#Leer! Hermione

[skylarstark4826]

WillYouYield

"Will you Yield Sir..."

"I don't know...Yes...ah ha ha ha...No...I can't breathe...ha ha ha ah...Please stop..."

"No Quarter for you I'm afraid to say...Yield or perish..."

Hermione can be such a fierce opponent when she knows how to exploit your weak spot... 

The advantage is overwhelming, Severus does not stand a chance in this match...His ticklishness betrays him.

SSHG

The TickleMistress triumphs yet again, remaining once more unchallanged...Severus falls weakly into the whimpers of submission

Both Severus and Hermione look super adorable in this DeviantArt photo.

Just so you know, he warned that the image of Severus and Hermione is not mine. I liked it a lot, so I uploaded it to Tumblr. But anyway, here I will leave you the link to his image in DeviantArt.

[leregirenga]

"El personaje de Hermione, demuestra el poder tan grande que te pueden dar los libros. No era una maga extraordinaria ni especial, pero se convirtió en una hechicera excepcional con mucha dedicación y esfuerzo, gracias a su gran pasión por la lectura y el conocimiento... esto le permitió incluso superar al talento nato de sus compañeros más allá de su sangre. Posicionó al elegido en cada una de sus batallas, salvó muchas vidas, protegió a otras tantas y todo debido a la lectura."

[hihimissamericanbi]

Shamelessly tagging @basiatlu

Please, the fandom comes to you in our hour of need.

[zerodawn22]

Hermione complained constantly about how little she got done in the library when Fleur Delacour was there— constantly followed by loud and leering boys.

But, really, it wasn’t that the boys were too loud. It was that when Fleur lost her temper and snapped at them, she was *distracting*

[thefiery-phoenix]

YANDERE OLIVER WOOD X SHY HUFFLEPUFF READER 

You were Neville's older sister and you were sorted into the Hufflepuff house while your brother Neville was sorted into the Gryffindor house. The both of you were quite similar in terms of personality, both of you were shy yet friendly with those around you. Everyone loved to be around you because of your kind nature and friendly personality, you were a bit of an introvert compared to your brother and your friends liked to tease you about it but everyone around you adored your shy nature, they found it rather bashful. You were academically driven and had the will and focus to get good grades, you didn't spend hours and hours to study like Hermione but you were naturally good at academics since you absorbed the concepts in one go and preferred a practical based learning compared to rote memorization. You even managed to get into Snape's good graces the other day when you were working on how to make the Polyjuice potion, you followed the instructions to the T and brewed the perfect mixture that even Snape couldn't find fault with your skill and accuracy and just gave you a slight nod of his head in a begrudging manner to show his appreciation for you, making you one of the rare cases where he showed his admiration to someone who wasn't from his own house 

Of course, you and your brother were secretly terrified and nervous of him deep down but you were able to pull through, however Neville needed a bit more help in Potions and was always on the receiving end of his taunts and sarcastic remarks which made you feel bad for Neville whenever you'd see his flustered face with the expression on his face looking like he was on the verge of tears. You'd spend most of your time helping out Neville with Potions and of course, defending him against Malfoy and his goons. You didn't really like confronting people but if it was for the sake of your brother, you had to suck it up and deal with it. By no means you had nerves of steel nor were you fearless, you'd be nervous when you tell them to stay away from your brother while they laughed at you and made jokes at you and your brother's expense, making you regret your decision of trying to be a hero in the first place. You felt your eyes water slightly with the comments the other Slytherins from your own year made and you hated how pathetic you felt, you were supposed to be defending your brother and be the older sibling he could look up to for protection and guidance, instead the guilt ate through your mind as you silently cursed yourself for being pathetic and weak and failing Neville as an older sister till someone decided that enough was enough and that's when you met...Oliver...

"Oi...leave her alone, yeah?" spoke a deep voice from nearby as you turned around and spotted a guy who looked like he was in your year, he seemed somewhat familiar to you and yet you couldn't put a finger to it, you surveyed the brown haired guy dressed in the Gryffindor Quidditch robes and clutched his broom as his veins protruded slightly and his jaw was clenched, looking agitated as his eyes narrowed at the bunch of Slytherins in front of him. "What's it to you Wood? Get lost'' hollered Marcus as he leered at him and Oliver just glared at him as he looked around, trying to see if there were any professors or other students around the area before pulling out his wand and hexing them. "Um...thanks..'' you mumbled and fidgeted with the hem of your robes and you shot him a polite smile. "No problem, I've been wanting to do that for a while now anyway...'' chuckled Oliver slightly as he held out his hand and introduced himself to you. "The name's Oliver, Oliver Wood...the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team'' he said proudly as he shook your hand

The second he came in contact with your hand and held your hand, he was surprised by how soft and gentle it was, a stark contrast compared to his rough and calloused ones as he found it slightly endearing and part of him wanted to keep holding your hand for a bit longer. "I'm Y/N Longbottom..'' you replied and his eyes widened slightly. "Longbottom...could you be related to Neville in some way?" he asked you as you nodded. "I'm his sister'' you answered as he looked at you like you were a fascinating rock that dropped from the moon. "Well, that's surprising, never knew Neville had a sister...'' he mused and he surveyed your features. Something about him just fueled that desire in him to protect you, was it the way your hair strands fell in that beautiful face of yours or was it the way he felt like he was already getting the feeling of getting lost in your eyes or was it the way how flustered and bashful you were in front of him which made your mannerisms endearing to watch

Ever since that incident, he just can't seem to let go of you. He follows you around like a puppy, a guard dog to be exact, warding off anyone who dared to mess with you and as he spent more time with you, he found himself growing more attached to you and your shy nature which he couldn't get enough of. He loved the way your cheeks would get tinged with a red blush at times and hide your face in a book and mumble something incoherent whenever you felt flustered about something which made him want to see more of those reactions from you. Of course, his friends eventually got wind of his feelings for you and started teasing him about it, Fred and George took immense pleasure in mercilessly poking fun at him for which he'd immediately tell them to shut it with a slight blush on his face but he won't really deny it

Even your own friends are convinced that he fancies you and they like to tease you about it yet you don't really see the obvious signs of him liking you. "I swear to Merlin Y/N you're absolutely dense, he FANCIES you, you dummy'' said one of your friends with an exasperated sigh as you looked at her reproachfully. "No he doesn't, we're just friends, he invites me to see his Quidditch games and we study in the library together and we hang out at Honeydukes at times...he's also nice enough to ask me about my day and he likes holding hands with me for some reason but we're just friends...nothing more than that'' you replied as your friends around you groaned and made noises of protest of your naivete and threw a cushion at you 

Oliver feels like he can't control his feelings for you anymore, his mind is filled with thoughts regarding you, deep down he's worried and has the paranoia that someone could take advantage of your kindness and naivete which he wouldn't allow to happen at any cost, which was why he needed to ensure that he was always around you at all times. He even ended up changing his schedule just so he could be in the same classes as you and he felt his heart race against his chest whenever he felt your hand brush against his. He feels like he has the strength to fight the world for you, you're his pillar of strength, he wants to be your man and take care of you and provide for you. The other day you received a low score for Potions which was something you didn't expect and you felt quite sad about it which hurt his heart, he wanted to see you happy and when he saw tears prickling at the corner of those lotus shaped eyes of yours, he felt like his heart was sinking. He gently caressed your cheek with his palm and held you in his arms close to him and stroked your hair telling you that you did your best and it was all right and how he would always be there for you and the two of you spent the rest of the night with each other as he bought you your favorite sweets from Honeydukes 

There are times when his mind starts to wander as he thinks about how soft and lovely it would be to kiss your lips while he holds you, how he could be your protector, how beautiful you'd look being married to him and having a family with him...yep, he's that far gone and detached from reality already, imagining and thinking about a happy married life with you. The thought of you being someone else and someone else daring to kiss those lips of yours made him infuriated, it just made his blood boil to no end. You were HIS, at times he felt like just wrapping you in silk like the precious doll that you were for him and locking you in a room so other people won't be able to get to you. He'd never blame you for anything, it's those lousy pests around you that are looking forward to taint your innocence. He doesn't stalk you, he just...follows you around to keep you safe, Hogwarts is still a pretty dangerous place after all and the last thing he needs is for you, his beloved to get hurt 

He doesn't classify himself as someone who has rage issues but when he heard some Ravenclaw dudes talking about you inappropriately his mind went blank with fury and broke a lot of their bones and they had to spend a few months in the Hospital Wing. His reputation would also come into play here, why would someone ever suspect golden boy Oliver Wood, the star of the Gryffindor Quidditch team beating up and hexing people for no reason? It sounded unlikely didn't it? He isn't afraid of getting his hands dirty to ensure your happiness and safety, even if he has to get blood on his hands to make you be with him so be it. You're destined to be with him and he'd eliminate and get rid of anything and everything that would stand against his dream of the two of you being happily married to each other...

[ravenelyx]

I love you in every timeline - Chapter 1: My Love Is As a Fever, Longing Still

← Prologue

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader

Words: 14.9k

Chapter Warnings: angst, Harry Potter characters appearance, no name usage for reader (only a few blank spaces), use of 2nd person for the reader, Sebastian is confused and doesn't know how to handle his feelings, and he's also struggling with his personality, veeeeery slow burn

Summary: "He couldn't risk being emotionally stuck somewhere he didn't belong just because his heart was grieving and crying out for a memory of the girl it broke and pieced itself back together for. He couldn't do that to you. He couldn't do that to himself. He couldn't do that to her". In which Sebastian, in his search for a cure in the Dark Arts, finds himself 100 years into the future and meets his most trusted companion's descendant (who looks far too similar to the girl he was once secretly in love with).

A/N: this is long, and more is to come. It's gonna be a very slow burn apparently, but I hope you will like it. Finally Chapter 1 is here, it's been a while. Also, as much as I love fanon! Draco and Pansy, I decided to follow a more canonical approach here, sorry. Again, english is not myfirst language so I'm sorry if I made any mistakes. Never am I going to write about time travel again,my brain hurts.

I also made a playlist inspired by this because why not.

You can find the whole fanfiction here on ao3

"My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, Th’ uncertain sickly appetite to please." - William Shakespeare, Sonnet 147

You weren't her.

Then who the hell were you?

You briefly smiled at Sebastian and then turned back to the red-head, squinting. "Do you have the book or not?"

Ron gulped, avoiding your eyes. "It's probably in my dorm or something... I didn't have class, so I didn't take it with me."

"In your dorm, isn't that right?" Your eyes narrowed even more if that was even possible, and Sebastian was pretty sure you were about to hex him on the spot. Your leering didn't go unnoticed by either of the two Gryffindors and Hermione’s throat bobbed ever so slightly, eyes widening a little in alert.

"Well, as I said—"

"Here," interrupted Hermione suddenly, voice slightly squeaking. She looked into her bag and extracted her own copy of Winogrand's Wondrous Water Plants. "Use this in the meantime. I take notes on the book too, unlike Ronald here, so it should compensate."

You accepted the book, seemingly calming down a bit. “Thank you, Hermione,” you said, enunciating her name sarcastically as you shot the other boy a nasty look, and Sebastian couldn't help but feel a touch of schadenfreude as Ron hung his head low, cheeks as red as his hair.

“I said I'll give it back,” said Ron, scowling. “It’s not like you need it anyway. Sprout doesn’t even make us open books!”

You politely smiled at Hermione, your eye slightly twitching at his remark, before said smile turned into a sneer as you looked at Ron again. “Then what the hell is taking you so long?"

Hermione sighed softly, dejectedly, and Ron shrinked on himself, sending Sebastian an unconfident look. But that only seemed to propel you to continue.

"And most people do open books for Herbology, my dear Ron, but I don’t expect you to know that. You’re too busy trying to find ways to whine and beg others to help your lazy ass later when they have other, more important things to do.”

Sebastian saw it happen, in a gradual, torturous slowing of time. There was something about you, in the way your lip quirked up, in the way your brows furrowed, giving life to that crease. Something that you couldn't stop, washing over you like a tsunami, drowning any possible thought of rationality and empathy. Control, in that moment, was appearance and nothing more.

He felt, for a moment, afraid; chilling his veins until goosebumps raised on his skin: a thrill, as if she was there. As if he was watching her unleash that godly power in all her beauty.

You were still, hands clammy at your sides, as he could see you open and close them repeatedly, and you weren't gloating. It was different; like that thick, foggy feeling that floods your brain when your opponent misses a step whilst casting Protego, or opens their arm a bit too much, making it easy for a well-aimed Stunning Spell to pass through, and it makes your cheeks turn red and your chest flutter, and Sebastian saw that twinkle in your eyes as you ignored Hermione’s pleading look.

The same thrill that makes his heart tug when he inevitably, nimbly raises his wand back. When the spell goes right where he intended it to go, and the deaf sound of a wand hitting the floor fills his ears.

It was that innate human side that took pleasure in pain. That part that could turn from a lambent glow into a Fiendfyre if you're not careful. Or if you really put your mind to it.

But you weren't duelling.

Sebastian wasn’t sure what to make of the way with which you were slandering your — he supposed — friend. And in front of him, too. It made him slightly tremble, his lip slightly twitch. Part of him wondered if he was invisible, part of him felt a little too alert, part of him pitied the girl in front of him.

And while it seemed Ron and Hermione were just as shocked, they had a sort of weary gleam in their eyes. And any attempt at smoothing things over was futile. Hermione feebly tried to intervene. “Oh, we don’t need to go further—”

“You see Ronald, for a Prefect you should really put some thought into the impression you’re making on new students, not to mention the one you should give of our school—” you ignored her and sarcastically gestured towards Sebastian, who felt his breath hitch at the sudden spotlight put on him, “and yet, you’re always so comfortable acting like a dimwit . Pull yourself together and be responsible for once.”

Ron’s jaw fell open, completely at loss for words at your harsh words, and he shared a look with Hermione that Sebastian was able to understand completely.

What the hell just happened?

He couldn't agree more.

“I think you’re overreacting,” said Ron sternly.

“I think you’re disrespectful,” you replied just as eagerly.

“Alright, that’s enough!” said Hermione, putting herself between the two Gryffindors. “It so happens we have a guest here!”

Sebastian felt his heartbeat quicken ever-so-slightly as both you and Ron turned to him like you had just seen him for the first time. He shifted his weight uncomfortably; an attempt to get rid of that eerie shiver that ran down his spine as your incensed gaze fell on him.

That seemed to snap you out of it, and your cheeks flushed a bit in regret. “Fair enough...” you muttered, nodding at Sebastian. “Sorry.”

He nodded back, unsure about what to do as he shifted his eyes between you and Ron, letting them linger on your face each time he looked at you. Your nose had that same curve he always wished he could kiss, run his lips over with reverence… He shook the thought out of his head immediately.

“I should receive an apology as well,” muttered Ron, and Hermione nudged his arm as a warning not to add fuel to the fire.

"You have one day. Just one." You gave Ron an ultimatum, your tone sharp and, Sebastian thought, quite frightening. He hoped to never find himself in Ron's place. “And don’t expect me to help you ever again, I'm tired of it!”

You didn’t wait for an answer and began to walk away, only stopping briefly to look at the Slytherin boy. "I wish you the best of luck, especially if he— " you glanced at Ron again "—has to be the one guiding you through this maze they call a school."

Sebastian gasped and opened his mouth to reply, but his words seemed to be stuck somewhere between his throat and his tongue. He let his eyes fleet over your face again, heart beating out of his chest as he tried to make out your features, like in a dream.

"I hope we'll meet again soon enough." You forced a smile on your face that looked almost guilty and embarrassed, and with that, you were gone.

His eyes followed you until you turned a corner and vanished from his sight, thoughts racing at a hundred miles an hour — questions with no answers clouding his mind more and more each second. Who were you? Why did you look like her? And above all, why did you bear her family name?

Even after the theatricals that he had just witnessed, there was a certain hope in his heart: traitorous and wrong. A hope that she was really there, somewhere, waiting for him. A hope he immediately wanted to crush as soon as the image of your eyes and red robes flashed in the window of his vision again.

Sebastian Sallow was utterly, completely, absolutely losing his mind.

He was aware of the gravity of his situation — his body still spasmed uncomfortably every now and then as a result of having travelled through space and time — but, Sebastian realised, it felt more like a trance. A painfully aware and too tight reverie he couldn't find a way out of. After all, just the night before, Natty had asked him if he wanted to take part in Summoner's Court with her the next day, hadn't she?

And just a few hours after that, Sebastian had decided to try his last chance, opening the artefact that, he had believed, would bring him back to a time where her sister wasn't cursed — a time he could have avoided the disaster. And not just one at that.

He took a deep breath, willing the halls of Hogwarts to become brighter in his vision, more real. He was indeed in the future, he repeated himself, his ribcage evidently too small to contain the excruciating throbbing he felt in his chest. He had to accept that. He did. Probably.

“Bloody hell!” Sebastian heard Ron mutter as he also stared at the point from which you had just disappeared. “What was all that for?”

“Honestly, Ronald…” said Hermione curtly. “We’ll deal with this later.”

Still, Sebastian felt painfully calm at his situation: the sort of calm that he only experienced when he knew he was in trouble and couldn't do anything about it, or when he knew he was in trouble and had the solution for it lying in his hands, teeming down his throat like a treacly and old pint of Butterbeer, or a briquette of ice, whipsawed by the choice of safely travelling down his stomach and melt and leave him warm and satisfied or change direction and chill his lungs and cut his breath and bring him to a freeze.

What would Sebastian, a calm and collected person (and he believed he was, or tried, at least), do in a similar situation?

Two options came to his mind, clear and painfully bright.

To freak out completely until he was in shambles on the floor, addled and ready to break himself and cut the edges of his persona to fit into the new reality he now essentially belonged to, though he still didn't feel like it.

Or estrange himself from said reality, seeing it through lenses, analysing the world around him as if he weren't there until he found a way to go back, like a spectator, a reader. And he was indeed a reader.

In a way, the very core of one was tantamount to the other — both would completely destroy him. And Sebastian Sallow could not allow himself to be destroyed. Not like this.

But then there was another, the one Sebastian desperately willed himself to adopt, keeping his edges glued to himself and the lenses away from his perfectly working eyes.

The one he followed when everyone had lost hope for Anne.

And that was any option available, and every rational thought, even if the sound of them — or anything else, really — was still drowned by the loud pounding of his heart reverberating at the thought of the girl who just flipped his world upside down.

“What did you say her name was again?” Sebastian asked the two students, his eyes never leaving the corner you had just turned.

Ron and Hermione both looked at him with surprise; Ron opened his mouth with a scowl, as if about to make a snarky remark, but Hermione interrupted him, repeating your name calmly.

That was indeed the name.

And so he tried to be as rational as possible.

“Thank you,” said Sebastian quietly, lips parted, gaze musing. “I’d forgotten that just there.”

You were her descendant, a hundred years from his time.

Sebastian couldn't remember her having any siblings or cousins who bore her surname, but if you did, you had to have received it from a male member of her family, didn't you? She couldn't possibly have given you her name unless she married someone from her own bloodline, and Merlin, he hated that thought.

Or she had married someone else and decided to keep her own surname instead, and, once again, Sebastian knew — it wasn't his first thought, of course, but certainly one that plagued his mind — that he couldn't have been the one she had married, because if one thing was true about Sebastian Sallow, it was that he'd have burned down the world just to get her to take his last name.

His thoughts circled back to her family, but try as he might, he couldn't pinpoint any related members from whom you might descend. He was starting to feel dizzy and sure to be on the brink of collapsing under the amount of information he was trying to process, but then Ron and Hermione pulled him out of his trance by starting to explain the rules of the castle, the classes to attend and some basic information about the Professors.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts changes every year; they say there's a curse on the chair or something," explained Ron, having calmed down a bit, and half-smiled, "so you won't have to see toad-face for long."

"Toad-what?" asked Sebastian absent-mindedly, his head still teeming with disjointed thoughts and meandering ideas which, Sebastian was sure of it, would never find a proper abode.

"Our new Professor. You'll see what I mean when you meet her for the first time."

Sebastian nodded occasionally as he listened to them talk about the other Professors, such as Snape, the Potions teacher, and also the Head of the Slytherin House. Ron kept going on about how annoying he was, trying not to show how much he was afraid of him. "You don't have to worry, though: Slytherins get special treatment from him," he said jokingly.

Ron, Sebastian decided then, was a nice fellow. He found himself wondering why you had reproached him so harshly. He had half-a-mind to ask, then, about your behaviour — and why both the two Gryffindors seemed to be far less surprised about it than he expected. He decided against it.

"Wait, what do you mean, she won't let you use spells?" Sebastian frowned as they talked about 'toad-face', alias Dolores Umbridge.

"She's from the Ministry," explained Hermione. "After what happened last year, we're sure they're doing everything they can to keep the school under control and make sure no lies—" she stroked the word sarcastically, "—are spread among the students.

"I'll explain everything later. We should focus on more important things, like your academic persona and your education," she added, noticing his confused expression.

She was definitely Prefect and worthy of her role too, at least if you went by the typical clichés.

--

The hours passed, and there wasn't a minute when Sebastian didn't think of her.

And of you.

Because the more time he spent walking, the more his rationality seemed weak and pointless.

He thought he'd go mad, her memories spoiled by your oh-so-similar but equally different features. He saw your eyes looking at him back in the Scriptorium, as she was ready to take the Cruciatus Curse rather than cast it on him. He saw a Gryffindor sitting by him in Herbology, stealing not-so-subtle glances while tending to the mandrakes. He felt like his mind was splitting in half, frustrated and embittered and close to tears as you tainted his remembrances of her.

He needed to see you again, talk to you, ask about your life, your family, your past. He needed to know every thought behind your eyes, every subtle expression towards him that could mean you recognised him, that you were her, that you remembered him, remembered your time together, that you'd follow him in all his antics, in all his mistakes, in all his choices, that your actions meant more than your words.

That you loved him as he loved you — as he loved her.

Her.

Not you.

Because he didn't need to talk to you. Because indeed your recent actions spoke louder than words ever could.

Because no matter how much Sebastian fooled himself into thinking that he wasn't alone, stuck in a world that had gone on without him for a hundred years, that she returned his feelings the way he thought she did, that somehow you'd look at him and know that she was meant for him, that you were meant for him, you weren't her . You didn't know him. You could never know him as she did, and not because he wouldn't let you in — he'd run to you even now and lay his heart open if it meant finding a faint resemblance to what it used to be — but because he couldn't allow it. He couldn't risk being emotionally stuck somewhere he didn't belong just because his heart was grieving and crying out for a memory of the girl it broke and pieced itself back together for. He couldn't do that to you. He couldn't do that to himself. He couldn't do that to her.

At that moment, Sebastian made the decision to stay as far away from you as possible.

He snapped out of his thoughts as he reached the Great Hall. He hadn't noticed that it was already lunchtime.

"Do you think Dumbledore will make a speech to introduce him or not?" asked Ron, not caring that the Slytherin boy could hear him loud and clear.

"I don't think he'd just let it go, but I hope it won't be as big as last year's," noted Hermione.

"Those were two bloody new schools, Hermione. This one must be different."

He felt like a new Honeydukes product hitting the shelves for the first time.

It turned out the Headmaster hadn't made a speech to introduce him, and Sebastian almost would have preferred it if he had, because he felt like a circus monkey sitting at the Slytherin table with a hundred eyes staring at him like he'd just broken into their home and stole a particularly rare card from their Chocolate Frogs collection. He looked around at the other tables and saw heads turning away so quickly that he was sure he would be the culprit in a mass murder with a thousand broken necks. He sighed as a girl with dark hair and green eyes sitting opposite of him handed him mashed potatoes.

"Do you want to eat or not? No one poisoned your food just because they don't know you."

Sebastian glanced at her and accepted her plate, munching his food slowly as if he didn't quite believe her.

"I'm Pansy Parkinson."

"Sebastian Sallow."

"Sallow? Never heard of that name. What's your blood status?"

He almost choked on his food at her blunt question. What kind of uncivilised conversation was this? And the way she looked at him, waiting for his answer, he knew that that question alone could decide his entire future — hopefully a short one — in that House.

"I'm a pureblood like you, I suppose," he lied, lifting an eyebrow as he blankly stared at the girl.

"I see," said Pansy, narrowing her eyes as if not fully believing him. And Sebastian knew it was probably time for him to make up a story, a lie he could tell everyone in the indefinite amount of time he was to spend among them.

He had put a great deal of thought into what wanted to tell in the past hour — he could, after all, be anyone. Anyone he wanted.

He could change his past, he could avoid his mistakes, he could pretend to be a normal boy with a normal life. He could just be.

In the end, it didn't matter, because while other people might look at him and see only a picture-perfect new student with a thirst for knowledge, he would look at himself and see the boy who tortured his friend, the boy who murdered his uncle.

They might not know, but he would.

He kept the edges tight against his body, and decided to opt for a half lie that made it easier for him to play on and not forget any details.

He told her that he wasn't from the Highlands. He told her how his parents were Professors at another magical school but died prematurely, and left him to live with his uncle, a former Auror. And he told her about his timely death as well, omitting, of course, his involvement in it.

"When he died, too, I decided to move here," he concluded simply, hiding the tremble of his lips behind a glass of pumpkin juice.

Part of him expected sympathy from her, or at least a hint of hesitation; that look he had become so accustomed to whenever people came to know about his tragic tale or something along those lines.

Surprisingly — though, for some reason, Sebastian wasn’t surprised in the slightest — Pansy Parkinson didn't seem to care at all.

"Were your parents true purebloods or filthy blood traitors like the Weasleys?" she asked instead, clearly showing where her priorities lay, and it was enough for him to know that his earlier hope that there would be no more discrimination was merely a child's prayer.

"They have magic. That's the only thing you need to know." Sebastian cut short before focusing on his food. He noticed the familiar badge on her robes and silently thanked Dumbledore for assigning him to the Gryffindor Prefects instead. At least they never judged him, not even for dwelling with time and space like a bloody idiot — though he believed he had seen a gleam of reproach in Hermione's eyes as she'd uttered the word 'misadventure .

"All right, I believe you." She shrugged.

Sebastian wasn't convinced.

Pansy nudged a boy beside her, who looked at him with his piercing grey eyes. He was pale, with sleek blond hair so light it almost looked white, and also wore a badge. He reminded Sebastian of Ominis. That must be Malfoy.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," — it hadn't been so hard to guess, though now Sebastian thought he'd rather not meet him at all — "I saw you walking around today with that skint blood traitor and that mudblood Granger. You should have been assigned to us. It's not worth it to taint your blood status by associating with such filth," he spoke venomously, a mocking tone punctuating his sentences.

Skint blood traitor. Mudblood. He was exactly like those boors Sebastian so enjoyed thrashing in Crossed Wands when they had the guts to join. Perhaps he could do the same with him — blast him with Bombarda until his hair turned black (or he went bald; any of them would do).

Sebastian didn't know why he suddenly felt like defending the honour of two people he had met that same day, but he wished he could poison his food instead.

"Maybe next time you'll be considered fit for your assigned role. I suppose all that purity didn’t take you that far this time," he replied just as rudely.

Draco Malfoy made a weird face — a mix between stunned and angry and that half smirk that had begun to creep up his face as he had expected Sebastian to agree with him, and that had died on his lips but not yet fully, and the whole thing was so comical Sebastian had to hold back a snort. Because that was not (not in a million years, no matter how many artefacts he accidentally opened) going to happen, and when Draco Malfoy realised it, he seemed to have a hard time closing his mouth back to a dignified expression.

"I'd be careful if I were you, new student. I'm a Prefect!" he threatened, squinting his grey eyes and finally gaining enough control to curl his lip into a small smirk.

Spoiled bragger, Sebastian thought.

"And what exactly are you planning to do — take points away from your own House?" replied Sebastian, smirking back, enjoying how his face turned back to that ferret-like countenance.

"We share the same dormitory. Choose your words carefully." Draco Malfoy pursed his lips, his face becoming even paler. Sebastian wondered if he had even an ounce of blood in that body of his.

"We do indeed, so I suggest you sleep with one eye open," retorted Sebastian. Part of him knew that, logically, he should have been more mature about the situation.

But Merlin, he was starting to despise the brat.

(And the other part of him was still fantasising about that Bombarda-induced vengeance).

"You think you can scare me?"

Draco Malfoy snickered, and the line of Slytherins sitting on his side began staring at the two boys with piqued interest, wondering what all the fuss was about. It was quite unusual for two Slytherins to argue so openly, and even students from other Houses had begun to turn their heads towards their direction. Two big students beside Draco Malfoy snickered, too, as if on cue. Sebastian felt a wave of repugnance at how pathetic they looked.

"Definitely not, especially when you have your guard dogs next to you." Sebastian nodded at the two students mockingly. "Tell me, does your father pay them to be by your side? They can't be that stupid to volunteer to be in your presence."

The blond appeared to want to eat him alive, while the other two took a bit longer to fully understand his words before reproducing the same angry expression. Perhaps Sebastian understood your outburst: it was indeed gratifying to pour his disdain out. Though, unlike you, Sebastian didn't feel an ounce of regret. 

"All right, Draco, enough of this," interrupted Pansy with a sigh, before giving Sebastian a hateful look. "He's a blood traitor like Weasley, and he'd better take care of his priorities."

Sebastian ignored her, focusing back on his food and already dreading the idea of having to share his Common Room and dormitory with people like that. Maybe he could sleep in the Undercroft for the rest of the year. He wondered if that place still existed at all.

Strangely enough, the aftermath was quite unsatisfactory, and Sebastian felt his cheeks warm up as he realised he had indeed acted like an immature git, stepping down right at their level. He stared at his half-empty plate, abashed.

The time passing, then, felt particularly chilly under his skin.

After he felt content enough with his lunch, Sebastian stood up, ready to meet the two Gryffindors again. He faltered a little as he looked around their table, his chest squeezing as he caught a glimpse of you. And not just a glimpse.

He watched you as you engaged in a happy conversation with a red-haired girl next to you: she scarily resembled Ron, so he deduced that she must be his sister. The two Prefects sat opposite you, and on your other side was a boy with messy black hair and round glasses.

Sebastian noticed how you tried to avoid Ron's eyes, only glancing up at him through your lashes from time to time before looking back at the girl, and he wondered if you would even apologise or if you were waiting for the red-head to do so. How proud were you? How much did you care? To which length were you willing to go for the people you loved? Sebastian felt a compulsive need to know it all, a new wave of hunger right in the pit of his stomach, completely empty even after his heavy, albeit displeasing, lunch, and ready to be fed by what all he could find about you. He needed to know every last bit of information, if it was the last thing he did in that new world.

That eerie calm chilled his bones again, moderately assuaging his desire, like a glass of cold water before supper. Sebastian realised he was stuck, so he had no rush to do exactly that. He didn't need to be greedy, to devour — though the idea was tempting indeed — and to gobble up every bit of you yet. He could feast, he could savour, he could indulge in his sumptuous meal like he deserved. And then he would find his way back, satiated beyond belief.

Now that would take his edges off.

He shook his head, derailing that tingly feeling running down his lower stomach before it nestled, and averted his eyes, instead noticing that barely anyone had left the Great Hall, and he was the only Slytherin standing. He quickly walked out of the room and rested against a column, wondering if he should wait for Ron and Hermione to finish eating and meet him, or if he should just go alone.

--

Sebastian decided to walk to the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower, to the Undercroft, praying it would still be there, untouched by other students. When he arrived, he saw the familiar clock, and his heart swelled in fear and anticipation as he took out his wand and flourished it like he had done so many times he practically relied on muscle memory alone.

The clock hands started to turn, and he breathed a sigh of relief as a door opened to the familiar room that he considered an analogue to his house. He stepped in carefully and looked around. The furniture hadn’t moved an inch in a hundred years, still in the same position that Ominis knew by memory. He wondered about him: if he knew Sebastian would one day disappear forever only to remain stuck in the future, if he had waited for him in that same room hoping for him to come back, or if he was glad he was gone after all.

Sebastian wondered if he would ever return to his time: if Ominis and Anne had been waiting for him their entire lives, getting old without him, and if they had hoped that they would one day see him again, and then he had another terrifying thought: what if he went back yet it was too late?

What if all of his pals were much older than him once he did? What if, upon his return, he discovered Anne still suffering the effects of the curse, or worse yet, already deceased? What if Ominis had been made to return to his family, where he would have either changed into one of them or been tortured and murdered? What if she had found someone else to fall in love and share the rest of her life with, or what if the perilous journeys she was compelled to take killed her and he had not been there to save her?

"Scourgify!" he declared, pointing his wand at various objects around him to clean them, wishing he could reproduce the same effect on his mind.

Once he was done, he sat down, leaned against a column, and put his head in his hands, breathing deeply and feeling his eyes burn.

The calm had gone, replaced by pure, utter despair and panic. It had only been a few hours since he'd found himself there, confused and startled, and he knew it would be many more until he went back — if ever.

If ever.

The thought cut at his lungs like sharp glass, drawing quiet and wet sobs. He didn't know whether the artefact could ever be repaired at all. He didn't know whether he could control it enough to go back if it was repaired. For all he knew, he'd find himself in bloody Mesopotamia, if he was lucky enough to survive another travel. Or he'd get stuck between time and space, forever embedded in the threads between realities.

Based on those thoughts alone, Sebastian felt like he should be grateful to have found himself still in Hogwarts, as safe as he could be, but he wasn't.

He missed his routine, his life, his friends. He had disappointed Ominis, but he would give anything to hear his voice now, even if he yelled at him, to see Anne even if she did not want to see him, to read their old letters over and over again, to accompany her on whatever adventure she was setting out on. Heck , he wanted to hear Headmaster Black's voice scolding him for his horrible detention record, listen to Poppy ramble about her dear magical creatures, see Garreth blow up his potions, and even wanted to hear Imelda complain about Quidditch being cancelled. He missed it all.

He spent some time there alone — he did not know whether it was minutes or hours — weeping silently to himself. His wrists copiously moved to his eyes in a weak attempt to dry his tears, which kept falling nonetheless, undaunted, wetting his cardigan and shirt and skin.

Sebastian had always prided himself in his capacity to bottle up emotions, to avoid the crying and instead channelling those goopy feelings into something more useful, like studying or spellcasting. That had backfired, and Sebastian had to learn, awfully, that doing that didn't mean those emotions wouldn't force their way out in a way or another, and after what had happened in the Catacombs, where his feelings had exploded in the worst way imaginable, he had reluctantly decided that crying alone was the best way to let them flow naturally. With that and everything that had happened to him within a few weeks, not to mention the previous events, he felt overwhelmed.

He hated it.

After drying his tears as best he could, hoping that no one would notice his glistening eyes or swollen face, he decided to leave the Undercroft and find Ron and Hermione again; they were to give him his timetable, as he would join their class starting the next day. That was before he abandoned them.

He stepped out of the room and froze in his steps. You were sitting on the ground just outside, back against the wall, focused on your textbook. You looked up once you heard a noise, and saw a dishevelled and surprised Sebastian staring straight at you.

"Oh, well, hello again, new fifth-year!" You smiled politely.

He cursed under his breath, turning his face away slightly and rubbing the back of his hand under his nose again, in case any stray tears were still present.

"'Didn't know about another secret passage in the school," you continued, apparently ignoring his actions, before muttering to yourself, "It wasn't on the Map."

"Map?" he said in a rough, unfamiliar voice, surprising even himself.

You examined him, a quizzical expression on your face. "Have you been crying?" you asked bluntly, raising your eyebrows in surprise.

Great job, Sebastian. Perfect disguise.

He felt his cheeks warm up, and he turned away again. "No... not at all." He cleared his throat, trying to find a way to switch up the conversation when his eyes fell on your book. "What are you reading?"

You frowned slightly, obviously not believing him, but understanding that he wasn't willing to talk about it, and looked back at your book. "My Herbology book. Ron gave it back to me at lunch. Finally, I’d say."

Sebastian paused for a moment, unsure whether it was appropriate to ask about what happened in the corridor, but then he felt that ache again, right above his navel, and the words slipped from his mouth without restraint. "Did you two—"

"Don't." You interrupted him and averted your eyes, staring down at the cover musingly. "Don't bring it up again. That was already embarrassing as it was."

Sebastian stayed quiet, his eyes never leaving your form. He would very much have liked to just plunge into your brain at that moment and make himself at home there.

Perhaps he needed to add 'Learn Legilimency' to his to-do list.

"How so?" he asked at length, quite stupidly, he realised.

"I lost my temper," you said simply, and forced your eyes back towards him. Your next words seemed to eject out of your mouth painfully, like they were unfamiliar to you, and it took a while for you to utter them. You sighed, "I— I suppose… I owe you an apology."

An apology never felt so forced and so sincere at the same time. "Oh, you don't have to—"

"I do. It wasn't the best impression I made of myself." Your lips parted as you leaned your head back on the wall. "I suppose I have to apologise to Ron as well — properly, I mean."

Sebastian stayed quiet, observing you curiously. Why were you telling him all that? "I... suppose," he uttered, not knowing what else to say. That appeared to be enough for you because you didn't even seem to acknowledge his words.

"He was looking for you, you know? Hermione, too. They said they needed to give you your schedule."

"Ah, yes, they mentioned that before," said Sebastian, glad to change the topic. "I’ll meet them promptly then, I was—"

"—Too busy hiding in a place no one else knew about," you continued for him.

That made him still in his steps, a chill running down his spine. Your eyes met: his open wide, yours unwavering and daring him to contradict your statement.

Perhaps the previous topic was way better.

"I just..." Come on, Sebastian, think!

"I just stumbled upon it!"

Usually he was one to conjure lies out of thin air, but being around you made his brain seem to melt. Sebastian thought that it was because he didn't really want to lie to you, or perhaps it was because, with the way your eyes pierced him, he felt as if you already knew all his secrets, all his lies, and you certainly wouldn't be fooled, not even if he made up a whole story full of intricacies and chapters worth publishing.

He knew, however, that the answer was neither, and it lay deeper than anything he was willing to admit to himself so loudly that he had to face it.

"Right."

You closed your book and stood up, facing him. He couldn't read your expression properly, but he felt his body start to uncharacteristically shrivel at the intensity with which you stared him down. He was in Ron's place.

"Strange, isn’t it? how the new student suddenly stumbles upon a secret room on his first day — a room not even Fred and George know about."

You had spoken that last part quietly, as if only to yourself. In fact, Sebastian didn’t know who Fred and George were at all. And, frankly, he didn't want to. "What can I say? I’m full of surprises," he replied smoothly.

"Or full of lies." You hadn’t missed a beat.

It was frightening how easily you had switched back to the girl he had met in the corridor. And he pitied it. And he liked it. And perhaps he was a fool for liking it, and an even bigger fool for pitying it. "I didn’t know it was illegal to be in this room," he said, scowling.

"Illegal? Oh, not at all. But certainly unusual for someone who has supposedly never set foot in this school before."

You took a step towards him, and he had to fight the urge to take one back himself. There was something wrong in the air — something goopy and misty and heavy, penetrating his skin like Mallowsweet fumes, inebriating and dizzying and frighteningly close to losing control. He had only felt it once, in Hogsmeade nonetheless. Electric and impatient, but, now, shrouded. That day, it had been galvanising. Now it was almost shy — almost… veiled.

"Hermione told me that she barely only took you through the first two floors. You're not even supposed to know about the classroom's whereabouts, and yet you seem all too comfortable with your surroundings," you continued, unaware.

He felt his heartbeat accelerate. Why did you have to be so inquisitive? Was he supposed to tell you the truth now?

Dumbledore’s voice came back to his mind: "...unless it's absolutely necessary."

"I don’t know what you're talking about. It was an accident, as I said," replied Sebastian in a poor attempt to reason again, knowing full well you wouldn't believe him.

"Certainly a convenient one." He twitched involuntarily, like he had just got a shock. The corners of your lips lifted in a sneer. "You are an interesting case... Sebastian, was it?"

He nodded hesitantly and narrowed his eyes, baffled at your countenance and your confounding words. An interesting case?

You shuffled on your feet in a nimble movement and pressed your back against the wall again, leaning onto it. "Don’t forget to show me that room sometime, too."

"And why would I do that?" Sebastian was growing impatient at your behaviour, while some part of him was thrilled at your nonchalance. The more you bantered with him, teasing him like that, the more he felt his stomach flutter. He hated himself for it.

He felt a sudden urge to leave. To run to his Common Room, or back into the Great Hall, where the noise cramming his ears would be enough to shut down each and any possible much-too-loud beat of his heart, as if the mere sound of those tiny pulses would beguile him into wandering proscribed feelings. A deceit of his own body he wasn't willing to face, not even through his love of the forbidden. The hunger and ache had to stay just that: mere curiosity, more about her and her family than you.

But he stayed in the silence of the corridor, with a loud pounding noise in his ears.

"Because it would be a shame if other people in, let’s see, higher power were to know about it, too, wouldn’t it?" You moved a hand through your hair to push it back, clearing your vision, and Sebastian watched as your locks fell around your face, a twinge in his chest. "Although I do believe Professor Flitwick would love to have another room for his choir practice. Is there a good acoustic in it?" You peered over his shoulder and towards the now closed door with a playful smile, clearly only teasing him, but the way the light fell on the tresses framing your visage was a bit too familiar to him. His mind stalled for a moment, and he didn't want those beats to stop anymore.

"Why do you care about this room so much?" Sebastian shifted his weight, now taking a step forward as well, and your eyes flickered down when you perceived the movement. Your lip twitched a bit.

"Why do you?" You simply replied, shrugging. "A secret room is a secret room. Don't you want to be a proper new student and get in good with the Professors?"

Sebastian felt his stomach boil at your singsong tone. "That seems to be more of a Gryffindor trait."

"Is it? And how much does a supposed stranger know about our Houses?"

His breath hitched and his resolve crumbled immediately at your quick retort. Sebastian warmed all over and stilled in his steps, feeling a bit too heavy on his legs. The image of the girl who lost her temper in the corridor was the one he had expected to evoke, pity even, yet she was nowhere to be found as your half-lidded gaze stared at him impishly.

"Besides," you continued, clearly feeding off his reaction with increasing confidence. "You should really get to know your Slytherin peers a bit more. Hopefully you won't become like them, but alas if you do, you'll end up snitching on this place yourself."

The thrill gradually disappeared, replaced by unadulterated annoyance. He found himself lowering his head, and he glared down at you, heart pounding in his ears. Your eyes stayed unwavering in his, though Sebastian noticed your crossed arms tightening marginally around your chest. "You can only wish to be like us," he hissed.

As you lifted an eyebrow daringly, he stepped forward again, finally free of that marbly perception that had spread through his body at your mockery, and towered over you. You tilted your head up, eyes never leaving his, the red and gold making them stand out in a way that only sent a new wave of anger through Sebastian's bones.

You could only wish to be like her.

"My dream in life."

Your voice rustled softly against your teeth, stretching with the smirk you wore, daring him to retort again. Sebastian felt it spread before he could even process your words entirely, burning through his guts all the way up to his trembling hands. That hunger. Craving. Ache. And something else — something that made the corners of his mouth tingle and his head tilt forward slightly more. He inhaled deeply from his nose, breathing out gratingly, air straining against his throat.

"Shall I serve as your future proxy and tell the faculty about it now?" you continued, voice glottal and purring, faring on the satisfaction of his heavy breathing on your face. "Might save you time ahead."

A low chuckle left his lips. "Even if you told the faculty about it, I could always pretend you were the one who showed it to me and kept it a secret all this time. After all, I am the new student, aren’t I?"

He grinned to himself as your smile fell slightly, squinting as you looked at him, but it only lasted a moment before you spoke again.

"And why, pray tell, would anyone believe that I would fraternise with a Slytherin enough to show said person a secret room?" You leaned your head on the side, and Sebastian’s heart jumped again. "And why would I turn myself in, given I would have, supposedly, kept my room hidden for five years?"

"It's my room," replied Sebastian lowly, instinctually, voice slightly trembling, blood rising to his head. Despite the height difference, he was starting to feel smaller and smaller every time you spoke, crushing his resolve word by word. It made him shrivel. "I knew it before. You're not welcome in it, nor is it any of your business."

"You knew it before," you repeated blankly, like you didn't care. "So you’re admitting to having learnt about this place already?"

What?

A heartbeat, a glint in your irises, and Sebastian's heart dropped pathetically as he realised he had given you exactly what you had been searching for — what you had wanted him to admit all this time. He shifted his weight back, leaning away from you. "No, I never said—"

"—I believe the Professors know about your true history — especially Dumbledore, you can't trick that one — so I know they won’t be fooled," you continued undaunted to shut each and every one of his possible retorts. "Plus, even if you told them that lie after I snitched on this place, they’d still let it go and take control of this room — Filch in particular. I won’t get into trouble just for keeping an insignificant room secret, but you would lose your special place."

His mouth fell open, for once at a loss for words. He could only stay silent as you threatened to reveal his hidden spot with that undeterred ragging tone of yours. Sebastian would usually brush off any threat against him, especially if it involved getting the help of teachers of all people — he was known for breaking rules on any occasion — but he couldn't ignore your words. He knew you had no idea how much that room meant to him; would you have cared if he told you? Would you have taken your words back? Why would he care if you had? He had promised himself to stay away from you, and that was exactly what he was planning to do. This conversation had gone on for too long.

"Who—Who says it's my special place?" Sebastian tried to salvage it, although his disingenuous and trembling voice betrayed him almost immediately.

"You reek of dust and humidity," you said with a satisfied smile, as if insouciantly waiting to shake his hand after your checkmate. "As if you've spent a lot of time in there just now. Also, no student in Hogwarts with more than a pea for a brain would ever refuse the comfort of a secret room no one has discovered yet."

You had deduced it... by his smell?

Sebastian had still been processing when you gathered your things and looked back at him, breaking into a genuine smile. "You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, and mind you, there are a lot of them in this school, so you'd better get used to it."

The corner of his lips quirked up against his will, heart gradually slowing down again. "Well, you did just threaten me in a way."

You chuckled — an unfeigned, carefree chuckle with no malicious hint — and shrugged. "I was never going to snitch on you, that would have been incongruous. I just wanted to see how this would go."

"I don't follow," he said at length, tilting his head slightly and raising an eyebrow at that. "Were you just playing with me?"

Sebastian didn't know why he had asked. It had been quite clear since you started talking that you had only run rings around him like he was a bloody amateur. He chewed on the insides of his cheeks in chagrin. You averted your eyes with a smile still on your face, and Sebastian wasn't sure whether to feel impressed or annoyed.

"Call it an investigation." You raised your hands in surrender. "I’m no Sherlock Holmes, of course, but..."

"Sherlock who?"

"He... Never mind." You shook your head, and looked back at him for a moment, biting your lip as if facing a conundrum. You sighed. "The thing is, from your perspective my threat should've appeared empty, or unfounded, because, as you said, the Professors would have believed that I was the one who showed you the room, as a more experienced student."

Sebastian listened intently, growing more confused the more you spoke. "Wait, so—"

"So, if you had nothing to hide and had really just found out about the room, you would've been less... defensive ," you explained, and Sebastian found no contempt in your voice: it was neutral, a bit excited maybe, but not mocking — perhaps only a little condescending, he noted bitterly. "Or, more specifically, you would have been defensive about me being out of line rather than about the room itself — more annoyed , I believe, at the fact that I got all up in your personal business uninvited."

The way you spoke, with unalloyed certitude and indisputable pride — though with an almost riveting aspect in your self-assurance, if he dared to admit it — seemed almost preposterous to Sebastian.

"Also," you continued, "if you had really stumbled upon it so easily, you would've been more shocked about the fact that no one else in the school had, wouldn't you?"

That actually... Made sense.

“What if I were just a new student who had accidentally found a room,” began Sebastian hesitantly, although he couldn't stop himself from being rather dazzled — and envious. And definitely ill at ease at your aptitude at reading people — him specifically. “And had completely panicked when another more experienced student threatened to reveal me as if I had done something horribly wrong?”

You looked at him, eyes shifting between his right and left one in a sequence. “Yeah,” you finally countenanced with a blithe nod. “That would have been perfectly plausible, too.”

Sebastian’s face fell, exasperated beyond measure. He suddenly felt a wave of lassitude wash over him and let out a world-weary sigh that earned him a small smile from you.

"Just know that you don't know me as much as you think you do," he said at length.

“I don’t know you at all,” you confirmed with a bright smile. “But I definitely enjoyed this. "

You pointed between the two of you, and Sebastian faltered, following your hand with his eyes for a moment before his gaze fixed on you again. "What?"

"It's just… I didn't lose my temper this time, and... well — it was sort of... nice."

Nice. The word you had used was nice. Sebastian found it anything but that: it had been humiliating to say the least. But again, he was the loser.

"You didn't lose your temper alright," said Sebastian, looking away. "Though we may need to get even on that."

Your eyebrows lifted and you broke into a giggle. "Yeah, perhaps. Even if I'm sure I'm not as much of a smooth talker when you’re not in… well… emotional distress." 

To his own surprise, Sebastian smiled back, genuinely and widely and almost tenderly, letting his chest tingle freely and a little more than needed. "So you took advantage of me."

"That I did." You nodded at him. "It’s a pleasure doing business with you." And with that, you started to walk away, leaving him stunned but smiling in the middle of the corridor.

"Ah, before I go," you suddenly added, turning around and walking backwards, and his eyes shot to you once more; "last time I saw Ron and Hermione, they were near the Grand Staircase, on the second floor. If I meet them, I’ll send them to you."

You waved at him and turned around, walking down the stairs and disappearing from his sight.

[Read more]

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(I'm having trouble tagging some of you, sorry :( )

[obsidianpen]

Waking up felt like being doused in cold water.

No, waking up was being doused in cold water. Hermione gasped and spluttered, frigid water having been dumped down on her head as though from an overly full bucket being abruptly turned over. She tried to move her now soaking wet hair out of her face, and realized at once that her wrists were bound, shackled to a surface in front of her. She was sitting, too, in what felt like a metal chair.

“Oh good… you’re awake.”

Lester Madison’s voice was disarmingly light. Hermione could barely see him through the curtain of wet hair plastered to her face, partially covering her eyes, but it was unmistakably him. 

He spoke again before she could even think of anything. “I’ll get that,” he said. He must have flicked his wand, because a moment later Hermione was surrounded by a whirlwind of warm, welcoming heat. She was instantly dry. 

The horror set it at once. 

It wasn’t Madison’s leering smile that did it, nor that fact that she was clearly in some kind of cell, what she imagined was a high-security interrogation room. It was not the glowing, ominous looking shackles that bound her wrist to the equally foreboding looking, metal table; it was not the sheer lack of anything at all in this gray room aside from the table and that man sitting across from her, holding his wand and staring at her with gleaming, hungry eyes. 

It was her hair. 

Her hair, as it dried… and how it curled. 

It was curling and frizzing, everything it was no longer supposed to be, and even before that shock could fully dawn on her, she looked down and saw something even more horrific. 

Her skin. The lines. 

The golden lines were fully revealed as she was no longer wearing her outer, hooded cloak from before; she had been stripped down to her undershirt and skirt, and she could seem them, on her shoulder and arm, looping all the way down to her wrist on one side, now, where, on her forearm–

Mudblood.

Vividly black. The golden lines avoided it, curling around the scar that Bellatrix Lestrange had given her as though afraid of it, framing it instead. Hermione stared at it, her ears ringing in shock and terror.

“Missing this?”

Hermione looked up when she heard the sound of something clink against the table. Her ring. Madison had just flipped her ring up and it had hit the surface, and it was spinning, spinning, until it finally slowed and tipped over, landing on its side with a much softer sound. 

Madison was grinning, his eyes flashing to her scars before meeting her gaze. “Hello again, Golden Lady.”

[sailtomarina]

Be safe

cw: car seat smut

Five years they’d been together and he still didn’t trust Muggle cars—‘death metal’, he called them. He hadn’t been amused in the slightest when she showed him that was actually an entire genre of music.

He was even less amused when she blasted it on full volume the next time she cleaned the house.

But Hermione had grown up in the Muggle world, took her test and drove in the summers away from school. She inherited her dad’s 1967 Aston Martin DB6 when they decided to stay in Australia and sell everything they’d left behind. She stared at it when she first threw open the garage doors, taking in the silver birch, buffed to a high shine.

Her first drive alone, she’d cried.

Her second drive, she’d convinced Draco to sit in the passenger seat.

Her third drive, he’d scowled at her with his arms crossed from the safety of their driveway.

“Be safe. That thing is dangerous.”

“It’s no more dangerous than your Nimbus.”

Grey eyes narrowed in disbelief, and he huffed before stepping back even further. Still, he didn’t turn away. He watched her pull out and continued watching until she’d turned the corner.

Hermione drove the car every chance she could get, which wasn’t that often due to England’s short summers and even less clear days. Every single time she hopped in the driver’s seat and backed out, he called, “be safe,” and, every time, she answered, “always.”

The idea came to her after listening to an old mixtape.

“I don’t see why I need to sit in here when we aren’t even going anywhere,” he muttered, his long legs struggling to get comfortable in the cramped space. “What was it you wanted to show me?”

“This.”

She’d worn a flippable skirt for just this occasion, plopping down atop him with the flexibility of a woman who’d never stopped her daily yoga over the past decade.

“Wha—”

She froze him with a quick immobulus, taking the opportunity to settle her knees on either side of him more comfortably. It really was a wonderful thing that she was as bendy as she was, especially given the way he filled the seat.

His eyes flitted over her face, and she knew were she to let him go now, he’d let out a furious string of expletives. As it was, he couldn’t do a bloody thing.

She tugged on his belt and popped open the top button, humming a little song all the while. A whine spilled out of his still lip from deep in his throat and she paused to look up at him.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

His eyes flashed at the leer she’d picked up from him. He really didn’t have anyone else to blame.

In no time at all, she’d slipped her hand in and pulled his cock out, swollen and leaking, and she couldn’t help but swipe her thumb across the top to gather up the essence of Draco and lift it to her lips in a naughty suck, holding eye contact with him the entire time. Then, she shifted up so she could reach under to pull the gusset of her knickers to the side as she murmured a quick lubrication charm.

She released her spell on him.

“You,” he snarled, one hand immediately landing on her hip, the other placing himself at her entrance. He pulled down as his hips thrust up, and she was filled with the delicious length of him, thick and deep and hitting all the right places.

“Ah!” she cried out, throwing her head back and feeling her long curls cascading down her back. She rode him hard, meeting his fierce pace with her own.

It wasn’t long before the windows fogged up and she had a nagging thought in the back of her mind of a police officer knocking on the glass to tell them off like a couple of horny teenagers without anywhere else to go. They had an entire home filled with surfaces to defile, and here she was wanting to christen the car she’d grown up loving. She’d bet a million galleons that her parents had done the same in this very seat, and nearly cackled at the filthiness of overriding their invisible stains with her own.

“You are such a fucking brat,” he finally got out, his breath heavy. “You know I hate this thing—”

“What better way to get over it?” she said hotly against his lips, clenching her inner walls as tightly as she could and watching him go nearly crossed eyed at the stranglehold.

He was close, his speed going erratic and his fingers tightening on her hips in the way it always did when she found bruises afterward. She wore them with pride, smirking into the mirror as she placed her own fingertips atop them.

He could just finish ahead of her in revenge, but Draco wouldn’t ever be so selfish no matter how much she pissed him off. He splayed one hand against her lower back to keep pressing her downward. The other squeezed between them to rub circles around her just there. He shifted slightly, amazing, really, in the bucket seat, and then he was hammering against a part of her that now had her rolling back her eyes and grunting with each thrust.

She exploded with a scream that might have alerted authorities to their impropriety were they actually in the vicinity. As it was, only the neighbor’s cat startled, sprinting across the yard away from the shaking car. Draco followed her immediately after, groaning long as he pulsed inside of her, his head dropping into her chest.

“You witch.”

“Well, obviously.”

“You do realize that now you owe me a ride on my broomstick?”

“Isn’t that what we just did?”

“Ha-ha.”

But ride his broomstick, she did, and if he preceded their airborne coupling with a barrel roll or two, who was she to complain?

WC 992

Twitter prompt from DramionePrompts

Cross-posted on Tumblr and (eventually) AO3

Happy, happy Thanksgiving to me! I wrote this while hanging out with my parents as they watched a horrible little tv series I couldn’t be arsed to watch. Quality family time, you know? Also, the Aston Martin was swapped in for an Alfa Romeo last minute, sorry for any fans of the prior.

[jadedandconfusedao3]

A One Man Rise in Crime

Fuck.

When Hermione returned from the kitchen with two cups of tea, Malfoy was gone.He hadn’t looked at all well when he arrived, so she thought he’d gone to the bathroom. After twenty minutes, she realised he was gone. She started searching her small apartment in earnest and couldn’t find him anywhere.

The first owl–a hasty inquiry about his wellbeing full of concern and worry–was returned without a reply. If she was going to be honest, this wasn’t particularly unusual behaviour for Malfoy, but given his distress, she was concerned. She tried several more owls, with messages increasing in intensity and ire, and one message by floo. By the time it came round for bed she was beside herself with worry and starting to get very annoyed at the whole situation.

It wasn’t until the next morning that she realised that Varek was gone. She stood in her kitchen blearily making a cup of coffee and some porridge, wearing her sleepwear. Normally he would be somewhere nearby leering at her whilst making suggestive remarks. It was unlike him to be gone completely.

“Varek, can you somehow tell me what Malfoy is doing?” she called out.

Silence.

“Varek?” she called again.

The kitchen remained resolutely empty. Frowning, she set down her coffee and started opening random doors. It had never happened before. He always instantly appeared whenever she said his name, sometimes she had simply thought about him, and he showed up with a simmering gaze and a quip. He was always there. Always present, whether she wanted him to be or not.

“Varek!” she shouted, hearing the sound echo.

A prickle of panic worked its way down her spine. No no no no no no no. It’s just a coincidence. He’s hiding somewhere so he can jump out and leer at me. He wouldn’t just be gone. He couldn’t. Could he?

She ran through the apartment, calling his name loudly. The soft pad of her feet against the wood of the stairs filled her ears. He wouldn’t just leave. She slammed her palms against the door to her bedroom, wincing at the sting.

With a grand sweep, she knocked everything off her desk. Where was it? No. It couldn’t. He wouldn’t!

She gripped her wand tightly as she desperately cast, “Revelio. REVELIO!”

Her wand clattered against the hard surface of the desk, as she frantically patted its surface.

The lamp was gone.

Malfoy.

It had to be Malfoy. There was no other explanation. That fucking shit head! He must have stolen it. She threw on a pair of jeans and an old jumper before heading downstairs to her floo. Throwing the powder into the flames she yelled, “Malfoy Manor,” and stepped through.

Only to be spat back out into her own floo parlour.

“That Motherfucker!” she screamed.

Read the rest on Ao3.

[sortofshea]

Microfic: Hermione Granger's 12 Step Guide to Getting Along With Pansy Parkinson

@sapphicmicrofics Prompt: Toast

Hermione/Pansy || 338 words

Somehow, after locking eyes as Harry and Malfoy began goading each other outside of the Three Broomsticks, Hermione and Parkinson had come to some sort of unspoken agreement and by no small miracle, managed to wrangle their friend groups into the pub and around adjacent tables.

“I propose a toast,” Parkinson’s voice breaks through the glares and muttered insults between the two tables. Her eyes are trained on Hermione, and she quickly stands, raising her own butterbeer in Parkinson’s direction.

“Yes-” She jumps in, raising her voice to be heard above the din. “-To inter-house unity.”

“‘Mione, wha-” Ron’s mouth is hanging open, his brow furrowed in confused surprise as his eyes flit between Parkinson and herself.

“More specifically-” Parkinson adds, clearing her throat importantly. “-To Draco and Potter putting an end to their tedious long standing rivalry.”

“Pansy you traitor!” Malfoy accuses, eyes narrowing suspiciously at his friend as she innocently reclaims her seat, smoothing her skirt unnecessarily.

“Oh come now, Draco,” Pansy sighs. “If Granger and I can work together without hexing each other to bits, surely you and Potter can find something constructive to do with all of that pent-up tension.”

“Pent-up…?” Harry mutters under his breath, looking equal parts annoyed and embarrassed, but avoiding looking over at the Slytherins all together.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.” Malfoy dismisses.

“Are you going to make me say it in front of all of these people?” Parkinson leers, smirking meanly at her friend. Malfoy continues to casually examine his nails, mouth set in an unhappy line. “You and Potter have been playing the world’s longest and most annoying game of gay-chicken that I and the entire student body, as well as the faculty, have ever had the misfortune of witnessing.”

Malfoy flushes so violently that Hermione wonders if he has adequate circulation to his extremities, as Harry splutters desperately into his glass. Ron thumps him on the back a couple of times, also looking unhappy about the declaration, and slightly green to boot.

Ao3 || first <-prev next->

[skylarstark4826]

Severus was sitting in a chair by the fireplace, hands steepled, legs crossed, deep in thought, when his apprentice returned from teaching the first year Hufflepuff/Slytherin class. Hermione slammed into the room, not noticing him off to the side, and immediately ripped off her teaching robe and flung it across the room. 

"Bugger! Bugger, bugger, bugger!" 

Severus snorted, causing her to whirl around in surprise, then said, "I hate teaching the Huffs and the Slytherins at the same time, as well. Minerva must have been Confunded when she made the schedule, or else she has a cruel sense of humor." 

A tiny giggle escaped from Hermione's pursed lips, and her wretched mood evaporated as she smiled at her mentor. She was wearing an old, strappy sundress that she often wore under her robes during the late-Spring months. The castle never got hot per se, but there was a mugginess, especially in the dungeons with 20 students brewing simultaneously. The stone walls would sweat with humidity, and her hair would curl into damp corkscrews around her face. Severus found this secretly enchanting, but his expression grew dark as he noticed her attire. "I thought I forbade you to wear that garment."

"It's just a dress, Severus, honestly! I wear far less to a public beach." Hermione fingered the faded blue cotton material, rolling her eyes. Pointedly turning her back on him, she began to fix herself a cup of tea from the nearby tray. 

"It is no matter to me what libidinous costume you tart yourself up in whilst on vacation," Hermione gasped angrily, but he continued, "as my apprentice, you will abide by a modest dress code..." At this point, he was interrupted by said apprentice peeling off and flinging the offending garment directly into his startled face. 

Time stopped. Silence reigned. Hermione stood clad only in pink bra, boy shorts and sensible thick-soled dragon-hide boots. Severus sat straight in his chair as the dress slid down his face onto his lap. A deep, red flush was traveling down his apprentice's face and neck, and her chest heaved, yet her eyes remained defiant. 

"You are playing a very dangerous game, Granger. Are you sure you know what you're doing?" His obsidian eyes were unreadable as they leisurely traveled from her defiant eyes down to the toes of her boots and back up again. "I will not be teased."

When his eyes met hers again, she purred, "Would I do that, Severus?" She sauntered a few paces closer to his chair, arms away from her sides like a tightrope walker, fingers feeling the air which tingled with magic and something else. Hermione looked deeply into his eyes and whispered, "Would I tease a deadly snake, Severus? Me?" Three more paces, she was closer, smiling mysteriously. He did not move a muscle. Two more paces and she'd be in touching distance. "Would I tickle a dragon, Severus? Would I poke a hippogriff?" Two paces and she was leaning over him. 

His brain was addled. Granger had him completely bewildered. Perhaps it was a Polyjuiced imposter? Imperius? Perhaps he was dreaming, otherwise, why was his delectable apprentice standing over him in her skivvies, purring like an erotic kitten? He needed to take charge of this situation, and fast. 

Wordlessly Summoning his wand, he was about to throw a Petrificus when he realized his wand hadn't smacked into his palm as usual. He tore his eyes away from Hermione to look for it, missing the triumphant look that crossed her face as she scampered backwards toward the door -- holding his wand.

Without thought, he was up facing her. "What are you playing at, Granger?" He watched in horror as she twisted his wand into her hair and poked it into a bun, and again he tried to Summon it, but she had put a heavy-duty Sticking charm on it. She was giggling and weaving back and forth, deciding which way to run should he charge her. 

The magic and tension in the room collided and supercharged the air around them. Hermione edged to the doorknob and turned it. "I think I'll just run up to the Great Hall." 

"Don't. You. Dare."

"Don't you dare, Severus! I've had enough of your lectures on proper behavior. I'm going to run to the Great Hall in my underpants and announce that I got your wand away while you were staring at my tits!" 

Hermione felt like she had lost her mind and knew she looked quite deranged, half-nude with a wand stuck to her head; however, she really had reached the end of her rope with the damned students today, added to the year and a half of unrequited sexual tension with this blasted, gorgeous man. 

She giggled madly and ran out the door. 

Darting into the hallway in pursuit, Severus felt like he was in some strange, yet titillating, dream. He was chasing his scantily-clad apprentice through the dungeons. That just did not sound like something which would ever happen to him, really. At least not outside of recent moments of solitary fantasy. 

Hermione had aroused him, disarmed him, yelled at him, and now she was running around with his wand where anyone could see her. He'd be a laughingstock if word got out he couldn't control his apprentice. Students would need Obliviating. He simply had to catch her, quickly and quietly. 

Three corridors away behind a tapestry, Hermione was coming to her senses. Severus was going to kill her. Even if he didn't, there would be maiming and even worse, she would lose her apprenticeship. All of her hard work, all of the late nights testing potions, grading parchments, writing out her research, all gone because she had a bad day, and he just had to say something about that stupid blue sundress. On top of it, she was insanely aroused and having a blast being chased by Severus. 

"Gods, what is WRONG with me?" she thought. "I'm going to apologize."

As soon as Hermione stepped out from behind the tapestry, a strong arm banded around her waist and lifted her up. She squealed and struggled, and Severus grunted from the strain of containing her ample form. "Give it up, Hermione, your moment of punishment has arrived!" 

Hermione used the only fail-safe trick in her arsenal, learned from long summers in her youth spent wrestling her cousins; she jammed a hand deep into his armpit and tickled. Her world flipped as he almost dropped her and only just managed to catch one leg and a shoulder, leaving her swinging, head down. 

Not wanting to waste any advantage, Hermione clamped her fingers into his sides and continued tickling mercilessly. His sudden rich, dark, hysterical laughter delighted her so much that she forgot to be scared for a moment and started laughing too. Helplessly, Severus scrambled to hold her one-handed while seeking to remove the tickling hands from his waist and ribs. He almost dropped her again, but managed to remove her hands and face her outward, still upside down, with her legs over his shoulder. 

At that moment, Minerva McGonagall came around the corner and stopped dead in her tracks. 

"SEVERUS SNAPE!"

It was an excruciating few moments. He set Hermione roughly onto her feet and stood silently, glaring. Hermione was stuttering incoherently and blushing crimson and bolted gratefully when Minerva dismissed her to get dressed. Severus straightened his robes and tried to regain some poise, but it was difficult with Minerva squalling in his face. 

"I had several hysterical students come tearing into my office saying they heard you laughing in the dungeons. They were terrified out of their wits!"

He sniffed. "There was a minor disagreement between my apprentice and myself regarding dress code. Nothing to concern yourself with, Minerva."

It was several more long minutes of giving one-word answers to Minerva's questions and railings about propriety before she buggered off down the corridor. She seemed suspiciously unfazed by the fact that Severus had been wrestling with his half-nude apprentice, only that it had occurred in public. He'd file that peculiar tidbit away to think about later. He had bigger hippogriffs to grill right now. 

Head down, brow cloudy, he stomped into his quarters to see Hermione fully dressed in a modest long-sleeved dress, standing nervously next to the credenza. His wand lay neatly atop a pile of books nearby. 

He picked it up and advanced on her. She closed her eyes, mutely accepting whatever her punishment would be. They snapped back open when he lifted her up and set her down hard on the credenza. He jerked her knees apart, settled himself between them and pulled her close, eye to eye, noses touching. Breathing erratically, they simply stared until he seemed satisfied with what he saw and leaned in with a rough, searing kiss. 

A moment later he broke away, whispering, "I'm going to have to ask you to take a wand oath never to reveal that I'm ticklish."

[greenerteacups]

Hi!

First I wanted to tell you how much I love Lionheart and how thankful I am that you are writing and sharing it with us. You really make my fridays better. Fiction has been such a refuge for me all my life, and it one of the things that brings me utter joy. Lionheart is that place of joy for me every friday and for that I don't have words to say gracias (spanish is my first language). I am leaving comments in AO3 every chapter, so I won't repeat myself. I just wanted to ask some thing that has been in my mind and see if you could share a light.

I've been reading Lionheart for the past 4 month, so maybe I forgot but has been say yet what role did Bellatix played in Lucius death? Your Narcissa is one of my favorite takes on her in all dramione and I've been wondering about her relationship with Bella. And with Andromeda. With her being a double agent like Snape I am DYING to see if we will have interactions with her and Sirius in the next book. Anything you can tell me about this would be much appreciated.

Also, I would pay money to read the interaction with Draco and Hermione from the last chapter in her POV.  When Draco tells her “That will be enough,” what was she feeling/thinking? I read it in two ways. In one hand -I heard Lucius so clearly- which is a feat in itself, because he has not appeared in the fic as a live character. That line is something that someone that had power and expects to be obeyed says. And it made Narcissa stop. On the other hand, I read it like her being aware of how much Draco has changed in the year that she hasn't been around him.  She now knows Hermione has an influence that she, as a mother away from his son for the better part of a year, can't compete with. Is that? Is she thinking something else?

I found so incredible the work you have done with how Lucius has influenced Draco with his absence. Mi nono (grandfather) died when my father was 10 years old, so I know all about then influence that mythical father figure can take in a young boy's mind and development. It's especially great with Draco. Did you planned that from the beginning? Is it something you wanted to explore? Thank you for your time!

Carla

Gracias! Me halaga mucho que leíste más de 500.000 palabras en una segunda lengua. Hay un nivel de fluidez que solo puedo enviar en mi propio estudio de Español — puedo leer algas obras cortas, pero no tengo la resistencia de perseverar por tanto tiempo! Algún día me gustaría leer y escribir con la suficiente fluidez para hacer una traducción al español de Lionheart, pero eso está en el futuro.

As for the questions:

(1) Bellatrix's role in Lucius's death: Okay, totally understandable that this gets lost in the shuffle, because it comes up in Book 1 and there has been a lot of stuff since. Bellatrix kills Lucius in 1988, when Draco is 8, before she is caught and taken to Azkaban. Draco doesn't have most of the details there, because he was too young at the time-of and neither he nor his mother have been eager to discuss it since, but the implication from Book 1 is that it was related to Lucius finking after the war. It's noted by Draco and Dumbledore (Book 1, Chapter 9) that Lucius testified to the Wizengamot about his Death Eater activities and gave names in exchange for a shortened Azkaban sentence (five years) and a pardon for his wife. Draco doesn't know what those names are, but he does know that the Lestranges were responsible for his father's subsequent death, and it's why his mother has never brought up Bellatrix or tried to visit her in prison. This is also the LH-canon reason that Bellatrix and Rodolphus were caught — the Ministry opened an investigation into them after Lucius's death, leading to their ultimate capture a few months later (Book 1, Chapter 1, see Narcissa's line about "the aurors are doing all they can"; see also, Book 4, Chapter 48, "The Misfortune of Amos Diggory," where Mad-Eye references the manhunt and Draco names the exact date the Lestranges were captured, which he remembers, ostensibly, because he and his mother would have been among the first people told).

(2) Future Black family interactions: I can't tell!! All I can say is that Order of the Phoenix is the book that spends the most time with members of the Black family, and I intend to honor that.

(3) What Narcissa is thinking in the last chapter: I can't answer that — I leave that up to you as a reader to interpret!

(4) Planning from the beginning: Fatherhood, and parenthood in general, is one of if not the prevailing theme in the Harry Potter series. A work about an orphan almost inevitably ends up being about family, and how different families shape us, and when I was sketching out the plot, it occurred to me how much Draco was shaped by the shadow of Lucius in canon; I didn't want to get rid of that trait, because it's deeply tied to his character, but I also wanted to play with it. So I decided to make it a different kind of shadow. Without actually being there for most of Draco's childhood, Lucius transforms from a powerful but mortal human being into a mythic figure, a titanic predecessor that everyone goes to great pains to remind Draco he must embody and live up to from a very young age. That's why the prologue is sort of a thematic shot-across-the-bow: it establishes what drives Draco, where his grief comes from, and also how it's warped his character slightly even by the time we meet him that first year on the Hogwarts Express.

It also happens to highlight his relationship with Narcissa, which I haven't seen explored as often as his relationship with Lucius is — I've often seen fics either treat Lucius/Narcissa as a thematic unit (Disapproving Parental Figures, a classic) or focus on disapproval coming from Lucius, while Narcissa gets to be the soft/nurturing/reformist pureblood who's willing to compromise. Which is a fair interpretation based on limited source material — but also, she's a Black. Of the same generation as Andromeda and Sirius, both of whom she has shunned for her adult life. Her relationship to blood status and privilege and power is far, far more interesting/rich than her husband's, and her canon backstory involves quite a few more (admittedly, implicit) personal choices than Lucius's does. Narcissa gets more texture than Lucius ever does. I think killing Lucius allowed that texture to come to the fore in ways it couldn't if he were still alive and acting head of the family.

[redheadwannabesblog]

First ever fanfic

this is how I imagine slughorns Christmas party would have gone had Ginny been included in the chapter. I never understood why she wasn’t there. I’ve never written something like this before. I don’t even know how to post on Ao3 but I needed to get it out of my head. —————————————

Harry walked with Luna to small crowd forming around the entry to Slughorn’s office. Though the office was expanded to accommodate the guests it still appeared a tight fit as people made their way in. A small house elf in a Hogwarts uniform with a round face and bright eyes was checking names off the guest list. As they waited their  turn Harry searched the crowd hoping to at least see Hermione waiting. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep making small talk with Luna who already seemed distracted by the decor and seemed to be eyeing the mistletoe suspiciously. Harry could only assume she was looking for nargles. 

Luna let out a small gasp and said “oh doesn’t she look beautiful”. Harry turned to where she was looking and suddenly felt his mouth go dry. 

Ginny had appeared alone but was walking confidently towards them beaming at Luna. Her dress was a blue so dark it could almost be black and it seemed to sparkle toward the hem which sat modestly near her ankle. Harry barely noticed the dress but instead was staring at the swath of skin surrounding the two small straps on her shoulders. It occurred to him he had never seen so much of her skin before. Freckles dusted her pale clavicles that were draped by her dark red hair that cascaded around her face. 

When she reached them she hugged Luna and with a small squeal said “Luna you look so beautiful, yellow is so wonderful on you.”Luna returned the compliment as Harry tried desperately to remember how to form words before he would be expected to speak. 

She turned to him with a smile and said “ and look at you Captain, you don’t look too bad yourself”. 

It took him a moment to gather himself to say “thank you” a bit louder than intended. Had it been this warm a moment ago? He asked himself as he was starting to sweat.

Ginny nodded to the entry and said “line seems to be thinning we should head in” 

They moved through the crowd to the table adorned with three different colored punch bowls and enough baked goods to feed hogwarts for a week. 

“Well Weasley, I didn’t know you knew how to put on a dress. What charity bin did you pull that out of?” came the sneering voice of Pansy Parkinson, who has sauntered behind them with Blaise Zabini on her arm. 

Zabini smirked while he looked up and down Ginny clearly having a higher opinion of the look than Pansy did. Harry remembered what Pansy had said on the train about Zabini finding her attractive. He felt fury build up at him at seeing him leer at Ginny like that and guilt at knowing he had just been doing the same. 

Ginny smiled with an exaggerated, sweetness, and responded “well thank you Pansy. I love yours too! It almost distracts from the reptile you seem to have attached to yourself tonight, nodding toward Zabini. Draco finally tire of you then?”

Pansy’s smirk fell as Harry fought back a laugh. She walked away from them in a huff. Clearly the mention of Draco has hit a nerve. Zabini, leaned in slightly and asked “and what about you? Where’s that muggleborn boyfriend of yours?” 

Ginny’s back stiffened but her sickly sweet tone didn’t falter. “Oh Blaise, what bothers you more? That I am dating a muggleborn or that I would never date you.” 

Taken aback Zabini dissolved into sputtering “filthy blood traitor”. 

Harry reached for his wand ready to blast Zabini across the room but Ginny continued. 

“I might be a filthy blood traitor in a secondhand dress but you’re the one still talking to me when your date has run off. Careful now. She’ll get jealous.” 

Zabini turned on his heels and went after Pansy. 

Luna was giggling before saying “he’s fancied you for ages. Insulting him seems to just make him want you more.”

Ginny scoffed and turned to pick up a bright purple macaron. “ I’d rather kiss a dementor”.

Harry couldn’t stop himself from laughing so hard he choked on the punch he had just taken drink of. 

Slughorn had joined them and shouted loudly “Harry my boy, come here, there are some people I want you to meet” 

He left luna and Ginny giggling as he was dragged away into the crowd. 

—————

After the rest of the evening carried on and he had found Hermione they walked out into the hall. Ginny jumped up behind them with Luna at her side.  

“Where have you two been? You missed the whole party. I got to meet Gwenog Jones! Can you believe it! I talked to her for a whole 5 minutes. She said I could write her and ask about the industry and requirements. Merlin this is amazing.” 

She seemed so happy Harry couldn’t help but grin and congratulate her but her attention was on Hermione then.

“ What’s wrong?” She filled the girls in on Mclaggan trying to grab and kiss her and Ginny scowled. “That git. I could hex his bits off”. 

Hermione smiled. Harry realized he probably should have reacted the same instead of blaming her for inviting him. 

“What about your night? Where’s Dean?” Hermione said not want to continue the conversation around Mcclaggens bits. 

“ he just didn’t want to come.” She shrugged but he thought she sounded a bit sad. 

“Let’s start heading back. We have the train back first thing in the morning.” They all nodded and said their goodbyes to Luna who thanked him again for inviting her. As he walked back next to Ginny he tried to think why Dean could possibly not wanted to come tonight. He would have given anything to have been her date tonight and not just the guy she had joked with and called Captain. He was just as bad as Zabini, drooling over her when she clearly didn’t want him. Well maybe not at bad as Zabini. 

When they reached the portrait of the fat lady Ginny stopped and Harry pulled himself from his thoughts. Dean was standing there in dress robes with a rose in his hand. “ hey Ginny, can we talk?” Ginny nodded and Harry and Hermione went through the portrait Hermione turning back to remind Ginny of curfew. 

Harry drudged up the steps to the dorms thankful the night was over. As he climbed into bed his mind filled with images of Ginny’s red hair and the freckles on her shoulders. 

[blackcurlsgreeneyes]

Darkest Before the Dawn // Closed RP

@fidelixcorde​

And here Harry had been thinking that the most exciting thing that would happen this school would be the Quidditch World Cup. Really, he should have known better; this was his life, after all. Between the chaos that broke out in the night, after that event, and the unsubtle hints that the Weasleys kept dropping, he really should have had a stronger sense of foreboding.

Technically, it was exciting news. Harry didn’t know anything about the Triwizard Tournament, but it was clear that it held global wizarding significance. If he was honest, though, from the moment Dumbledore announced it, Harry was just as intrigued by the prospect of these other international magical schools as he was by the Tournament itself.

He wasn’t disappointed. The night that the two groups arrived, it was a magnificent and dramatic display; the a carriage the size of a large house flew in pulled by Abraxans, producing the breathtaking medley of darker-skin-toned students with Professor Ahoka from Ilvermorny, and the Durmstrang ship emerged from the lake, revealing its fur-robed students, Professor Karkaroff, and Viktor Krum of all people.

From night one, it was a bit easier interacting with Ilvermorny. Their headmistress didn’t share Karkaroff’s snobbery, and actively worked out a schedule with McGonagall to get her students into the Hogwarts classrooms. And that was how Harry wound up with two new additions in his close friend group; most who had come were seventeen, eligible to compete, but a few had younger siblings who had joined them.

Among these were Taylor and Tyler, and they became part of the group from the first feast, when Taylor overheard Harry’s curiosity over some of the dishes that had appeared, clearly native to their guests’ homelands, and had made herself at home to tell him about it.

Since then, Harry was finding himself delighting in learning about American food, culture, education, and society from the sharp-eyed, sharp-witted girl. She and her twin fit right in--Hermione began improving her sign language, getting to know Tyler--and the weeks rolled on until they reached Halloween.

For the holiday occasion, a cloud of live bats was fluttering around the enchanted ceiling, while hundreds of carved pumpkins leered from every corner. Harry led the way over to Dean and Seamus, who were discussing those Hogwarts students of seventeen or over who had entered. There were names from every House, and excitement was palpable in the air, waiting for the end of dinner and the discovery of who was in.

“Did both your sisters go in for it?” Ron asked Taylor eagerly. “Angelina did, for us....Cedric Diggory, too, from Hufflepuff, and I heard that big Slytherin bloke Warrington, as well. I’d love for it to be a Gryffindor, just seems to make sense, doesn’t it?”

[roguewhimsy]

WIP Tomione Fic

I’ve been writing a one shot Tomione/is there Hermione Voldemort shorthand?-fic, and I’m terrified to post it cause it’s pretty dark and possibly a little too twisted so I’m posting an excerpt here to see if I can find the courage to finish it lol.

Nothing too terrible in this excerpt tho, so should be safe with now CWs except what comes with the territory- grief, loss…some imprisonment. I’d love to know your thoughts!

It’s literally called “Oopsie!” on my drive 🤣

Here’s how it starts:

Hermione knew that something was wrong when Voldemort passed her cell and, for the first time in recent or past memory, she felt the engulfing desire to kneel before him.

The days had blended into one another as she rotted away in her prison, deep in the Ministry of Magic where she knew that she would never see the sunlight again. Days and nights blurred together surrounded by the same dark walls, steel bars, and damp floors.

When was the last time Lord Voldemort, champion of the dark against the light, had come down to her cell in the first place? Hermione couldn’t remember but she certainly did not feel compelled to kneel then. She could barely remember the last time she lifted her head from counting and recounting the stones of the floor.

She battled the urge to kneel, instead standing. Her neck felt sore as she looked up and looked dead into the chilling eyes of her captor and the man who single handedly ruined her life and the lives of everyone she loved.

Those that he’d left alive, anyway.

So she was even more surprised that he chose not to merely pass by or even leer at her from outside the cage, but with a flick of his wrist and an absentminded wave to her guard, the metal door slid open with a smooth click and he entered her tiny cell.

He was enormous and as he got closer the urge to prostrate herself before him became almost overwhelming. She bit the inside of her cheek, keeping her rooted, glaring at him under her filthy fringe.

“So stubborn,” Voldemort said with a sibilant hiss. “My little mud blood refuses her base instincts so dramatically.”

Hermione felt a shock of feeling by his perverse pet name. “I am not your mudblood,” she spat back. “I am a witch and whether you like it or not I deserve to do magic just as much as anyone else.”

“See how you tremble?” Voldemort replied instead and it was only then that Hermione saw her own limbs shaking as if she’d just gotten off a rollercoaster. “See how much you wish to bow to your master? Listen to your body, and let yourself bend to me.”

“I’ll never bow to you,” she hisses, spitting at his feet as to punctuate what she felt about such a request.

Voldemort, to her great shock, does not kill her on the spot. Instead he looks pleased, like he’s won some great prize and that prize happens to be something to do with Hermione Granger.

Which simply could not bode well.

[racfoam]

I was wondering about like scabiour and harry , you know like a snippet, thank you

Oh boy, if Harry could bash anyone's face in, it'd be Scabiour, mostly cus of all the leering he gives Hermione. I actually had to goggle the name 😅

This snippet is set in nynn Deathly Hallows AU. It turned into Harrymort and only a short mention of Scabiour. Sorry, anon 😅

The locket purred happily between Harry’s breasts. It felt like a cat burrowing itself into her chest and purring. There was no shrieking or any sort of weight. Hermione really was right. The locket didn’t see Harry as an enemy. The feeling of wrongness, however, remained as Harry helped Hermione gather herbs to make the pain-relieving potion.

Harry hadn’t learned how to fix bones yet, and she hated that she hadn’t. All she managed to do was tether Ron's splinched skin back up. Despite Hermione’s praise, Harry felt lacking. She should have done more, learned more. She decided to start learning the spell from Advanced Healing first thing in the morning.

The wrath from Voldemort had dulled now. She could still feel him past the barricade of the doors of the soul bond. He was lingering, and every time his skeletal fingers touched the doors, a shiver wracked down Harry's spine. As though, instead of the doors, the pads of his fingers were trailing along Harry’s skin.

She felt an echo of his feelings. A gaping, aching sensation, in the center of her chest. Her hands felt so empty, even with her wand (but Harry wasn’t holding her wand) in her hand.

“I can feel you, Harry. Your mind is wrapped around mine.”

Harry stayed quiet. She noticed one of the herbs on the ground, bent down, and picked it up.

“You were in Grimmauld this entire time... Was saving the mudbloods that important to you?”

Harry felt a surge of relief. Voldemort thought it was a planned breakout. She felt a bit boldened by that. So, she reached out and grasped the golden thread between them.

“You killed Gregorovitch. I thought you like your wand.”

Voldemort’s delight filled the bond. Harry's entire body turned light, weightless with joy.

“Hello, Harry. You didn't allow me to congratulate you your seventeeth.”

Seventeen.

Seventeen.

“I had an entire event planned for it. Imagine my disappointment when you slipped away again.”

Harry felt her breath catch. Voldemort stood in front of her.

“Allow me to give you a gift.”

Voldemort bent down, and pressed a gentle kiss to Harry's unmoving lips. Harry kept her eyes closed, latching onto the feel of his lips.

“Happy birthday, Harry.” Voldemort whispered against Harry’s lips, his sibilant voice echoing around her, slithering softly across her skin.

A twig snapped. Harry's eyes snapped open. Voldemort was gone. And there, in front of the shield, stood Hermione, back stiff and tense. On the other side...

Harry's stomach sunk. Three wizards in ragged robes stood on the other side. One wizard, Harry recognised; Greyback.

It was however, a brown long-haired wizard that led the group. Every nerve in Harry's body tensed up. In silence, as quietly as possible, Harry approached Hermione. Just in case.

The brown-haired wizard had stopped moving. He smelled the air, and he turned to face them; facing the shield.

Harry's eyes widened..

“What's that smell?” asked the wizard, his tone muffled, as though he was speaking through a wall.

Then, he got distracted.

“Snatchers,” said Harry. She smiled at Hermione. “Good to know your enchantments work.”

“He could smell it,” said Hermione, fright in her voice. “My perfume.”

“Gross,” said Harry disgustedly. She grabbed Hermione's hand, pulling her back down; they headed back to camp.