyes. His green and gold eyes knock the breath out of your chest

"You've... noticed me?"

He shrugs and merely replies with, "Everyone does." You don't know what to say to that, so you let the quiet linger.

All you can manage is "I should go to bed. And so should you." He nods and walks you once again to the stairs.

You both pause at the bottom and you work up the courage to lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek. When you pull back, his eyes are wide and a flush is creeping up his neck. His red lips are parted and he's staring at you in awe, frozen in place.

You can't help but giggle at the sight; the Boy-Who-Lived is now the Boy-Who-Can't-Stop-Gawping-At-You. You touch his cheek before starting to climb the stairs. As you reach the top, you hear him call, "I'll--I'll see you tomorrow!"

--

He's waiting for you again outside Umbridge's office. You've pretty much become accustomed to the pain, as well as to seeing Harry materialize next to you afterwards, the bottle of murtlap in hand. The past four days, he's been doing the same thing; applying the murtlap, walking you back to Gryffindor Tower, and sitting with you. You two have started spending the early hours of the morning conversing on the couch in low tones, confiding everything in each other from your biggest fears to the most trivial topics. You've learned about his past and how he's been simply surviving from the moment he was orphaned. You learn what makes him tick. For the few hours you're with each other, the world melts away and it's just you two. Every night, he's been walking you to the girls' dormitory stairs and blushing as you give him his nightly thank-you-kiss.

Tonight is your last night of detention, and although you're glad the hours with Umbridge are over, you can't help but be a little disappointed that your routine with Harry is coming to an end.

Tonight, when he walks you to the dormitory stairs, you look up at him shyly through your lashes. "Well, thank you for this past week. Back to normal, I guess?"

He raises an eyebrow and cocks his head before wondering, "What does that mean?"

You shrug, pushing away the thought of returning to mere smiles and glances from the other end of the table at dinner. Your circles don't necessarily overlap.

You ignore him and lean in to give him one last kiss on the cheek. At the last second, he turns his head and your lips meet his.

"Harry--" You pull back, embarrassed, thinking you must have missed, but then he grabs you by your arms and draws you back in, kissing you firmly. Your arms shoot up to wrap around his neck, and he pulls you tighter, wrapping his arm around your waist. You're standing on your tiptoes and he's leaning into you so you're leaning backwards, his arms being the only thing keeping you upright.

When he pulls back, you're both breathing heavily. He rests his forehead on yours and you close your eyes to try to center yourself.

He whispers feverishly, desperately, "Do you want to for back to what it was?" You shake your head vigorously. "I don't want it to go back to 'normal.' I don't like my normal unless it's with you. Please stay with me. Please."

You smile and kiss him again, and he's swept away again by your lips. Your lips dance with his and he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip before entering your mouth. He's holding you, engulfing you, pawing at you like he's been starving, and your fingers are so tangled in his hair that it's hard to see where you end and he begins. Without breaking away from you, he leads you backwards until you're pressed up against the wall. His right hand is steadying himself on the wall next to your head, and the other is still around your waist.

Finally, you pull apart, panting. His face breaks into a grin at the sight of your flushed cheeks and heaving chest. Cupping his cheek in your hand, you whisper, "I'll stay with you, Harry Potter. If you promise to stay with me." His brows furrow together at your words, and for a second, he looks overcome with emotion. He smiles so, so gently and kisses your forehead one, two, three times.

"Always, y/n. Always."

That night, you two fall asleep on your favorite couch in front of the fireplace, and the gentle flames and his arms keep you warm.

[thrillofcontrol]

Be My Mistake | G.W

George Weasley x Reader

based on the song by the 1975

summary: y/n knew she had to move on after the death of the Fred Weasley, but it wasn't that simple, especially when his identical twin, George, is unknowingly filling the hole in her heart.

word count: 2.1k

warnings: pure angst, grief, mentions of sex, rebound.

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

Grief had always been a strange thing for y/n to process, like a heavy fog that settled over everything, making even the brightest of days suddenly feel cold and distant. After the Battle of Hogwarts, after the loss of her long term partner Fred, that fog had grown thicker, choking the light from the world around her.

She was used to the laughter, the chaos, the ever-present pull of Fred’s energy, but now, all that remained was an endless, crushing silence.

She thought she’d eventually learn to move on from it all. But how could she? How could she ever forget the love that had once felt so right, so constant, so real. She was so incredibly certain they were destined to spend their entire lives together, to grow old together. Fred Weasley was her first love, the person who had made her heart race with nothing more than a glance, the person who could make her entire day without saying a word, and now he was gone.

forever.

Y/n had spent most of her days wasting away, begging this is an extremely sick, long winded prank, praying that Fred will walk through the front door any second now, and all the grief caused was some sort of elaborate dream. She knows she has to get past these delusions, she knows he isn't returning- she knows she will never find another man like Fred in her lifetime, but she may find similar.

For George.. George Weasley was still here.

Y/n knew how shallow and selfish she was being, leading on the boy who was hurting just as badly as she was, but seeing his brown eyes hollow with grief, she assumed he may have also been searching for something to fill that sudden empty space too. Y/n and George had always been close friends, and in the aftermath of Fred’s death, the connection between them only deepened.

Y/n knew George well enough that she could see the cracks he was trying to keep together for the sake of his family, her heart ached when she noticed that he still hasn't stopped looking over his shoulder whenever something happened, hoping he'd see Fred once more. He was fighting his own demons, just as she was. It was plain to see that a piece of George died the night his brother did.

They were simply two broken people, two broken souls, attempting to feel somewhat whole again.

She had never purposely intended on getting over her late boyfriend with his twin brother. But George had been there for her, in ways she hadn’t expected. How he cradled her hands in his own, gently caressing her finger tips when she couldn’t stop crying, or how he held her trembling body and helped control her unsteady breathing when the weight of the world felt unbearable. His presence was soothing. It felt right, or at least that's what she had convinced herself.

Days went by, George and Y/n were inseparable, spending all of their time being a comforting companion to one another, attempting to find some sort of peace in life, some sort of joy, even. They learnt to feel more content the longer they stuck by one another, they had felt safe in each other's presence. But somehow, that safety blurred into something else. Something she didn’t want to acknowledge, but couldn’t exactly ignore.

The lingering of their embraces, which accidentally turned into falling asleep in one another's arms quickly transformed a close friendship into two people who were entirely codependent, they craved the companionship, therefore relied so heavily on one another to make them feel somewhat functional again. George craved the comfort and y/n craved the touch, especially from a man who replicated her own; so it felt entirely natural when y/n took George's face into her hands and desperately placed a kiss on his lips, it felt entirely natural that they have been laying skin to skin in bed together whilst y/n calls George the nickname that had always belonged to Fred.

It became a usual routine that they ended up in George’s room, the space between them shrinking with each passing second, the room thick with tension, as their bodies messily intertwined whilst they partake in their distorted reality.

The kisses they shared weren't soft or gentle, there was no romantic desire or passion between the two, what they shared was full of desperation, the yearning of two people who didn’t know how to feel anymore, clinging to whatever warmth they could find. The way their bodies stuck together was messy, the moans they shared as they interlocked fingers were a mix of grief and longing. The way their eyes met and they both melted into each other's touch, briefly feeling like their troubles were melting away.

Y/n knew this wasn't love, she knew this was never going to be love either, her heart ached so desperately for Fred that anything else was subordinate, of course she deeply cared for George, she always has, she cherishes the intimate time spent with him. But as much as she attempts to live this life of delusion, she knows that it won't bring back Fred and the future they had planned together. She could learn to love George, it wouldn't be difficult, but y/n knew he was not hers to love, he's not a pawn in her selfish fantasy.

Heavy breaths filled the room, smiles were sprawled across the pairs faces, as Y/n was cradled in George's arms, his hand caressing her cheek as they stared somewhat longingly into one another's eyes. The weight of his body being pressed against hers brought back a glimpse of her and Fred; how she always used to feel so warm and safe with his body wrapped around her, but instead of feeling comforted, she felt hollow, she felt somewhat lost.

She had wanted to so desperately believe that maybe this could be a way forward, that perhaps this was the cruel way the universe was telling her that she had been with the wrong twin all along. Or, if anything, that maybe George could help fill the emptiness inside of her, giving her any sort of motivation to step back onto a steady path in life to gradually move on.

But the miserable truth was, despite every delicate touch shared underneath the sheets, every whispered word exchanged between the sticky bodies, still hasn't been enough for y/n. The way he hovered above her, his fingers tangled through her hair, as her nails left harsh trails down his back just wasn't enough. Each act of intimacy was filled with immense longing and lust, he excited y/n, thats for sure, he gave her the pleasure she was so badly craving, but it was impulsive and superficial, George turned y/n on, but Fred made her weak.

Even the touch of a man who appeared the very same, made y/n long for Fred more.

The softness of George’s hands against her skin reminded her of the calloused, mischievous fingers of his twin. His laugh, though kind, wasn’t Fred’s. It was wrong, she knew it.

It felt wrong to be with George, not that he wasn't wonderful in his own way, but that was exactly it, despite having the same face he was, despite y/n's delusions, an entirely different person, he was not Fred. She couldn't get past the knowledge shes fighting so hard to suppress in the back of her mind, she was simply using him. She wasn’t healing, she was just running, running from the grief that she wasn’t ready to face, attempting anything to distract from the gaping hole that her late lover had left behind.

George had never asked for this, he just wanted to be seen, be comforted after losing his bestest friend, and along the way he had developed a connection to y/n, an unrequited connection to a girl who was feeling his touch yet thinking of another. Y/n knew he deserved better than someone who was still so hopelessly in love with his twin. Someone who is living a false reality, longingly staring over his features, not because she is totally infatuated with him, but because his eyes look so similar to Fred's. He needed somebody who wants him, who loves him, a person who can adore his personality and witty humour because he's a great guy, somebody who admires him, for him. But y/n couldn't be that somebody.

But in those moments, when George’s arms were safely wrapped around her, when his lips touched hers so tenderly, she could almost pretend, even just for a second, that things hadn’t changed. That Fred was still here, the future they had both planned was still bright, and she had just woken up from a terrible nightmare suddenly making everything feel okay again.

But the illusion always shattered, and y/n always found herself disappointed when she observed her surroundings to find herself in George's room, always found herself slightly sulking when he had told her a joke that made her cry with laughter when Fred already told her it months before, or when he did romantic gestures that Fred hated and swore he'd never do. Her heart constantly aching with the painful truth that it would never be enough.

She couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth, not yet at least. Not when he was already in so much pain and she was the only thing providing him some sense of solace. Not when, she could still see the flicker of hope in his eyes, the way he double takes when he walks by his own reflection only to be left dissatisfied. George had loved Fred. He had been his twin, his other half, he was supposed to be his life long companion. He is still adjusting on how to function without him, how to live life without his physical other half. And yet, he was still here, still trying to be the man y/n needed, even though he was incredibly broken too.

The longer it went on, the harder it became to pull away. George was a kind soul, and they truly did care for each other, there was no denying that. But Y/N knew she wasn’t ready to let go of Fred, and probably would never be. She wasn’t ready to let go of the life they had planned, of every single detail, big and small, she had imagined for them in the future. The life she shared with George, despite being filled with warmth and affection, could never replace what y/n and Fred had. George made her feel comfort, but Fred made her feel whole.

Every night, after these shared moments of vulnerability between the two, y/n found herself slipping out from George’s embrace after assuring he had fallen asleep. Her heart hung heavy with guilt, as she walked through the darkened halls of the Burrow, feeling the weight of everything crashing down on her.

It was all too much, she was so aware of the villainous person she had become, how she's a nasty shell of the person she was once before, but she was clueless on how to put an end to it all, especially knowing the harm it will cause. But yet she still craved the touch of George so desperately, but only to momentarily stop the yearning she has for Fred. She has trapped herself in a cycle, struggling to face the consequences.

It became a routine that her feet would guide her towards the room that provided her with the greatest of memories. It became a regular occurrence for her to open the door that contained all that was left of her boyfriend, briefly imagining that he had simply nipped to the toilet and would be back any second now. Her fingertips gently skimmed over the photos he had stuck to his wall, her eyes obviously lingering on the ones that captured the pair of them at their happiest, them celebrating after a successful quidditch match, the opening of Weasley' Wizard Wheezes, or just the two embracing like they were the only two people in the world. She missed it all, not only Fred- but that wide eyed girl who had so many ambitions and was so ready to take on everything life had to offer. But now she sat, on what used to be here side of the bed, clinging to Fred's pillow as though it was him, not knowing how to ever move on.

She also couldn't help but think how angry Fred would be, not that she's attempted move on with George, but how she had not once properly considered the feelings of his grieving brother until it went beyond compare. She had always been so gentle with peoples feelings, so kind and compassionate, it was one of Fred's favourite traits about the girl- so why now in such a heavy time of grief for all, has that changed? Her thoughts were overflowing, it was eating her from the inside, out, she needed Fred- but the level of desperation shes portrayed has only led to further damage being done.

She wasn’t healing. She wasn’t moving on. She was just prolonging the inevitable, prolonging the pain for both of them. Not only would she have lost her partner but she'd be losing one of her bestest friends too. So as much as she wanted to stop, as much as she knew exactly how painful this unhealthy camaraderie would end, and how shallow and careless her actions were, she still couldn't help but find herself heading back into George's room. Gently lifting up the blanket and slipping her trembling body back onto the mattress, turning to face his sleeping body. He looked so incredibly peaceful, gently humming as she caressed his hair, the guilt consumed her as she pressed a kiss to his forehead before lifting up his arm and placing it around her waist- drifting off to the soft sounds of his breathing as she continued to break pieces of his heart in attempt to fix her own.

[ohcroculus]

pretty eyes — sirius o. black

summary; you know when he wants to be alone with you.

wc; 0.4k

warnings/notes; none.

series; for my lover, a kiss – footsprints.

‘shall we get out of here?’ he asked with his gaze.

you were hearing words from a friend of your group at your side, smiling at an unfunny joke when you raised your head, bumping into his grey eyes across the room.

he was drinking a bit from his glass, you doubted what it was, though perhaps –and most certainly– pumpkin juice.

it was fun, you had to admit. to be so close and yet not. to know what the other was thinking and that no one understood the exchange of thoughts as well as you could.

perhaps brief glances in the corridors or at mealtimes were knowledgeable to observant people or your friends, but the obvious connection you two had was something else.

something else.

‘to what?’ you questioned, smiling at him and lowering your head, with an air of shyness. go out where? explore the school or get out of the castle?

‘i want to get some air.’ he waved his hand, guiding it to his nose, indicating the need to have a moment between just the two of you and you smiled, pretending it was the conversation you were having with the gryffindor group next to you.

you noticed that his friend to the side –james potter, easy to identify by his glasses– stopped talking, noticing that sirius wasn't responding to his words and was quick to look around, searching for the black-haired boy's interest, to which you ducked your head again, scratching your cheek briefly to add a couple of thoughts to elias.

when he didn't find anyone and kept talking, you looked up.

‘come on,’ insisted sirius, who had never ceased to look at you. you would never tell him, but you thanked his mother for giving him such a good attribute.

──and how could you refuse those pretty eyes?

you rose from the sofa with a yawn, gave a little laugh to your group and said a brief goodbye, without making it too clear where you were going.

after a few minutes of leaving the common room, you heard sirius speak before he finally appeared and calmly intertwined your hand with his.

"what did you make up this time?" you asked as you both walked in the direction of the stairs. sirius jumped up before the stairs changed and grabbed your arm so you wouldn't fall.

he shrugged with his eyes glistening.

"i didn't make it up. i want to pee. come with me." he snickered and you grimaced.

from his eyes, it was obvious he wasn't lying.

"but you'll do it in the bathroom—i don't want to see you pee in the trees again."

taglist; [ @jaeviii ; @hisparentsgallerryy ]

a/n; would you like me to take requests?

[jiraen]

My Very Own Cupid

Summary: Valerie Valentine, known as “Hogwarts’ Cupid” for her matchmaking prowess, finds herself heartbroken upon finding out George Weasley, her crush since 4th year, likes Angelina Johnson. This leads her to abandon her romantic endeavors, only to later discover something unexpected.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.5k+

A/N: This is my first ever story on tumblr, I really hope you guys enjoy! 🫰

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

Valerie Valentine lived for Valentine's Day. It was in her name, after all.

Ever since she was little, Valentine’s Day had been her favorite holiday—the chocolates, the roses, the handwritten love letters. She adored how, just for a day, everything seemed sweeter, softer, filled with endless possibilities. When she arrived at Hogwarts, she quickly made it her mission to bring that magic to the castle.

It started in her second year when her best friend, Hannah Abbott, had fallen hopelessly in love with Roger Davies.

“I can’t tell him,” Hannah had groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I’ll probably trip over my own feet and embarrass myself for life.”

Valerie, ever the romantic, had taken that as a challenge. With a carefully written anonymous love letter, a bit of strategic maneuvering, and the right nudge at the right time, Roger had ended up asking Hannah to Hogsmeade. By Valentine’s Day, they were sitting at the Hufflepuff table, sharing a box of Honeydukes chocolates.

“You’re amazing at this, Val,” Hannah had gushed. “You should be Hogwarts’ Cupid!”

And just like that, Valerie Valentine became a legend.

---

Valerie took on the title of Hogwarts’ Cupid with pride, dedicating herself to helping students find love. Over the years, she orchestrated dozens of successful love stories, each one becoming a fond memory.

One of her most ambitious plans involved a nervous third-year Hufflepuff, Andrew Macmillan, who had a crush on a Ravenclaw named Helena Clearwater. Andrew was a wreck whenever Helena was around, stammering through his words and turning bright red.

“She’s so smart, Val,” he had sighed. “She probably thinks I’m a complete idiot.”

Valerie had an idea.

“Girls love grand gestures,” she told him, handing him a crumpled parchment. “And you know what’s grand? A love song performed by the Hogwarts suits of armor.”

Andrew had stared at her in horror. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am serious.” She smirked. “I also may or may not have bribed the suits of armor to serenade her during lunch.”

Sure enough, the next day, as Helena was walking to the Great Hall, one of the enchanted suits of armor clanked forward, raised its sword like a conductor’s baton, and began to sing.

“O fair Helena, with eyes so bright,

You make my heart take glorious flight!

Oh, would you fancy a date with me?

For Butterbeer and cakes of treacle sweet?”

Andrew looked like he was about to pass out from sheer embarrassment.

But then—Helena laughed. A real, delighted laugh. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen,” she said, turning to Andrew. “Did you do this?”

He stammered for a moment before nodding.

She smiled. “It’s cute. I’d love to go to Hogsmeade with you.”

Valerie cheered from the sidelines. Another successful match.

---

By her third year, Valerie had students seeking her out for help. One of them was a shy Gryffindor named Ethan Wood, who had a major crush on Katie Bell.

“She’s so cool,” he groaned. “She’s an amazing Chaser, and she’s funny, and—and she probably doesn’t even know I exist.”

“Well, let’s change that,” Valerie had said.

Knowing Katie loved Chocolate Frogs, Valerie devised a plan. Ethan would send her a Chocolate Frog every morning for a week, each one accompanied by a tiny, anonymous note with a compliment.

The first note: You play Quidditch like a star.

The second: Your laugh is the best sound in the world.

By the time the seventh note arrived, Katie was determined to find out who her secret admirer was. She cornered Valerie at the common room, eyes shining with curiosity.

“You know, don’t you?” she asked.

Valerie grinned. “What would you do if I did?”

“I’d probably want to talk to him.”

So, later that evening, Valerie orchestrated the grand reveal. Ethan, nervous as ever, stood by the fireplace, hands fidgeting at his sides. When Katie walked up to him, Chocolate Frog in hand, she smirked.

“So,” she said, tossing the frog at him playfully. “You’ve been feeding me an unhealthy amount of sugar.”

Ethan stammered. “Uh—uh—sorry?”

Katie laughed. “Don’t be. Want to go to Hogsmeade with me?”

Ethan nearly fainted. Valerie patted herself on the back. Another victory.

---

For three years, Valerie had been Hogwarts’ Cupid. She loved it. She lived for it.

"Hogwarts' Cupid" had always been surrounded by love—not just romantic love, but the kind of warmth that came from friendships, from laughter, from the little things that made life feel magical. And yet, nothing had prepared her for the moment she realized she was in love with George Weasley.

She never meant to. It just happened—the way his laughter echoed through the common room, the way he always had a joke up his sleeve, the way his mischievous grin made her stomach flip.

---

It happened one evening in her fourth year, during the first snowfall of the winter. The Gryffindor common room was cozy, the fire crackling in the hearth, but Valerie had always been drawn to the magic of fresh snow. So when she saw the first flakes drifting past the castle windows, she slipped outside.

She didn’t expect anyone else to be out there, but of course—George Weasley never did the expected.

“Oi, Valentine,” he called from behind her as she stood in the courtyard, snowflakes catching in her hair. “Fancy meeting you out here. What’s a Cupid like you doing standing alone in the cold?”

She turned to find him grinning, his red hair dusted with snow, his cheeks pink from the chill.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she shot back. “Shouldn’t you be inside, plotting your next great prank?”

George put a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “I do have other interests, you know.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Like this,” he said, before suddenly scooping up a handful of snow and launching it at her.

Valerie shrieked as the snow hit her shoulder. “George!”

“What? Cupid needs to learn how to dodge!” he teased, already gathering more snow.

She didn’t hesitate. She bent down, packed a snowball, and threw it at him with all her might—only for him to duck at the last second. It sailed past him and hit none other than Professor McGonagall’s window.

Both of them froze.

George turned to her, his eyes wide, and then—he grinned. “Run.”

Valerie didn’t need to be told twice. She bolted, George right beside her, the two of them slipping and sliding across the snowy courtyard as laughter bubbled out of them. They only stopped when they reached the covered bridge, breathless and shivering but giddy.

“That was all your fault,” Valerie panted, leaning against the railing.

George smirked. “Oh, definitely yours. I was just an innocent bystander.”

She rolled her eyes, but before she could retort, he reached out, brushing a bit of snow from her hair. It was such a small gesture, but it sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

Their eyes met. And for the first time, standing there in the soft glow of moonlight reflecting off the snow, Valerie saw him differently.

Not just as the prankster. Not just as her friend.

But as someone who made her heart race.

Someone she wanted.

The realization hit her so suddenly that she barely managed to breathe.

George tilted his head, a slow, teasing smile forming on his lips. “You alright there, Val?”

She swallowed, forcing herself to laugh. “Y-Yeah. Just cold.”

“Then we’d better get inside before you freeze,” he said, throwing an arm around her shoulders and steering her back toward the castle.

She barely heard him over the sound of her own heartbeat.

Because that was the moment she knew—

She had fallen for George Weasley.

---

By her sixth year, Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts was practically synonymous with Valerie Valentine.

The weeks leading up to the holiday were always the busiest. Students whispered in hallways, love letters passed hands, and Valerie’s name floated through conversations like a spell. As usual, she was in high demand—helping a lovestruck Ravenclaw compose a heartfelt poem, advising a nervous Hufflepuff on how to casually bump into his crush, and sneaking sweets into the Gryffindor common room for a surprise confession plan.

She should have been thrilled.

And yet, for the first time, Valerie felt tired. Something about it felt off this year. Maybe it was because, despite all the magic she created for others, she had never been on the receiving end of it.

Then, just a few days before Valentine’s Day, George Weasley walked up to her.

“Hey, Val,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, looking almost shy. “Got a minute?”

Her heart gave a traitorous little flutter—an automatic reaction at this point.

“Of course,” she said, forcing herself to act normal. “Need help with a prank?"

“Not exactly.” He hesitated, then asked, “Do you know if Angelina’s dating anyone?”

The world seemed to tilt.

The words were a Bludger to the stomach, knocking the breath right out of her.

Angelina. Of course.

She was smart, confident, talented—his best friend. They were already close, always sitting together at meals, always joking and laughing in that effortless way that made Valerie’s heart ache.

And why wouldn’t he like her?

Valerie swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to smile. “I—I don’t think so. Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” George said with a shrug, a slight smile plastered on his face. “Just wondering.”

That was all the confirmation she needed.

She barely remembered the rest of the conversation. Somehow, she managed to act normal—laughing at all the right moments, nodding along as if her heart wasn’t shattering into pieces. The moment George walked away, she turned on her heel and fled to her dormitory.

She barely noticed the way her hands trembled as she grabbed the stack of love letters from her desk—the ones she had spent years helping craft, the delicate parchment filled with confessions she had helped others deliver.

With a shaking breath, she threw them into the fireplace.

The flames swallowed them up, turning love into ashes.

Hogwarts’ Cupid was officially retired.

---

For the first time in three years, Valerie refused to help anyone with their Valentine’s Day plans.

When a nervous fourth-year approached her in the library with a love letter, she shoved it back at them without a word. When Hannah Abbott asked for advice on which chocolates to get Roger, Valerie snapped, “Does it really matter?”

Hannah folded her arms. “Okay, what is going on with you?”

“Nothing,” Valerie muttered, burying herself deeper into her Potions textbook.

Hannah wasn’t convinced. “You love this holiday. It’s your thing.”

“Not anymore.”

Hannah stared at her, then realization dawned on her face. “This is about him, isn’t it?”

Valerie stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hannah sighed. “Val, if you’re upset about something, talk to him. You never just give up.”

But Valerie shook her head. What was the point? George had already made his choice.

So, on Valentine’s Day, while the Great Hall buzzed with excitement, while couples exchanged gifts and friends laughed over ridiculous love notes, Valerie sat in the Gryffindor common room, alone.

She refused to look at the door. She would not let herself wonder if George had asked Angelina out.

Then, just as she was debating whether to go hide in her dormitory for the rest of the night, George plopped down beside her.

“Alright, Valentine,” he said, stretching his arms over the back of the couch. “What’s going on?”

Valerie scowled. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re usually running around playing matchmaker, making sure everyone has a perfect day,” George said, eyeing her closely. “And yet, here you are, sulking like someone just told you Chocolate Frogs were being discontinued.”

She crossed her arms. “Maybe I’m just sick of love stories.”

George blinked, clearly taken aback. “Alright, who are you and what have you done with Valerie Valentine?”

She huffed. “Why do you even care? Shouldn’t you be off with Angelina?”

George frowned. “Angelina?”

Valerie glared at him. “You asked about her.”

George tilted his head. “Yeah…? So?”

“So,” she snapped, “if you’re going to ask her out, just do it already.”

For a moment, George just stared at her. Then, suddenly—

He laughed.

A real, full-bodied laugh.

Valerie gaped. “What’s so funny?!”

George grinned at her like she was the biggest idiot in the world. “Oh, Merlin, you’re thick.”

She scowled. “Excuse me?!”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Val, I asked about Angelina because Fred fancies her. I was helping him.”

The world came to a screeching halt.

Her mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again. “Wait—you don’t like her?”

George smirked. “Of course not. She’s great, but she’s not the one I wanted to spend Valentine’s Day with.”

Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst out of her chest. “Then… who do you want to spend it with?”

George raised an eyebrow. “Who do you think?”

She froze.

Everything—the endless matchmaking, the stolen glances, the little moments between them—it all suddenly clicked into place.

“You,” he said simply.

Her breath hitched.

For the first time in her life, Valerie Valentine was speechless.

George smirked, tilting his head. “Now, if our former Hogwarts’ Cupid is done sulking, can I take her on a proper date?”

Valerie stared at him, her heart pounding, before a slow, hesitant smile tugged at her lips. “I suppose…” She tapped a finger against her chin, pretending to consider it. “I could make an exception.”

George laughed, reaching out to ruffle her hair. “That’s my girl.”

And just like that, Hogwarts’ Cupid finally found herself caught in the love story she never saw coming.

---

[saintfire]

[colmiillo]

When y/n does something so cringe that i have to look at the invisible camera for a sec.

[mcntsee]

me when I reach the angst part of the angsty fic that I specifically chose for the angst

[yawneon]

how i look at my screen after y/n just got called kitten/puppy/bunny

[lqveharrington]

Eleventh Birthday | D.M.

summary: it’s your son’s 11th birthday and it hits you harder than you thought it would.

pairing: dad!draco malfoy x mom!reader

includes: Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy and Dione Europa Malfoy (my shaylas), fluff, comfort, little bit of angst

a/n: narcissa would be proud of the name i gave draco's daughter

You stood in front of the grand fireplace, hands resting on your hips, teeth worrying your bottom lip as you surveyed the room. Streamers curled elegantly from the ceiling, and a shimmer banner spelled out Happy Birthday, Scorpius! in flowing golden script. Everything was in place—his carefully chosen presents sat neatly in the armchair by the stained glass window, and his cake, decorated with intricate frosting patterns, was safely stored away in the fridge. Yet, despite the meticulous planning, something still felt off.

Maybe it was the colors? No, everything was adorned in Scorpius' favorites. The decorations were perfect, yet unease settled deep in your bones.

A familiar warmth enveloped you as Draco's arm snaked around your waist. He pressed a lingering kiss to the curve of your neck, his touch grounding you even as your shoulders remained tense against his chest.

"I woke Dione like you asked, my love." He murmured, voice thick with affections. "She's changing before getting Scorpius for his birthday breakfast."

Draco tilted his head, catching sight of your solemn expression. Concern flickered in his silver eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." The response was automatic, though your fingers betrayed you as they absently fidgeted with his.

It wasn't something tangible that was missing—it was the weight of realization settling over you like an iron cloak. You had been so focused on making this birthday perfect that only now did it truly hit you: Scorpius would be leaving for Hogwarts soon. The very thought sent a dull ache through your chest.

Hogwarts. Miles and miles away from home. From you and Draco.

A shaky breath escaped your lips. Soon after, Dione would follow, leaving you and Draco alone in a house that had once been filled with laughter, mischief, and tiny footsteps racing down the corridors. The thought threatened to unravel you.

You willed away the sting in your eyes, blinking rapidly before glancing back at Draco. "I'm fine." You said, though the words wavered under the weight of emotions threatening to spill over.

But the floodgates had already begun to crack.

Images flashed in your mind—Scorpius and Dione, older, independent, no longer needing their parents the way they once had. A day where they'd brush off your affections, too busy with their own lives. The fear twisted in your gut, sharp and cruel.

Draco saw it before you could even utter another word. He tightened his hold on you just as your composure shattered. Silent tears spilled onto his chest as you crumbled in his arms, and he held you with the same unwavering strength he always had. His lips pressed reassuring kisses to you temple, his hand drawing soothing circles against your back until your breathing steadied.

He had known this day would come. He had known how hard you would take it. Your heart belonged not only to him but to the little family you had built together—a love embodied in Scorpius and Dione.

"You're going to be fine, my love." He whispered, his voice a steady anchor amidst your turbulent thoughts. He squeezed your shoulder gently, placing a soft kiss against your forehead. "I just need you to breathe. Can you do that for me?"

You closed your eyes, nodding as you matched his steady breathing. The rhythmic crackling of the fireplace filled the silence, the familiar beat of Draco's heart beneath your palm comforting you. Slowly, the storm inside you settled.

"Hey, look at me." Draco murmured, tilting your chin up so you met his gaze. A lopsided grin played on his lips, warm and reassuring. "Let's spend Scorp's birthday with love, alright?"

A small smile tugged at your lips, "Alright."

"Alright." He pressed another kiss to your forehead before tugging you toward the hall. "Now, let's see if Dione is ready."

"Hi, darling." Narcissa's bright smile greeted you the moment you pulled open the door, pulling you into a warm embrace. She loved you as her second child and always found a way to visit—although this visit was scheduled every year.

You hugged her just as tightly and let yourself relax in her motherly hold, giving your father-in-law a small smile. "Hi, Narcissa. Lucius."

Lucius nodded curtly in acknowledgement as you stepped aside, motioning them to follow into the living space. He absolutely despised the way you lived your life. There wasn’t a single house elf in sight, but you made his son happy—pure blood or not, he would tolerate you.

“Are your parents coming anytime soon?” Narcissa followed you further down the hall, the portraits of your family hanging everywhere.

“They'll be here next week. They had a business meeting in France." You fiddle with your fingers and let them enter the living room, waving your hand to summon the tea set from the kitchen.

A small grunt was Lucius’ only response at the mention of your muggle-born parents.

Narcissa pursed her lips at her husband’s reaction before smacking him lightly on the chest, her attention shifting back to the many unopened gifts scattering the room. "Where's the little prince?"

"Well, he's not so little anymore." Draco quipped as he appeared by your side, his hand naturally finding its home on your waist.

"Draco!" Narcissa beamed and pulled her son into a fierce hug, peppering his face with kisses.

"Mum!" Draco groaned, though the fond smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. He loved his mother with all his heart and never cared for theatrics such as these.

You squeezed his hand before calling out to your kids, “Scorp! Dione! Look who's here!"

"Grandmum! Granddad!" Their voices rang in unison as they barreled down the hallway, their excitement palpable.

Lucius chuckled as Scorpius all but tackled him in an embrace. Honestly, you believed he was more fond of his grandchildren than you and Draco. "Happy birthday, Scorpius."

"Thank you!" Scorpius beamed.

"Move! It's my turn!" Dione huffed, attempting to shover her brother aside.

"Dione." You chided gently before rolling your eyes as they switched grandparents.

Soon after the greetings, the two dragged their grandparents to the couches and began animatedly talking about their past adventures while you set the tea out for everyone. It was warming to see how close Scorpius and Dione was to them.

As Scorpius and Dione’s attention was grabbed by Lucius’ stories about Draco when he was younger, you hesitantly turned to Narcissa. "I have a question."

She raised her brows and set her teacup down—hands clasping together. "What is it, dear?"

You swallowed, twirling your wedding ring anxiously. “When Draco turned eleven, how did you handle the transition to an empty house?”

A knowing smile graced her lips. “It wasn’t easy, I’ll tell you that.” She took your hands in her own. “But I promise, you’ll adjust. Believe me, it was worse realizing you and Draco would be living far from us.”

“Not that far,” You murmured.

“We still have to apparate to visit, darling.” Narcissa squeezed your hands. “You’re lucky to have Dione for a little while longer. As much as I love Draco, I always wanted another little one myself. Dione will help ease the transition. And if not, you can always owl me.”

A genuine smile broke across your face. “Thanks, Narcissa.”

“Talking about me?” Draco’s voice teased as turned his attention to you and his mother, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Oh yes, just the worst things, my love.” You grinned and tilted your head to meet his eyes. “What is it?”

He whispered, “I think your little boy has something to say to you.”

You barely had time to react before Scorpius wrapped his arms tightly around your midsection, his face buried in your chest.

“Thank you, Mum,” He mumbled, burying his face deeper and deeper into your chest.

“For what?” You ran your fingers through his blonde hair and cup his face, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

“For everything.”

Your heart clenched as you hugged him back, holding on just a little longer. You weren’t sure what Lucius or Draco said to Scorpius, but it felt nice knowing that Scorpius truly appreciated you after everything. “Of course, baby. I’ll always be here.”

And you would be. Always.

The rest of the day unfolded in a whirlwind of laughter, love, and the kind of chaos that only a family like yours could create. Scorpius’s eyes lit up as he tore into his presents, his excitement infectious. Dione, ever the little instigator, tried to sneak a peek at the cake before it was time, earning a playful scolding from Draco. Narcissa and Lucius, though reserved as ever, couldn’t help but smile at the antics of their grandchildren. The house, usually so grand and imposing, felt warm and alive, filled with the kind of joy that only comes from being surrounded by the people you love most.

But as the day wore on, the reality of what was coming lingered in the back of your mind like a shadow. You caught yourself watching Scorpius more closely, memorizing the way his nose scrunched when he laughed, the way his hair fell into his eyes when he leaned over to examine a new gift. You found yourself holding Dione’s hand a little tighter, savoring the way she still looked up at you with wide, adoring eyes. The thought of them growing up, of them not needing you as much, was a bittersweet ache that you couldn’t quite shake.

Draco, ever perceptive, noticed. He always did. When the kids were distracted by a game of Exploding Snap with Narcissa, he slipped his hand into yours and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “They’ll always need you, you know,” he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of his own emotions. “Just in different ways.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I know. It’s just… hard to imagine.”

“It is,” He agreed, his silver eyes meeting yours. “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

The sincerity in his voice grounded you, as it always did. You leaned into him, letting his presence steady you. “Together,” You echoed.

As the evening drew to a close and the kids were tucked into bed, the house grew quiet once more. You and Draco sat by the fireplace, the crackling flames casting a warm glow over the room. The silence was comfortable, the kind that comes from years of shared moments and unspoken understanding.

“Do you remember when Scorpius was born?” You asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

Draco chuckled while continuously stroking your arm softly, his laughter a soft, nostalgic sound. “How could I forget? You nearly broke my hand during labor.”

You laughed and leaned your head on his shoulder, the memory vivid in your mind. “And then he was so tiny. I was terrified I’d do something wrong.”

“You didn’t,” Draco said firmly, his gaze softening when he saw your soft look. “You were—are—an amazing mother. They’re lucky to have you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but this time, they were accompanied by a smile. “And I’m lucky to have you. And they are too.”

Draco reached over, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “We’re a team, remember? Always have been, always will be.”

You nodded, melting into his touch. “Always.”

The weeks that followed were a blur of preparations for Scorpius’s departure to Hogwarts. You helped him pack his trunk, making sure he had everything he needed—and then some. Dione, ever the protective little sister, insisted on adding a few of her own essentials, including a stuffed dragon she claimed would keep him safe. Scorpius rolled his eyes but accepted it with a fond smile.

When the day finally arrived, you stood on Platform 9¾, your heart in your throat. Scorpius looked so grown-up in his Hogwarts robes, his trunk beside him and his owl perched on his shoulder. Dione clung to your hand, her eyes wide with a mix of excitement and sadness.

“You’ll write, won’t you?” You asked, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

“Of course, Mum,” Scorpius said, his tone exasperated but affectionate. “And I’ll be home for Christmas.”

You pulled him into a tight hug, breathing in the familiar scent of his hair. “I’m so proud of you,” You whispered.

“I know,” He replied, his voice muffled against your shoulder. When he pulled back, there were tears in his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away. “I’ll be fine, Mum. I promise.”

Draco clapped a hand on Scorpius’s shoulder, his expression a mix of pride and emotion. “Make us proud, Scorp.”

Scorpius nodded, his jaw set with determination. “I will.”

As the train pulled away, you stood there, watching until it disappeared from sight. Dione sniffled beside you, and you knelt down to pull her into a hug. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” You murmured. “He’ll be back before you know it.”

Draco’s hand rested on your shoulder, a silent reminder that you weren’t alone in this. Together, you turned and made your way back home, the house feeling a little emptier but still filled with the love that had always defined your family.

That night, as you lay in bed, Draco’s arm draped over you, you thought about the future. It was scary, yes, but it was also full of promise. Your children were growing up, but they would always be yours. And no matter where life took them, you would always be there, ready to welcome them home.

“We’ll be okay,” you whispered into the darkness.

Draco’s voice was soft but reassuring. “We will.”

And with that, you let yourself drift off to sleep, knowing that whatever came next, you would face it together.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[l0velysmut]

family: “why are you just sitting in ur room smiling at ur phone?”

me who’s been reading smut about fictional characters for the past 6 hours:

[thatboisus]

“english isn’t my first langua—“ say no more.

[blac-ivy]

One thing golden era Wattpad writers had going for them was that they knew the importance of a buildup. I'm of the opinion that the sexual tension is WAY more satisfying to read than the actual sex and quite frankly there is a serious lack of non smutty writing.

Like I really miss reading fics/ x readers that start from scratch. Meeting the characters, initial reactions getting to know them, the tension the jealousy the TENSION the freaking tension.

Looking and looking away when they get spotted, touches that feel like they linger but perhaps they didn't and they're both so hot for each other that they think it's wishful thinking. And I don't mean just sweet sunshine romances, darker works can have a buildup too but it seems like so much is just about getting to the smut instead of the psychological aspect.

Bring back the build up!!!!!!!

[actually-mentally-ill]