#Influence is remove the influence of Harry Potter. Like it’s something I care about I rarely talk about it

[cassandralexxx]

GET OUT OF MY HEAD GET OUT OF MY HEAD GET OUT OF MY HEAD GET OUT OF MY HEAD GET OUT OF MY HEAD GET OUT OF MY HEAD GET OUT OF MY HEAD GET OUT OF MY HEAD GET OUT OF MY HEAD GET OUT OF MY HEAD GET OUT OF MY HEAD GET OUT OF MY HEAD GET OUT OF MY HEAD GET OUT OF MY HEAD GET OUT OF MY HEAD GET OUT OF MY H-

Why is Harry Potter stuff animal merch so cute 😔

I don’t even buy water if it’s Harry Potter licensed bc JKR but like �� I’m seeing people with the merch and I wish JKR wasn’t promoting scum 😞

Currently suffering from having deeply cared about HP growing up and still having some positive emotions towards it 🪦

[barbwillbrb]

Hi!!! Hope you are fine!

I would like to know your thoughts about something.

You said that you were a very huge fan of Harry Potter until the author was... well, we all know.

What is your opinion of Dammon in bg3? Since the VA has some problematic ideas (I think). Have you liked this character ever? Did your perception of the character change because of the VA?

Hi! <3 I be doing okay; I hope you're well!

This is a damned good question.

To begin, I didn't start playing BG3 until around February/March. If I recall correctly, I was just getting into the game when the controversies surrounding Dammon's VA dropped.

I won't lie; I wasn't super into Dammon even before the news of his VA cropped up-- I didn't dislike him as a character, but I was too early in the game to appreciate/understand his appeal (plus, he's visually too much of a pretty boy for my tastes *shrugs*). When the news dropped, I waited to see what the consensus was on how to move forward.

Today, I can't say that the VA had any influence on my perception of the character. I'm still pretty indifferent towards Dammon personally, although I do enjoy fanarts of him-- especially those that depict him as trans as I consider this a cheeky "fuck you" to his VA.

While I don't really care one way or another about Dammon as a character, I will say this-- I don't think liking Dammon in BG3 is problematic.

From my understanding, the VA is not making additional money off of the game, so purchasing it/playing it does not really support him (someone feel free to fact check me on this). Furthermore, many of the other cast members spoke out against him. Finally, the VA basically screwed himself over in the end; while Glen McCready and George Taylor are out here getting paid for doing Cameos by their fans, he is not (in fact, I think he basically nuked his career as a VA and distanced himself from BG3 as a whole). Basically, Dammon's VA is not making money that can fuel his harmful behavior.

That I think is the difference: you can like Dammon/engage with his character without bringing actual harm to light, which you really can't do with Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling openly uses her power and profits to support anti-trans causes in very real, very harmful ways. You cannot really separate her work from her due to capitalism. Additionally, if you know what her beliefs are, it's damn near impossible not to see how her views are very clearly illustrated throughout the text. Unfortunately, as long as J.K. Rowling holds the copyright to her work, putting any money towards officially licensed Harry Potter media/merch/content gives her the power to actively do harm.

Of course, fanworks/merch created by fans that is independent from her/merch and media purchased second hand is more of a grey area. I am personally of the mindset that fans continuing to engage with Harry Potter is, unfortunately, keeping J.K. Rowling relevant at best. At worst, it makes people assume that you actually do agree with her views. I personally know people in my own family who never engaged with the series back when I was a fan and the series was considered progressive/had a huge LGBTQ+ following; now that J.K. Rowling has shown herself to be a transphobic ass, they are huge fans.

TDLR: Dammon's VA sucks but we can remove him from the character and enjoy the tiefling blacksmith without causing harm. We really cannot do the same with Harry Potter.

[dm-clockwork-dragon]

All due respect, but you’re pretty wrong about a few things.

1. That’s not what death of the author means. It’s a common misconception, but death of the author is a literary analysis technique in opposition to “word of god”. An example of death of the author would be “word of god from JRR Tolkien says lord of the rings wasn’t inspired by his time at war, but analysis of events and his life shows a lot of similarities and influences on it, and interpreting the series as about his time in the war is a valid approach despite what he says”. It’s not ignoring things about the author or deciding the author has no involvement or influence.

2. JK Rowling does actually continue to make royalties off of Harry Potter stuff.

3. Buying the game is funding her, and she uses the money to fund transphobic politics that has done real harm to transgender people in at least the UK, and funding efforts to keep Scotland and Ireland colonized.

4. Reclaiming queer and fag and dyke isn’t the same as continuing to fund JK Rowling. You can’t “reclaim” a franchise. Queer, fag, dyke, etc don’t make anyone money. They’re words being weaponized emotionally, and their impact is as strong as we let it be. Harry Potter is a brand and a franchise with PR and accountants and corporations at the helm. It’s not something that can be “reclaimed” and to say so indicates a fundamental misunderstanding of what reclaiming is at all. Harry Potter itself has some cruel caricatures in it, yes, but the real problem is the actual funding of JK Rowling and those she works with that agree with her, or just care about money more than the people she’s hurting.

I understand your intentions here, and why people get defensive about enjoying HP. But I hope you’ll genuinely listen to me and think about what I’ve said, because you really have said a lot of incorrect things here. JK Rowling has and will continue to do genuine, tangible harm to our community.

And this isn’t in the body of your post, but it’s something I’d like to add. This game isn’t the Harry Potter you grew up with. While Harry Potter itself had aspects of antisemitic caricatures, it wasn’t the main focus. This game is made of and about blood libel. I adored the books when I was a kid. This game is nothing like them. If you remove it from the discourse about JKR, you can still recognize that it’s a game using the setting and name of Harry Potter to sell a story about oppressing Jewish-coded slaves, but it’s okay, because they’re EVIL slaves. It has the superficial trappings of Harry Potter, but it will not have what you loved about the books.

Have a good day.

So I do very much appreciate you trying to be civil about this, and I will certainly give some consideration to your points, But could you provide me with some sources for the information here? I don't mean this to come off as dismissive, but I'm not keen to take the word of an anonymous person on the internet over my own education in literature, finance and economics. Or to reverse my views on cancel culture and the spread of undeserved hate towards people who are just trying to enjoy a nostalgic part of their childhood, just because a very opinionated person online has ignored my examples of how other creators have had their IP’s reclaimed by fans. Especially when your argument to the contrary would suggest that the queen community has not battled lawmakers, lawyers, PR and accountants for years in reclaiming much of the language we use today, let alone all of the other times we have fought against systematic abuse and won. I don’t feel like “its hard” makes for a very valid argument for why we should not only avoid trying, but demonize any of our own who do. And again... I actually have no love for the books? I grew out of them, and looking back, very much recognize that they are hot trash, and not something I care about. I'm also not defending this game, and have no intention of buying or supporting it. I just... really don't like seeing communities start wars within themselves when there are real, actively malicious enemies waiting at the doorstep. Witchhunts and the persecution of heretics are something the 15th century catholic church was known for. I’d rather not see the trend continue

[crime-scene-psychic]

I've never thought of it this in depth before, but you're absolutely right. It's really hard cause I know a ton of queer people grew up with her books (myself included) and were obsessed and were able to see themselves in the characters, as yes, the books deal heavily with "diversity should be celebrated not shunned", which is exactly what we needed. The fact that it took a 180 at the expense of us is really hard to wrap one's mind around.

I have a fellow trans friend, who, yes absolutely hates JKR and isn't what I would call a Harry Potter fan by any means, but still bought Hogwarts Legacy, albeit, second hand, I believe. And while there's nothing inherently wrong with this strategy, as technically JKR isn't getting her money from us specifically, and they bought it mainly to support the creators, who are lgbtq+, it's still interesting to see how much of a grip this fandom has on people despite us knowing how God awful JKR is.

A second friend, on the other hand, is queer but not trans, and is still a pretty big HP fan. Has merch, bought Hogwarts Legacy when it was released, day one. When I would point out to her what JKR is saying about trans people, she would get a bit defensive, usually dodging any friendly debate and going more towards "separate the artist from the art" or "I don't like her, just HP."

I think it's also hard for non trans people, even queer cis people, to fully comprehend how harmful JKR is. They don't have the same experiences as trans individuals, therefore can't fully understand just how bad JKR is, even if they are, otherwise, great trans allies. They don't see how this is different from any other terrible person who made something people enjoy (which is why I have a particular problem with the entire "separate the art from the artist" mentality, but that, my dear Tumblrina, is an entirely different post for me to hijack).

It's very hard, and I never really realized this as I had mostly outgrown my HP phase from childhood, save for maybe mentioning my Hogwarts house if asked, but for people who were (and still are) invested in the fandom, it's very hard when all of a sudden the creator completely turns their back on you.

People dedicated a lot of time, effort, money, love, respect, and appreciation to this. And it may sound silly and childish to some, but to many this fandom was very important in discovering themselves, especially when it comes to the queer community. To be so outwardly attacked and betrayed is crushing. And to many, it's so much easier to try and bury your head in the sand and remove JKR from HP altogether. So yeah, I do agree that a lot of people:

A. Don't know JKR is actually as bad as she is

B. Think she's just another victim of cancel culture

C. Don't actually care enough to put the effort into educating themselves on the creators of their favorite fandoms

D. Try their best to ignore JKR and her influence, but don't realize entirely how problematic that still is (separate the art from the artist)

Or perhaps a mix of a few. It's an issue that seems as if it should be simple and straightforward, but has proven to be very difficult, much more so than I originally realized.

There are people who actually worshipped JKR and there are people who gushed about her because she wrote Harry Potter and they loved Harry Potter who literally knew nothing about her that wasn't in the author bio on the dust jacket. I think fandom oriented people tend to forget how big a population the latter was! But Harry Potter was so huge at its peak that it had a lot of casual fans who deeply, deeply loved the series, maybe even knew the trivia of the actual books inside and out, but never engaged with the fandom side of things or dove deep into meta information. There were normies attending midnight release parties, the series was that big.

[rcksmith]

Just let me love you — Five Hargreeves

Request: “Hi. Could you possibly write about Five and reader taking a shower together and he's like so whipped for her and her body and (if it's not much) #38, #18 e #5 from your fluff prompt and #56 and #98 from your smut prompt (maybe not a too rough smut, just they both doing love and realizing how much in love they're with the other). THANK YOU ❤❤❤❤️ (sorry i'm not a native english speaker)”

Fluff prompts:

5. ”Don’t smile at me like that. You know it drives me crazy.”

18. “Enjoying the view, beautiful?”

38. “You say you hate it but your red face is telling me otherwise.”

Smut prompts:

56. “Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting.”

98. “Just let me finish this and I swear I will go down on your and make you cum three times.”

A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here !!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

Thank you, love💖. I did not do anything heavy or gross, it's just a cute love, I hope you like.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Five Hargreeves / Fem! Reader.

Warnings: explicit smut, swearing, but just cute smut and fluff.

— — — — —

Five Hargreeves was not known for being kind, much less sentimental. He had always been acid, ironic and arrogant, he put himself on a pedestal at levels of intelligence, ability, and always had the last word. Five did not belong to the category of men who were influenced by emotions, nor did snatched up when he saw a beautiful woman. He had always had an iron control by imposing on his feelings, like controlling his own breathing.

Then, being known for this exasperating personality, the uproar was Homeric when, for the first time, Five Hargreeves fell to his knees by a woman. In a deep and abysmal drop.

He was frighteningly in love with you. Body and soul. And the Hargreeves brothers were shocked, to say the least, when they realized all the care Five had for you, all the bright and passionate look, the easy smile whenever you also smiled too. They could see that Five saw you as an exorbitantly rare tropical treasure, something he could never miss.

No one had thought Five was the type who needed something to keep breathing, for his world to keep spinning; an object or a person. But everyone saw that if there was something, it would be you. None of the Hargreeves know how Five became so dependent, so addicted, but they were content with the joyful gleam in their brother's eyes whenever you showed up.

Five Hargreeves was not known for being sentimental, but if you asked him to jump, he’ll aks ‘how right?’.

And perhaps it was because of all this, and more, that after a particularly dangerous mission that yielded some scratches, Five went to your apartment, not to his own home.

“Oh my God!” You exclaimed, throwing the book you were reading on the bed and running to where the blue flash left your boyfriend's figure. Bruised and bloody. “Honey, are you okay?”

As soon as your hands, worried and trembling, touched Five's skin to remove the mask, he let out a low, satisfied sigh, as if your touch was the medicine for all him pains. That mission took the best of him, and Five just needed you, to feel better.

Always you.

“Some terrorists insisted on fighting.” Five rolled his eyes, now without the mask “What is it about these motherfuckers wanting to fight even when they know they are going to lose? It's fucking annoying.”

You laughed softly, your hands still working to remove him suit, tie and unbutton stained shirt.

“I was so worried.” You sighed, scanning every bit of it with agitated eyes, seeing if nothing was out of place or worrying.

“Oh, were you?”

You didn't have to look him in the eye to know that Five gave you a smug expression. The whole voice was charged with malice and arrogance, and you contained a little smile.

“Of course. I always stay when you go on these missions.” You came closer, resting your hands on him abdomen, tilting your lips in the direction of him and giving a small and loving kiss.

Five hummed contentedly, bringing his hands to your hips and giving an annoyed sigh when you walked away, clearly wanting more.

“Let's go to the bath, you need to take all that blood and relax a little.”

“Is this an invitation?” He arched his left eyebrow in a suggestive gesture, with a sly smile and a smug look.

You rolled your eyes and laughed, taking you to the bathroom of your apartment. “Not. You need to relax.”

You opened the bathroom door and turned on the shower, while Five started to undress, the blood dripping on the bathroom floor.

“I was thinking that...” Your sentence was lost in the air when you turned around and found Five completely undress.

You looked down at the blood-spattered neck, the broad shoulders that went down to a broad chest. Him skin was prickly from the cold breeze and the blood that was already drying, giving a sinister and exciting tone to the scene. You swallowed, something starting to vibrate in your core, the atmosphere becoming caustic. But your eyes continued to drop, memorizing every inch of skin, making way to his V line and…

“Enjoying the view, beautiful?”

You looked up into the green eyes, finding a smirk.

“I-I j-jus…” Suddenly, you didn't know what to do with your hands, what to say or how to act.

You had seen Five naked several times, but always... always took your breath away. He was frighteningly gorgeous. That left you with not axis, with the rotation of the Earth stopped, with reason itself running away. It was a sin like him beautiful, the blood droplets spattered on the snow-white skin, attracted you even more.

“No... actually, I'm seeing the blood you're leaving on the floor, you know?” You made up an excuse, blinking assiduously “I hate it.”

But it was only logical that he did not believer. The malicious smile widened and gained an arrogant and convinced touch, while Five approached in calm and dangerous steps, like a hunter to its prey.

Him long fingers touched your cheek, while Five leaned over and whispered in your ear:

“You say you hate it but your red face is telling me otherwise.”

You felt the heat build up in your cheeks even more, you let out a nervous little laugh as you rested both hands on him chest and looked up at his.

“Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting.” You confessed.

Five laughed, a laugh from one who knows he is beautiful and one who is pleased to please the only person who matters. It was a beautiful, true sound. His touch on your skin became sweeter, and he leaned towards your mouth and captured you in a soft kiss.

This time, it was you who sighed. An involuntary sigh of full satisfaction and delight. As if Five were your oasis in the desert.

You two haven't had that kind of contact in a few days. Five was having missions that demanded a lot of attention and care, and the exam week at your college had arrived. The two of you said on the phone that everything was fine, that you both were going to be fine these days, but the truth was that you missed him so much.

“I missed you.” You sighed on him lips, giving him another chaste kiss just because you could.

“Me too.” Him fingers caressed your cheek, moving away afterwards so you don’t get bloody too.

Suddenly, your whole line of reasoning has so far melted away like sand in the wind, like a broken violin string. You just felt your heart racing, your body heating up and the atmosphere becoming lyrical and stuffy.

“I think...” You sighed, your hands still on him chest. “That this is an invitation yes.” You agreed with his joke from seconds ago.

Hargreeves laughed, shaking his head and leaving a kiss on your neck.

“I was kidding, I don't want you to end up getting soiled with all that blood, too." He pointed to the small blood marks that remained on your cheek because of his touch.

Truth be told, you weren't worried. The longing hit you like a wave that was too strong and dragged you to the sea, drowning you. You wanted to touch it, kiss it, stick to it as if it were able to stop time. Five noticed the feelings in your eyes, and laughed at how you were as addicted to the love of the two of you as he was. Leaning down once more, Five splashed a kiss on your lips:

“Just let me finish this and I swear I will go down on your and make you cum three times.”

You laughed, stunned by a whirlwind of sensation and emotion at the same time. You agreed, and left the bathroom while Five entered the stall.

As soon as you sat on the bed, trying to process your own reactions, the warm autumn night breeze came in through the big window, carrying a caustic expectation on back and hitting you without mercy. Suddenly, everything became flustered, pulsating, the hemisphere seemed more malicious, with a sensual and romantic tone. If you had to describe that moment with the five senses, you would say that the light of the world has gone down to become the flickering flame of a candle, adorning the world with a red veil of romance.

The showering noise and your heartbeat were the only things you could hear. And when the hot mist of steam started to come out of the bathroom door, it was like a mesmerizing invitation, a call you couldn't refuse. You swallowed, noticing that your hands were shaking softly, as if this were your first time. But your whole body and soul screamed for him name. As the only antidote to your disease.

You stood up, pulled your T-shirt over your head, and got rid of your bra and sleeping shorts, taking your panties to the floor as well. Puffing out the chest of something you didn't know what it was, you went to the bathroom door again, opening it gently. The masculine silhouette blurred by the glass in the shower stoked your heartbeat even more, and suddenly you were burning with a caustic and delicious expectation.

When you opened the glass door and stepped into the shower, Five opened his eyes wider at your presence. There had been no need for condescending and malicious words, phrases or smiles. Five's eyes burned in the same desire and need as you, as if he were burning in the same hell. He looked at you as if he had waited all his life for that moment, as if he had cried out for you and you appeared to him, like a muse in the middle of a wild night.

Five held your face with both hands, leaning over and kissing you with all the devotion in the world. At that moment, the world seemed to have reached its highest note, its climax. You put your arms around him neck, sighing a low moan of satisfaction when he pulled you closer, sticking your whole body in his, being hit by the hot water in the bath.

Five Hargreeves was not known for being sentimental. But, in that second, he kissed you and touched you with all the affection and love that existed in the world. He didn't run, he didn't hurry, he didn't eat you like if last meal. No, he slowly ran his hands over your body, letting his tongue caress yours, enveloped in all the longing and love he felt for you.

You let out a sigh much like him name and a plea, more in need than ever. Five dropped his hands to your thighs, propelling you upwards and making you hook your legs on him hips, being held in him lap.

“I missed you.” Five released it in your mouth, seeking air as turned the two of you around, trapping your body between the wall and his body, kissing you again, giving you no time to respond.

You gasped, pressing your fingers to the black strands at the nape of his neck, wiggling hip gently over him, looking for any friction, any stimulation. But Five was as needy as you are, as needy, so he dropped a hand to him own member and positioned it at the entrance to your dripping center.

At that moment, you looked up at him, and Five fixed the green orbs on you, maintaining intense and fiery eye contact. The second he entered you, and you opened your mouth in a silent, aching groan, Five was still nailed to you, and him expression of pleasure when he hit rock bottom was exorbitantly exciting for you. Five clasped his hands on your hips, pursing his lips and frowning at the pleasure he felt, which reverberated through his veins, making him feel infinitely more alive, more intense. He withdrew and sank again, slowly, eliciting a loud moan in you.

“I love you.” You sighed on him lips, and that was the end for Five.

Everything hit Five in a fierce wave. All desire, passion, pleasure and love. Everything smashed under him with such force that Five wrapped his arms around your waist, steadying himself on you as he sank deeper into your hot and wet core, establishing a slow and intense rhythm. You moaned, gasped and sighed loudly, and Five buried his face in the curve of your neck, beating his own hot moans against your skin.

“God, I love you so fucking much!” He groaned, speeding up his movements even more, delighting in how you felt so good, so perfect. So of him.

You screamed his name softly, squeezing him and moving your hips more at the same pace, swallowing his member as much as you could, pulsing around him. Five let out a loud, broken groan, pinning your shoulder against his teeth, trying to stifle groans as he came in and out of you.

Jesus Christ! You were so tight, so wet, so hot and so fucking fucked up. So perfect for him.

Five removed his face from your neck, pulling head back just far enough to look at your body, with a louder groan escaping at the sight he had. You were fucking beautiful! All the curves in the right places, all the wonderful softness of a woman. Another moan escaped, and his eyes fell to the place where him dick disappeared between your smooth folds, leaving and entering more and more luscious, wetter, more swollen with desire and pleasure.

He wasn't going to wait long. Not with so much time without you, not with how much you were fucking hot, not with the overwhelming pleasure he felt. Five tilted his mouth to your breast, capturing a nipple and sucking, keeping his mouth there while hitting that place that drove you the most crazy.

"F-five!"

You groaned, arching your back to him, your legs closing more around hin waist, your chest rising and falling openly, as the hot water cascaded over you two.

“You are so, so much beautiful!” He groaned against your breast, as if in pain, as if everything was too much for him and he felt he could explode.

His suffering tone and totally submerged in pleasure took you to the limit. You came intensely, throwing your head back and arching your body in him arms, letting out a louder cry as you felt Five's hot liquid fill your walls, stocking both of you as deep as possible inside you.

“I love you, I love you.” You stuck your mouth to his, sighing.

Still breathless, Five admitted: “I'm going to marry you someday.”

You opened a smile that Five considered the most wonderful and beautiful thing he has ever seen.

“Don’t smile at me like that. You know it drives me crazy.” He said and you laughed out loud, pulling Five into a passionate kiss.

[sixtynineinchnails]

I’ve seen a lot of disc horse happening on here about hyperfixations on Harry Potter and whether or not people should be forced to stop liking the series altogether. and once again people are taking the argument to the extremes and whipping each other into a rage.

I have ADHD. I have hyperfixations. Sometimes those fixations are on problematic or outright bigoted/awful media. I cannot control what my brain latches onto besides not being exposed to it in the first place, and some media (Harry Potter especially) is hard to avoid. I can’t just stop fixating. and yes, for a long time I did fixate on Harry Potter. it has taken a lot of time for that fixation to fade, and I’ve had to come to terms with a lot about the thing I once cared about so dearly.

that being said: you can have a hyperfixation without supporting the original text or creator.

want to watch the films/read the books? get them from a local library, buy them secondhand, or pirate them.

want to buy merch? buy from small businesses (not trademarked stuff) or buy secondhand.

want to wear Harry Potter merch? wear it around the house.

want to create fan content (fanart, fanfic, amvs, edits, etc)? do it. create it. maybe send it to a friend. do not post it.

want to talk about it? talk to a friend, family member, mutual, therapist, etc. don’t make posts about it.

I think sometimes we forget what it’s like to live in a world where we aren’t constantly sharing our interests with others online. but considering how many people have been hurt by jkr and her content, I think it’s fair in this case to say: fixate, let your brain cope with life however it has to, and if Harry Potter is what’s keep you going right now that’s alright. just don’t post about it. participating in online fandom is keeping her relevant, thus supporting her. she has made this clear herself. she’s aware of how fandom influences her platform.

and if you’re currently fixated on Harry Potter please remember to view it with a critical eye. I understand how hard it can be to see the flaws in something you’re so attached to. but in this case it’s not just the author. the media itself does contain a lot of problematic stuff (racism, slavery apologism, anti-semitism, fatphobia, appropriation of indigenous cultures, as well as a wealth of other things. if you’re wondering about any of this, feel free to comment or dm me any time and I can expand on these to the best of my knowledge).

that being said: if you’re currently on the side of the argument begging people to stop engaging with all Harry Potter media altogether: I get it too. I’m trans. I deeply despise what jkr has said and done, her wealth and influence, the movement she stands for, and the swath of wreckage she’s using her power to cause. I also agree that the text itself is deeply problematic and at best should be viewed with a highly critical eye and at worst should be taken out back and burned. if everyone could just stop engaging with Harry Potter media and fandom, that would be sure be nice.

unfortunately I don’t think that’s possible this time. Harry Potter still has a massive following around the globe who will never see the reasons to disconnect from it. telling neurodivergent kids online to simply stop hyperfixating is pointless and doing more harm than good. forcing people to feel incredibly guilty for their fixations isn’t exactly fair.

we all agree jkr is harmful and needs to have her platform removed. we all agree that the only power we have is by keeping the media relevant, or letting it go. it seems the level to which we need to disengage is the part where contentions arise, and extreme, black and white viewpoints and the terminally online nature of our lives and interests is warping our perspective.

if you truly don’t want to support jkr, you cannot keep posting Harry Potter content talking about how much you like it, regardless of whether or not you give her money or tag it “fuck jkr”. she’s already a billionaire. this is beyond giving her clout. this is about decreasing the relevance and platform of the author and her content, while creating a safer community for people who’ve been hurt by jkr and her content.

and if you truly want to get people to join your boycott, you have to understand that not everyone will be able to disengage the same way as you and the fact that they’re trying does count for something. the only way this will do anything at all is through unity.

TLDR: if you’re currently hyperfixated on Harry Potter that doesn’t make you a bad person, just please engage with the media in private and remember to view it critically. if you’re currently getting upset at people for their fixations, please consider helping to educate rather than lose your cool at internet strangers.

—

jkr apologists, terfs, Harry Potter defenders, etc: before you tell me to touch some grass and get over it, consider why you’re sitting there reading posts about things that you don’t agree with. you can just ignore this post and just keep scrolling. or better yet how about we both log off for a bit and go have a cup of tea instead

[kasjophe]

hanahaki disease drarry

Draco started coughing flowers out of nowhere in the middle of the day. He could barely react himself, one second he was smugly smiling after fight with Potter and other chocking on flower petals mixed with blood.

Of course trio got involved, and of course Hermione was the one to figure out what's happening (and gossip spreads quickly around Hogwarts) so the same day everyone was wondering who Malfoy fell in love with and fascinated over the fact that no-one other but pureblood Malfoy was under influence of such ancient magic.

Quite unexpected turn out of events took place. Hermione and Pansy were determined to find a way to help Malfoy. Ron and Blaise couldn't stop laughing their ass off trying to find out who Draco loved.

And Harry.. well, Harry. He would help Draco clean up blood, while he made fuss that Potter didn't get all the spots or that he shouldn't be even touching him yada yada. Harry would collect the petals ('Mione suggested that) 'Any idea what kind of flower that is?' 'Does it matter?' 'Fine, whatever!' '...Uh, how can you not recognise it? It's a lily. It's a lily, Potter.' And they started talking about their mothers. Then about fathers, Snape 'Honestly Potter I gotta admit if there's someone with more awful hair than yours it's Snape'.

Draco got a lil better.

Ron started playing chess with Malfoy, Granger studied with him, Blaise taught Hermione how to take care of her hair, Pansy convinced Harry to paint his nails (and Draco was her next victim and surprisingly didn't complain much).

'Pansy has lovely handwriting, don't you think?' asked Hermione. 'Does she? I dunno. Have you seen Malfoys? It looks like those in old letters' answered Harry. 'You haven't seen Blaise'. I'm telling you they trained them when they were little.' argued Ron. 'Shouldn't you have at least decent handwriting then?' 'Oh shut it, both of you are no better than I when it comes to colegrophy.' 'Calligraphy.'

Looking for cure took them some time. They learned the rule that It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear.

And Draco didn't hesitate. He demanded to get it removed.

He got even worse than in the begging.

Harry tried to convince him not do it: 'It ends when the beloved returns their feelings! Malfoy, just confess to the person you love, maybe they'll return your feelings!'

But Draco wouldn't look at him 'I don't love anyone Potter, it's simply bullshit! I told you already!'

So Draco Malfoy wasn't typical 'Oh I love them and no matter how much pain I go through I don't want to lose my feelings for them'. It didn't stop miraculously, his lover didn't show up kissing him all over.

The procedure happened. Malfoy was cured. The charm that bloomed between trios ended too.

Ron didn't have worthy opponent to play with anymore, Hermione was drowning in notes by herself again and Harry quietly watched chopped nail polish on his fingers.

Draco Malfoy wouldn't even look at Harry Potter.

Not like before. Not because he was frustrated. He simply acted like Harry wasn't there. He stopped making fun of Potter, picking on him, pulling pranks. Nothing.

And Harry was oblivious enough to think it was all caused because they got too close and it scared Draco (not Malfoy, Draco.) 'Mione wouldn't dare to comment on his conspiracy theories and Ron was too busy getting mad at Blaise. 'He called me 'mate'! And now what? They all just pass us by, ungrateful Slytherins!'

Malfoy suddenly got better at Quidditch, his grades went up and meals in the Great Hall were awfully calm (in Harry's opinion).

'He's up to something!' 'Harry.. not again.' 'I'm telling-'

Cough. Harry's hand shot to his throat. 'Mate, are you alright-' Another cough. Potter covered his mouth but not for long. When he looked at his palm he froze. Blood. And yellow flower petal.

'Oh no Harry- is this- I'm gonna find McGonagall I think the disease is spreading, Ron find him a tissue and then don't get close to Harry. It'll all be okay..'

But Harry couldn't listen. It felt like bells were ringing in his ears. He stared intensively at the petal. It finally hit him.

Narcissus. It was narcissus flower, wasn't it?

[m0srael]

The Fourth King

2k | T Rating | Implied death

This is the second in what will be an ongoing series about H&D as stage magicians, in love and in trouble like all good magical duos. Read the first here! This is for the @drarrymicrofic prompt: King. Thanks to @phoebedelia for the beta!!! Read on Ao3.

“No, no, for fuck’s sake Harry, I’ve explained this a hundred times--”

“You explained it exactly three times, Draco, and each time has been different!”

“Yes, well, I’m trying to find a way that penetrates your thick skull--”

“Fuck off, all the way off, out of England if you can. Sit down, let me try again, I think I’ve got it…”

----

The room was more opulent than any other Potter and Malfoy had performed in. The vaulted ceilings were crusted in elaborate crown moulding, the Baroque frescoes painted there almost blindingly bright. Any surface that could have been gilded, was. The air was warm and still--Harry thought he could hear the distant tinkling of a pianoforte.

They were set up at the front of the room, staring down a phalanx of uncomfortable-looking wooden chairs occupied by even more uncomfortable-looking aristocrats. The ladies were all breathing shallowly, fanning themselves with lacy fans clutched in gloved hands. Harry couldn’t help but notice the way several of them fluttered their eyelashes at Draco. The gentlemen each clutched a crystal glass of dark liquor, their eyes glazed and distant.

Jones had managed to procure them each a second-hand tuxedo, fine enough that they wouldn’t insult their hosts by their mere presence, but not so fine as to suggest they didn’t know their place. Draco thought Harry looked quite dashing in a tailcoat. He might tell him later, if they found one another again.

Potter and Malfoy had been booked for an hour-long performance and judging by any one of the seven ornate clocks scattered about the large room, they had ten minutes to pull off their final trick. It was more than enough time.

----

“Listen to me, Rose got her hands on the guest list, they’ll all be there. We will never have another opportunity like this, Harry.”

“Yeah, I get that, but--”

“No ‘buts’. My love--Harry, please. We’ve gone over it a hundred, a thousand, times! We will not...cannot...fail.”

“You can’t guarantee that, Draco! What if something goes wrong, what are we supposed to do if we can’t get it? What do we do if we can?”

“We’ll get it. Harry, we’ll get it. We’ve been patient for so long. I need you to trust me.”

----

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Malfoy’s deep voice resonated around the cavernous space. “I’m afraid the time has come for our final act. It is a simple, but elegant, illusion. Are you watching closely?”

Potter stepped forward from where he’d been leant against the vanishing cabinet situated on the far left of the low stage, opposite the second cabinet on the right. “We’d like to tell you a story,” he said in a soft voice. The thick blanket of stale air seemed to ripple with the low, wooden creak as the audience leaned forward as one. Potter flicked his wrist and a deck of cards appeared, pinched between the pads of his thumb and first two fingers. A woman in the third row gasped, softly. He fanned the cards out and extended his arm, moving it first to the left, then to the right.

“Your Grace,” Malfoy said, bowing and gesturing expansively at the Duke to invite him onstage, “This act requires your...particular participation.” After a moment, the Duke made his way onto the stage, accompanied by polite applause.

Potter bent at the waist, extending the deck out toward the Duke. “If you please, Your Grace, examine these cards and confirm for us that this is a complete and unaltered deck.” The Duke took his time. He fingered every card, turned them this way and that, counted silently. After a minute he looked at the audience, “Yes, this seems to be a perfectly normal deck of playing cards.”

“If it pleases Your Grace, would you remove the four kings from the deck--yes, hand them right to Potter here--and then give it a good shuffle?” Malfoy asked. The Duke complied, plucking the four king cards out of the deck one-by-one.

“This is a story about time...and greed; about four kings driven by selfishness and consumed by avarice.” Potter paced the length of the stage with the four cards splayed in his hand, slowing here and there as an audience member leaned in for a closer look. He stopped to the left of the Duke.

“You see, these kings,” Malfoy continued, coming to stand opposite Potter, “have stolen something that does not belong to them. Something priceless and very important. They are under the mistaken impression that this item will bring them wealth and influence.” Draco turned to face the Duke, holding his eye contact.

“What would you do,” Potter said as he, too, turned to face the Duke, “if someone took something from you, something precious? Would you...call the police? Confront the thief? Would you ask your neighbors for help, or keep quiet out of fear and shame? Would you do whatever it took to get it back?”

----

“Draco, I know I say this every bloody day, but you’ve finally lost your mind. It’s too risky. We don’t have enough time...the dinner is tomorrow night!”

“Look at me, Harry, bloody hell, stop and look into my eyes--”

“Stop it, you always do this…”

“Yes! Harry! Because someone has to ensure that we...that our family...that we make it back and unless you have a better suggestion--”

“Jones said! He said he’s got a lead on a series of gigs and sure, it will take longer, but it’s better than risking our bloody--”

“A SERIES OF GIGS? You would rather...keep doing cheap illusions for a bunch of drunks who couldn’t care less, getting beer--OR WORSE--poured over our heads every night…”

“WE NEED MORE TIME, DRACO! We need...you haven’t thought this through properly!”

“Hah! More time! Time is all we have, now, Harry!”

“I can’t lose you...again…”

----

Potter and Malfoy walked around the Duke in a slow, tight circle, heads bowed to the floor as if contemplating their own answers to the question. They came to a stop in their original positions, making eye contact with one another. “The kings have learned that the rightful owners of their pilfered treasure are planning to break into the palace,” Malfoy said gesturing with his free hand at the kingless deck he held in the other, “and steal it back. They form a foolproof plan to thwart them.”

“The first king decides to set a guard on the ground floor of the palace, surely the thieves will try to enter through the portcullis,” Potter slid the king of clubs into the deck near the bottom card.

“The second king thinks that the thieves can’t be so stupid as to walk right in through the front door, so he sets a guard on the second floor of the castle. They will scale the walls and enter through a window, surely!” Malfoy slid the king of spades into the deck just below the middle.

“The third king knows that the treasure has been stored in the vaults on the top floor of the palace, he intends to set a guard there and catch the thieves red-handed.” Potter slid the king of diamonds into the deck just below the top.

“The fourth king, however, thinks himself cleverest of them. He sets his guard on the roof of the palace.” Malfoy lifted the final card, the king of hearts, and placed it gently on the top of the deck before holding it out in front of the Duke’s chest “From his vantage point, he can see everything: the portcullis, the palace walls, the windows in the highest towers, the lands surrounding the palace. He will watch closely and raise an alarm as soon as he sees movement in the dark. He can gather his brethren so they can rain arrows, stones, and boiling fat down on the intruders before they ever breach the palace walls.”

“In the small hours of the morning the fourth king hears what he has been waiting for,” Potter nearly whispered, cupping a hand around his ear as if he, too, could hear it, “the sound of hoof-beats echoing through the trees near the palace. The fourth king called down to his compatriots, urging them to hurry to the roof.” Harry tapped the top of the deck in Draco’s hand, hard, with his middle finger. The gentleman sitting closest to him jumped at the solid thud the gesture produced.

Malfoy fluttered the long fingers of his free hand over the deck before lifting the top four cards. A wave of surprise rolled through the audience as they realized that he held all four kings. They began clapping, hesitantly at first, then more enthusiastically.

----

“Draco, please, we can call it off now. We can just do the gig, get our money, and go home. There will be other--”

“There will never be another opportunity like this, I’m not going to say it again. It’s too late, anyways, the triggers have been set and the charms can’t be reversed.”

“That can’t...but you PROMISED! You said, if we changed our minds we could--”

“I know what I said, Harry, I know. I’m sorry. I love you so much. I love you so much and we have to do this. I had to be sure that we have no choice but to go through with it. This is the only way.”

“You also promised you would find me, will you break that, too? How can I trust you to do that now?”

“Because I will always find you, Harry. I always have. It’s the only thing I am ever perfectly certain of.”

----

Potter held up a silencing hand, never taking his eyes off the Duke’s face. He waited until the room fell quiet once more. “What the fourth king failed to consider was that the men--back to retrieve what was rightfully theirs--had been inside the palace all along. They divined the kings’ plan before the kings themselves concocted it.”

“In fact, the men had already taken back their property, long before the kings set their watches that night,” Malfoy felt the right pocket of his jacket sag under a sudden weight. He tipped Potter a gentle wink as he handed over the four kings, then waved his free hand over the deck. Malfoy used both hands to fan the cards, face out. They were blank, every one. The audience began to murmur, ladies’ fans fluttered and men gestured with their now-empty glasses. “Your Grace, I believe this is yours?” Potter said, handing him the king of hearts.

Potter and Malfoy began to walk backwards, slowly, toward the vanishing cabinets. “As I mentioned, this story--like so many--is about greed.” Potter said loudly over the cheering audience, “More specifically, this story is about what happens to men so eaten up by greed that they no longer care who they hurt in their pursuit of power.” The king of hearts burst into flame in the Duke’s hand, drawing another collective gasp from the audience.

They opened the doors of the vanishing cabinets at the same moment. Harry turned to face Draco, his gaze hot and pleading, tears stinging his eyes. Draco nodded quickly at him, his smile watery and wavering, before stepping inside. As Harry pulled the door closed behind him he heard the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the floor, followed by a high, piercing shriek, before the dark consumed him.

[ghastspidergwen]

I love @doctorsiren's dadskall au, and I thought I'd write a little fic about it. basically, the dadskall au is where xisuma and ex (alex)'s dad is doomguy, but some sort of accident/crazy magic/whatever made him and iskall share a body, go check out doctor siren for the whole story, she has great art, too!

disclaimers (you can completely ignore this section if you want): I have played about 15 minutes total of all the Doom games, read none of the books, seen none of the movies, but the ost is great, so this will probably be ooc for doomguy. xisuma and alex are more based on the featherweight au versions, not the real hermitcraft versions. this story is not part of the dadskall au nor any of dr siren's other aus, it's just a break for me to write some fluff. it takes place ~3-4 years after where fw currently is (s7 election era) but is not set in the fw au world. link to the post part of this is based on. ...and I think that's everything, onto the fic!

.

Xisuma took a deep breath, “I think dad’s alive.”

“You said you saw him die,” Alex, previously known as Evil Xisuma, said, turning to his brother, “They told me he died”

“He wasn’t exactly dead, it’s hard to explain. It’s more like...the horcruxes in Harry Potter. When dad died, I think there was some magic at play that made it so his ‘soul’ transferred into the nearest healthy, person. And I think I found them.”

“Uh-huh, and who might that be?”

“HALLO!” Iskall burst in, “What did you need me for?”

“Iskall? Seriously?”

“He was there that night and I have no reason to believe-”

“You really think Iskall-”

“It’s my best guess, everyone else was injured, and the magic had to choose the nearest healthy person, so it must be Iskall.”

“What must be Iskall?”

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same Iskall?”

“No, Iskall86,” Xisuma said, sarcastically, “Of course this Iskall, how many Iskalls do we know?”

“I still have no idea what we’re talking about, can -”

“No!” The void brothers turned to him and responded in sync. Xisuma pulled his brother into a side room, “Stay right there, thanks Iskall.”

“What?”

Xisuma exhaled and closed the door behind them, “Phew, OK, I have reason to believe that 13 years ago, Iskall was present the night that dad-y’know-and since everyone else there was either corrupted or injured, as the only uninjured person, dad’s spirit ended up inhabiting his body, but’s been so weak that it was only using Iskall as a means of staying alive, not influencing him or trying to take control of his body at all. Do you get me?”

“A little.”

“And I think I know the spell that will separate them, and give dad his old body back,” They went back into the main room with Iskall, “Should I do it now?”

“Blast ‘im,” Alex backed out of the room, putting a protective wall between him and the magic.

“WHAT?!”

A glowing green ball of energy swirled between Xisuma’s hands, and Iskall backed into the wall, “H-hey Xisuma, what are you doing?”

“This...shouldn’t hurt.”

Iskall held up a hand in a stop gesture, “SHOULDN’T?!”

Xisuma blasted him with the magic. Iskall glowed green, floated into the sir, then split into two people who fell down.

“I...think it...worked,” Xisuma muttered, collapsing to the floor.

Doomguy looked up, and noticed someone lying, unmoving, on the floor. His saving-people instincts kicked in, and he pulled himself over to the person. “C'mon, don’t be dead, don’t be dead,” he said, shaking them.

Someone was shaking Iskall. He sat up and opened his eyes, “Holy heck, it’s Doomguy!”

“You’re alive!” Doomguy said relieved, and pulled Iskall into a hug.

Absolutely starstruck, Iskall sat there, frozen. It’s Doomguy, I love Doom, Doomguy is right here, and he’s hugging me, it’s Doomguy! Iskall’s mind looped.

Pulling out of the hug, Iskall spotted Xisuma crumpled on the floor, “W-wait, I got-gotta check on my friend.”

Doomguy turned around, and spotted his son on the floor.

“Xisuma!” He stood up and stumbled toward him.

“Wait, you know Xisuma?”

“He’s my son. Well, your son, too. Our son.”

“Wha-”

“Short answer, I am you. You are me. We’re the same person.”

Looking at his hands, one thought crossed Iskall’s mind, I’m Doomguy. It was closely followed by “I HAVE A SON?”

“Two sons.”

“TWO SONS? And one of them is dying!” Iskall sprinted across the room and cradled Xisuma’s head, “I don’t know what to do!”

“Health potion?” Doomguy suggested.

“Oh, yeah,” Pulling a potion of healing out of his inventory, Iskall splashed it onto Xisuma. He held his breath and waited to see if it would work.

Xisuma opened his eyes. He sat up.

“Dad!” He jumped up, and buried his face in his dad’s chest plate, giving him a hug the same way he did when he was younger.

“I’m your dad, too,” Iskall said.

“You know?” Xisuma asked, breaking off the hug.

“Yeah, Doomguy told me. So give your poppa a hug,” Iskall uncrossed his arms and gave a very confused Xisuma a hug.

“Oh, OK,” Xisuma awkwardly pat Iskall’s back until he stepped away.

“Is Alex here?” Doomguy asked.

“He should be right outside, he didn’t want to be in the same room as an untested spell.”

“Wait, you didn’t test it? Then why did you cast it on me?” Iskall asked, panicked.

“How many people do we know that have another person living inside them?”

“Wels/Hels, I’m pretty sure Ren did for a while, a pregnant lady,” Iskall ticked off on his fingers.

“Different circumstances. Wels and Hels are one person, like two sides of a coin, Ren-I don’t know what happened with Grimdog or The Red King or whatever, but I definitely don’t want to mess with those, and did you just compare yourself to a pregnant woman?”

“Uhhh...nevermind.”

“You said Alex was just outside?”

“Yeah,” Xisuma pulled the door open, to reveal Alex sitting on a bench outside, drumming his fingers against the seat

“Did it work?”

“Yeah.” Stepping out of the doorway, Xisuma revealed their dad standing behind him.

“Hi, Alex.”

“Dad?”

“It’s me,” Doomguy sat next to his other son.

“Dad!” Alex hugged him, and they pulled Xisuma into the hug after a second. They sat there before the hug was interrupted by another pair of arms joining in.

“Family, together again,” Iskall sighed.

“What’s up with him?” Alex asked, glancing at Iskall.

“I’m part of the family, call me Dadskall.”

“OK...Dadskall, can we have awhile alone with our dad?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. See you later.” Iskall trudged out of the room.

“I haven’t seen you guys in forever! How long was I…”

“15 years.”

“So that would put you guys in your mid-30s, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Has anything big happened in the last 15 years?”

Alex pulled off his helmet, “Nothing too bad. I was imprisoned for a bit of it,” he glared at his brother.

Xisuma also removed his helmet, “I said I was sorry, how many times do you want me to apologize?”

“I wasn’t saying it’s your fault, I was just making the point that-”

“I get it! I was an idiot and I didn’t listen to you when you were clearly right.”

“Just like old times,” Doomguy chuckled, he examined his son’s faces, “You look so much older, like real adults. I’m so sorry I missed out on the last 15 years, I would’ve loved to see you grow up.”

“It’s not like you could do anything about it.”

“I know you would have been here if you could.”

“Also how did you guys get those scars?”

“Someone needed to keep slaying the demons after you left,” Alex shrugged.

“I angered some Watchers years ago.”

“You angered some Watchers?” Doomguy asked, standing up.

“I just realized someone was right, but it was too late to save them.”

“Darn right, I was.” Alex and Xisuma also stood up.

“I...forgot how tall you were,” Doomguy said looking, at up at Alex, who was only a few inches taller.

“Oh, yeah. Xisuma was jealous he never got this tall.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Sure,” Alex smirked.

“So, anything else new?” Their dad intervened.

“Daisy’s still alive.”

“Should’ve guessed,” he chuckled.

“Oh! You’re a grandpa!”

“What?!”

“Yeah! I adopted a guy named xB. I’ll call him over, so you can meet!”

<Xisuma> hey xb, can you come on down to my base, I’ve got something to show you

<xBcrafted> ?

<xBcrafted> yeah, be there shortly

“How did you meet this xB?”

“I was doing some exploring between seasons, looking for a good seed, when I found a small single player world. xB was alone in there. Poor kid was only 13, didn’t know where his parents were, said he had been handling himself for the last 2 or 3 years, so I took him back to Hermitcraft with me. He’s a great kid, you’ll love him.”

“Xisuma has practically adopted the entire server.”

“Server? You’re an admin?”

“We both are. I’m main admin of Hermitcraft, Alex is the backup admin.”

“I’m so sorry I missed out on all of this stuff. I really wish I could have been there for you two.”

Something thumped into the outside of the building they were in, and the door opened, “Freakin’ rockets, stupid friggin’ elytra,” xB mumbled. “Oh, hey Uncle Alex, hey, dad.”

Doomguy gasped, “I love him already!”

“Wha-”

“xB, this is our dad, Doomguy.”

“Wait, I thought he was dead.”

“Wonky magic stuff.”

“OK then. I’m xBcrafted,” xB said, offering his hand for a handshake.

Doomguy scooped him up in a hug, “Hello, xB, you can call me Grandpa Flynn, or just Grandpa, or just Flynn, I don’t care. I have a grandson!”

“Nice-to-meet-you,” xB gasped.

“Dad, I don’t think he can breath.”

“Oh, right,” Flynn released his grandson, “sorry, got a little overexcited.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m glad you’re back.”

“Glad to be back.”

“Do you want to go meet the rest of the server? There’s just under 30 of us, total.”

“Oh, you’ll love all of them. There’s me, of course, but Hypno and Jevin and Wels and False are all set up near me, Stress and Gem are also pretty close, and Doc and Ren are just past them, and…” xB rambled as the other three grabbed their helmets.

“You ready?” Alex asked, pushing open the door.

“Let’s go, I want to meet the rest of your family.”

[lumoshyperion]

Your thoughts on the Cursed Child giving us pure good Slytherins like Scorpius, Albus and Craig? I'm not a Slytherin myself but it's always good to see Hogwarts houses more nuance than a house being purely good or purely evil.

It's one of my favourite things about Cursed Child, honestly? It dismantles a lot of the preconceived notions about Slytherin, and it critiques Harry and his friend’s opinions on them. It takes that scene at the end of the books ("What if I am put in Slytherin?") and expands upon it.

I've already answered a question about Craig, so I'll mostly talk about Albus and Scorpius and their relationship with their house. It's interesting seeing or hearing how each actor responds in the sorting scene. Scorpius varies from annoyed, but not surprised - to happy and relieved, in Nyx's case. But Albus is always shocked. Sean changed her reaction up every time I saw her. Sometimes they were smiling. Still riding on the high of that conversation in the train carriage to Hogwarts - which made the look in their eyes at the sorting hat's decision all the more heartbreaking. And sometimes she was already terrified. Wringing her hands, her eyes darting through the audience as the hat stalls over Albus' house. And then it happens, and they go completely still with shock.

There's a lot of stock put into characters choosing their houses, but I don't think Albus or Scorpius had a choice. Albus didn't ask for Slytherin and, even if he did, how do we know that the hat would have put him there just because he asked and not because it's where he belonged? I think a lot of people used to misinterpret the traits of a Slytherin as purely bad or black and white. Ambition? Cunning? Doing anything to get what they want? Surely these aren't the traits of a good person. Surely no one that has the ability to be kind or selfless would be sorted into Slytherin.

But one of the major bullies of Scorpius and Albus is Polly Chapman, and she's in Gryffindor. Rose, also in Gryffindor, claims that she used to be best friends with Albus, but it's clear from their conversations that she doesn't talk to him anymore and that he doesn't trust her anymore. Even his older brother is a model Gryffindor student, and yet he teases Albus constantly. Something we forget is that these are all teenagers. Scorpius, Albus, and Rose are characters we first meet when they're eleven years old, and their arcs in the play end when they're fourteen. We're all still developing our sense of self at these ages. None of us knew who we were or what we wanted. We acted based on impulse and on years of influence from our parents, our family, our friends - anyone older than us who we believed must have known better.

There's something inherently flawed about putting eleven year old’s into houses that whittle them down to the most basic of traits. Because it's not as simple as that? Hermione could have been a Ravenclaw - she's got the brains for it, and the thirst for learning. But she could have been a Slytherin, too - isn't her ambition one of the first pieces of dialogue about her in the play? Craig could be a Hufflepuff. He's kind and loyal, he's quiet and shy. We see very little ambition from him in the play, although we do know that he's prefect and that he's clever enough to be able to do the Scorpion King's homework as well as his own. I think Craig is a perfect example of houses not defining a student's entire personality. He's the perfect example of how much more complex and nuanced these kids are, beyond what their houses say about them.

With Scorpius and Albus, we have a clearer idea of why they were sorted into Slytherin. We see how well Scorpius does in the other reality, concealing his true feelings and moving from each scene with such clear goals in mind and without ever faltering in his search for answers. There's something he says in the Forbidden Forest to Snape that I think sums my answer up really well - "The world changes and we change with it. I am better off in this world." Because, like it or not, he is popular in this world. He is well liked and respected in this world. He sees that and a part of him enjoys that - he and Albus even discuss it later on in the dormitory, and Scorpius reveals how much braver and stronger he feels for his experiences. But, as he goes on to say, "the world is not better. And I don't want that."

It's about the fact that, while he does enjoy being popular and respected, none of that matters because he still sees how cruel and jaded the Scorpion King is. He sees Craig cowering at the sight of him in the library and he hates it. Of course he fixes the world because he knows it can't go on like this. But he also fixes it because he looks right through the power and strength of his alternate self, and he sees a selfishness and cruelty that he cannot accept. When Sean's Albus would laugh and bring up Polly Chapman fancying Scorpius, Nyx would give the most unimpressed shrug. And then their voice would lower and their expression would darken, as they explained just how awful the Scorpion King was. How none of that popularity or respect mattered, because it concealed an evil that Scorpius hated to have found existed in himself, even in another reality.

And continuing with the theme of that scene in the dormitory, we also hear Albus dismantling his own actions that he's made up until that point. He worries that he only wanted to save Cedric to prove himself. He only put their lives on the line because he wanted to show the world that he isn’t just Harry Potter’s son. That he isn’t just a Slytherin in a family of Gryffindors - that he can be brave and heroic, too. But there are different kinds of bravery. And Albus could have done anything he wanted to remove himself from the shadow of his dad. He’s a clever kid. He’s cunning and resourceful - he’s more of a Slytherin than even Scorpius, who comes from a family of Slytherins. But instead, he overhears a grieving father begging Harry to give him his son back, and he decides to do something about it. He decides to put himself at risk, running away from school and changing time itself to save the life of a complete stranger. Because he sees the love Amos has for Cedric - the kind of love he doesn’t feel from his own dad - and instead of feeling jealous or angry, he... wants to help. He wants to do what his dad cannot and bring an old man his son back. That’s kind. That’s heroic. 

“When Amos Diggory asked for the Time-Turner my father denied they even existed. He lied to an old man who just wanted his son back - who just loved his son. And he did it because he didn’t care... because he doesn’t care. Everyone talks about all the brave things Dad did. But he made some mistakes too. Some big mistakes, in fact. I want to set one of those mistakes right. I want us to save Cedric.” - Albus, Act One Scene Three.

“I know what it is to be the spare. Your son didn’t deserve to be killed, Mr Diggory. We can help you get him back.” - Albus, Act One Scene Fourteen.

"Cedric? Your dad loves you.” “What?” “Your dad loves you. Very much. I just thought you should know that.” - Albus and Cedric, Act Three Scene Twenty. 

In the final scene, Albus talks about how he wanted Delphi killed for what she did, and he says that maybe this is his “Slytherin side”. Maybe this is what the sorting hat saw in him. Because even after everything, even after all that he experienced and all that he’s seen in both Scorpius and Craig and the other Slytherin students, he’s still held down by the misconceptions about Slytherin. And that’s so unfair? It’s unfair that children have been made to feel like this. Albus is empathetic. Scorpius is kind. Craig is loyal. But they’re put into a box that none of them asked for and that is so hard to wrap your head around at that age. Because you don’t know what you did wrong, but you do know that it must have been something because suddenly everyone treats you differently. So you try to explain it to yourself. You think of everything you’ve ever said or done in a different light. And you wonder if maybe, just maybe, you are what they say you are. And you start to doubt every part of you that’s good or kind or compassionate. And it’s something that Albus struggles with the most in the play. And I’m going to close this ask with some quotes from Draco to Harry, because I think I’ve gone on for too long and because what he said is very relevant. 

“You can’t talk to Albus. I can’t talk to Scorpius. That’s what this is about. Not about my son being evil. Because as much as you might take the word of a haughty centaur, you know the power of friendship.”

“My father thought he was protecting me. Most of the time. People say parenting is the hardest job in the world - they’re wrong - growing up is. We all just forget how hard it was. I think you have to make a choice - at a certain point - of the man you want to be. And I tell you at that time you need a parent or a friend. And if you’ve learnt to hate your parent by then and you have no friends... then you’re all alone. And being alone - that’s so hard.”

“Maybe the black cloud Bane saw was Albus’s loneliness. His pain. His hatred. Don’t lose the boy. You’ll regret it. And so will he. Because he needs you and Scorpius.”

ask me questions about year two, year three, and other things!

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

one: Hi Em. It has recently come to light in social media that Myers-Briggs was racist and wrote racist books, so people started saying we shouldn't use MBTI anymore. While I know it's mostly based on Jungian theory, it still has a bit of her theory into it and I wanted to know your opinion on that matter? I stand by the Black Lives Matter movement and it makes me uncomfortable to keep talking about something made by an antiblack person and I also don't want people I care about to think

two: I support racist people and cancel me/stop talking to me/pick up a fight, but MBTI and Jungian theory have helped me a lot and they make me happy, I genuinely enjoy reading about it and having it in my life. I feel like I'm in a moral compass that will inevitably make me feel bad in some way.

------------------------------

So I’ll talk about my thoughts below re: my personal opinion about this sort of situation. That said ultimately this is your choice and I cannot make it for you. I am going to use the term “you” a lot in like, a general sense, but this is just how I’m talking about it. You yourself can choose whatever you want.

So: I did have to look this up, and the most reliable article I could find was from several years ago on New York Magazine’s the Cut, indicating that Isabel Briggs Myers in particular had written a novel in the 30s that had a very racist plot with overtones of eugenics. She also indicated that a person advocating for equality (circa the 1950s) indicated an undeveloped type.

As for my personal opinions: Briggs Myers was pretty obviously racist, and while arguments of “it was normal for the time” are never great anyway (normal doesn’t mean correct), the timing indicates this was particularly conservative/reactionary. Eugenics was a very popular idea earlier in the 20th century, but was falling out of favor and heavily targeted by progressive activist organizations by the 40s and 50s. That’s not going to be the argument here; it’s racist and you can’t paint it as not racist.

As for how I personally choose to engage with such things:

If you stop engaging with all literature, theories, or ideas created by people who were racist (or bigoted in other ways, or problematic for whatever definition you use for problematic) - or even ‘more racist than usual at the time’ - you will be left with very little to engage with. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be critical. You should. But it does not mean you need to cancel or throw everything out. This personal opinion is heavily influenced by me being Jewish; if I tried to stop reading anything by someone who had engaged in antisemitism, I would pretty much have to throw out anything from before like, 1950, unless it was written by someone who was either Jewish, whose other works were lost such that we know nothing about their opinions, or who was from a place that had little or no Jewish presence.

The concept of canceling really only makes sense for me for people who are ongoing creators. It makes no sense to, for example, cancel Shakespeare, despite The Merchant of Venice being quite antisemitic. He’s dead and we’re not going to change his mind. Nor do I think we should ban access to The Merchant of Venice (I have a general hard line against censorship on the grounds that it will be used against antiracist works as well - and indeed often is). I think a theater group choosing to put on The Merchant of Venice does need to think about how they will present it and what context they will use. But I don’t think they need to attempt to strike it from their repertoire.

The same goes for works by antisemitic and racist creators that are not themselves explicitly bigoted (eg: Roald Dahl was very antisemitic, but I don’t think Matilda, for example, was itself a book with antisemitic themes).

The point where canceling does make sense to me is for a living creator who is still being racist (or bigoted), with the intent being to limit their access and show them that this behavior will result in negative consequences. Ideally people should be anti-racist (or respect women, or accept LGBT people) out of a sense of compassion, but when that fails, shutting them up because they fear losing their movie career is at least better for the world as a whole.

I would note again, in my opinion, that if you already have supported them in the past/own things they created, you do not need to throw those things out. Don’t burn your Harry Potter books because of JKR’s transphobia, but don’t spend money on Harry Potter merchandise.

Now, when it comes to specific theories, it does get a little more complicated because I am sure some motivation for MBTI was coming from a place of eugenicism. I also think nearly all personality and intelligence tests were. The SAT was originally created to prove the superiority of the so-called Nordic Races. We live in a racist society, and the categorization and ranking systems of said society will, unfortunately, often reflect that.

I believe the way to use such tests in the modern day is first, to remove the idea that a certain type is better than others (you can have personal preferences; you don’t have to like all people. This is more the idea that no type is inherently more intelligent or kind or whatever, since MBTI is about cognitive processing and the expression of intelligence or kindness) This includes ideas about which types might be more or less racist. Second, I try to include cultural context in typing people, as a lot of theories about the intelligence of different ethnicities being in some way inferior come from a gross misunderstanding of culture (eg: a more competitive academic environment is seen as a negative thing in some cultures and students will consciously not engage, and this has been incorrectly seen as them being unintelligent, rather than a cultural divide). And finally, I have never given money to the MBTI foundation and don’t intend to nor do I think anyone needs to.

None of this erases the racism Myers and Briggs had, but it does mean that your own use of cognitive theory as they interpreted it is not perpetuating ideas of anyone being inherently superior. I take the things I find beneficial (understanding yourself and others) and leave behind anything else.

[wizard-of-ozzy]

angst to fluff prompt: The bruises have always been there, he’s just learnt to hide them. (courtesy of @ladyedwina)

As Draco ascended  the spiral stairs that led up to the astronomy tower, he misjudged his step and walked into the side of a marble pillar to his right. “Yet another bruise to add to my growing collection.” He mumbled under his breath; despite no one being around to hear him.

Draco had been taught his whole life to not make any unnecessary sound. Footsteps, breathing and any type of movement were all supposed to be silent. No one was to be aware of his presence at the manor unless he was called upon, lest he somehow mess things up for his father and, by extension, the Malfoy name. That was just one of the small things he had been taught as a child that, once he arrived at Hogwarts and saw how everyone else was, kept coming back to him. How many things had he grown up with that were expected from him that weren’t the norm? Was his childhood really as bad as it seemed to be, compared to those of his classmates? Tonight he ignored what his parents had trained him to do, he heard his footsteps echo around him and fall into his head each step he took. He heard the rustling of his clothes as he moved his arms to propel him further, and the ragged breaths of exhaustion leaving his lips. He desperately needed a break to catch his breath and rest for a few seconds but he wouldn’t allow it; if Draco stopped, he knew he wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t get to where he needed to, would just turn back. It had to be tonight. But maybe he was being loud for a reason, he might actually want someone to hear him. There was no room in his mind for such thoughts, not after he had come up with the plan, if he did it tonight, it would seem like the events of the impending day were the cause, not the stupid little things that stuck, gradually wearing him down. If anything, tomorrow would be a relief; it was his father’s trial, people would expect him to be emotionally vulnerable now and they’d come to their own conclusion based upon it. As his thoughts continued to wander over to his father’s trial, he couldn’t help but question what Lucius would do or say if he knew what his son was about to do. He’d most likely sneer at Draco icily and tut at him before saying, “I never thought you were worthy of the family you were born into, your name and everything it has given you. You disgrace me and I will disown you if you try to do this, just think about what people will say if word gets out that you did this. You would make Malfoys look weak.” Draco shuddered at the mere thought of his father’s cruel, cold tone; only now realising how much of a negative influence he’d had on him.

Draco’s mind then wandered to the Golden Boy himself and thought that if Potter was in Draco’s position, he’s sure that whatever family he lived with would do all that they could to stop him. They’d remind him how much they loved him and get him help and say how much he was worth and that he can always come to them if he needed anything, that they were always there for him no matter what. If only Draco had had the same love and kindness towards him as Harry no doubt had. As if on cue, he rounded the corner and found himself met with emerald green eyes and a very startled gasp.

{.X.}

Harry was just taking off his invisibility cloak, feeling the fresh air hit the skin of his half exposed arms as he looked forward and saw the unmistakable glint of Draco Malfoy’s steely grey eyes falling onto him. A gasp escaped his lips before he could register it. Why was Malfoy up at the top of the astronomy tower at 2:30 in the morning? 

His mind was racing with thoughts and theories as to why Malfoy was up here, so much so that he didn’t realise the fact that he hadn’t stopped staring at Malfoy. Harry was only taken out of his stupor when he heard Draco mutter to himself under his breath, “Well that’s thrown a spanner in the works.”

“Hm?” Harry spoke, not meaning to. “Don’t bother Potter, I’m not here to cause any conflict, I just had something to do.” “Oh, I didn't think you were here to do anything to me, you just caught me by surprise. If I said something, no I didn’t. Anyway, what did you have to do in the astronomy tower... at half two... in the morning?” “It doesn’t matter, nothing important but it had to be tonight.” Draco answered, unsure as to why he was speaking honestly, if a little cryptic.

“Why tonight?.” Harry asked, unable to hold back his curiosity

“Because tonight makes sense, if I do it at any other time, people will think I’m weak.” Getting anxious now, Harry replied, “Do you mind telling me what ‘It’ is?” “Erm… oh, Merlin why not? It’s not as if you of all people would care,” Draco laughed humorlessly, “I plan on- um, on-” he couldn’t finish the sentence, it was too painful to admit what he was about to do; even to his arch-enemy. Although, come to think of it, Draco hadn’t thought of Harry as an arch-enemy for over a year now and in actuality, he didn’t think he ever had. Not really anyway.

Harry didn’t need Draco to finish his sentence in order to know what the pointy blonde was about to say. He wasn’t the most observant person in the world, not by a long shot but it didn’t take a genius to pick up on what was going through Malfoy’s mind, all he had to do was read the situation; Draco was up at the astronomy tower in the middle of the night, he was expecting to be alone and it needed to be done tonight, the night before Lucius Malfoy’s trial.

Without thinking, Harry shucked the rest of his cloak off his shoulder, stepped forward and pulled the Slytherin into his arms, holding tight. He felt Draco still for a few seconds before melting into the embrace and letting his weight be held up by Harry. 

{.X.}

Draco wasn’t expecting Harry to put his arms around him but once he’d done it, Draco found himself burying is head in the crook of the other boy’s neck, a gut-wrenching sob tearing through him as Harry stood there and let his emotions pour out, whispering comforting things in his ears, “You’re gonna be okay.”

“I’m here.”

“Don’t worry, you’re safe.”

“I’m here.”

“Let it all out.”

“I’m here.”

Draco removed himself from Harry’s embrace with a wet sniff and found himself unable to meet Harry’s eyes. “Hey.” he heard Harry say softly to get his attention; looking up, Draco replied, barely above a whisper in a raspy tone, throat dry from his crying, “Hello.”

“Are you okay?” Harry said cautiously

“Yes, I’m feeling delightful, thank you for asking.” He replied without a trace of malice in his voice.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

“That’s okay.” Harry said as he grasped Draco’s wrist between his fingers and pulled him down to the dusty stone floor to sit next to him. Draco complied and let himself be led to the ground by The Boy Who Lived - twice.

The two boys sat in a comfortable silence before Harry broke it by saying, “Please don’t do it.” “Do what?” Draco replied, confused for a second before remembering his intentions that night, “...Oh, that.”

“Yeah, That.”

“Why shouldn’t I though? It’s not like anyone would miss me, I’m just a snarky pureblood that no one likes; and for good reason. I mean, I was a bully, Merlin I treated Granger like utter shite and Weasley too as well as you, Longbottom, Lovegood, Weaslette, the list goes on.”

“You did and I’m not going to deny that because some things you said bloody hurt but now that everyone knows you didn’t really mean it, that you were just saying those things to protect yourself and that the mark was forced upon you, I think most people have pretty much forgiven you. You haven’t done anything mean or disrespectful since the war and everyone did stuff they weren’t proud of in order to survive; you just had to do that from an earlier age.”

“Yeah.” Draco replied, unable to say anything else and surprised at how quickly Harry had cottoned on. He felt understood for the first time in years. He felt like Harry knew this had been a long time coming, that Draco was just waiting for a valid excuse, the words repeating themselves in his head in Harry’s soft voice, ‘you just had to do that from an earlier age.’.

As Draco mulled over what the raven-haired boy had said, his words started to resonate as he thought back and realised that almost nobody had done so much as look stonily at Draco since he’d been back at Hogwarts. Maybe some of what Harry said had been true, of course that didn’t change how he’d been feeling in the first place but it definitely shed some light on him. He continued to sit and think until he was reminded of Potter’s presence by a rather violent sneeze that came from the left of him.

One look at Harry’s face made him realise that, while the hurt was still there, he no longer felt obligated to do it tonight. Instead, he would go to his father’s trial, talk to his mother some and ask if she knew if her Mind Healer had any space for him or knew someone that did but in the meantime, “I don’t want to be alone, please stay with me.” he spoke in a rush, scared that the sound of movement after Harry’s sneeze was him leaving.

“I’m not, don’t worry, I was just getting a tissue although we do need to move at some point, it’s..” he cast a tempus charm and read the numbers aloud, “Oh wow, it’s half three and we need to sleep.” “We do  but I still don’t want to be alone, I don’t think I can be, not tonight.”

“That’s okay, we can go to either Gryffindor or Slytherin, whichever you prefer.” Harry replied, seemingly unfazed at the notion of sleeping in the same bed as Draco.

“Slytherin.” Draco said instantaneously, “it’s a longer walk and I still need a bit of time to clear my head before going to sleep.”

“That’s completely fine with me. Do you need help getting up?” He groaned as he stood, ankles clicking from the sudden movement.

“Erm, yeah, that’d- that’d be good thanks.” Draco spoke as Harry took his hand and pulled him to his feet, not letting go as he started to pull them towards the stone steps, instead squeezing Draco’s hand and settling once more into the comfortable silence.

{.X.}

Harry resolved to keep hold of Draco’s hand until they reached the Slytherin portrait because he knew how much better human contact could make a bad situation feel. That and it just felt right, their hands fit perfectly together; Draco’s hand was cooler than his but not so much that it was cold to the touch, it was just the right temperature and took from the heat of his hand nicely.

As the portrait let them through, into the Slytherin common room, Harry was taking in the new surroundings and didn’t notice something peculiar on one of the leather green sofas just outside his line of vision until he heard Draco grumbling and followed his gaze to see Pansy Parkinson’s dead-weighted body  sprawled over the antique furniture. She had very clearly passed out, drunk. Thankfully, someone had disposed of the empty bottles that had left slightly darkened rings on the coffee table in front of the sofa and replaced them with a hangover potion. Harry looked on in surprise, trying to remind himself that the stigma of Slytherins being heartless is completely untrue. 

In Slytherin, there were many winding corridors to go down in order to reach the dorms, each hallway was filled with mirrors, paintings and various tapestries, placed in such a way to bring a homely feel to an otherwise quite grim walk to the dorms.

Once they had reached the dorms, Harry looked around nervously, seeing if there was anybody awake in there. When he saw that everyone else in the room either had the curtains of their bed drawn or were splayed out on their mattress, Harry let out a small sigh of relief before realising that he hadn’t anything to sleep in or any of his belongings, other than his wand and cloak. He’d just have to either borrow something of Draco’s or sleep in his boxers. Without sparing a second thought, he cleared his throat and decided to ask the blonde, “Sorry if this is a pain but would I be able to borrow something to sleep in? I didn’t think I’d be coming here tonight, obviously, and I’m still just in my clothes.”

“Oh, yeah of course,” Draco replied, rummaging through his clothes trying to find something spare for Harry to wear, “Here you are, I only have T-shirts, I hope that’s okay.”

“Yep, a T-shirt is perfectly fine, thank you.” Harry replied, sincerely

“No problem,” He said, handing Harry the crinkled T-shirt, “I have a favour to ask you…”

“Oh?”

“Do you think you’d be able to come with me to my father’s trial tomorrow, it’s just that I was going to go with Pansy but obviously she’s out of the question now as she’ll have the hangover of a lifetime tomorrow and I would ask Blaise but he’s seeing his mum tomorrow and I don’t know who else would be able to go that I’d be comfortable having there and obviously it’s completely up to you but I really don’t want to be alone.” Draco spoke in a rush, leaving himself breathless once he had finished speaking.

“I’d have to let Ron and Hermione know where I was going in the morning but I’d happily go with you to your father’s trial, it’s no problem. We should probably sleep now, how early do we have to be up?”

“We need to get to the Ministry for eight and into Hogsmeade to Apparate at half seven so maybe half six?”

“Oh wonderful, a full three hours of sleep!” Harry replied, voice dripping in sarcasm

“Yeah, sorry about that but thank you for coming, really I don’t know if I’d still be here if you hadn’t.”

“You’d do it for me.” Harry said softly

{.X.}

The two boys got into the blanketed king-sized bed without a word once they’d got changed. After a few seconds of laying down, Draco’s mind started to run a mile a minute and he tried to choke back a sob but instead made a cat-like gurgling noise that came up the back of his throat. He rolled over to his side, forgetting that Harry was there and was once again enveloped in strong, muscular arms; tighter this time, with more meaning.

Their legs slotted together under the covers as Draco continued to get hugged by Harry and was pulled closer. Harry’s hand was now tangled in his hair and Harry placed a kiss on top of Draco’s head, so light he almost didn’t feel it, leaning into the warmth of the other boys arms, he felt the tears that had been threatening to fall from his eyes subside and started to drift off to sleep.

Draco opened his eyes and found his face nestled in a mess of black curls and dark skin. That was the happiest he had felt in a long time, he felt warm and tingly inside when Harry squeezed him more as he was stirring himself. When Harry awoke, he stretched and then retracted his legs, entwining them more; shifting slightly, Harry repositioned himself and settled in a more comfortable place before lifting his head and placing another feather-light kiss atop Draco’s soft, fair hair. “You okay?” Harry asked, his voice scratchy after having slept

“Not really,” Draco mumbled into Harry’s hair, “but I’ll be fine with you there.” he continued.

“I’m glad, I’ll stay with you for as long as you want me to, whatever you need, just say it and I’ll do it.”

“Thank you. Can we just stay here a bit longer? We don’t need to be in Hogsmeade for another hour and it only takes ten minutes to get there.”

“Of course we can.” Harry spoke quietly, burying his face in the crook of Draco’s neck and taking in the blonde’s scent of citrus fruit and pine wood.

They laid in each other’s arms for a further eight minutes before they heard movement coming from one of the other beds in the dorm, to the left of them. “Blaise,” Draco breathed in Harry’s ear, “he wakes up at this time every day, showers for seven minutes, gets dressed in three and brushes his teeth. We have twelve minutes to get dressed and start making our way to the Great Hall for some breakfast.” “That’s fine, oh shit. I don’t have anything to wear to court!”

“You don’t have any shirts up in Gryffindor? Slacks? Loafers? Oh maybe a jacket too.”

“I have a shirt, it’s too small but I can just use engorgio. As for the rest, nothing except loafers.”

“That’s fine I have spares that you can borrow.”

“Oh great, sorry for not having anything though.” he said, despite being delightfully happy at the thought of wearing Draco’s clothing once more.

“What colour and tone is the shirt and the loafers?”

“Erm, light blue and black?”

“Great, I’ve got a light grey jacket and black slacks, now you just need to run all the way to Gryffindor, I’ll give you the slacks now because I doubt you’ll be back here within, ten minutes now so your jacket and I will be waiting at the Ravenclaw table.”

“Okay, see you there then- wait? Ravenclaw?”

“Ravenclaw. Now go!” Draco half-shouted, getting slightly stressed as they were losing time

“Right, sorry.” Harry said, pulling Draco into a brief embrace before making a hasty exit.

{.X.}

It took Harry seven minutes to get up the Gryffindor tower and into his dorm room. He tried to get dressed quickly and quietly so’s not to waste time or wake up anyone else. He failed. The sounds of thumping coming from Harry in the centre of the room woke up Ron and when he opened his curtains, he stared dumbly at his best friend’s fumbling figure as he wrestled with a blue shirt. “You alright there, mate?” he yawned, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Hearing the familiar sound of Ron’s voice startled him and when he tried to put his foot down onto the ground again to stabilise himself, he stubbed his toe on the foot of his bed and fell to the floor in an ungraceful heap.

“Argh, yeah Ron, I’m wonderful cheers for asking.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, I was only asking! Anyway, what are you doing and why are you holding your old shirt?”

“I’m holding it because I just Engorgio-ed it so I could wear it today because I’ll be accompanying Draco to his dad’s trial, don’t ask. It’s a long story and kind of personal. Oh also, I almost definitely have a thing for him, no I will not be accepting questions.” He said as he finished buttoning the shirt from his heap on the ground, threw on the slacks, stepped into the loafers and made his second hasty exit of the day, leaving Ron gobsmacked in the dorm.

Harry walked back down to the Great Hall and saw Draco over at the end of the Ravenclaw table, alone and made his way to him, where he was buttering some toast, the grey jacket draped on the chair to his right. Sitting down, Harry nodded at Draco, before settling into a comfortable silence as they ate their food.

{.X.}

Once they had finished eating their breakfast, Harry and Draco left the Great Hall, went through the Entrance Hall and descended the stone steps that led out of the castle. As the two boys left the Hogwarts grounds and made their way into Hogsmeade and Apparated, they had their fingers interlocked, only letting go of each other when they stepped out of the lift in the ministry. Their hands found their way back to one another as they trudged slowly, unwillingly down the dark, damp hallway beneath the Ministry of Magic, shivering as they passed an open window.

As they took their seats in the spectators stand, overlooking courtroom 4, Harry took Draco's hand once more when he saw his face contort in pain as he laid eyes on his father and said, almost inaudibly into his ear, "I'm here." Draco was going to be okay.

[author-archive]

Author Interview: awickedplacethisis

Name: Simon

Tumblr: @awickedplacethisis​

Where else you can find them: ao3

What is the main pairing you write for?

Harringrove - Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington from Stranger Things

What inspired you to start writing for them?

The obvious tension between them in the show, and all the queer subtext I could see in Billy’s character! Plus, of course, all the amazing creators I found in the fandom. I wanted to contribute too!

Do you remember the first fic you ever wrote?

The first fic I ever wrote was definitely something Harry Potter related. The first fic I SHARED was a Simon vs. fic I wrote when the book came out, when that fandom was even smaller than it still is.

What fic/scene has been the hardest for you to write and why?

Billy’s relationship with his dad is always a challenge for me to write. Because we saw so little of it, and the little we saw was a mess. There’s a lot that hits close to home, whenever I write Billy in general. When I look back to the first time I ever wrote their relationship, I just want to go back and change it all. It’s a struggle, to capture something real, there.

What inspires you?

When I write, I get a lot of inspiration from thoughts running around in my own head, true events or just random things that COULD happen, to me. To someone LIKE me. But also, a lot of the beautiful fanart in the fandom give me real good ideas for fics. Just generally in life, my inspiration comes from fiction, I think. I’ve always read a lot, and that feeling of seeing something on paper that could happen to you, or would never ever happen, having that grip you and keep you in a whole different world, that feeling means a lot to me. Literature plays a big part in all aspects of my life, in the end.

Do you have a writing process? If so, what's it like?

Oh... I don’t think I even know my own process, really. I try to always have something at hand, a phone or computer or notebook, so I can write down ideas as soon as inspiration hits. That’s probably the only consistent thing, I write down all my ideas, big ones or small ones, because I know I forget them within the minute if I don’t. And from there, I usually try to find the “eye of the storm” first. What does the whole fic revolve around? How does it come to that place? Why does it change? Honestly, my projects are messes right until they’re done. Snippets of dialogue here, some author notes to myself there, delusional 2 am writing hidden away in a corner.

How would you describe your writing style?

My writing style is... messy. But that’s why I like it. It’s filled with cut off thoughts and italics, ‘cause that’s how I think. And that’s how I’d like to imagine those characters think. It’s also slightly influenced by the poetry I read, and just other literature in general. All though I try to be careful when it comes to that, ‘cause I’d rather something be plain when it comes to wording, than to be all fancy in a way the characters would never think. My writing style is like mundane poetry, if that makes sense.

Is there anyone that influences your style?

Not really, at least not consciously. I definitely take up tips from other writers, both in fandom and published authors. I see things I like in someone else’s writing and remember it for the next time I write. Something I think influences me a little is “The book of disquiet” by Fernando Pessoa.

What's your favourite line that you've written? This was a tough one, really. Probably this one, from my fic “the first time I saw the ocean (it was in your eyes)”

“to find darker blue in the lighter, specs of green so vivid that it’s weird he’s never seen them before. Maybe he’s never really looked , before.”

It’s really not a deep line or anything, but it really just captures Steve’s unknowing longing. The way he wants but he doesn’t know what. The way he sees so much that he’s never seen before, doesn’t really know what to do with that.

What do you find to be the easiest part of writing?

I don’t know if it counts, but nsfw content is definitely the easiest and non challenging stuff for me to write. ‘Cause just on a base level, it doesn’t really hold any depth. It can, depending on what you do with it, how you write the characters inner turmoil and everythin’. Other than that, I feel like it’s easy for me to write dialogue, all sorts of it. As a theatre kid, scripts have always had a big appeal, I guess.

What's the hardest?

The hardest is definitely getting to the point. I’ll spend too many words on building up a backstory, and then the actual plot just never happens. Backstory can be nice, but some fics call for that “being plunged right into the chaos”, from the start.

Why do you write?

I write ‘cause I’ve learnt no one else is going to give me the fiction I want. No ones gonna write characters like me if I do nothing. Sure, it’s starting, the whole diversity thing. But I won’t sit around and hope someone will write a book or script a movie with characters I can see myself in. I’ll write it myself. Of course, writing is a passion of mine. It’s not just that I wanna see myself on a page or a screen. The way we have languages, ways of creating stories and immortalize them, it’s so amazing to me. And I love it.

Why do you share your work?

I share my work in hope to make someone feel something. I want people to read words I’ve put together and feel things, feel pain or happiness or sadness or hope. Anything. ‘Cause it’s so baffling to me that words can DO that. I also want other people to be able to see themselves in something. A lot of people turn to fanfiction to find some kinda story they can see themselves in, and if I make even one person feel like they belong thanks to my work, I’ve succeeded.

Is there anything you’d like to share from a current WIP?

I’ve got quite a few of ‘em, and too little organization to finish them. Here’s an excerpt from my fic “the first time you said sorry (you used all the wrong words)” - part 2 of my “a series of firsts (in a way)”

“Nothing changes, except Steve can’t stop thinking about it. And he’s great at not thinking about it, but blue eyes and rough hands and deft fingers keep following him. That feeling, too. The one that gripped him, locked him in place. It choked him, left him heaving. Maybe it’s ‘cause it was Hargrove. He’d find some way of hurting him, even if he didn’t pound his face in. Maybe it’s the queer thing. The thing he’s never, ever thought about. The thing he locked away, kept away. Maybe it’s a sign that he’s not, that it’s so wrong that his body protested against it, locked itself in.”

(Italics got removed, but you can imagine I overuse the hell outta them)

Question from an anon: as a gay man, how do you feel about straight women who enjoy m/m fanfiction?

Now, this is quite the heated subject. And I do have a lot of feelings about that. Both as a gay man, and as a fanfiction writer. First, and most importantly, if what you enjoy is not harmful to you or anyone else, it’s okay to enjoy it. I’m all for enjoying things. As a content provider, my whole goal is for people to enjoy themselves. And I’d never restrict my content to one group of people, ‘cause everyone has the right to consume free media, and I want to share my work with everyone.

Straight women have the same right to enjoy content as any other person. Whatever floats your boat, do that. But, one thing needs to be clear. Enjoying m/m fanfiction in itself is nothing more than that. It doesn’t make you an ally of the community, and it doesn’t make you apart of it. Honestly, its just fetishizing. If you consume gay porn, it’s ‘cause it gets you going. If a straight woman consciously searches out gay porn or m/m fan fiction, its fetishizing.

And the extreme fetishizing of gay men in media is a problem. We’ve been given breadcrumbs of representation only to now be used as bait for straight girls who think it’s just sooo cute to see Timothée Chalamet get fucked on screen. And I get angry about that. I get angry that the representation we need is redirected to other people, people who really don’t care about the community as a whole further than their cute gay (and cis, and white) couples. I hate that. But i can’t sit and pretend like I have some sort of moral high ground. ‘Cause I make content that feeds into that. But it’s different, with fanfiction. I make content for MYSELF, and then whoever sees it, good for them. If all of my readers were straight women, I’d be fine with that. As long as they know that all they do is enjoy porn that fits their fetish. Or, if its not the smut, its still to an extent that. Fetishizing or romanticizing a group of people. And you do you, as long as you know that’s all you do.

Enjoy the harmless content you want to enjoy. And fanfiction is harmless. Just, this is the important part, don’t act like you’re doing more than that. You’re not a gay icon or an ally or super woke for reading about two fictional characters who interacted once fuck. You’re enjoying yourself, and thats fine. But in the end, its nothing more than that.  We’re a community, and you gotta stick up for everyone if you think you’re even close to an ‘ally’. Queer folk stick together. And when i say i don’t mind straight women reading my work, I gotta make one thing clear:

My work is to LGBT+ people, from someone in the community. I write because we deserve to see authentic people like us in fiction. And I’m doing my part to make at least one person feel like they can see a character and think “this is me”.

[wonjaekook]

What the Cat Had to Say

A/N: This wasn’t something I was entirely comfortable with writing because I was never the biggest HP fan (I never finished the books oops) and I was unsure about some of the lore, but hopefully this is an okay take on it ^^ yes, the switching between past and present tense is intentional. Sorry if that makes it a bit difficult to read at times.

21 Tropes: 10. Harry Potter AU + white w/Taeyong

Description: Eight years ago, in your Care of Magical Creatures class, you met Taeyong.

Word Count: 9.6k

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: umm, there’s a pistol mentioned at one point? but there’s no actual violence, near-drowning?

You first met Taeyong in your Care of Magical Creatures class in your third year at Hogwarts. Actually, that’s a little bit of a lie.

You first saw Taeyong on the train to school in your first year. You hadn’t known him at the time, but you saw him through the window of the sliding door into the compartment he was in, sitting alone. Your childhood friend and a Ravenclaw one year older than you, Moon Taeil, pulled you along, taking you to sit with him and some other kids you didn’t know. It wasn’t much of an impression, but you can still remember a lonely boy looking out the window, his head resting on his fist as the forests and hills passed in a blur outside. You were later sorted into Ravenclaw and he into Hufflepuff, so you didn’t see much of him that year anyways.

Your second year, you heard a lot about Taeyong. At the beginning of the year, he was known for excelling in Herbology, but that reputation quickly shifted. As Taeyong likes to call it, second year was his “mean year.” He was still talented with herbs, but nasty rumors spread about him cursing another student who hadn’t re-enrolled that year. People started looking at him differently. You admit that you were influenced by what you heard as well, but it later came out that the people who started the rumors about him did it because his mother is a muggle. But, when people treat you differently, it affects the way you act, too. Taeyong told you he wasn’t proud of the things he said that year. You know he can’t help showing a twinge of the loneliness he remembers feeling when he thinks about those memories. Second year was a cold year for Taeyong.

Third year was when you met Taeyong for the first time. Really met him.

On the first day of class, you were lectured by the professor of your Care of Magical Creatures class for not bringing your textbook to class. Your professor was a hawk-like man, tall and lanky with a crooked nose that looked almost like a beak and he was already terrifying enough on his own without him directly lecturing you. The thing was, he wasn’t what you were most afraid of. You were terrified of your textbook. It was a living, breathing book that could bite off your hand at any moment and you had no idea what to do about it. The best thing you could think to do at the time was lock it in the chest by your bed and pray it didn’t get out. Even with the straps on it secured, you refused to touch it once you got it into that drawer. Your Ravenclaw friends gave you weird looks, as you were usually one of the most studious out of them, and all you could do was wither in shame as your professor lectured you. You remember the incident as if it had just happened yesterday.

“The first day of class and you’re already slacking, Miss L/N? I expected better.” He’s ruthless in his berating and you try to shrink away, as if you could disappear into your robes.

“I…” How do you tell your professor that you’re afraid of the textbook? That’s a pathetic excuse. You know you shouldn’t be afraid of it. You know your professor and classmates would think you a fool if you told them the truth. Luckily enough, your professor doesn’t ask for an explanation, but, to your great misfortune, what he does demand is far worse.

“For your irresponsibility, you will be our first volunteer.” That makes you look up. The rest of the class shuffles on their feet, looking between you and the young dragon a bit deeper into the forest. It’s a small thing, the size of a large dog and probably barely out of infancy, and chained to the ground, but your body freezes when you see it. As if it can smell your fear- which it probably can, now that you think about it- it meets eyes with you, letting out a sort of low trilling sound. Its golden eyes seem to peer into your soul, rendering you motionless.

“I…” You whisper, eyes wide as you maintain eye contact with the beast, “...I can’t.”

“You can’t? You must. Unless,” he pauses, straightening up from where he had bent down slightly to talk down to you, “we have another volunteer?”

A hand shoots up. Whoever it is stands in the back, so you have a hard time seeing, but your classmates murmur as the volunteer weaves through the crowd, emerging at the front, hand still slightly raised. Your professor watches him with sharp eyes.

“Lee Taeyong. You want to take her place?”

You meet eyes with Taeyong for a moment before he looks at your professor. He’s a small, wiry sort of boy with a dark mop of hair that almost falls over his eyes. You might have thought his eyes were scary if it weren’t for the smile that lights them up. “Gladly.”

You don’t know Lee Taeyong. You’re bewildered by the fact that he just volunteered to take your place in an exercise involving a dragon. Does this boy have no fear of his life? Yet, you and the rest of your class watch as your professor orders him to remove the rest of the molting scales from the dragon and he steps forward and does it. The way he moves towards the dragon is almost a dance, with subtle, intricate steps and a little bow. When he reaches the dragon, he completes the task, coming back with a molted dragon scale in hand.

You listen to the way your professor praises Taeyong’s performance with awe before he dismisses the class. Before too long, the grove in the forest empties out and you’re left with just Taeyong. He’s watching the dragon, who is laying down to rest, but your eyes dart back and forth between the two. “How,” you say, careful not to be loud as not to disturb the scaly creature, “how did you do that?”

“Oh, I just read the book.” His own docile beastly textbook is tucked under his arm, barely moving besides the feelers on the edge, and he’s stroking it idly with his free hand. You notice in that moment that his book isn’t even strapped down. “I also practiced a bit during the summer. I had a lot of free time.”

“Thank you,” you say timidly, “for volunteering for me.”

“No problem,” he turns, the smile he gives you outshining the sun in that moment, “I was actually really looking forward to this class. I always wanted to meet a dragon.”

You’re a little mystified by the statement, but you push the feeling aside. “I’m sorry I never introduced myself. I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Taeyong.” He extends his free hand to shake yours, but his eyes follow the way you watch his textbook stir slightly. “Are you afraid of it?”

“What?” You snap out of it, letting go of his hand and meeting his eyes.

“Are you afraid of the textbook? Because it’s… ya know. Alive.”

An embarrassed blush instantly lights your cheeks. “I’m… not…”

His lips part as he understands. “Ooh, you are! That’s why you didn’t bring it today!”

“I’m not afraid of it! I’m just afraid of… well… animals. And that’s...” You shift uncomfortably on your feet, not wanting to look at Taeyong anymore.

“They’re nice as long as you treat them right. The same goes for any other creature. Here,” he says, moving to hold the spine of his book out to you, “it’ll be friendly once you stroke its spine.”

You jump back and your heart beats a little faster when he tries to offer it to you. “No! The way it squirms is just… it’s so… unnatural. I can’t.”

Taeyong’s eyes furrow. “It’s not unnatural, at least not any more unnatural than you and me. You just have to be nice to it. I promise it won’t bite you. Come on.” He demonstrates, stroking a gentle hand down the book’s spine. It makes a quiet purring sound and seems to still even more. He keeps his hands extended to you.

“I can’t do it. Can we just go back? Please?”

“You won’t be able to pass this class if you can’t use your textbook, Y/N.” He says it with such dead seriousness that you freeze. That’s what finally gets you. He watches the expression on your face shift from fear to discomfort to mild panic before you finally shakily sigh.

“...fine.”

He instantly brightens up and has a gentle smile on his face as he extends the book to you. “I won’t let it hurt you. Just stroke its spine.” You slowly, very, very slowly, follow his command, edging forward until your extended hand makes contact with the furry spine of the book. Barely applying any pressure, you run your fingertips down the outside of the book. You’re stiff, but you start to relax a little when it doesn’t make any sudden movements after a moment. The book lets out another low purr at your touch and you slowly retract your hand. Taeyong takes the book back, beaming at you as he tucks it back under his arm. “See? Not so bad, right?”

“I guess not…”

“Let’s go back.” You nod and follow him, falling into step next to him. Dried brush crunches under your feet and sunlight dapples the forest trail as you walk next to him, the distant chirping of birds accompanying your footsteps. After a minute, he turns his head to look at you. “Are you afraid of all animals?”

You make a face, not wanting to admit it, but you figure that he’s only asking to confirm the suspicions he already has. “Yeah. Except Tora.” Taeyong tilts his head, prepared to ask the logical follow-up question, but you speak first. “Tora is my mom’s cat. We’ve had him since I was little, so he’s a member of the family. Mom made me take him to school with me.”

“Ah.” The little sound he makes is so uncharacteristic of the mean Taeyong you had heard whispers of last year that you’re a little confused. Then again, all of the traits he’s shown you in the last while don’t align with what you’ve been told about him. “Magical creatures aren’t mean, you know. You probably just don’t trust them immediately. Do you want my help?”

“Your help?” You frown. You’re almost back to the main school grounds, the forest floor giving way to well-kept grass. “When will I ever need to interact with magical creatures?” From there, you part ways with him, heading to your Divination class.

You sought him out a week later after that when you found yourself frozen in fear again at a phoenix during class.

It took a lot of exposure therapy and time away from studying for other subjects, but Taeyong worked with you. To this day, you’re not exactly friendly with magical creatures, but you can tolerate them and they can usually tolerate you.

At the same time, you learned a lot about your new friend. He was actually quite the soft-hearted boy, with a knack for herbs and animals, and you see hardly any trace of the unpleasant person you had heard about him being during your second year. He had a white owl named Snowball who helped him a lot in his lonely times. He had a Slytherin sister who graduated a few years previous. His father passed away, so he lives with his mother when he’s not at school. He had gentle hands, but he wasn’t afraid to get them dirty sometimes and he wasn’t quite as dedicated in studying as you, preferring to go explore the rest of the castle grounds. You were glad you met Lee Taeyong.

By the middle of third year, you were moving past your fear. You later found out that you couldn’t say the same for Taeyong. You really thought that boy was fearless for how he always volunteered during your Care of Magical Creatures class with even the most dangerous specimens. It wasn’t until the winter that you came face to face with the part of him that he was most afraid of.

Behind Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts is your second favorite class. It helps that your professor is a relatively kindly man, gentle to students and quick to protect them when the time comes. That’s why, even though the concept is scary, you’re not terribly worried about the boggart exercise today. When it’s your turn, an overly large and sharp-clawed lion appears from the closet and, after a moment of mild panic, all it takes is a flick of your wand and the word, “Riddikulus!” before the creature turns into a stuffed version of itself, all fear factor gone.

Then, Taeyong steps up. Though the two of you make a bit of an odd pair, your classmates had gotten used to you studying together and pairing up for activities. Some of your own Ravenclaw friends had befriended him as well, to your delight. But, when Taeyong steps up right after you, you don’t know what to expect. What could the fearless Taeyong that you had befriended have trapped inside?

The boggart morphs into a swirling grey mass of matter for a moment, as if it’s digging deep through his memories and fears, until, finally, it takes a very familiar shape. A quiet murmur goes through the class when, before Taeyong, is another version of himself. This one, instead of a wand, brandishes a pistol, and the look in its eyes is empty, a smear of blood covering its cheek. Its eyes turn towards Taeyong and he, wand stiff in his hand, stumbles back as it points the gun towards him. He falls, landing with his hands supporting his weight behind him.

“Taeyong-” You and the professor warn at the same time, and Taeyong seems to snap out of it, pointing his wand at the creature. The warding spell leaves his lips and a harmless flower pops out of the end of the pistol instead of a bullet as it pulls the trigger. The creature disappears a moment later as Taeyong backs away and another student takes his place, your professor encouraging the rest of the class to continue the activity. You offer him a hand and he takes it, standing and dusting off his robes.

Once the class is dismissed, you try to corner him, but he slips out the door, shouldering past the rest of your classmates. Your eyebrows furrow and you frown, trying to follow him. Despite your efforts, you lose him after a few moments. Luckily enough, you’ve been friends with him long enough that you think you know where he’s going.

You trudge through the snow on the way to the bridge and cross it, shivering as the wind cuts into your robes, before you see him enter the open-aired building where the owls stay just a few moments ahead of you. A minute later, you join him, plopping down on the cold stone floor next to him. Snowflakes dust his hair and robes, dotting it with white. His breath comes out in small clouds and he frowns when he sees you, but doesn’t move away.

“I wanted to be alone,” he huffs out, a larger cloud of foggy breath leaving him. He would never say that if he was feeling fine.

“You’re not okay.” He doesn’t deny it, so you know you’re right. “What happened?” He shakes his head, studying the floor. An owl hoots quietly above your heads. “Taeyong,” you say quietly, reaching for his hands. They’re cold in yours, so you lean down, blowing warm breath onto his fingers and then covering them with your own, trying to trap the heat in. “You’re helping me with what I’m most afraid of. Let me help you.”

He watches your hands for a moment, then his eyes shift up to look at the worried, earnest expression on your face. Finally, he sighs. “You’re right. I guess.” His cheeks are pink with the cold and because, unbeknownst to you, of the way your fingers wrap around his, trying to protect them from the biting winter air. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“That’s okay,” you say, smiling and looking at him with bright eyes, “I’m here for as long as you need.”

That day, in the company of winter winds and owls, Taeyong tells you about his mother, a superstitious woman who, once she found out about magic from his father, took to believing just about every washed up fortuneteller and magician she met. It only got worse once his father passed away and, one day, she took him to a so-called psychic. He hadn’t believed the woman at the time, but a nagging feeling in the back of his head kept him from ever completely disregarding the prophecy she spoke into existence that day. The psychic told him that he would become a killer, someone who takes lives in cold blood, with a glistening pistol in his hand and no fear of god in his soul.

“I know,” Taeyong rasps, swallowing hard, “I know she was just a con artist. That it wasn’t real magic. But, I just… I’m afraid that’s what I’ll become one day.” His confession hangs in the air for a moment, like he’s scared that he’s now speaking his fate into existence. You blink and the feeling is gone.

“Well,” you say, squeezing his hands tighter in yours, “I know for sure that she’s wrong.”

He seems confused, his head instantly snapping up so he can look you in the eyes. All he sees there is confidence and a sort of reassurance that he has been longing to feel for a long time. “You’ve only known me for like four months. How can you say that?”

“Because, you’re Taeyong. You’re the Taeyong who cares about plants and animals and came to the owl sanctuary because you felt bad. You’re the Taeyong who’s helping me get over my fear of animals just because you have that much faith in the good of the world. You’re the Taeyong who cries when you see a bird with a broken wing and tries to go exploring in the Forbidden Forest because you want to meet all the creatures living there. I might not have known you for a long time, but I know that much about you. I don’t think you ever have to worry about becoming that type of person.”

The strong belief you have in your eyes and the way you hold his hands has tears welling up in his eyes. With a smile, you pat his head with one hand, brushing some of the melting snowflakes out of his hair. After a short burst of silent tears on his part, you let go of his hands so he can wipe at his face. “Thanks, Y/N,” he sniffles.

“No problem. But, can we go back inside now? It’s really cold.” Once again, you’re pulling him to his feet. The two of you race back inside together, two figures cloaked in the black of your robes against the glistening white snow.

Thinking back on it, it’s a sweet memory. Perhaps you had feelings for him before you even knew it. It wasn’t long before Taeyong became your closest friend, and you his. It’s strange because, if you just saw him on the street one day, you probably would have been scared of him. But, knowing he’s a gentle Hufflepuff who’s more concerned about taking care of animals than anything else, you know not to be afraid. Even if his eyes and the serious set of his face does make him look a bit intimidating sometimes.

In the last week of your third year, you’re just studying for one of your upcoming exams when Taeyong speaks up from where he’s reading a textbook next to you.

“Y/N,” he says, breaking the silence of the library, “do you want to go on an adventure?”

You try to stay focused on your book, so you keep looking down, but you’re hardly reading the words on the page now that Taeyong is talking to you. “Tae, I’m studying.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. You’ve been studying all day and we have an hour until dinner.” He normally wouldn’t try to drag you away from your studies so easily, so you look up, tilting your head to prompt him to continue. “Johnny showed me the other day. It’ll be cool, so come on.” 

“Johnny Seo? Gryffindor Johnny?” Hearing that the idea came from him, you’re a bit nervous, but, by this point, Taeyong is already standing up, tucking his textbook away, and grabbing onto your arm. You know by now that once he gets excited about something, there’s not much that will distract him from it, so you acquiesce, letting him tug you along.

By this time of year, spring is in full bloom, all the ice is gone from the lake, and it’s a breath of fresh air to be out of the stuffy library and into the courtyard. But, he’s not dragging you to the courtyard. He’s going further, crossing into the friendly side of the forest where your Care of Magical Creatures class is usually held. It’s another minute of wandering, him searching intently for something, before he finally finds what he’s looking for. He cracks a smile and lets go of your arm, approaching what you now realize is a massive, full-grown hippogriff. Your eyes widen in panic. From what you’ve read from your beastly textbook - who you had grown to come to terms with using - hippogriffs are extremely dangerous.

“Taeyong, be careful!” You yell, seeing him approach the creature. His grey and white feathers shine slightly in the spring sunlight and he doesn’t stand up from his resting position, his horse and eagle legs curled under him. He just watches as Taeyong bows and walks towards him. Taeyong extends his hand towards the creature and you pull out your wand, expecting the worst.

However, to your surprise, the creature butts his head into his hand, almost like he’s nuzzling him. “It’s okay,” he says, half-turning towards you and stroking him, “we’re friends.”

“This,” you say, exasperated, “this is what Johnny showed you?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong says, beaming while continuing to stroke the beast, “Johnny said the groundskeeper feeds him sometimes and his name is Greyhoof. Come closer, he’s friendly.”

You shake your head, making a slightly pained expression, before you put away your wand and approach slowly, giving in. The creature watches you do your ceremonial bow and he lowers his head towards you as well. Trying to keep your mild panic bottled up, you finally get close enough that you can extend your hand and run it over the feathers of the creature’s neck. He welcomes the touch, so you relax a bit, continuing to stroke him.

“See? Friendly.” Taeyong looks at you, the smile still glowing on his face. “Now that introductions are taken care of, let’s go.”

“Go?” Your relaxed state turns back to anxiety when your friend pats Greyhoof’s neck and he rises to his feet, causing you to jump back and retract your hand as he towers over both of you. Taeyong quickly and easily climbs onto his back, reaching out to you afterwards. You stare at his hand. “No way are you expecting me to-”

“I told you it’ll be fun. Trust me.”

All reluctance leaves you a minute later when you and Taeyong are soaring over the lake on the back of the hippogriff. Your hands are tight around his waist, the wind blows through your hair, and exhilaration fills you. High up, on the back of a hippogriff, there’s only you and Taeyong. Every person is small below you, a dot of color against the beautiful spring landscape. 

By the end of your third year, Taeyong had taught you what it was like to fly.

For the first time, during the summer between your third and fourth year, you remember missing being at school. You still have all the letters you and Taeyong wrote back and forth to each other during every summer, but one letter stands out particularly in your memory. In July, right around his birthday, Taeyong had written that he wished he could have celebrated it with you and that he missed you. That “I miss you” written in his messy, boyish handwriting made your heart beat too fast and too hard to be normal. It’s then that you realized you had fallen in love with Lee Taeyong.

When you took the train back to Hogwarts on the way to start your fourth year, you were far more awkward than you like to admit. Taeyong told you years later that he felt like he did something wrong or that you didn’t like his hair - something else that had changed over the summer. Somewhere along the few months away from school, Taeyong had started to style his hair and your poor teenage heart could not handle how handsome he looked when you saw him for the first time going back to school.

Other than the fact that Taeyong made your heart to do cartwheels every time you saw him, which was practically every day, fourth year passed by with relative monotony. It was torturous in the fact, though you felt like you were going into cardiac arrest every time he was near, he never even looked at you differently. In all of your fourteen year old wisdom, you tried everything - changing your hairstyle, wearing your robes a bit differently, applying a bit of makeup. Your fellow Ravenclaws looked at you weirdly every time you came back from studying with a defeated look on your face. You even considered using your skill in potions to brew a love potion to make him fall for you back, but you quickly dismissed the idea. You could never have done that Taeyong.

With all that angst, you never told him. You left fourth year still very much infatuated with him and without confessing your own feelings.

Your fifth year, the Triwizard Tournament was held at Hogwarts. The summer was a good opportunity to settle down and prepare for the festivities to come, and you distinctly remember trying to keep Taeyong off of your mind for most of that time. You didn’t write him as much that summer - only sending the occasional letter - for fear of seeming obsessed and giving away your ever-growing feelings. However, as usual, you sat with Taeyong on the train ride to school. In that time, you remember that he was oddly silent. You feared that maybe he had figured you out and felt uncomfortable. Yet, after a week, things had normalized between the two of you again. Taeyong later told you in seventh year that he had thought you hated him because you didn’t write that often that summer and he had developed his own enormous crush on you.

An older Hufflepuff friend of yours and Taeyong’s, Lee Taemin, is chosen to represent your school in the tournament and you spend your time dragging Taeyong along to support him. Despite your senior being from the same house as him, Taeyong seems unenthused. You try to prod the answer out of him, ask why he isn’t excited about the tournament, but he doesn’t give, just tells you it’s nothing. The first event - a dragon trial - Taemin completes with ease, holding up his golden egg victoriously.

The clue tells him that the next trial will have to do with water. Between studying for your own classes, you try to help Taemin. Your strong suit has always been potions - you figure there has to be a potion out there that will help him breathe underwater and, if there isn’t, you could invent one. Taeyong is with Taemin and some of the other male Hufflepuffs when he opens the egg and hears the song that comes from it. When he comes back from it, he seems off, staring out the window when he would usually be busy studying alongside you. You try to ask him questions, but he just gives you vague answers, always looking out towards the lake, his textbooks unopened in front of him. With your building stress about helping Taemin, falling behind in your own school work, and, as you’ve been reminded by one of your professors who takes the steps of teaching your entire house how to dance properly, the impending Yule Ball and your lack of a date, the sight of Taeyong distracted so often makes you snap.

“If you have so much time to be spending looking out the window, the very least you could be doing is helping with Taemin’s trial.” The words come out far more bitterly than anything you’ve ever said to Taeyong. His normally relatively soft, carefree expression turns hard and he stands up.

“I guess I’ll go help, then,” he says, as if he can hardly move his lips at all, and stares at you with a sort of misty look in his eyes. You immediately regret snapping at him.

“Taeyong…” He’s already several paces away when you say his name, quickly disappearing from the library. With immense guilt weighing you down, you quickly pack up and trail after him, trying to see where he went. Towards the lake?

You’re at the end of the hallway leading outside when you see Taeyong, walking straight towards the dock. Confused and concerned, you follow him from a distance. He disappears into the line of trees that lies between the shore and the castle, so you hesitantly follow him. “Taeyong?” You call out to him, wondering if your voice will reach him. You’re barely emerging from the woods when you see Taeyong leaning towards the water. When he doesn’t stop leaning forward, perilously close to pitching over the edge, your heart flutters with worry. Something more has to be wrong, right? You start to run, feet pounding on dirt and rock and then the wood of the dock. “Taeyong!”

Your shout comes just as he falls into the water. You run faster, skidding to a halt by the edge of the pier. A few seconds pass. Then a few more. He doesn’t come up. Without a moment more hesitation than to strip off your heavier robes and shoes, you dive in.

The water is cold and you feel heavy, but you swim down, down, down, for what feels like far too long, until you see Taeyong. There, close to being wrapped in the shadows of the deeper part of the lake, is a mermaid. Her features are a distortion of a human’s, eyes too big and fish-like, skin too grey and scaly, hair made out of what looks more like the plants at the bottom of a lake than normal locks. She holds Taeyong’s face in her hands, singing a beautiful, haunting song that you know muddles your thoughts and is something an ordinary person shouldn’t be hearing. Taeyong floats in place, still, his eyes wide open, hair billowing around him. Your breath strains at your lungs, your heartbeat pounding in your eyes almost drowning out her singing, so you grab onto Taeyong, catching the mermaid’s attention. She screams at you, a horrifying sound that’s like someone dragging a metal fork against a piece of china, and lets go of your friend. You grab for your wand and lift it, casting a protection spell, before casting a spell of speed, launching you and Taeyong to the surface. You both land with wet thumps on the dock, coughing up the bit of water that had managed to enter your lungs. Taeyong heaves himself up onto his elbows, wheezing and gasping painfully as air fills his body once again. Your lungs burn like nothing you’ve ever felt before and the adrenaline rushing through your body eventually subsides, leaving you colder than before. Lying there for a few minutes, both of you work to catch your breaths, the autumn wind cooling your skin even further. Finally, Taeyong speaks.

“There’s merpeople down there,” Taeyong murmurs, half to himself.

“I could have told you that without you trying to drown yourself!” You cry out, tears starting to mix with the lake water covering your face. You try to wipe at your cheeks with your robe sleeves, but they’re soaked through, proving your efforts fruitless. “Why would you do that? What’s wrong with you?”

Taeyong looks confused at your pained expression. “I thought you wanted me to help Taemin?”

“I would rather you stay safe than hurt yourself trying to help him,” you weep, “I was so scared you were going to die.” It takes you a minute to calm your crying, but you eventually stop, sitting there and shivering with your arms wrapped around your legs. Taeyong watches you, a guilty expression on his face. Once you’re done crying, you remember the heavy robes you had stripped off before diving in and crawl over to them, grabbing them and moving closer to Taeyong so you can wrap them around the two of you once you both stand up on shaky legs. “Are you okay, Taeyong?”

“My head has felt weird since I heard the song in Taemin’s egg,” Taeyong mumbles, looking back at the water. “But I think I’m okay now. That mermaid must have enchanted me or something.”

You nod, leaning to pick up your shoes. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. I know it wasn’t right and I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“That’s okay. You still came to save me, after all.” The smile Taeyong gives you is almost enough to make you believe him. The smile falters as he apologizes. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”

“It’s better I’m crying that you’re alive than that you’re dead.” You huddle under your robe with him, tugging him along so you can get back inside and warm up. Taeyong takes your hand in his and you share the tiniest bit of warmth in that touch.

“Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?” Taeyong’s question nearly shocks the life out of you.

“Do you still have lake water in your brain?” You laugh, trying to follow if this is a joke. You really hope it isn’t.

He shakes his head, looking at you with slightly wide eyes. “No, I’m really asking you. Do you want to-” “Yes!” You rush out a bit too quickly, interrupting him. You shy away slightly, looking down at the ground in embarrassment. Your heart beats too fast in your chest and you feel like your body is finally warming up, even though your clothes are still soaked. Taeyong’s hand in yours is particularly warm. “...sorry. Yes, I’ll go to the Yule Ball with you.”

The way he looks at you, showing all his teeth, lips curled upwards, and his eyes scrunching together in happiness, almost makes you forget that the two of you had been practically drowning a few minutes ago.

In the few weeks leading up to the ball, you and Taeyong talk in hushed tones in the library about the occasion, wondering about who is going with who and what music there’ll be. Sometimes, you swear you even catch him looking at you when you’re studying and, before you can meet his eyes, he’s looking away, a slight pink on his cheeks. Once, you ask him about it, but he just avoids the topic, jittering out that it’s cold in there or something. Both of you know that the library never gets that cold.

The night itself comes and when your housemates ask who you’re going with and you only respond by smiling and blushing, they know who it is. You spend the time eagerly getting ready, adjusting your dress over and over again. When you had told your mother about your date to the ball, she had sent you a parcel via owl containing a pretty white pearl necklace, the color that reminds you most of Taeyong and matches your white and grey dress. You follow the other girls as they make their way out of your common room. You had promised Taeyong that you would wait for him on the stairs leading to the Great Hall, so you stand there, hands clasped together in front of you and bouncing on your heels excitedly. You watch as other people link up with their partners and enter the hall, as the champions all take their partners’ arms and walk in to the sound of trumpets and string instruments, as the entranceway empties out save for you.

It’s been an hour. Lee Taeyong has left you waiting for an hour. With each minute that had passed, your shoulders had slumped a little more and the bounce slowly left your body, replaced with the heavy feelings of loneliness and embarrassment. You know that it’s not like Taeyong to ditch you and he had seemed so excited, but…

It seems your crush is one-sided after all.

As you trudge back to your room, you rip the pins out of your hair one by one. How could he? Twenty, thirty minutes might be understandable, but a whole hour? You want to cry. You do cry. Your fellow Ravenclaws call you a crybaby sometimes and you know they’re right, but the indignance that you feel at being called that isn’t enough to overpower the growing pain in your heart. Hot, salty tears slide down your cheeks, surely smudging your makeup. You don’t want to use the lacey sleeves of your dress for fear of ruining the material, so you let the tears slip down your face quietly. At the base of the Ravenclaw Tower, there’s a little room with a balcony, open to the outside air. Despite the winter cold, you find yourself in that room, finally mopping at your tears with the heel of your hand, sitting on a bench and being miserable. The cold feels good against your warm face as you cry. They aren’t loud tears this time, just sniffling and rubbing at your face, but it’s enough to fill the silence. If you hold your breath and listen closely enough, you think you can almost hear the music of the ball drifting over from the other side of the castle.

Then, the door of the room is bursting open with Taeyong behind it. He almost looks more distraught than you do, his bowtie slightly askew on his fine tuxedo and his once-styled hair disheveled. He walks over to you quickly but carefully, standing a few feet away and breathing like he had just run across the entire castle to get here. “Y/N,” he says between heaving breaths, “I’m so sorry.”

You’re so shocked that he’s here that you don’t have the energy to be angry. “I didn’t… I didn’t think you were going to show…” You say, voice nearly a whisper.

“I’m so, so sorry. Taemin lost his cat but he had to be at the ball to do the opening dance and I promised I would find her and it took forever and I’m really, really sorry!” His words fly out of his mouth so fast you almost don’t understand them, staring up at him with wide eyes. He stops talking to take a few more breaths, trying to read your face for your reaction. All you can do is look at him, so he starts speaking again, much more slowly this time. “Do you… still want to go back to the ball?”

You shake your head, not breaking eye contact with him. “I just pulled out all the pins from my hair and I’ve cried half of my makeup off. I probably look like too much of a mess.”

“Here,” he still appears upset, but reaches up, mussing up his hair even more, “now we’re even.”

You can’t help sticking out your bottom lip in a small pout, still sniffling a bit as the ghost of a smile pulls at your lips. “That’s not fair. You’re still too handsome.”

His face drops into a look of surprise at the same time that you realize you had just called him handsome. “Ah, well,” he says, nudging at the ground with his foot, his eyes darting away from you, “you’re always too pretty.” Silence hangs heavy between the two of you as you try not to look at each other, both of you too embarrassed by the situation you’ve put yourselves into. “If you don’t want to go back to the dance,” Taeyong says, finally looking at you at the same time that you look at him, “do you want to dance here?”

He offers you his hand, appearing like a prince out of a fairytale. You take it, a smile finally reaching your face. “I would love to.”

When you take his hand, he helps you to your feet, his hand warm compared to yours, which had been cooled by the winter air. “Oh,” he breathes out, digging into a pocket on the inside of his tuxedo. He pulls out his wand and points it towards the ceiling, whispering a spell you’ve never heard before. A flash of light starts in the wood of his wand before quickly shooting into the air, filling the little room with tiny balls of light that hover near the ceiling and cast pale crystalline light on your faces. You had never entered the Great Hall, so you never saw the pretty decorations in there, but you know this is more than enough. He whispers another spell and the room fills with a soft waltz, an ethereal symphony that fills the space, bouncing off the cold stone walls and making the area feel that much warmer. Tucking away his wand, he places his hand on your waist and smiles. He counts off softly. “One, two, three.”

Your feet glide across the floor in rhythm with Taeyong’s, though he’s definitely better at this than you, and you feel like you’re in your very own world. The light of the hanging orbs fills Taeyong’s eyes and bounces off the material of your dress as it trails slightly with your every step. You can’t stop looking at him, to the point where you almost trip on your feet and mess up the steps of the dance. The cold no longer feels so cold at all.

Eventually, the lights start to dim and the music fades out, leaving you standing there, breathless in the best way, holding onto his hand and shoulder. You see him swallow heavily. A moment later, you’re stepping away from each other, hands floating awkwardly at your sides, unsure what to do with them when you’re not holding each other.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his honest apology displayed clearly on his face, “for making you cry again.”

“I’m sorry for freaking out and crying again.” As you stare at each other, the looks on your faces slowly morph until you’re smiling and giggling. You reach forward, taking his hand in yours and tugging him towards the balcony. “Come on, let’s look outside. It’s really pretty.”

When you reach the railing, you don’t let go of his hand, so he takes it as a sign to step closer to you. He moves closer until your arms are pressed together, some of his warmth transferring from his jacket through the thin lace of your sleeve and to your skin. You look out at the scenery, but you’re really not seeing anything because you can tell Taeyong is looking at you and that’s all you can pay attention to. He swings your interlaced hands back and forth gently and his breath clouds as he speaks. “I really like your dress. It reminds me of Greyhoof.”

The comment takes you so off guard that you let out a little noise of surprise before tilting your head back so you can laugh. “Really?”

He flushes at your reaction, but stills the swinging of your hands and presses his lips together tightly before turning to properly face you and continuing. “What I mean is that you look really nice. You always look really nice. I… I like you a lot.”

Your mouth dries up and butterflies erupt in your heart, sending pleasant shivers tingling through your body. You almost don’t remember to respond to him, too lost in the sensation that is really happening. You feel lighter than air, flying, but heavy and tied to the ground. His hand in yours is what keeps you grounded. You finally see his nervous expression and have the presence of mind to whisper it back. “Taeyong… I like you, too.”

Of all the ways you imagined this happening, it wouldn’t have been after you cried your eyes out when Taeyong seemingly ditched you before he created a miniature ballroom in a room at the base of the Ravenclaw Tower. Then again, as Taeyong quietly asks permission and you give it to him so he can lean down to kiss you, you figure that it makes just as much sense as any other part of your relationship.

Above you, the sky opens up and it begins to snow.

You spent the rest of fifth year balancing continuing to keep up with your studies and help Taemin with his trials. It was a little hard to complete a potion for breathing underwater when all Taeyong wanted to do was hold your hand or hug you from behind in the sweetest way, but you managed. You didn’t know until a few hours after the last test that Taemin won the Triwizard Cup because you were far too busy practicing kissing with Taeyong behind the bleachers to spectate. That summer, you spend a lot of time writing to him, trying to make up for all of the letters that you had missed in all of your moping the summer before. As per tradition, every one of his letters was delivered by his owl, Snowball, with frightening speed. Taeil, your friend and neighbor, joked about you falling for a Hufflepuff every time he witnessed Snowball nearly barrel head-first into the side of your house.

When reflecting on it, you call your sixth year your ‘honeymoon year.’ Though you didn’t spend any more time with Taeyong than you did before, a much greater amount of it was spent with his hand in yours as you studied.

In your Advanced Charms class, you and Taeyong make a point of not sitting close to each other. You know by now that you would distract each other too much and that people in your year are getting annoyed with your lovesickness. As he’s passing by you while leaving class one day, Taeyong subtly slips a note onto your desk, continuing his conversation with one of his Hufflepuff friends like nothing is happening. Sliding the note into your sleeve, you start to pack up your own things. Once you’re alone, you pull out the seemingly blank note. All it takes is a tap of your wand before the words, written in what you now know very clearly is Taeyong’s handwriting, reveal themselves.

‘Meet me on the bridge at 1 -Tyong’

You smile to yourself. Upon his own insistence, you had started calling him that. He’s already waiting there for you, leaning on the railing of the bridge and gazing out at the water, when you walk over. Over the summer, he had dyed his hair a brilliant white and, though the roots are showing a bit now, you can’t help but think the color suits him well. Your footsteps alert him to your presence and he greets you with a peck on the lips. “Hi.”

“Hi, Taeyong. Why’d you call me here?”

“Because I missed you.” Those four words melt your heart and make you feel warm in the best way. He continues. “Do you want to go on a Hogsmeade date this weekend?”

“I was going to study, but I suppose I can spare Saturday for you.” You try to act a little coy, but he just uses that infectious grin of his on you and you can’t help smiling back.

“Oh! Also,” he reaches back, digging in the pocket of his robes for a moment. He pulls out a white flower a moment later, twirling it by the stem in his fingers. “I grew this in Herbology today. Professor said we only needed the root of the plant and that I could take the flower if I wanted, so…” He leans forward, fixing the flower in your hair.

“Thank you, Taeyong. It’s really pretty.” You don’t stop looking at him as you say it, the happiness on your face reflected on his.

Sixth year was a good year.

Seventh year, the closest in time to you now, and the most trying of all of them, weighs heavily on your mind still. You wish you had done something differently. Something that would have kept your paths from diverging.

“You’re going to Seoul?”

Plans after graduation is a topic that you and Taeyong tend to avoid. Of course, it’s inevitable that you can’t dodge it forever, no matter how much you want to. Now, you’re nearly heartbroken when Taeyong tells you his plans.

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it for a while and… I want to reconnect with my dad’s family back there. Plus, the wildlife there is so different from what’s here! There’s a whole other world to explore over there.” The excitement is so clear on his face that it breaks your heart even more. That look falters when he sees the expression you wear. His next question is gently prodding, timid. “Y/N? What are you going to do?”

“I… I was planning on staying here. Working under the Ministry to become a proper Potions Master.” He studies your expression, eyes becoming more weighed down by sadness as the seconds tick by.

“Oh.”

You both know each other well enough by now to know how the other is feeling. Well enough to know that neither of you will change. Well enough to know where this is leading.

You hang on to the few threads of hope and happiness you have left until the winter. Those fall months, the grip he has on your hand starts to tighten, but somehow become looser at the same time. In the snow, on the bridge to the owl sanctuary, you and Taeyong agree to end it.

The few remaining months of school after that passed emptily. You did well on your exams, as expected of a Ravenclaw, and you didn’t see much of him. You tried not to keep eye contact with him whenever you did pass each other in common areas, but you know his eyes always followed you for far longer. It almost hurt more to not look.

Even when it’s one year, two years past graduation, you have a hard time not thinking about it. Snow, owls, herbs, all remind you of him. You keep telling yourself that you shouldn’t be so hung up on a teen crush, but you know that he was more than that. More than anything, Lee Taeyong was the most incredible person you had ever met. And you lost him. No - you let him go.

In those two years, you spent countless hours in your lab, mixing old potions and creating new ones for the Ministry of Magic, even trying on multiple occasions to brew a potion that could cure heartache but always failing, staying long hours into the night because you know that when you go home, it’s more than likely that Taeyong will cross your mind. But, all things fade.

  Finally, after three years of not seeing him, Taeyong no longer occupies a lot of space in your mind. As one of the youngest of the Potions Masters, you spend almost as much time traveling on errands to retrieve items from around the world as you do brewing your own concoctions. That’s how you ended up here, in Seoul, four years later, tasked with finding a rare herb that is only grown in South Korea. You push open the door to the shop you were told about, a bell hanging on the handle jingling softly as you enter, letting the cold winter wind in. The shop is warm, tucked in a corner next to an alleyway, and smelling of all sorts of fragrant herbs. Different materials rest in jars lining the walls, arranged by what you think is color. By color? Who would organize by color and not by name or usage?

“Hello?” You call out, finding the shop empty save for a few small creatures running around, including a small grey tiger-striped cat. With a small smile, you reach down to stroke the animal, which arches into your hand when you stroke it. “You’re so pretty,” you say quietly to the cat, continuing to pet it, “you remind me of my friend Tora.”

“Coming!” There’s a small clattering noise from the entryway behind the counter of the shop before a face you know well pops out from behind the doorway, his hair a chestnut brown that you’ve never seen on him before.

And, finally, he’s in front of you again.

He blinks. “Y/N?”

“Taeyong?” You know it’s him - he couldn’t possibly be anyone else - but it’s hard to believe your eyes. In a city of millions of people, you run into the one person in the world you would know here.

If it’s possible, he’s even more handsome than the last time you had seen him, but so much of him is very much the same. He still has that little scar by his eye from when something had gone wrong in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class in fourth year, he’s still thin enough that you want to check if he’s been eating properly, he still has that soft voice that is so, so sweet and familiar when he says your name. Suddenly, all the time you had spent trying to get over him is gone and you’re back in your seventh year again, staring at Taeyong and feeling your heart beat faster and heavier in your chest.

“Why are you here? Not- not that I’m unhappy to see you! It’s really nice to see you.” With those words, your heart tells you that he never really forgot about you, either.

“I’m here to get an ingredient. I work for the Ministry now. Potions.” You feel like you can barely move your lips to answer his questions.

“Oh. Like you always wanted.” He smiles, a thin smile like he’s holding back. You wish he wouldn’t hold back. Not again.

You try to pull yourself together enough to tell him what you want, watching as he walks alongside the shelves until he locates what he’s looking for. You smile a little when you realize that organizing potion materials by color is a very, very Taeyong thing to do. As you’re standing there, patiently waiting, the cat you had greeted earlier rubs against your legs, purring quietly, so you reach down to stroke it. “How have you been, Taeyong?”

“Mm? Good. I’ve been running my uncle’s shop. On the weekends, I do a magical creatures class for kids who are magically inclined. There’s not too many wizards willing to teach that kind of stuff here.” He chats as he locates the correct jar and pulls out the right amount of the material you need. He turns to you. “Is… is this all you need?”

You nod. “Yeah. That’s all.” That’s not really all. You want to stay longer, find out how he’s really been, what he named this cat, how the kids he teaches are, if he still thinks about you.

As he rings you up, handing you your change, he pauses, the bills in his hands. His eyes lift to meet yours. “Do you want to stay for coffee or something? We can catch up. If you want.”

“I would love that.”

In the few hours you spend with Taeyong, sipping at coffee that disappears from your cups slowly, staying long enough so that he has to go make more, the space of the years between you disappears. It feels good to talk with Taeyong again. It feels good to know Taeyong again. Regrettably, the sun dips behind the horizon and you look out the window of the shop, seeing the orange sunset reflect onto the shining silver and black buildings before the daylight disappears completely, replaced by the streetlights that blink on one at a time. As the light outside of the shop flickers on, Taeyong speaks up.

“You could stay with me. We could always use more Potions Masters in Seoul.”

“Taeyong-”

“Please.”

Taeyong has always had too much of a habit of shocking you with his words and now is no different. When he says that, you know that he feels the same way that you do. He’s always felt the same way that you do. Somehow, destiny brought you back together again. It would be insane, but-

You set your coffee cup down. You can tell from his expression that he’s expecting a rejection, even with his pleading. But, by now, you think you’re done running from him.

“Do you think the Ministry takes two weeks notices?”

[sweeethinny]

sooo, @misschashmish7  asked me for show how Harry act when Draco came to him for apologized, so here i am, with part 2 to this HC thank you for the comment! I loved doing that, i hope you enjoy! comment too, I love to read your opinions (just don't be mean, please)

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Draco knocked on the door and as soon as he heard a ''come in'', he opened it, feeling anxious and angry, trying to remember his son's face and how he smiled as he said;

''Albus is so cool! He helped me with Spells class and we sat together in History of Magic. We also scared the Bloody Baron together''

He blamed Astoria for what he was about to do, that face of evil, so beautiful and kind, talking about how happy the boy would be to know that he would have no problem visiting or bringing his friend over to their house.

''Malfoy?'' The man looked as surprised as he did, looking suspiciously as if he expected his worst. Not that he cared

''I came in peace'' He bit his cheek, feeling hot with shame / irritation ''Sorry'' The auror seemed to be punched in the stomach

''What?'' Draco resisted the urge to snort, he wanted to go home and tell Socrpius to stay away from the Potter, but he knew it wasn't fair. Astoria kept saying that they could have been friends had it not been for their parents' interference.

''Sorry, for all the shit'' Would he have to list everything he had done wrong?

''What are you up to?'' Harry stood up, as if prepared for a duel, alarmed just as Auror's training was being ordered.

‘'Look, Potter, my son keeps talking about yours, and as much as I hate to be doing it, I know it will make my boy happy. Accept my apologies and we are even. No problem'' Maybe, he thought, if Astoria was here, it seemed more real and less like a plan to destroy him or any other shit ''I'm not doing this because I want to kill you or any of that crap, I don't like it of the things I did, and I know my son didn't either, I came in peace, but we can fight if you want to''

Harry was still standing, taking a deep breath and seeming to think about everything he had said.

Draco looked in his office, it was elegant in spite of everything, and next to his desk, on top of a counter, was a picture of the five Potter's together. The eldest was wearing a Harpies t-shirt, Albus was on his father's shoulders, and Lily beside his older brother, also wearing a green T-shirt. Draco had already felt bad for having made a hell of a lot of people's lives, especially when Astoria appeared and seemed to bring some humanity into him.

''It's very easy for you, you were never the one who was sitting in the corner of the crowded room, alone, and looking like a ghost. You never had to deal with rejection, Draco, there was always someone to defend you. Harry had no one''

''Albus also talked about your son'' This conversation was so strange. Draco wanted to die. ''How can I believe you? We didn't have great and good times together, as I recall.''

''Look, Potter, honestly? If you don't want to believe it, it's not my problem, but at some point the boys will want to go to each other's house. I'm telling the truth here''

''Scorpius can come to our house, Malfoy, we are not going to reject the boy because of his blood'' Draco clenched his teeth, trying to remain calm, it would be of no use if he tried to attack the Auror.

Everything for you, Scorpius.

''But I don't know if you'd take Albus into your home'' They stared at each other, as if trying to test their limits

''Of course we accept it!'' He raged ''Look Harry, I'm not a Death Eater anymore, I don't even work for that side, I let the Ministry turn my house over and over and over again, we have nothing more wrong. I'm here apologizing for stupid things I did as a teenager.''

"Astoria sent you?" He could say no, say he made his own choices, but who wanted to cheat?

''She may have influenced'' He shrugged. Harry fell back in his chair, snapping his fingers and seeming to think away, staring at him as if looking for some mistake

"Okay." Draco frowned.

"Okay?" The auror shrugged. "Are you just going to say that?"

''I'm accepting your apologies, no problem'' He played with the pen in his fingers ''Scorpius will always be welcome to our home'' Draco continued immobilized, amazed at the naturalness of it. There was something wrong, wasn't there? ''You were a petty bully idiot, if you regret it, good''

'' Okay.'' Then he turned, taking a deep breath and wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible, but stopping as soon as he remembered his wife's melodious voice ''Astoria wants to invite you and your family to dinner at our house'' He should be quite a passionate fool to do something like that

And left, feeling sick and anxious, Astoria would send a letter to them, of course, as soon as she knew he was there, it didn't even make sense to warn Harry.

Draco almost ran home, Apparating on the porch, finally feeling relieved to arrive at the Mansion, listening to some laughter in the backyard.

''Dad!'' Scorpius shouted, waving and laughing, while he and Astoria seemed to dodge some angry fairy.

The son ran to his legs, hiding behind and laughing when the mother finally managed to trap the little creature, which was pounding on the glass

"How was it there?" The wife kissed his lips, removing her gardening gloves and fixing her hat on her head

''Fine'' shrugged

''Mom said we're going to call the Potters over for dinner here over the weekend'' Scorpius looked at him in that way that reminded him a lot of his mother, seeming to look for something Draco never knew what it was

''I believe it will be a good one .. '' He cleared his throat ''I will love meeting Albus'' The son's smile, grand and radiant, as he talked about the preparations and the dinner menu, made it all worthwhile.

Yes, he would do anything to make that little blond happy, even put up with Potter.

[vts-ship-and-let-ship]

“Fiction = Reality” is Not the equivalent to “fiction affects reality” and it’s not even how the second phrase should be said.

“Fiction reflects reality” is a good hard statement, where cultural, social and pervasive ideas are pushed into major media- major media as what causes the next motion- which then gets slowly internalized and reflected back in reality as the world changes because it reinforces already established ideas. “Fiction affects reality but not on a 1:1 ratio but like a poorly reflected mirror, and on a major scale not a minor one” should be the established ideals.

For my explanation, I’ll use CoD, a major platform. Call of Duty is considered an excellent recruitment tool. Why? Because it glorifies military. Would this tool be as effective if we, as a full society and not individuals, decided the military was bad inherently and it was unnecessary?

Take a few moments.

If your answer isn’t no, then I’ll explain why you’re wrong. CoD would cease to be an effective tool because it’s a reflection with modifiers. There’s no consequences. There’s no social impact from the game’s killing, but firing a gun and murdering people online is carthatic. I’d even say it’s a useful thing. But without a positive societal idea of military, the recruitment tool would fall short because it wouldn’t reinforce perceived notions that the military is great.

In fact, try it. Try to convince someone who hates the military, that the military is great. By ONLY, and ONLY, making them play CoD

I beg of you to tell me how it went. Please I need the entertainment in my life.

Why major media? Because minor media actually has no giant impact socially and needs a different scale of ideals because it’s not on the same length as a major corporation or even major writers, in where curation now is widespread. Fandom is a niche interest and therefore more likely to invite people of varying social backgrounds.

This also is important because I’ve mentioned it before, these things play off of society, and society is fluid. In some areas, being transphobic and homophobic is so normal that talking against it is frowned upon, but in other areas it’s completely the opposite and those who are against regular ol’ people living their lives are judged harshly for it.

Online we forget, we have different societal influences and so the greater impacts on us change. Hence the pervasive idea some forms of media- fictional and not involving real people- are inherently harmful as a one to one ratio ends up being a false narrative. Because if everyone else believes America eats ice cream everyday, and you tried to push that idea onto an American, the American either will a) agree in jest, make jokes about it and such, or b) correct the misinformation.

Banning the fiction depicting the idea Americans eat ice cream everyday doesn’t do anything to prevent people thinking it. That’s not going to change no matter what you do.

Online and irl predators aren’t vanishing from bad fiction, school shooters from what we consider violent media would still exist. Rather if fiction plays a role, it’s a reinforcive role.

It reinforces the ideals that we have and therefore act upon, but is not causality, rather a smaller factor in a larger problem at large.

Which is to say, any fault of media is typically already a fault and we’re not capable of discussing a fictional impact on reality when we can’t even accept the idea fiction does not solely cause the atrocities but rather is non-sequiter and actually has almost a zero sum impact to influence actions.

The only media I’d say could be truly harmful, is Nazis in a positive light, for certain that’s a seriously big issued topic I’d rather leave for someone who is immersed in anti-nazi ideologies and actually could handle the careful mine-field of that topic.

Right now if I tried then I’d fail and likely mess up a serious issue, but I’d like to make the note now of it.

As for, “well Dragon, what the fuck do I do if I think fiction affects reality and helps impact people on a one to one ratio then if I’m wrong”. Easy. Educate.

Teach right from wrong, help break the societal norms. The only reason shows with mixed diversity can exist is because we’re breaking out, otherwise it’s a controversial issue that it happened and generates discussion on why someone’s doing that.

Get up, do some serious activism. These topics don’t disappear in fiction but already existed so if you’re that angry on them.

Fiction isn’t the problem. Societal ideals are. Target and destroy them with all you’ve got to break the cycle. Then we wouldn’t have such a problem with any form of fiction and fictional media existing because reality would be different as not something reinforced.

Smash the mirror. Don’t sit in front of it and say the reflection is the issue, don’t say the reflection is the problem. It’s a reflection. These ideas are pretty mainstream already. It’s time to make that a false idea.

Charicatures wouldn’t make such a societal impact, and these issues wouldn’t be as big if society wasn’t horrible, sure, fighting the charicatures is great, but fight the society that implements them as well because fuck, we n e e d it. That media generates healthy and positive discussions on why we shouldn’t be pieces of shit like that.

And when we don’t need them, when they are just racist/bigoted and unnecessary. It won’t be major media anymore because we’ll have destroyed the idea this idea can be pushed and profited off of.

Fiction is not reality. It’s a mirror. And we can’t even begin a discussion of fiction’s impact because people are too obsessed with fiction being the cause of the world’s problems.

Face it. This is a video games cause violence- research showed otherwise, DND makes people satanic- also Harry Potter and it’s both false, fiction causes LGBT+ people to exist- guys seriously you KNOW it’s wrong.

These ideas didn’t start by well meaning people, and it’s always been, “media causes deviant behaviour and causes people to be bad”, but conservatives were behind the wheel. As we pushed them out, don’t take the wheel.

Keep the blame on reality, they want you fighting fiction because then you’ll never go after the problem. The snake’ll still bite you unless you lop off it’s head, stop stabbing at it’s tail, you’re doing jack shit but getting people bit. The tail doesn’t have the fangs, it’s not biting the people.

- Dragon

P.S. I’m not clowning on this post. Fuck off if you’re going to blame fiction, because I shouldn’t need to explain a topic thirty times over. Stop removing the blame from reality, I’m tired of that apologism.