#Professor Kettleburn

[leenamorrigan]

People think Flitwick's smile to the player is creepy?

Yo have you seen professor Kettleburn?

He looks like he's about to wear your skin as a coat!

[nocontext-hphm]

[fandomfrenzy97]

Another Hogwarts chapter is complete. Recently, Professor Kettleburn entrusted me and the rest of the Hippogriff Club to care for his baby Occamy, Squawk…unfortunately, she went missing and unintentionally caused a fair amount of damage, including tearing apart a book by one of the world’s most famous potioneers, which was actually a gift from the Hippogriff Club at Castelobruxo. Squawk was eventually found and the book was repaired. To celebrate the friendships formed within Hippogriff Club, Professor Snape (reluctantly) helped Penny and I with brewing a Laughing Potion for a party.

[monserelates]

Drunk Confessions ; James Potter

“Drunk words are sober thoughts” they said.

pairing: f!reader x james potter

summary: Y/N and James Potter have been in love with eachother since 3rd year and it’s common knowledge to anyone except them. But what happens when James gets a tad bit too drunk on a party?

warnings/notes: fluff fluff fluff, idiots in love, use of y/n, girlhood, marauders banter, alcohol consumption, idk what elsee

a/n: oh my god in genuinely so mad it literally erased the WHOLE STORY AND I HAD TO REWRITE IT WHST TJE FUCK hope you enjoy anyway chat 🙏🏻

The sky over the Quidditch pitch is an angry gray, rumbling low and threatening, but it doesn’t stop the crowd from roaring like a stadium on fire. Rain drizzles steadily, soaking scarves and robes, but no one seems to care. Every eye is locked on the blur of red and blue circling high above the pitch, faster and faster—bludgers whizzing past, players shouting, the wind slicing through the stands like a knife.

You’re at the front of the Gryffindor section, heart thudding so hard you can barely hear the chant thundering around you:

“POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!”

There’s no mistaking him.

Even from here, you can see the wild mess of black hair, the scarlet robes plastered to his skin from the rain, the glint of determination in his hazel eyes as he leans into the dive of his life.

James Potter looks like a firework seconds before it explodes.

And then—he catches it.

One hand, mid-air, golden wings trapped in his palm.

The pitch erupts.

Gryffindors launch to their feet like they’ve been stunned. Red and gold streamers shoot from somewhere above, and someone behind you yells so loudly they lose their voice on the spot. You don’t realize you’re screaming, too, until your throat burns.

The sound of celebration rises like a tidal wave—but your eyes don’t leave him. Not even for a second.

He’s grinning, eyes wide, hair dripping, arm still raised with the Snitch clenched between his fingers—and then he’s looking straight at you.

And your breath catches.

⸻

In the professor’s box…

“There it is,” McGonagall murmurs, a little smug.

Slughorn groans and drops three Galleons into her hand. “Every bloody time.”

Sprout passes Flitwick a folded bit of parchment with something scrawled on it—probably a prediction. “I had them getting together before the end of the match.”

“Too optimistic,” Flitwick says. “He’ll probably declare his love by Christmas. Or next century.”

Kettleburn frowns at the field through his rain-splattered spectacles. “Are we still talking about the Quidditch score?”

“No,” McGonagall says flatly. “We’re talking about Potter and Y/L/N. The will-they-won’t-they of the bloody decade.”

⸻

Back on the pitch, James doesn’t even acknowledge the rest of his team dogpiling each other in celebration.

He doesn’t stop to gloat, or bow, or wave at the crowd like he usually does.

He runs straight toward you.

Through the mud, through the noise, through everything—and you’re barely down the stairs when he barrels into you, arms wrapping around you, lifting you off your feet like you weigh nothing.

“Did you see that?!” he shouts, voice buzzing with adrenaline and disbelief.

You can’t stop smiling. You’re soaked to the skin, freezing, and buzzing like you’ve been hit with a cheering charm. “James, that was insane! That dive—I thought you were going to die!”

“I would’ve died dramatically!” he declares, spinning you in a ridiculous circle, his laugh echoing against your ear. “And you would’ve said I looked brilliant doing it.”

“You did look brilliant.”

He pulls back just far enough to see your face, his hands still on your waist, warm even through the rain. His grin falters just slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it so seriously.

“You really think so?”

“Of course I do.”

“Say it again.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re laughing. “You’re brilliant, James.”

“Again.”

“James—”

“One more for luck, come on.”

You swat his arm, and he catches your wrist and swings it gently between you two like you’re seven years old again on the playground.

⸻

Somewhere a few feet away, Sirius Black is groaning dramatically into his hands.

“This is torture. This is literally slow-burn hell.”

“They’re going to kill me with this,” Peter mutters, wrapping his scarf tighter around his head to muffle the scene in front of him.

Remus crosses his arms and sighs. “They’re standing in the rain. Holding each other. Making heart eyes. And neither of them has any idea.”

“Tell me again why we’re not legally allowed to interfere?” Sirius asks.

Remus shrugs. “I think it falls under cruel and unusual punishment if we force them to kiss before they figure it out.”

⸻

You, meanwhile, are still standing there with James, the rain now falling in soft silver sheets around you.

He’s grinning, breathless, flushed from the cold and the win and something else—something softer.

“You’re my lucky charm, you know that?”

“Is that why you always play better when I’m watching?”

“Exactly,” he says, not even pretending it’s a joke.

Your heart stumbles.

But before you can say anything, before you can even breathe, Sirius whistles from the sidelines.

“Oi! Lover boy! Save the swooning for the afterparty!”

James flips him off cheerfully and takes your hand.

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s go get absolutely wrecked.”

You let him drag you off the field, hand in hand, heart still thudding against your ribs like a snitch trying to escape.

You don’t know it yet, but that’s the moment every professor marks on their mental betting sheet as the beginning of the end for your denial.

..

The Gryffindor common room looks like a postcard from chaos.

Laughter ricochets off the walls. Firewhisky sloshes dangerously close to priceless magical tapestries. Red and gold streamers dangle from floating lanterns, and the Fat Lady is two notes into an off-key drinking song from her frame before someone silences her with a silencing charm (she keeps singing anyway).

You’re curled up on the couch now, legs tucked beneath you, cheeks flushed from the heat and the firewhisky and maybe the fact that James Potter has just collapsed beside you like he belongs there.

(He does. But don’t say that out loud.)

His head lands against your shoulder with a groan. “Merlin, I can’t feel my spine.”

You snort into your butterbeer. “You just won a full-on war match. What’d you expect?”

“A parade. Chocolate. You serenading me.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re delusional.”

He lifts his head slightly, just enough to glance up at you with that lazy, lopsided grin. “Delusion looks good on me, though, yeah?”

He’s too close. Not in a bad way. Just in a dangerous way. His face is warm, hair still damp from rain, and his cheeks are flushed a little from drink and laughter and you.

He bumps your shoulder lightly. “You haven’t told me yet.”

“Told you what?”

“That I was brilliant.”

You stare at him.

He stares back. Wide, innocent eyes. He’s not even joking.

“I literally told you that on the pitch—”

“I know. Say it again.”

“James—”

“One more time. For my ego. It’s fragile. Ask Remus.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m yours,” he says brightly, and then immediately frowns at himself. “Wait, no. Not like— I meant, like—your ridiculous. As in. You own me. Platonically. Friendly-like.”

Your face burns.

He blinks at you, like his brain is just catching up to his mouth. “Unless you don’t want that? The—uh. Friendly ownership?”

You open your mouth. Then close it.

Then open it again, because he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the room. And it’s maddening. And wonderful. And unfair.

“James,” you say, voice a little softer, “You’re always brilliant. Match or not.”

His entire face lights up. Like a sunrise, like a Patronus, like you just gave him a love potion by accident. His grin is all teeth, all joy, like he just heard something he didn’t even know he needed.

“Well,” he says, blinking hard. “Now I definitely need you to say it again.”

You groan and drop your head into his shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”

“Say it with more affection next time.”

You don’t move. It’s warm here. You’re tucked against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and he’s just—letting you. His hand comes up instinctively, curling over your knee like you’ve sat like this a hundred times before. Like this is just what you do.

You’re both quiet for a beat.

Then—

James shifts, speaking into your hair, barely above the music.

“You looked really pretty today.”

You freeze.

“What?”

“After the match. Or during. Or always.” He says it like he’s thinking it out in real time. “In the rain. With your hair all messed up and your voice all loud. It was really distracting. I nearly flew into a goalpost.”

You pull back to look at him, heart beating a little too loud in your ears.

His smile wobbles, almost shy now. “It’s not fair, you know. How you make it so hard to focus.”

You’re about to say something—what, you’re not sure—when Sirius crashes down onto the couch beside you both, dramatically sprawled like a dying Victorian maiden.

“Will you two just kiss already?!”

You and James spring apart like you’ve been hit with a Stunning Spell. Your knees knock. The blanket slips off your lap. James nearly falls off the couch. Your face is on fire.

“Sirius!” you hiss.

Remus appears behind him, dragging him by the collar. “Sorry, sorry, he’s had four drinks and zero impulse control.”

“I’m right, though!” Sirius yells as he’s hauled away. “This has been a seven-year buildup! You’re killing me!”

James is still staring at the spot where you were just curled into his side, like he’s unsure if it happened or if he dreamed it.

You clear your throat. “Anyway. Butterbeer?”

“Please,” he says hoarsely.

You both stand awkwardly, side by side.

Neither of you says what you’re thinking.

Neither of you notices the way you mirror each other’s nervous gestures.

Neither of you knows that the whole common room is quietly taking mental bets now.

You just walk toward the drinks table—shoulder brushing shoulder, cheeks pink, trying very hard not to fall in love again in front of everyone.

Too late.

..

It’s been, maybe, thirty minutes since you last talked to James — maybe less — and he’s now reached the level of intoxication where he’s bouncing from couch to floor to table like a golden retriever stuck in a Quidditch locker room. A loud golden retriever.

And you, unfortunately, are the center of his universe.

“Y/N,” he’s saying to a poor first-year who clearly only came over for crisps. “Y/N Y/L/N is a genius. A gift to magical academia. She’s rewriting the rules. Have you read her last essay on spell layering? I read it for fun. I highlighted things. I made notes. NOTES.”

The first-year bolts.

Across the room, Sirius groans. “He’s reached stage four.”

Remus raises a brow. “Already?”

“He’s talking about her footnotes again.”

You, meanwhile, are curled into a chair with Lily and Dorcas, sipping from a butterbeer and watching this trainwreck in motion.

“I didn’t even do anything,” you murmur, wide-eyed.

Dorcas snorts. “That’s the problem.”

James turns next to Marlene, wild-eyed and swaying like a tree in a hurricane. “She’s going to change the world, Mar. I’m just some twat with a broom, but she’s—she’s like a wand-core in human form. Powerful. Regal. Glowy.”

“Glowy,” Sirius repeats, deadpan.

“She deserves her own holiday,” James says gravely. “With no homework. And themed pastries.”

Peter, lying starfish-style on the floor, just mutters, “You said that already.”

James ignores him.

“Moony,” he says suddenly, stumbling over. “Did you know she reads magical theory books for fun?”

“I did, yeah,” Remus says calmly. “She’s in our study group.”

James gasps. “You’ve studied with her?! In real life?!”

“Every Tuesday.”

“Why wasn’t I invited?”

“You were.”

“I WAS?!”

Sirius kicks Remus under the table. “Don’t answer that. He’ll cry.”

James wipes his face. “No, no, I’m fine.”

“I would pay to be in a group with her,” James continues, wildly unaware. “Like actual Galleons. Maybe my Firebolt.”

“You’d trade your broom for study rights?” Sirius asks.

“I’d trade my dignity,” James replies, deadly serious.

“You already have,” Peter mumbles.

“Okay but she’s just so incredibly amazi-”

Sirius sighs so loudly his soul escapes for a second. “Mate, please, for the love of Merlin—take a breath.”

“I can’t!” James cries, hand on his heart. “She just talked to me, Sirius. She said I looked brilliant out there. Brilliant. She said it. Out loud. With her mouth. To me.”

He’s swaying. There’s a butterbeer bottle dangling from one hand and a crumpled bit of parchment in the other — no one knows where it came from, or what it says. He keeps trying to read it dramatically, but it’s blank.

He lurches toward Lily now, grabbing her shoulders with too much emotion for someone this off-balance. “Evans. Lily. You’re smart. You get it. Tell me she’s the most magnificent human being to ever live.”

Lily looks him dead in the eye. “She’s alright.”

James’s jaw drops. “Alright?! You take that back right now.”

Dorcas cackles. “Lily, you’re going to send him into cardiac arrest.”

“I just think Marlene’s got better cheekbones—”

“HOW DARE—”

James starts climbing the arm of the couch like it’s a podium. His butterbeer spills onto Sirius’s leg.

“I would die for her,” he declares to the room, fully ignoring Sirius screaming “MY TROUSERS, JAMES!”

“I would go to Azkaban for her!”

“I think you’d go to Azkaban for knocking over that table,” Peter says mildly.

“I would invent new spells for her! Emotional ones! With poetry built in!”

“You don’t even remember the counter-hex for hiccoughing,” Remus mutters.

“I’d learn!” James insists. “For her? I’d learn anything. Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Goblin dialects—anything.”

Marlene sips from her cup, eyeing him like a science experiment. “Should we be worried he’s going to propose tonight?”

“No, no,” James says quickly. “Not tonight. I have to make it special. You only get one first proposal. I’ll probably need a broomstick and a dragon.”

A pause.

“Maybe two dragons.”

“James,” Sirius says slowly, like speaking to a spooked Hippogriff. “You do know she’s still here, yeah? At this party?”

James freezes.

“What.”

“She hasn’t left,” Remus adds. “She’s literally by the fireplace.”

He turns slowly.

Y/N is laughing again — head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut — and it hits him all over again like a rogue Bludger.

He turns back to them, hand over his mouth. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

“I have to tell her she’s amazing.”

“NO!” all four of them yell at once.

Sirius grabs him by the collar. “You already did! At least five times! Just now! You were very loud!”

“I was?!”

“James,” Remus says gently. “If you tell her again tonight, she’ll never take you seriously ever again.”

James frowns, gaze flickering. “But she’s just so—look at her. How is a person allowed to be that capable and that pretty? At the same time?! While breathing?! It’s not fair.”

“Neither is this hangover you’re about to have,” Peter mumbles.

You’re across the room, sitting with Lily, Dorcas, and Marlene near the fireplace, laughing at something. Your head’s thrown back, hand curled over your stomach, cheeks flushed from drink and heat and happiness.

James sees this.

And promptly gasps.

Loudly.

“Did—did you see that?” he whispers furiously to no one in particular, swatting at Sirius’s arm.

“See what?” Sirius blinks.

“She just—” James gestures vaguely in her direction. “She laughed. Like a—like a goddess. Like something out of a romance novel. Did you see that?!”

Remus raises an eyebrow, sipping from his butterbeer. “James, she’s laughed like that since First Year.”

“Yes,” James says, grabbing Sirius’s face. “But this time it was at my joke.”

“It wasn’t,” Peter pipes up from the floor. “She was laughing at Marlene.”

James doesn’t hear him. He’s too busy sinking deeper into the cushions, clutching a half-empty bottle and sighing like someone just recited a Shakespearean sonnet into his soul.

Sirius grabs him. “Alright, Casanova, let’s sit back down before you give McGonagall a reason to revoke your Prefect badge.”

James collapses onto the couch but doesn’t stop talking. He’s now mumbling into a throw pillow.

“She’s so smart. Her brain is like—like a Pensieve made of diamonds. And her eyes? Unfair. Illegal. Should require a license.”

You bury your face in your hands.

“Don’t look at me,” you groan. “Don’t even look at me.”

Dorcas leans into your side, grinning. “You’re not embarrassed. You’re thriving.”

“I’m combusting.”

Across the room, Lily narrows her eyes. “Okay. Who gave him the last bottle?”

Dorcas smirks. “He nicked it from Peter when he was doing that thing with the singing frog.”

“Oh no,” Marlene says, already turning to watch.

“Oh yes,” Sirius says gleefully, patting James on the back like he’s winding up a toy.

“Did I ever tell you,” James says, swaying forward with the glass raised like a toast, “that in Third Year, Y/N got an Outstanding on that bloody Transfiguration essay—without extra credit? And then she apologized for ‘only’ getting one foot over the minimum length. Like some sort of modest academic angel.”

“You have,” says Remus, dryly. “Twice a month. Every month. Since Third Year.”

“She’s just so…” James trails off, blinking at nothing, trying to summon language that doesn’t exist. “She’s like… if the library came to life and had really nice hands.”

“Poetic,” Peter murmurs.

James leans his head against the back of the couch, watching her from across the room like she’s the only star in the sky.

“And her handwriting,” he slurs, dreamy and devastating. “She dots her i’s with perfect little circles. Not hearts, thank Merlin, she’s not insufferable. But like. The neatest circles you’ve ever seen. I’d kill to be one of her i’s.”

Remus spits out his drink.

Sirius is laughing so hard he has to bend over.

“Mate,” he wheezes. “You are so far gone you’re about to become a sonnet.”

James frowns, eyes still locked on her. “She deserves one.”

“Write her one, then,” Remus says, exasperated.

James shrugs. “Couldn’t do her justice.”

Across the room, you start to stand up, clearly preparing to come over. James perks up immediately, nearly launching off the couch, except Sirius holds him down with one hand.

“She’s coming this way,” James whisper-shouts, scrambling to fix his hair and elbow Remus in the ribs. “Do I look tragic? In a romantic, yearning sort of way?”

“You look like you just got hit by a flying book,” Peter says.

“That’s very her-coded,” James whispers urgently. “She’ll love it.”

Y/N appears in front of them, hands on her hips, eyes narrowing. “Are you drunk?”

“Depends,” James says brightly. “Are you real or did I dream you up in Charms class again?”

You blink. “What?”

“What.”

Everyone freezes.

Lily, from across the room, covers her face. “Oh my god.”

Dorcas kicks Marlene under the table. “We’re witnessing a historical event.”

“James,” you say slowly. “You dreamed about me in Charms class?”

James’s face goes bright pink. He blinks. “No.”

“James.”

“…Yes.”

Remus drops his head into his hands. Sirius is making a strangled keening sound beside him.

You don’t say anything for a second. Just stare.

James, meanwhile, is staring up at you with the dumbest, dreamiest smile in all of wizard history. “Y’know, you have the best laugh I’ve ever heard. Like music. Not like bagpipes. Like—like harps. But funny.”

You press your hand to your face. “James, you’re sloshed.”

“But still honest!” he says, raising a finger. “And if I die tonight, which is a real possibility—someone needs to tell you. You’re absolutely—stunning. And terrifying. And the best person I’ve ever met.”

You go very still.

“You deserve everything,” James says, serious now. “Every top mark. Every bloody award. And—and someone who worships the ground you walk on.”

Sirius points dramatically at James. “Like this guy, for example!”

James waves weakly. “Hi.”

You stare at him.

Then you shake your head with a disbelieving smile, cheeks burning.

“I’m getting you water,” you mutter, turning on your heel.

As you walk away, Sirius leans in. “Well?”

James is still smiling like an idiot.

“I love her,” he mumbles.

“You think?” Remus says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Across the room, James looks up like he’s just spotted a unicorn.

“There she is,” he whispers reverently, eyes locked on you. “Look at her. Laughing. Being intelligent. Breathing air.”

He turns to the boys. “I’m going to tell her she’s amazing again.”

“No, you are not,” Sirius says, throwing an arm across him.

“You already did,” Remus adds.

“You said you’d invent spells with poetry built in,” Peter says, eyes closed. “That’s enough vulnerability for one night.”

“But I didn’t even tell her about the way her nose crinkles when she’s annoyed,” James insists, distressed.

“YES, YOU DID,” the entire group yells at once.

James flops dramatically back onto the couch, gaze still on you, hand pressed to his heart.

“I hope I never get used to it,” he mumbles.

“To what?” Sirius asks, too tired for this.

“Her. Being… her.”

Silence.

Then:

“That’s it,” Lily whispers to you. “I’m putting a Galleon down that he confesses within the week.”

You snort. “He’s not going to remember any of this.”

“Oh, he will,” Remus says, already conjuring a camera. “Because we’re going to make him.”

..

James is soft in the firelight.

Slouched on your lap, staring at you with those dreamy eyes while you run your hands through his hair. His eyes are glassy, smile sleepy. There’s an empty butterbeer bottle rolling somewhere near his foot.

You think he might fall asleep mid-sentence, right until he says it:

“I’m in love with you.”

No teasing. No grin.

Just the truth — dropped into your lap like a glass heart he doesn’t think you’ll keep.

You stare at him. Everything in you flickering, still, glowing.

And maybe he’s tipsy, and it’s way too late, and maybe you’ve spent years convincing yourself not to say anything — but your mouth opens before your doubt can shut it.

“I’ve been in love with you since third year.”

James turns to you fully now, dazed.

“You have?”

You nod, heart thudding so hard it nearly knocks you over. “You—” your voice catches, and then it softens, wavers at the edges. “You helped me carry six books back from the library. I was too proud to ask anyone. You didn’t even say anything. Just took half of them out of my arms like it was nothing.”

He blinks. “You’re telling me I won your heart with library logistics?”

You laugh — really laugh — the kind that curls into your cheeks. “It wasn’t just that. It was the way you smiled at me like I already mattered. I think I’ve been trying to catch up with that moment ever since.”

James stares at you like you just rearranged the stars.

And then you add, softer, thumb brushing along his knuckles:

“You’ll probably forget this tomorrow.”

He shakes his head so hard his curls flop. “No. Not this. Not you.”

“You said that last time you got drunk.”

“Yeah, but that was about pineapple on pizza, which is totally so wrong by the way, and this is about you, and you’re my favorite person in the world.”

You blink, throat tightening.

He exhales like the truth has been sitting on his chest for years. “You make everything better just by existing. Like—I look at you and forget what I was mad about. Or scared about. You just—calm the chaos.”

You nudge his knee with yours, voice watery. “You’re drunk and romantic and a little bit sappy.”

He nods solemnly. “And I still know you’re the girl I want to marry.”

Then, quieter:

“Kiss me tomorrow, okay? Just to make sure it wasn’t a dream.”

You smile, curling closer to him like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Only if you remember the third year library incident.”

“Deal.”

He tucks his head into your shoulder.

And in the dying firelight, with the castle quiet around you and the taste of unsaid things still sweet in the air, you let yourself believe it.

Tomorrow, he’ll remember.

Because love like this doesn’t get drunk. It waits.

..

James wakes up like a man reborn.

Which is to say: violently, dramatically, with a sharp inhale and a jolt upright that knocks his glasses off the nightstand and sends his pillow flying to the floor.

He blinks at the ceiling, hair sticking up in twelve different directions.

And then—

“OH MY GOD.”

The sound echoes through the boys’ dormitory like a spell misfired. Peter lets out a strangled yelp and rolls off his bed with a thud. Sirius groans, dragging a pillow over his face.

Remus, who’s reading some poetry book, even with a hangover, doesn’t look up.

“Unless Dumbledore’s tap-dancing at the foot of your bed, I swear to Merlin, James—”

“SHE LOVES ME.”

Silence.

Absolute, stunned, not-this-early silence.

Peter pokes his head up from behind his blankets. “Who? The librarian?”

“Y/N!” James yells, launching himself out of bed and spinning like he’s in a Disney film. “Y/N loves me. She told me. Last night. Right here.” He points aggressively at his chest. “In the heart zone.”

Sirius groans louder. “It’s too early for this level of optimism.”

“She’s loved me since third year!” James says, nearly tripping on his own shoe in excitement. “Third! Year!”

“You’re shouting,” Remus says, very dry. “Please don’t shout.”

“I REMEMBER EVERYTHING!” James howls with glee, climbing onto Sirius’s bed. “She said I make her feel calm. I make her feel calm! I am a human soothing draught!”

Sirius whacks him with a pillow. “You’re a human disaster!”

James falls dramatically to the floor, arms spread wide like he’s been shot. “A loved disaster!”

Peter squints. “Wait, are you sure this wasn’t a hallucination?”

“Hallucinations don’t tuck their heads into your shoulder and promise to kiss you in the morning.”

Sirius sits up at that. “Wait. Did you kiss?”

“No,” James says reverently, like it’s sacred. “We’re saving it.”

Sirius throws himself back down. “Merlin, just kill me.”

“I’m going to marry her,” James says suddenly, with the confidence of a man who can barely tie his tie in the morning.

Remus finally puts his book down. “Maybe eat breakfast first.”

“I’m going to buy her breakfast. Then marry her.”

Peter groans into his hands. “I hope she knows what she’s signed up for.”

“She does,” James says, dreamy, like the thought of you just rewrote his entire brain chemistry. “She’s perfect. Life is perfect. Life is great.”

And then he sprints to the bathroom singing something that vaguely sounds like a love song but might also be the Gryffindor Quidditch chant.

The Marauders exchange a look.

Sirius sighs, rubbing his temples. “You know what the worst part is?”

Remus raises an eyebrow.

“He’s not wrong.”

..

You find him by the lake.

He’s sitting under that same tree you always gravitate toward when the castle feels too full — hair still messy from sleep, tie loose, legs stretched out like he’s been waiting all morning. Because he has.

When he sees you, his face lights up like the bloody sun.

“You came.”

“I figured you’d be here,” you say, soft.

He grins. “Course I am. This is where I first realized I was doomed.”

You blink. “What?”

“Third year,” he says, sitting up straighter. “I watched you lug about twenty kilos of books up the hill after the library kicked us out. I tried to help, and you gave me that look — the one that’s all, ‘I’m fine, but I’ll murder you if you tell me I’m not.’”

You can’t help laughing. “Sounds like me.”

“You dropped a book on my foot,” he says fondly. “A heavy one. Arithmancy.”

“I remember.”

“And I remember thinking—” his voice dips lower, gentler, “—that I wanted to carry your books forever. Even if you hexed me for it.”

Something warm stirs in your chest.

You sit beside him in the grass, close enough that your knees brush. The lake glitters beside you like it knows this is a moment worth shining for.

“Did you really remember everything from last night?” you ask, quieter now.

He nods immediately. “Every word. You said you loved me since third year. That I make you calm. That I smiled at you like you already mattered.”

Your breath hitches.

“You do matter,” he says. “Always have.”

There’s no one around. Just the wind and the water and him looking at you like you hung the constellations he memorized for Astronomy.

You lean in.

“You asked me to kiss you, remember?”

“I said to do it if I meant it,” he murmurs.

“So I will.”

And then you kiss him.

It’s not a firework — it’s a sunrise. Soft. Certain. Familiar in all the ways a first kiss shouldn’t be, but is, because you’ve loved him for so long you’ve practically memorized him.

He exhales into it, like he’s been holding his breath for three years straight.

You pull back just slightly, resting your forehead against his, both of you smiling too hard to speak.

“You’re not dreaming,” you whisper.

His voice is just as quiet, just as real. “No. I’m finally awake.”

You link your pinky with his — that’s all it takes.

“Let’s go back,” you say. “We’ve got Charms in ten.”

James smirks. “I’ve already won.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I got the girl who dropped an Arithmancy book on my foot.”

You laugh, shaking your head, and he grabs your hand properly this time as you both head back toward the castle — together, finally, ridiculously, completely in love.

..

Up on the Astronomy Tower, half-hidden by a stone balustrade, six faces are squished into a far-too-small window view, watching the scene unfold by the lake.

When you and James finally kiss, Sirius lets out an unholy screech.

“YESSSSS! FINALLY! THE ENEMIES-TO-BEST-FRIENDS-TO-SOULMATES PIPELINE IS REAL!”

Marlene punches the air so hard she almost falls off the ledge. “WE CALLED IT. WE CALLED IT IN SECOND BLOODY YEAR.”

Dorcas screams into her scarf. “Do you know how long I’ve had to listen to Y/N say ‘It’s not like that with James’ while doodling his name in her notes?!”

Remus smiles, smug and knowing. “Took them long enough.”

Peter nods solemnly. “I would like financial compensation for emotional damages.”

Lily is beaming, arms crossed, looking like the proudest mum of two tragically slow children. “I’ve had a toast prepared for this day since Fifth Year.”

Sirius wipes an imaginary tear. “They kissed like they’ve been in love since third year.”

“They have been in love since third year,” Lily, Dorcas, Marlene, and Remus chorus at once.

“Oi!” James shouts from below, turning around with you still tucked under his arm. “We can see you, you know!”

Sirius immediately cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “WE DON’T CARE! GET MARRIED!”

“NAME YOUR FIRSTBORN AFTER ME,” Dorcas adds.

Remus chuckles. “Get ready for uncle Moony!”

Meanwhile, in the staff lounge, Flitwick glances out the window and gasps so loud he almost falls off his stack of books.

“They did it! They finally kissed!”

McGonagall doesn’t even look up from her tea. “About bloody time.”

Sprout pulls out a dusty betting chart from under her gardening apron. “Alright, who had post-Quidditch-match, lakeside, mid-June?”

Slughorn sighs dramatically and tosses a Galleon into her palm. “I said Hogsmeade weekend. Close, but no cigar.”

Kettleburn peeks over his newspaper. “Still talking about the students?”

“Yes,” they all say in unison.

Flitwick smiles fondly. “They were always going to find each other.”

McGonagall watches you and James walk back toward the castle, hands clasped, smiling like you’ve just cracked the code to the universe.

“They just needed a few years. And a few footnotes.”

THE END

a/n: hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it—twice—, please reblog and give feedback! / requests are open!

GENERAL TAGLIST: @strlightfilms @natalia42069 @glittervame

[marauder-misprint]

hi! can you do something with the marauders preferably sirius or james where the reader has constantly been like kind of invisible her whole life and spoken over and in the end has just stopped speaking up much ? thankyou <33 ( no pressure though! )

Hi! Thank you for this request ❤︎ Not sure how I feel about the quality of this. I definitely feel like it's not James enough, but it is what it is. Or maybe it's the lack of interactions with the rest of the Marauders that has me feeling like this? Idk. (It also might be because I'm not a huge James writer? Who knows?)

ANYWAYS! I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Potions partner

James Potter x reader

4.6k words

cw: fluff, yapper!James

You’re not sure which is more peculiar: the story you’re telling or the fact that multiple people are listening to you tell it. 

It had happened during Care of Magical Creatures class that morning. Professor Kettleburn was trying to settle an aggravated Thestral and was failing horribly to the point where he dismissed class urgently. You were one of the few students who could actually see the beast so your retelling of the event was more descriptive than the rest of the class’. 

But what wasn’t peculiar was when a boy sat down a few seats away from you with complaints about the latest Transfiguration essay and all the attention that had been on you and your story moved on. Was the Thestral more interesting? Yes. But you were you, a background character in your own life. People didn’t pay attention to you if there was something else going on.  

You sigh and turn your attention to the food on your plate. You’ve barely touched it since you were talking for once. Now that attention has left you like it always does, you’re able to eat. It had been nice to feel heard, even if just for a few minutes. You never did hold people’s attention for long. You were just something to fill the background, nothing special to see. And often you weren’t seen. There were too many times for you to count when someone brushes past you, accidentally knocking you to the ground and they barely give you “Sorry, didn’t see you there.” 

In short, you weren’t seen and you weren’t heard. 

It wasn’t just your classmates either. It seemed like once a week, a professor would scan the classroom as they marked who was in attendance and they’d ask if you were there. You always were. You’d raise your hand and wave it around. Sometimes, even with that, they’d miss you until your friend spoke up and said that, yes, you were, in fact, in class. You weren’t sure how the professors managed to skip over you so much, but they did. Maybe it was because you weren’t an extreme. Your grades weren’t horrible enough to be of concern, nor were they exceptional enough to be used as examples and to earn house points. 

That afternoon in Potions, one of your least favorite things happened. Professor Slughorn announced a partnered-project.

“If everyone could get into pairs please! We will be working on brewing Felix Felicis and there will be various assignments with this. Pick someone you will be able to focus with. Yes, this means that Potter and Black cannot be partners.”

A pair of groans erupt from the back of the room. 

“I got dibs on Moony,” Sirius says.

James groans again, scanning the room. Lily had picked Mary. Marlene and Peter didn’t continue with Potions in N.E.W.T. level. People got into pairs quickly. You had immediately turned toward Emmeline. She was usually kind to you, but she paired with Benjy Fenwick. Your options dwindled fast. 

“Alright, anyone without a partner?” Slughorn asks the class as the room began to settle down. 

You and James both raise your hands. 

“Alright, you two are paired then. Here is the first assignment…”

You glance at James and cringe internally. Loud, boisterous James was your partner for the foreseeable future. Slughorn hadn’t given a timeframe for how long these assignments would be. You try to listen to everything that he’s saying about the first assignment, but it’s difficult when you’re dreading the assignment before it’s even really begun. 

After class ends, you approach James.

“Erm, I’ll do the essay if you want to do the first part of the potion?” you offer, hugging your books tight to your chest. 

“Huh? Oh, for the project. The essay’s long, don’t you want to work together on it?” James replies.

“I don’t-” you start to say.

Sirius interrupts you. “Mate, the girl’s just offered you the easy way out of the project. Take it and run.” 

You press your lips into a thin line, nod and walk away. Sirius got it. You’d split the project into separate pieces as much as you could. Plus, did Mr. Popular really want to be seen with someone as quiet and invisible as you? You didn’t think so. As you made your way to your next class, you assumed that was the end of the conversation. 

It wasn’t.

James finds you in the library after dinner. He’s slightly out of breath as he places his things on the table.

“You’re a hard one to find,” he says, taking a seat across from you.

You don’t say anything. In fact, you barely spare him a glance. 

“I wanted to talk to you about the Potions project,” he continues as he takes out homework for a different class. “It’s a multiple part project. It’s very interconnected, not something we can split down the middle and work on separately.”

He stops talking and waits for you to respond. You still don’t look up. You just work on your Herbology assignment.

“You… you are my partner for Potions, right?” he asks, running a hand through already-messy hair. “That’d be embarrassing if I just sat down across from the wrong girl…”

“We’re partners,” you whisper, more to your parchment than James.

“Great. So I’m at the right table! Like I was saying, you can’t do the entire essay and have me do all the brewing. I mean, we can do that. Like you write and I actually brew, which is fine. But we have to meet up to work on it, you know? Can’t do one part without the other.” 

“I prefer to work alone,” you say. “So take my offer or do it all by yourself.”

James’ eyes narrow. 

“That’s not how partner projects work.”

You raise your eyes to meet his for the first time since he sat down. Pretty. You sigh and look back at your assignment. You have work to get done. You hope that James will get the message, accept your terms and leave you alone. Instead, he starts to work on an essay for Astronomy.

“Do you study at this table often?” he asks nonchalantly. 

“Mhmm,” you hum. 

Part of you wants to ask why he’s asking. What’s it to him that you work at that table practically like clockwork? 

“This a daily thing or weekly? Every other day? Multiple times a day?” 

“Whenever I have assignments,” you answer, although it's a very non-answer. When didn’t you have homework as a sixth year? 

Every teacher assigned endless work to prepare you for the incoming exams. You were to be prepared and the way to prepare you was to assign work. 

“So you’re here every second of every day, got it,” James says cheekily. 

A quick glance at him reveals a smirk playing on his lips. Despite his quill hovering about parchment, he’s watching you, scanning your face for some kind of reaction. Something more than the quiet, short answers you’ve responded with so far. It’s a change of pace for James. Everyone wants to talk to him. He can talk with anyone about anything. It’s a gift that he and Sirius share. You, on the other hand, aren’t talking and it’s strange to James. Even Lily talks more when she’s shooting down his advances. 

“Do you need help with that for Sprout?” James offers, confident that he can get you to talk more. “I finished it over lunch.”

You shake your head. James frowns, having been hoping for a verbal answer. He gives up trying to get you to talk for the evening, although he doesn’t leave your table. The two of you work in tandem for a few hours. James is far more uncomfortable with the silence between you than you are. It’s something you’re used to, and even if James had decided to ramble on about something, you would’ve managed to get the same amount of work done. James was used to noise around him, even in the library. With friends like his, quiet work time didn’t exist. 

The next day James tries to say hi to you during the few classes that you share. You offer a small smile or a quiet ‘hello’ in response. You never stop and talk to him beyond that, which bothers him. You were partners for a project that would inevitably force you to spend some time together. Why didn’t you bother trying to get to know him at all? 

“That’s your Potions partner, right?” Sirius asks as you walk away from them for the fourth time. “The one you got stuck with?”

��Yeah. Clearly doesn’t talk much,” James answers, watching you go and wordlessly sit down next to a Hufflepuff. He runs a hand through his hair absentmindedly.

“Maybe she just doesn’t know you? Or like you,” Peter says.

“What do you mean, Wormtail?” James asks. 

“You’re not friends with everyone and some people don’t talk to people they don’t like.” Peter said it like it should’ve been common sense. 

“But how can she not like me if she doesn’t know me? Won’t even try to know me? I sat with her for hours last night and I got maybe five sentences out of her!”

“You were in the library,” Remus snorts. “Some people respect the library’s quiet.”

“I know how to whisper!” 

The other three boys burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter. James Potter whispering was more akin to a stage whisper. So, not a whisper. He was a loud person. 

Then after dinner, James sits across from you in the library again. 

“Same table. Easier to find,” he says as he takes out his homework. 

Just like yesterday, you don’t respond. You don’t look up. You just continue working. James, however, is more intent on getting you to talk. He tries to think of something that might get your attention. It’s more difficult than he originally imagined. He didn’t know you. “What’s today’s assignment?” 

“Care of Magical Creatures,” you say, voice barely qualifying as a whisper. 

That got James’ attention more than it should have.

“Were you in class with the rampant Thestral? I heard it was crazy. Can’t imagine dealing with a creature you can’t see!” he asks.

“Professor Kettleburn provoked it. He pulled its wing. It looked overstretched,” you say with certainty. 

Looked.

“Looked?” 

You nod, flipping the page of the book you have open in front of you.

“You can see them? I thought you could only see them if-”

“If you’ve seen death,” you interrupt James. 

He’s staring at you with wide eyes.

“You’ve seen death?” James asks. 

He’s certain that he won’t get any work done. Not when you can see Thestrals.

You nod, again. Yesterday you were thrilled to have people’s attention as you recounted the beast mauling Kettleburn with its hooves. Today, you want to get your assignment done so you can return to your dorm. You aren’t sure why James is so curious about it, or why he keeps talking to you. No one ever sits at your table two days in a row.

After you don’t speak, James lets the conversation, if you can call it that, die. He figures that you don’t want to talk about who you’ve seen die. Maybe it was someone close to you. Maybe it was recent and hurt too much to talk about. He tries to focus on his work, but he was right in his assumption that he wouldn’t get work done. Even if you weren’t talking, James found you fascinating. His eyes keep drifting up to watch you work. 

He breaks the silence after a while. “Can we work on that Potions essay tomorrow? I’m fine with brewing the potion, but we’ll work on the essay together.” 

You sigh yet you nod all the same. 

“Great!” 

And with that, James leaves you alone. 

The next day feels the same as the last. James says hi to you whenever he sees you, earning the same responses from you. There’s something nice about him taking the time to say  hi to you when most of your classmates barely acknowledge your existence. Still, he’s only your partner in Potions and he didn’t choose to be your partner. It just happened because Slughorn said he couldn’t be with Sirius. 

When James finds you in the library after dinner at your usual table, he’s lugging his cauldron with him. You stare as he sets it up next to the table, taking out a small collection of ingredients.

“Bit rough getting this past Madam Pince,” he tells you, seeing that he managed to catch your attention for once. “But I figured, if we’re working on the essay right now, might as well work on the potion too, right?” 

You open your mouth as if to speak but nothing comes out. You gape like a fish out of water. 

“You do have your Potions stuff with you, yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah… I do…” 

You move your unfinished Care of Magical Creatures assignment off to the side. You’d work on it more after James left. Or at least, whenever he was done insisting on this ‘working together’ thing. 

“Right, so Slughorn wants the first portion of Felix. And the essay is on the…” James says while looking over his scribbled notes.

“Essay is on the ingredients’ effect on the coloring. Pretty self-explanatory if you ask me,” you finish for him.

“How do you mean?” 

You try not to laugh at James. 

“Please, occamy and ashwinder eggs? Common rue? Shiny, shiny, yellow. It’s basic color theory.” 

“Huh,” is all James says for a moment. Then he follows with, “That’s why you offered to do all the writing, isn’t it!” 

“More like I thought you wouldn’t be bothered to work with me.” 

James gasps, putting his hand over his heart like you brutally offended him. “Ouch, sweetheart!” 

“Just get to brewing, Potter.”

And that’s the last that you spoke that evening. You worked intently on the essay as James brewed the potion. For some time, the sound between you was the crackling of the fire under James’ cauldron. But then he started talking. At first it was about the potion. He told you about everything he did and the immediate effects, every change of color and consistency. You didn’t need the commentary, although you used it to ensure that James was doing everything correctly. His descriptions matched what you had written. 

Then he reached the point where the potion needed to simmer, James started talking about quidditch. You humor him for a while, listening to him ramble about what you easily assume is his favorite topic. He talked about more than just the Gryffindor team. He talked about the different tactics he’d seen the other houses use this year and how well they executed them, how they compared to the professional teams and how each of those teams were doing this year. Then he went on a tangent about the new rules and regulations that were passed recently and how they affected the game. He went on for a while.

“Do you want to read this or not?” you ask with some snap to your voice. 

You slid the finished essay across the table toward James. You had written the entire thing as he brewed, only a testament to why you thought that partner part of the project was pointless. But if he wanted to ‘work together,’ you figure the least you could do was have him look over your work. 

“Oh, yes! Let me see,” he mumbles as he takes the parchment from you. 

You resume work on your Magical Creatures assignment. It takes James a few minutes to look over the whole thing. You had put a little extra effort into writing it since it was going to be James’ grade as well. It was one thing if your own work was subpar but when someone else got brought into the equation, you tried a little harder.

“This is great. You really did the whole thing while I brewed?”

You nod.

“You’re fantastic!” You feel a heat creep up your neck at the compliment. It was just an essay.

“Okay, so we have the potion and the essay for the first deadline! Great! I’ll clean up and get out of your hair. But I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” he asks, a wide smile on his face.

You nod again.

Over the next week, James continues to meet up with you in the library. He’s grateful that you never change tables. That at least means you don’t mind too much that he’s joining you. With each day, he tries to get you to talk. He tries topic after topic, hoping to come across one that you wouldn’t mind opening up a bit for. What James doesn’t know is that you’ve trained yourself to limit your responses. Even if someone asked about your deepest interest, you’d barely let on that you knew everything about it. 

Then, just as you’re getting used to James constantly being at your table, he says something that throws you off.

“I won’t be here tomorrow.”

You want to respond with “Okay?” He wasn’t required to do homework for you after dinner every day. He wasn’t obligated to sit at your table. You still didn’t even really consider him your friend.

“We got the quidditch pitch reserved for a last minute practice before Saturday’s match,” he says, pausing to watch your face with curiosity. If there was a change in your expression, he’d see it. There was no change. “You’re coming to the match on Saturday, right?”

There was hope in his voice. Like he really wanted to make sure that you’d be in the stands for the game. Almost like he wanted to know if you’d be watching him, and just maybe, cheering for him. 

You blink your eyes slowly.

“I… I’m not sure.”

“Oh?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Depends on how much work I get done, I guess.”

“Stay hard at work then, will you? I’d like you to be there. Heard it’s going to be a good match,” he says, his grin audible in his voice. 

It makes you look up at him rather than at the parchment in front of you. 

“Heard it’s going to be good?” you repeat back to him. “Wouldn’t you say that about every match you’re in?”

“I mean, yeah, but Saturday’s especially.” 

“We’ll see, Potter.”

“You’ll only see if you go.”

You flex your eyebrows and turn back to your assignment. James smiles to himself as he begins to work again too. Something about your demeanor made him think that you would show up. He wasn’t really sure why he cared if you did, but there was something about you. He had grown to like the quiet air that you maintained. He didn’t mind that you didn’t talk much, despite his desperate attempts to get you to talk. You kind of reminded him of Remus during first year, if he was being honest. And that means that you had the promise of becoming a very dear friend. 

You would be lying if you didn’t work extra hard the next evening while James was at practice. You didn’t promise anything but you felt that you owed it to James to at least try to be at a point where you could justify going to the match. You went to a handful of them. You could follow along enough with the game, not that it mattered. Balls were tossed around, some were hit and there was a super small one that only two players tried to catch. That’s about all you needed to know. 

Still, you don’t know why you felt the need to show up for James. It wasn’t like he would be able to see you in the sea of students. It was one thing to find you in the library. It was another to spot you from a broom while you were surrounded by hundreds of others pressed together and bundled up against the biting wind. You even figured that you could just tell James that you went, without actually going, and he wouldn’t know the difference. 

However, when morning came, you were bundling up. You join the masses heading to the pitch. You listen to the excited chatter about how epic the match is going to be. It was Gryffindor against Slytherin after all, which always made for a good match being the natural rivals that they were. You stood pressed between your friend and one of her closer friends. They cheer louder than you did. You were more focused on trying to keep up with the game as your mind continuously drifts to James. As your mind drifts, so do your eyes. You’re confident that you watched James for at least 90% of the match. Which shouldn’t be too shocking given the amount of times he was in the midst of the action. You swore he had his hands on the quaffle during every play. 

And then something happened that made your heart stop.

You swore James’ eyes found yours and then he flashed you a smile. All before proceeding to score again. Almost as if he was doing it just for you. 

Which was ridiculous. He was just your Potions partner who happened to be studying a lot with you as of recently. 

But still. He found you, in the middle of the crowd, where you should have been as invisible as you always were. 

How? How did he see you? It’s all you could think of for the last few minutes of the game. You were so in your own head that you missed the Gryffindor seeker catching the snitch, ending the game and sealing the win for them. You let your friend drag you out of the stands as students filled the pitch. Except you didn’t follow her into the pitch. You started down the path back towards the castle, but you didn’t make it far. 

The sun was shining brightly and the air wasn’t too frigid once you were hundreds of feet into the air. You veer from the path and find a nice patch of grass to sit down on. Some sunshine wouldn’t hurt. An occasional shadow passed over your face as clouds drifted across the sky. Each shadow was only momentary, a brief chill until it moved on.

Until one shadow didn’t move on. You waited a minute before opening your eyes to see how big this cloud was.

The cloud in question? James Potter. James Potter still in his quidditch uniform and sporting a smile so bright it could rival the sun itself. And he was standing in front of you.

“Potter,” you say shortly. 

“Didn’t see you on the pitch after the match,” he replies, sitting down across from you.

You don’t say anything. What was there to say?

“I was hoping to see you on the pitch. Maybe get a congratulations on the win?” he says with a tilt of his head. 

“You played well.” That was as close to a congratulations as he was going to get from you. 

“Did you see the goal I scored for you?” 

You cough. “For me?” 

“Well, yes. I swore I made eye contact with you before I did it.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Or did I look at a different pretty girl?�� 

You swallow thickly. “No, you, erm, that was me.”

“Ah, then yes. For you. My pretty Potions partner.”

If your heart had stopped in the stands, it must’ve turned into stone now. There was no way that James just called you his pretty Potions partner. 

“That’s… ah… that’s alliteration,” you manage to say despite your mouth suddenly becoming drier than the desert. 

James tilts his head curiously. 

“I did want to thank you,” he says. “For coming to the match. I wasn’t sure if you were going to come. Because of homework, like you said. But I hoped you’d come.” He pauses for a moment. “Did you like it?”

“The-the match or you scoring… for me?” you ask, the end of your question feeling foreign in your mouth. 

People didn’t score goals for you. That didn’t happen. You were barely noticed. You were spoken over. You were forgotten about because you offered so little to conversation and friendships. 

“Erm, both, I suppose.” 

“The match was entertaining. Definitely a step from Binn’s lectures.” 

James laughs. It was a delightfully warm sound that draws the attention of students headed to the castle. 

“You scoring… for… me…” you continue, the words still feeling odd to you, “was… nice, I guess. Unexpected though.” 

James nods, accepting your commentary. He understands why it came across as unexpected. It wasn’t like he had flirted with you in the library. He hadn’t asked you to Hogsmeade or a picnic or even for a measly walk through the corridors together. 

“I suppose I did this a bit backwards, haven’t I?” he chuckles.

“Did what?” you ask.

“The fact that you have to ask…” He shakes his head and runs a hand through his windswept hair. “I think I want to ask you out.”

Your eyes go wide and a blush tints your cheeks pink. Your heart has been shocked back to life and is working overtime.

“You think?” you ask once you’re able to say words. 

“Okay, well, I do. I want to ask you out. I’m just not sure… if I should? Would you say yes if I did?”

You’re frozen in shock. He wants to ask you out. He grows increasingly nervous when you don’t respond.

“You don’t talk much and you seem to take your studies seriously. You remind me of Remus. You know Remus Lupin, right? Good, good friend of mine. And I think you’re rather pretty. So the combination of both, I want to see if we, you know, work together,” he says all too quickly. “And now I’ve gone and scored a goal for you, which I know most people usually save for after they’ve gone steady with someone or if they’re heavily chatting them up, but you don’t seem like the kind of person to appreciate a proper chatting up so…” He took a sharp breath. “Whatdoyousay?”

You continue to stare at James. It’s a lot. You’re not really sure when he started feeling all of this and you don’t know how to express that. You also don’t know how you managed to catch his eye. 

“Can I, ahem, get a nod or something? You, me, butterbeers next weekend?”

You nod slowly and that brings a brilliant grin to James’ face. 

“And I’ll see you in the library all week, yeah? Can’t be falling behind in our assignments, can we?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Same table.”

“And there’s a party in the Gryffindor Common Room later, if you want to go. I don’t know if that’s your scene or not, but I’ll be there. Wouldn’t mind seeing you there. But only if you’re up to it.”

You nod, but then realize that he might take that as you agreeing that you’ll go to the party. 

“Maybe. I… I need to work on Astronomy but… I’ll consider it.”

His grin gets impossibly wider and he pushes his glasses further up his nose. Then he stands up and holds out a hand to help you up.

“Then let’s get you back to the castle. Can’t work on your Astronomy if you’re out here.” 

You take his hand and let him lead you inside. Something about James inviting you places makes you actually want to show up, even if a Gryffindor quidditch party is completely out of your comfort zone. 

[kookie-doughs]

What's Wrong With The Slytherins?

Slytherin Gang X Reader

-Y/N L/N accidentally gets invited in a group chat.

Chapter 2: Don't Skip Classes

"Hurry up, Riddle," Draco drawled, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "If your Professor Kettleburn reports this to your brother he will have our heads."

Mattheo scowled, muttering under his breath. "Tom was just bluffing, mate. This class is useless."You couldn't help but snort silently.

A gasp escaped your lips as Professor Kettleburn lumbered into the Care of Magical Creatures class, a magnificent Hippogriff gracefully gliding at his side. Its massive wings were folded neatly against its back, its sharp beak tucked into its feathery chest. Unlike the usual snorts and restless prancing of these proud creatures, this Hippogriff moved with a silent elegance, its keen amber eyes surveying the room with quiet dignity.

A wave of awe washed over the students. Whispers erupted, buzzing with excitement and admiration. Even Neville Longbottom, usually as nervous as a Flobberworm, managed a wide-eyed grin. All except, of course, Mattheo Riddle.

He leaned against a tree, arms crossed and brows furrowed, looking like a disgruntled gnome. As the Hippogriff landed with a soft thump, Mattheo muttered under his breath, loud enough for you to catch, "We have a pet Basilisk, that's not exactly amazing."

His voice, though barely audible, seemed to echo in the hushed classroom. You couldn't help but chuckle, surprised by the childishness of his comment. Everyone else was enthralled by the majestic creature, but Mattheo, remained stubbornly unimpressed.

Draco Malfoy, perched beside him, let out a silent snort of laughter. "It's only a few hours without their attention, Mattheo," he whispered, his voice tinged with amusement.

As Professor Kettleburn began his lecture, detailing the history and care of Hippogriffs, you kept stealing glances at Mattheo. He sat hunched over, doodling on a scrap of parchment, not even pretending to listen. Yet, you couldn't help but wonder what was going on in his head.

Stealing one more glance at Mattheo, you whipped your head back towards him, your heart in your throat. To your surprise you meet his eyes as he smirk, sending a jolt through you that made your face flush hotter than a dragon's breath. Scrambling, you turned your attention back to Professor Kettleburn, desperately trying to regain your composure. The pounding in your chest was audible and deafening.

Suddenly, Professor Kettleburn's voice boomed, jolting you from your flustered state. "Potter! Would you come up here and show the class how to properly approach a Hippogriff?"

Harry, as pale as a mooncalf, stumbled to his feet. His hands trembled as he extended them towards the majestic creature, bowing his head in hesitant respect. The Hippogriff, surprisingly placid, lowered its head in response, allowing Harry to gently touch its feathered beak. A wave of nervous laughter rippled through the classroom, replaced by cheers when Harry successfully navigated the delicate dance of greeting.

Draco, however, couldn't help but interject. "Are you scared of that thing, Potter?" he sneered, sauntering towards Harry. His voice dripping with disdain, he slowly approached the Hippogriff, a mocking swagger in his step.

Your breath hitched. You watched, wide-eyed, as the Hippogriff, normally calm and accepting, suddenly raised its massive claw, its amber eyes flashing with a hint of danger. Draco, oblivious to the shift in mood, continued his arrogant march.

In that split second, time seemed to slow. You knew you had to act, and fast. You pushed yourself through the crowd, shoving students aside until you reached Draco. Grabbing his hand, you yanked him backwards, pulling him just out of reach of the slashing claw.

You whipped your head back towards Mattheo, your heart in your throat. His smirk, barely there and quick as a flicker, sent a jolt through you that made your face flush hotter than a dragon's breath. Scrambling, you turned your attention back to Professor Kettleburn, desperately trying to regain your composure. The pounding in your chest was audible, a drumbeat against the steady rhythm of the Hippogriff's breath.

Suddenly, Professor Kettleburn's voice boomed, jolting you from your flustered state. "Potter! Would you come up here and show the class how to properly approach a Hippogriff?"

Harry, as pale as a mooncalf, stumbled to his feet. His hands trembled as he extended them towards the majestic creature, bowing his head in hesitant respect. The Hippogriff, surprisingly placid, lowered its head in response, allowing Harry to gently touch its feathered beak. A wave of nervous laughter rippled through the classroom, replaced by cheers when Harry successfully navigated the delicate dance of greeting.

Draco, however, couldn't help but interject. "Are you scared of that thing, Potter?" he sneered, sauntering towards Harry like a peacock preening its feathers. His voice dripping with disdain, he slowly approached the Hippogriff, a mocking swagger in his step.

Your breath hitched. You watched, wide-eyed, as the Hippogriff, normally calm and accepting, suddenly raised its massive claw, its amber eyes flashing with a hint of danger. Draco, oblivious to the shift in mood, continued his arrogant march.

In that split second, time seemed to slow. You knew you had to act, and fast. With a surge of adrenaline, you pushed yourself through the crowd, shoving students aside until you reached Draco. Grabbing his hand, you yanked him backwards, pulling him just out of reach of the slashing claw.

The air crackled with tension as the Hippogriff's claw scraped harmlessly against the stone floor where Draco had stood moments ago. His eyes widened in a mix of shock and bewilderment, his hand still warm and surprisingly large in yours. The air seemed to hum between you, the silence thick with unspoken emotions.

Draco's eyes met yours, their usual smirk replaced by a flicker of vulnerability. Your face blazed scarlet, the heat spreading from your cheeks to your fingertips where they intertwined with his. The touch was unexpected, electric, and sent a shiver down your spine.

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@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @starfulani

[siriuslovebot]

˖ ࣪⭑˖ ࣪𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑 ➸ 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒖𝒔 𝒍𝒖𝒑𝒊𝒏˖ ࣪⭑ ˖ ࣪

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑵𝒀𝑴𝑶𝑼𝑺 𝑨𝑺𝑲𝑬𝑫: more remus x mouse please!!! i adore them!!

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: mentions of insecurity, post full moon remus is a little snappy, the nickname 'mouse', insomnia, crying (this is all quite lighthearted i promise)

𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀: after remus snaps at the reader one day, some insecurities in their relationship come up.

𝑨/𝑵: hi loves! after the massive outpouring of love i had on mouse, i received this request and knew i absolutely had to write more of remus & mouse. this is written in the same universe, so to speak, but can be read as a standalone if you like. this one isn't nearly as long as the last, but it's just a little something that i wanted to write. if you'd like to see more of this pairing, just let me know and i would be happy to oblige!! as far as the warnings go, there's no real angst or anything just some insecurity on the reader's part. if that bothers you then please skip this one! as always, i hope you enjoy!

𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑻: 1.9k 𓂃♡₊⭑

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺

a slot of light slips through the curtains across the room, the faint moonlight shining directly over your eyes. a tiny huff leaves your lips as you flip the other way; sleep has escaped you for the past hour. you’d awoken, heart pounding, from a nightmare, and have been awake ever since. it’s a wonder you haven’t woken marlene or lily with your quiet grumbling and frustrated sighs. 

you curl into your bed, entangling your body in the duvet as you stare at the wall of your dorm. your eyes trace the cracks in the stone, the dim light illuminating their details just enough to distract you. you attempt to count them, hoping maybe it will help lull you to sleep. after what feels like hours, you give up. another annoyed grunt leaves your lips as you flop onto your back to stare at the canopy above your bed.

the problem is: you’ve been suffering from this insomnia for the past week now. ever since the last full moon, you’ve been worried sick. of course you’re used to dealing with remus’s touchy moods around the full moon; you’ve seen how short he can get with other people, how he becomes quieter and more reserved, how he sleeps more than usual. still, he’d never been that way with you, even when he was clearly at the end of his rope mentally and emotionally.

earlier in the week, you’d been excited to share the lesson he missed that morning in care of magical creatures. professor kettleburn covered mokes, displaying their remarkable ability to shrink themselves to near invisibility. it wasn’t unusual for remus to ask you what he missed in class– so you thought it’d be fine to volunteer the information. unfortunately, it seemed he was still on edge after his latest transformation.

you’d taken a seat on the end of his bed, placing a hand on his leg. you greeted him softly, knowing how exhausted he usually felt. he laid there, arm covering his eyes, and said nothing. you took this as an opportunity to begin speaking. there was no response from him for a moment, before he moved his arm, blinking his bleary eyes as he barely sat up.

a sickly-looking expression occupied his features. his sleeve rose a bit and you noticed another fresh wound.

“can you please just… leave me alone?” he said, voice cold, before collapsing back onto the bed. he shook your hand away from his leg and curled into himself.

“are you okay, rem?”

“go. away.” his words were punctuated sharply, turning almost venomous. you flinched, your entire morale crumbling to dust beneath the weight of his words. 

your stomach churned, and you cleared your throat. “o–okay,” you mumbled. you were out of his dorm in a flash, your feet carrying you as fast as possible downstairs.

“hey, y/n–” sirius tried to catch your sleeve, but you pushed past him, out of the portrait hole without a word. the tears were brimming already, your throat tightening as you made every effort to get as far away from everyone as possible. you hated how much it could upset you; remus was not mean, and you knew that. he would never hurt your feelings on purpose, and you knew better than to bother him when he wasn’t feeling well. still, it stung. 

even worse, you weren’t brave enough to bring it up when he finally returned to classes as normal. as he sat down beside you at breakfast, you wondered if he even remembered it at all. he greeted you amicably and bumped his knee against yours as he settled into his seat. but he didn’t wrap his hand around yours like normal. he wasn’t leaning in to whisper his witty remarks while the others were distracted. remus is not an obviously affectionate man in the first place, but you have grown used to him showing his fondness for you in quiet ways. brushing your hair behind your ear, carrying your books to class, holding doors open for you. 

now, moping in your bed, you feel even worse about everything. since that morning, you worried that you annoyed him to the point that he didn’t want you anymore. maybe he just preferred you as a friend. that idea hurt even more. blinking, you try to push the thought out of your head. alas, you are nothing if not an overthinker, and the pestering thought will not go away. your one remedy is exactly the person you don’t want to face. 

you realise you are in a predicament; being so obstinate, you don’t want to scurry off to remus’s dorm and pour your heart out after feeling so slighted. on the other hand, you’re afraid that your newfound relationship could fizzle out right beneath your nose. you’ve always heard that communication is key, but revealing your anxieties to remus feels too vulnerable. almost foolish. 

ultimately, you decide to choke down your pride. the floor is cold beneath your feet as you slip out of bed. you force your limbs to move across the room, tip-toeing to the door. you wince as a stirring noise comes from across the room, then the sound of marlene’s hoarse voice.

“y/n? y’okay?” her words are slurred with sleep, muffled by her pillow.

“fine, marls. go back to sleep.”

she does just that, her breathing falling back into its steady rhythm. you slip through the small gap in the door, padding downstairs as quietly as possible. 

by the time your feet hit the stairs up to the boys dormitories, you’re starting to question your decision. it’s stupid, you think. there’s no way remus would snub you on purpose; surely he would just up and say it if he was no longer interested… right? 

it takes every ounce of willpower in your body to force yourself up the stairs. you take them one at a time, breathing deeply to ease the growing anticipation. it’s a wonder no one can hear your pulse quickening, your shaky breaths. standing at the door, you stare at it for a second. you can turn around this second and pretend you were never there. but wouldn’t it only make things worse?

a second passes, and you raise your hand to knock. you stop yourself. it would be rude to knock at this hour; you’d wake all four of the boys slumbering peacefully inside. instead, you hope not to wake anyone as you gently push the door open, peering inside. four forms occupy their beds, their silhouettes rising and falling gently with each breath. the light from outside the window barely illuminates the room enough for you to creep around the mess on the floor. you grit your teeth as one of them mumbles in their sleep; your eyes find james’s form, rolling over lazily in bed. he’s still sleeping, thankfully.

you step over a pile of books on the way to remus’s bed, and try not to startle him. it seems you already have, as his sleepy voice comes muffled from his bed.

“y/n? is something wrong?” 

the sound of him calling you y/n sends a pang through you. as much as you complained about being called ‘mouse,’ it made you feel special whenever remus used your childish nickname. 

“can’t sleep,” you mumble stupidly, your knee bumping into the edge of his bed. “sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“of course y’did,” he says, voice thick with sleep. “y’weren’t coming in here just to stare at me…” he turns over, his bleary eyes finding yours in the darkness. he lifts the duvet, scooting over to make a spot for you. you climb onto the bed, but hesitate before laying beside him.

“what’s wrong?” he reaches for you, long fingers wrapping around your wrist. his thumb traces the inside of your wrist, gentle against the skin. he doesn’t tug you down, which you would appreciate if it weren’t for the full view he was getting of your upset face. 

“are you mad at me?” this whisper is quieter than the last one, if possible. your eyes shine with tears, and remus’s face falls into a heavy frown. 

“what are you talking about, m’little mouse?” 

your heart seems as if it’s going to explode for a second; you force your gaze away from his face. you can’t stand to watch the way his brows pull together, the way his lips drag down into a frown, the concern softening his warm eyes. a lump the size of the castle has grown in your throat, and you want to hide your face more than anything. 

“i just–well, after the last full moon, it just… seemed like you didn’t want to see me anymore. i know it’s a lot to deal with, and i shouldn’t have bothered you–”

“hey,” remus cuts you off, his voice soft. little choking breaths and sobs are interrupting your words, and tears cloud your vision to the point that you can barely see him in the darkness. “you never bother me. c’mere…” he sits up, pulling you into his embrace. he’s warm, his scent enveloping you in a blanket of comfort. it’s astounding just how much he’s soothed you already, your crying quickly calming to dull hiccoughs. 

“so you’re not mad?” you breathe, your face tucked into his neck.

he laughs quietly. the sound is barely audible, but you feel the rumble of his chest. “no, mouse.” his lips press against your temple, and you melt into him. you close your eyes, feeling more restful than you have in days. “‘m sorry i was short with you.” he holds you close, cradling your head as you finish calming down.

“can i stay here with you?” you ask, after what feels like forever. you look up at him hopefully, face flushing at the adoring look in his eyes. 

“‘course y’can,” he says, moving over even though there’s plenty of room for you already. “poor mouse, you look exhausted.” he brushes your hair out of your face, and you nod weakly.

“i haven’t slept properly for days,” you mutter, tucking yourself into his side as you settle beneath the duvet. one of your hands slips under the hem of his shirt, his skin warm against yours. 

“i wish you would’ve said something sooner.”

“i know. i just–” you huff “--i was embarrassed. i didn’t want to scare you off.”

there’s his laugh again, sweet and sleepy. your stomach does a flip.

“oh, it’d be hard to scare me off after i saw you turn into a mouse–”

“rem!” you say, voice sharp despite the quiet. his stomach rumbles with light laughter, and you shake your head.

“okay, sorry,” he says, grinning. “let’s not wake the guys up. think sirius’ll have my head for disturbing his beauty sleep.”

you mumble your agreement, closing your eyes. it’s about time you got at least a few hours of good sleep. the room is quiet for a second, just slow breathing.

then, from james’s corner of the room: “what about my beauty sleep, moony?” 

there’s an eruption of giggles from your bed, and you bury your face into remus’s neck to stifle the sound. 

“sorry, prongs,” remus says, sheepish.

“yeah, yeah, you old sap. go to sleep, or i’m recounting this whole thing to sirius in the morning.”

“oh, please don’t,” you plead quietly.

there’s a grumble from across the room. then, “what are you gits up blabbering about?” it’s sirius, his voice gruff.

“nothing, pads,” says james. “going to sleep.”

you say nothing, cheeks burning as you settle down, curling against remus’s frame. sleep finally finds you, sweeping you off into a dreamless slumber.

[petals2fish]

Read on A03

She loved closing shifts. 

They were always quiet, devoid of the demanding patrons that the morning shift had. It was also the perks of being a small surfer town outside of Monterey, most people only came down for the beach on the weekends. But the best thing about the tiny drive-thru coffee shop on Vista Drive was its location for night shifts. 

It stood alone at the far edge of Venta’s old downtown, the very last building on the very last block. From the east-facing sides of the shop, Lily Evans could stand outside and see the snow-dusted Sierra Nevadas, still clinging to a late Spring snowfall and glowing at golden hour. To the west stretched the endless blue of the Pacific Ocean, which she loved to stare at as the sun set because the colours would often turn red or orange. 

She missed England, but the sunsets there just couldn’t compare to California majesty. Right now, though, she was stuck inside the shop’s cramped one-room kitchen, ready for the closing shift to end. She’d have to lean out the drive thru window to see any more of the lessening daylight. 

The radio had already cycled through Taylor Swift, Olivia Rodrigo, and Sabrina Carpenter six times in a row. The drive-thru had been quiet since noon, and now it was five minutes to closing. Lily had already checked off every task on the nightly list. All she had to do was make it to 5:30, and she’d be free to jog down the beach as the stars covered the endless black sky, before heading back to her dorm for the night.

“ I’ve got a blank space baby, and I’ll write your name. ” The radio crooned. 

Lily yawned and flipped the radio off, then reached her arms overhead in a long, aching stretch. Her muscles still burned from yesterday’s snorkel down near Santa Barbara. She’d spent over three hours in the water collecting algae samples with Professor Kettleburn. The rougher California waters made her miss her chill tropical dives in the Caribbean from her last summer study abroad. 

A sudden chime in her headset startled her upright. Someone had just pulled into the drive-thru, three minutes to closing. That was weird. All her regulars had come and gone. 

She pressed the speaker button, cleared her throat, and slipped into her usual cheerful tone. “Welcome to Bluefin Café. What can I get started for you?”

There was a brief crackle of static, then a hesitant voice replied, “Hi, erm… could I get a brown sugar and cinnamon latte?”

Lily blinked. The accent hit her like a wave. It was unmistakably Scottish, thick and musical in that charming, clipped way that carried memories of damp stone streets and secondhand book stores tucked beside cozy cafes. She hadn’t heard anything like it in months .

“Sorry—wait, are you from Scotland?” she blurted, leaning instinctively toward the speaker.

A warm chuckle filtered through the headset, and when he answered, she could hear the grin in his voice. “Aye. Am I meeting another UK transplant, then?”

Lily nodded even though he couldn’t even see her. “You are. Midlands, technically. But I spent a summer in the Isle of Skye during my first year studying the seal population. That accent's unmistakable.”

“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, still amused. “It’s not every day I meet someone who doesn’t mistake me for being Irish.”

“I can only imagine,” she said with a soft smile, already reaching for the syrup bottle. The scent of brown sugar drifted up as she measured out the flavour into a measuring cup. “One brown sugar and cinnamon latte coming right up. What’s the name for the order?”

“James.”

The name slipped off her tongue like muscle memory. “James,” she repeated, loving it. “I’m Lily.”

“Nice to meet you, Lily,” he replied, still smiling. She could hear it, plain as day,  the warmth behind his words.

"It's lovely to meet you, too." She said. 

And just like that, something loosened in her shoulders. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding herself until she heard her name spoken without the flat, nasal vowels she’d grown used to in California. No harsh American twang. No lame American British jokes. Just Lily so gentle and familiar, like home.

She leaned a little on the counter. Was he a student too? Maybe around her age? There was a brief, comfortable pause. There was no rush, no honking cars behind him, no impatient orders queued up so she could take the second to day dream…and then she blinked, remembering where she was.

“Right, um—five-fifty at the window,” she said quickly, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face as she reached for the to-go cup. Grabbing a sharpie, she wrote his name with a curving flourish, looping the J a little more than necessary, her handwriting softer and slower than usual. She even drew a smiley face next to the name, the smile on her face hard to replicate with a sharpie. 

She didn’t normally bother, but this felt like seeing a long-distance friend. 

“See you up here,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice steady as she slid the cup onto the bar.

“Thanks!” came his cheerful reply through the headset.

Lily turned toward the brewer, grateful she hadn’t dumped the last pot of coffee yet so she could take some home. She grabbed it with one hand, balancing the cup in the other, and began to pour. The rich, dark liquid flowed smoothly, but her focus drifted. She couldn’t help it. She glanced toward the drive-thru window, curious to catch her first glimpse of the mysterious voice. She saw him drive up, and promptly turned away quickly from shock.

He's hot. 

And that’s right when it happened.

The cup slipped from her hand.

Hot coffee splashed down the front of her light blue sweatshirt in a wave, soaking the fabric and searing her skin beneath. “Shit—!” she hissed, recoiling instinctively. She yanked the sweatshirt away from her stomach, the sudden heat biting at her like a slap. Her breath caught as she staggered back a step.

Of course. 

Of course this would happen now…minutes before closing, and the only remotely interesting customer she’d spoken to all week was watching. She blew out a shaky breath, trying to ignore the rising heat in her cheeks.

“Perfect,” she muttered, grabbing a towel from under the counter and pressing it against her damp sweatshirt. The coffee had already soaked through the front, clinging to her like second skin. No use—she’d have to take it off once he left. She’d do it now, but under the sweatshirt was just her navy blue bikini top, ready for her run along the beach. 

With a grimace, she tossed the ruined drink in the sink and grabbed a new cup, forcing her hands to steady as she remade the latte. Brown sugar, cinnamon, espresso, steamed milk. Easy. She’d done this hundreds of times. But now each motion felt too loud, too deliberate, like her hands didn’t quite belong to her anymore.

She could feel his stare. It burned the back of her neck. She was acutely aware that she’d not washed her hair since her swim that morning and her red hair was a whirl of swirling red instead of nicely brushed. And she was wearing jogger shorts, nothing nice, not like the other girls who worked here. Lily didn’t even own a pair of jeans. 

When she finally turned to the window, latte in hand, she braced herself. And there he was, and she once again almost dropped the cup over how cute he was.

Leaning slightly out of the driver’s side window of a beat-up, sun-faded Jeep, with wind-tousled black hair that curled around the tops of his ears and square glasses perched on his nose. He looked amazing in the California light. He had olive skin, freckled cheeks, and a slightly crooked grin. He wore scrubs, a stethoscope, and had black lined tattoos up one arm. 

She opened the window and handed him the drink with a sheepish smile. “Sorry for the wait. I, um… had a bit of a coffee-related accident.”

James blinked, and for a moment his gaze flicked to the faint brown stain on her sweatshirt as he handed over his money. “I—oh. Sorry.”

She laughed, flustered. “No, no. That was entirely me getting distracted.”

He took the cup from her, his fingers brushing against hers for the briefest second, and it sent an embarrassing jolt through her spine as she placed the cash on the register. “Well,” he said, cheeks slightly pink behind his glasses, “then I’ll try not to be too distracting next time.”

Oh, so he was arrogant. She loved a good laugh and this man seemed like he’d offer some if she just played along. 

She beamed mindlessly at him, “I hate to disappoint, but the distraction wasn’t you.” 

“Damn,” god, his accent was so attractive. “Knocked my ego right down a peg.”

“Next time, don’t be so presumptuous about why I spill coffee on myself,” she teased and leaned against the window sill. 

"Presumptuous is my middle name."

'Is it really?"

"No," he grinned, "It's Fleamont."

"Your parents must hate you."

"Adore me, actually." James tasted the coffee and then lifted the cup at her. “Just what I needed, cheers.” 

“Cheers,” she said lightly, then added, “Enjoy the latte, James Fleamont.”

He chuckled deeply, that grin still lingering. “See you around, Lily.”

And then he was gone, the Jeep easing forward into the golden haze of early evening. Lily shut the drive-thru window slowly, the soft click of it locking sounding louder in the sudden stillness. She leaned her forehead against the cool metal frame, letting out a long breath.

All she could think about were his square glasses, the way his messy black hair caught the breeze, and the way he’d said her name—like it was his to say. Like they were old friends who’d just rediscovered each other, instead of strangers trading cash and lattes through a old drive-thru window.

She glanced down at her sweatshirt, the light blue fabric now stained with a fan of coffee. She sighed. “Yeah. That’s coming off.”

Moving on autopilot, she locked the register, tucked the night’s cash into the safe, and shut off the lights. The tiny shop settled into a soft quiet, the soft hum of the fridge the only sound as she grabbed her bike helmet from its hook by the back door.

As Lily stepped outside into the warm, salt-laced air, the scent of the ocean wrapped around her like a familiar hug. Her mind lingered on James.

Would he come back?

Ugh, she smelled like coffee now. It overpowered the salt laced air, bitter and familiar. Lily had grown accustomed to the smell after weeks of working the tiny window shop, but she still didn't love smelling like it after every shift. Her poor sweatshirt was probably doomed to smell like coffee forever now. 

She tugged at the hem of her soaked sweatshirt, fingers curling into the fabric. With a swift motion, she peeled it upward, the damp cotton sticking to her skin before finally giving way. The summer air kissed her bare stomach as she wrestled the sweatshirt over her neck and head, the tag catching on a lock of her red hair and yanking a little too hard.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered, trying to untangle it as she shook her hair free. She flipped upright, ready to toss the sweatshirt into her bike basket—

And froze.

James was standing two feet away, leaning casually against his Jeep, arms crossed like he’d been there long enough to see… everything .

The golden light of the setting sun poured over him, catching the edges of his messy black hair and haloing him in amber. His glasses glinted just enough to hide the full intensity of his gaze, but not enough to hide the way his eyes traveled, slowly, from her flushed face down to the curve of her shoulder blades and the navy bikini top that did little to hide her curves. Then, the hazel eyes traveled back up, meeting her stare like a cat who’d caught the cream. 

They just stared at each other. Lily's heart slammed against her ribs. Her skin burned hotter than the spilled coffee ever had. He was so fucking attractive, that arm sleeve of tattoos swirling up his skin in ways she’d love to trace. She spotted tattoos of a stag, a dog, and a rat. There was a swirling galaxy and a soft section of waves. She could spend hours looking at the way the black lines swirled on his skin. 

“Well,” she said, voice higher than usual. “If I’d known you were waiting out here, I’d have put on a show.”

James blinked, clearly caught off guard—then laughed, the sound low and sheepish, with a flicker of nerves hiding behind it. “I swear I wasn’t creeping,” he said quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I was just... watching the sunset. Trying to get one last bit of peace in before I’m stuck in my apartment all night studying.”

Lily arched a brow, then ran her fingers through her red waves, gathering them over one shoulder as she tried to slow her pulse. “Right. And I was just… finishing up. Didn’t expect an audience.”

“Didn’t expect to be one,” he said with a half-smile, glancing away for a second like he didn’t trust himself to keep looking at her. “You, uh… startled me.”

She laughed lightly, grateful for the flicker of awkward charm between them. “Trust me, the feeling’s mutual.”

James glanced at his watch, then back toward the darkened shop. “Makes sense why it was so quiet. I was wondering why no one else was desperate enough to beg for caffeine this late.”

“It’s a little late for anyone this time of night,” Lily said, nodding solemnly.

“You mean I’m the only crazy one to grab coffee at six?”

 “You’re currently drinking the coffee I was going to drink on my way to the beach,” she shrugged, “so, not so crazy.”

He grinned. “I feel like if you hadn’t spilled the first cup, there would be enough for both of us.”

She smirked, the corner of her mouth lifting playfully. “I’m choosing to ignore that jab.”

“Smart,” James said. His eyes drifted to her surf shorts, the sun-kissed curve of her freckled chest, then back to her knowing face. “I can always share, if you want a sip.”

She wrinkled her nose, “no thanks.”

He laughed, “do you not share drinks?”

“Not with strangers.”

“Damn,” he whistled, “I am a stranger, aren’t I?” He grinned even wider. “Guess we’ll just have to change that. What’s your favorite color?”

“Green.” She said. “And you?”

James’ hazel eyes crinkled, “fancy that, mine's green too.”

Lily laced her hands behind her back, the movement casual, but deliberate. It pulled her posture straight, her shoulders back—just enough to make it obvious that she knew his eyes were drifting, knew exactly what kind of effect she was having. She dipped her chin slightly, teasing.

“So,” she asked, watching as his gaze slowly climbed back up from her bare feet, “what are you studying?”

James blinked like he’d forgotten words existed for a second. Then, clearing his throat, he replied, “Medicine. Pediatrics, actually.”

She raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed. “So, you’re smart.”

He chuckled. “I guess that depends on the day. Most of the time, I’m just tired and trying not to fall asleep on my notes.”

“Relatable,” she said with a grin. “Marine bio. Grad student. Summer session.”

He gave a low whistle. “So we’re both willingly drowning in higher education.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lily shot back, a playful glint in her eye. “I’m knee-deep in actual seawater half the time. Marine science specifically requires you to be able to swim, not drown.”

James laughed a warm, full sound that echoed slightly in the open space between them. He reached out, bracing one hand against the side of his Jeep like the moment caught him off balance. It made that tattoo arm flex and she traced the way it swirled up past the sleeve of his green scrubs.

“Nice tattoos,” she flirted so easily with him. “I really like the rat.”

He chuckled, flexing his arm. “My mate Peter chose that one for me. I prefer the stag.”

“Is it highland stag?” She enquired, “like in Cairngorms National Park? They’re so gorgeous.” 

“God,” he said, rolling his hazel eyes back, “I forgot what it was like to hear someone talk about home with a proper accent.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, eyes meeting him. “Me too. It’s weird, isn’t it? How you don’t even realize what you’ve been missing until someone says your name or home, the way it’s meant to sound.”

His smile stayed, but it changed, touched by something more wistful, like he felt the same ache she did. He nodded slowly. “It’s the little things, right?” he said. “The way people say things. The way they see you.”

“Well currently you’re seeing all of me,” she joked, motioning down at her body. 

Then his gaze flicked downward again—not with the slow, stunned awe of earlier, but with a flicker of sheepish concern. He scratched the back of his neck and motioned vaguely toward her.

“Hey, uh—I’ve got a shirt in the backseat. If you want to borrow it,” he added quickly, “no pressure. Not that I’m complaining about my coffee barista in a bikini,” he said with a crooked grin, “but I figured I’d offer. Y’know. In case you’re cold or something.”

Lily blinked, then let out a soft laugh, part surprise, part gratitude. “That’s... gentlemanly of you.”

He smirked. “I can be semi-respectable in a crisis.”

She tilted her head, eyes shining with amusement. “Are you calling me a crisis?”

His grin deepened. “You did spill coffee and then start undressing in front of a customer.”

A breeze stirred between them, brushing against her bare shoulders and carrying the faint scent of salt, ocean wind, and lingering coffee grounds. The sun was lower now, edging toward the horizon. It would be colder by the water. And if she took his shirt... Well, that meant she’d have a reason to return it. A reason to see him again.

“I’ll take the shirt,” she said at last. “But only because I try to stick to two crises a day. Any more and I start to lose my edge.”

“Right,” James said, already turning toward his Jeep as he opened the back passenger door. “The crisis-avoiding marine biologist slash coffee shop barista.”

“You forgot mermaid princess,” she replied, crossing her arms loosely as she watched him rummage through a duffel bag. 

He snorted, “is that so?”

“It’s a delicate reputation to maintain,” Lily said with a mock-serious tilt of her head. “Can’t have the locals thinking I’m a boring brit.”

James chuckled over his shoulder as he bent into the backseat. “Wouldn’t dream of calling you boring, love,” he called back, the affectionate lilt in his voice making her stomach flutter.

When he turned around, a soft, tie-dye shirt in hand—swirls of blue and faded pink like saltwater taffy—the sun caught the edges of his hair, setting his unruly curls aglow with hints of copper and gold. He looked like he belonged in the fading light, like it had been waiting just for him. A spotlight to remind her just how touch starved she was. 

She hadn’t been in a relationship in over two years. 

This felt like it could be something. 

Something more. 

He stepped forward, the shirt dangling loosely from his fingers as he held it out to her. The fabric hovered in the small space between them, and then, with the subtlest shift, he nudged it gently into her personal orbit, his knuckles brushing against the inside of her wrist. The touch was light, but it sent a flicker of warmth up her arm.

She took the shirt slowly, her fingers brushing across his, lingering just long enough that it couldn’t be mistaken for an accident. Her skin hummed where they touched. “Thanks,” she said, her voice a little quieter than before.

James’ softening smile made her go weak in the knees. “Anytime.”

Lily took the shirt from him with a quiet nod and slipped it over her head in one fluid motion, the fabric cool against her sun-warmed skin. As the collar passed over her face, she inhaled instinctively…scones and clean cotton, with the faintest trace of something like cedar and sea air. It smelled like comfort. Like a Sunday morning in the redwoods up North.

When her face emerged again, framed by waves of tousled red hair, James was still standing there, watching her like the world had narrowed down to just her. The shirt hung loose over her body, the hem landing just above her thighs, sleeves nearly swallowing her elbows. She didn’t bother adjusting it. Somehow, it felt more like hers than anything she’d worn all day.

James let out a breath, almost a laugh, low and under his breath. “Well… you’ve done it now.”

She raised a brow. “Done what?”

He ran a hand through his already-messy hair and gave her a look that was part awe, part surrender. “You’ve somehow managed to get even prettier—in my ugly old t-shirt....”

A flush crept up her neck, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she smiled as she straightened the fabric and saw she had LA JOLLA BEACH spread across her chest. “I just look like a tourist.”

“I hate to break it to you,” he said, “but the moment you open your mouth everyone knows you don’t belong here in California.”

“And where do I belong?”

“Isle of Skye seems proper,” he said. “It seems like the place where a siren like yourself would flourish.” 

“Careful,” she said, a teasing edge in her voice as she tilted her head, eyes steady on his. “You keep saying things like that, and I might start thinking you fancy me.”

James grinned, wide and unguarded now.  “You know,” he said, pushing his hands into his pockets, “I should probably eat something before I lock myself in with a stack of med school notes.”

“Yeah,” Lily replied, smiling back at him knowingly. “And I should probably unwind after a whole day of pretending coffee is a personality.”

They stood there for a beat, the fading sun casting long shadows across the pavement, the soft hush of the ocean not far off. Then James tilted his head like a golden retriever, a glint of boldness sparking in his eyes. 

“What would you say,” he began, stepping just a little closer, “to letting me take you—and your bike—down to the beach for fish tacos and churros?”

“I’d say…” she drew out the words, her gaze flicking from his eyes to the soft curve of his smile and back again, “that you’re dangerously close to becoming my favorite customer.”

“Oh no,” he said, mock-serious. “Not the top spot?”

“You haven’t bought me a churro yet,” she said, folding her arms across her chest in mock defiance, eyes gleaming.

James held out his hand, palm up like he was making a solemn vow. “Then let’s fix that. Immediately.”

“Only if you give me a five-star rating on Yelp for the coffee shop,” she replied, slipping her fingers into his with an easy grin. "It might entice the owner to give me a raise."

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Five stars wouldn’t do you justice,” he said as he turned toward his Jeep, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ve neverbeen to a café with a bikini-clad barista before and I’ve gotta say, it’s been a life-changing experience.”

Lily snorted. “Glad to know I’ve raised the standard for drive-thru customer service.”

“You really have,” James said, popping open the back of the Jeep with a grin. “Now go grab that bike so I can impress you even more over dinner."

"How?"

"By naming more species of shark than you, Miss Biologist.”

Lily let out a laugh, raising an eyebrow as she turned to unlock her bike. “Oh, is that the plan? Should’ve majored in marine biology then, huh?”

She wheeled the bike over toward him, the tires clicking softly over the pavement.

"Oh, I can't even swim." James took the handlebars from her with a dramatic flourish. “I’m not trying to steal your mermaid princess status—just respectfully want to challenge your shark knowledge with my highly refined Animal Planet education.”

She grinned, shaking her head. “Let me guess—every Shark Week since 2002?”

He placed her bike carefully into the back of the Jeep and dusted his hands off like it was a sacred task. “Since 2001, thank you very much. I was six and emotionally bonded with a great white named Mathilda. Changed my life.”

Lily laughed again. “You can’t swim, but you have a favorite great white?”

“Exactly,” he said proudly, closing the hatch. “I’m a land-based shark enthusiast. It’s a niche community.”

“Very niche,” she teased as he opened the passenger side door for her and offered a hand to help her in. “Especially coming from a Scot.”

James smirked but didn’t reply right away. He closed the door with a satisfying thud, and she turned to buckle her seatbelt—only to jump slightly as he leaned in through the open window a second later, catching her off guard. He was close. Closer than before. The golden light slanted across his face, highlighting the light dusting of freckles that trailed like constellations across his cheekbones. His eyes, hazel and steady, met hers with a spark of something she was feeling herself. 

Was there a chance? 

A fragment of hope in his eyes as she felt her lips curve up? 

“You’ve clearly forgotten,” he murmured, voice low and warm, “just how passionate Scots can be.”

Lily blinked, her breath catching, just for a second longer than she meant to let it. Her pulse thudded in her ears, the space between them electric and impossibly still. Then, slowly, she fluttered her eyelashes at him. A 'yes please' if there ever was one. 

“I guess I’m about to get a reminder,” she murmured.

James’s gaze flicked downward to her mouth and lingered. That was all the confirmation she needed. Her heart gave a stuttering kick, and somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice whispered just go for it . No overthinking, no hesitation, no playing it cool. It'd not everyday a Scottish bloke rolled up to her work and flirted with her. 

Fuck it, she thought.

And she leaned in, her nose brushing against his playfully. 

“You know,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing as she fluttered her lashes at him, “you forgot to tip me in the drive-thru.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Want me to pay you now?”

"With tax." 

He laughed and then he leaned in, closing the gap between them with no hesitation, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was warm, certain, and just rough enough to make her heart skip. Lily’s fingers instinctively tangled in his curls. His hair was as soft and wild and just as glorious as she’d known it would be. She closed her eyes, letting herself melt into the moment, her breath catching through her nose as a smile bloomed across her lips.

That made James smile, too and in their shared grin, their teeth bumped together with a soft, surprised laugh between kisses. She twisted in her seat, angling closer, deepening the kiss with an eager pull of his hair. The world outside the Jeep seemed to fall away as James practically climbed up the door to grab her chin while his tongue tasted the roof of her mouth with a flourish. 

Passionate, indeed. 

He pulled back then, boots hitting the blacktop with a solid thump. His fingers were still curled beneath her chin, so even though her grip on his hair had slipped, her hand slid down, curling tightly around his tattooed arm, refusing to let her touch disappear entirely. She felt like she’d taken a shot of espresso, but in the best way possible. 

“Let’s go grab dinner,” he said, voice unmistakably rough. “I have a feeling we’ll close the restaurant down–just like we closed your shop down.” 

“I’ve always loved a closing shift.” 

And it wasn’t a lie. 

This was the best closing shift ever. 

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Hogwarts AU [pt.10]

This part is written for @wisteriavines to 'Bad for Business' by Sabrina Carpenter

Every time Tim thinks there's no further extent of trouble to possibly push, Danny is right there to prove him wrong.

Sitting with him at Potions was one thing. Getting involved with his exploring escapades was another - the Room of Requirement was truly a marvel even if Tim had no use for it. Yet. Because he might have a few ideas about it for later. Getting to know the Weasley twins was on a whole different level: the duo, even if Gryffindor, were simultaneously the best and the worst kind of acquaintances to have. Between them, Lee Jordan - another Gryffindor prankster in training - and Steph and Danny, Tim was really not sure how they've not been expelled yet.

Then, there was Danny's weird sort of friendship with all the ghosts in the castle; they seemed to tolerate the boy far more than they did any other students. Tim decidedly didn't want to know why. Not because he thought Danny wouldn't explain it, no, he totally would, but Tim feared he would go permanently gray or lose his mind afterward, so he didn't risk it.

That's all not to mention Danny's ongoing battle of wits with Professor Snape and his 'purely educational' visits to Professor Kettleburn and Rubeus Hagrid, Hogwats' Gamekeeper. Tim had a strong suspicion that Danny used them both as a free pass into the Forbidden Forest, but, again, what Tim doesn't know he can't lay awake at night and obsessively worry about.

They were really much too different. Danny was all sunshine laughter when Tim liked to keep a two feet radius distance around him. Danny was determined to befriend absolutely everyone in the castle when Tim was perfectly fine spending his time in the quiet company of books. Danny liked to experiment, Tim stuck to the instructions in the book. Danny was more often serving detention after his classes than not, Tim hadn't had one ever since he stepped foot in Hogwarts.

He could go on, but, on the other end of it all, Tim couldn't deny there were also plenty of things similar between them.

They both liked to learn. Not in the nerdy way Tim's seen Ravenclaws do it, seeking knowledge for the sake of knowledge itself; they researched whatever was interesting, diving head-first into any and every topic that sparked their curiosity. They held family above all else - House rivalry be damned, Tim was not ignoring Jason and Dick when they came to check on him, and he cheered for the eldest Wayne during the Quiddich matches. Or, well, he did when Dick was not playing against Slytherin, that is. Danny's sister, Jasmine, was also on the Gryffindor Quiddich team, and Tim has seen the boy cheer for her despite the different Houses as well.

They were both not shy to break the rules - yes, Tim hadn't had one detention for it yet, but that was just because he was loads better at not getting caught. Wayne household was a great training ground for it. Danny, by the looks of it, rarely bothered to cover up his tracks. A Hufflepuff trait, Tim supposed - he took all the credit for what he's done, good or bad.

In any case, over the last four months, all those differences and similarities led to them being far more than simple partners in class or acquaintances. They were friends, and, given Danny's attitude and bluntness, Tim never bothered to hide the fact.

And yet, when on the first day after Christmas break, Danny just sits down beside him at breakfast, Tim drops his fork.

Because, and Tim does look around to make sure, even if he is sure, they are at the Slytherin table.

Cassius stares at them both from across the table, Flint clicks his tongue so loudly that Tim is pretty sure even people at the next table can hear him, and Pucey gives the intruder a vicious glare. But Manson grins like a maniac and immediately switches her seat from opposite of Tim to right on Danny's other side, so it's not all bad. Well, Tim sincerely hopes so.

"Morning," Danny greets everyone, either not noticing the stares or ignoring them completely, which is, honestly, a rather impressive skill. If there's anything Hufflepuffs are better at than every other House, it's their impenetrable cheerful attitude.

"Morning," Tim echoes, when nobody else does. Samantha snorts and elbows Danny from the other side.

"Was it just me, or you haven't graced anyone with presents yet?" She asks in lieu of a greeting, and, actually, that's a good point. Tim had spent his Yule break at Waynes, and he knew Danny wasn't staying at the castle either, even though Sam did. She argued that she didn't want to spend any more time alone with her parents than absolutely necessary. Thinking back to the offensively pink room that Tim still sees in his nightmares sometimes, he thinks he understands why.

In any case, Tim, as the dutiful young Heir he was, has sent Danny's gift - a limited edition potions book he shamelessly took from Drake Manor second library - to him back on Christmas Eve. And hasn't received anything back, aside from a new practice snitch, but that one was signed as 'from Fenton family', not 'from Danny' specifically. So he was also wondering if Danny was saving his own gifts for after break, when he can give them in person.

"Ah, seeing right through me," Danny chuckles and puts his bag on his lap, rummaging through it. "Here you go, now please stop bothering me about it," he rather unceremoniously shoves a poorly wrapped, brown paper package right into Samantha's arms. And then he turns to Tim, his smile brighter than the sun itself, and places something cylindrical, wrapped in cloth and tied with a blue ribbon on the table in front of him, "And this one's for you."

Tim puts his knife and fork down and picks up the present, weighing it in his hand. He's grown to like this kind of game that the Waynes taught him: rather than tearing the wrapping open at the first chance, you take time to appreciate the gift, trying to guess what's inside just by the feel, weight and sound.

It's hard and a little heavy - metal or glass rather than wood. It doesn't make any sounds even when Tim brings it closer to his ear and shakes it a little, watching Danny's eyebrows rise in amusement.

"Is it some sort of container?" He takes a guess, and Danny gives him a slightly startled, but still nice laugh, his eyes sparkling with something warm and maybe excited.

"Yeah, you can say that," he agrees, resting his chin on his palm and leaning on the table. Manson makes a few delighted screeches behind him, but the boy pays her zero mind, focused on Tim.

Tim eyes him carefully, "Promise me it's not going to bite my fingers off or explode in green goo," he demands because, with Daniel Fenton, one can never be too careful. But Danny easily draws a cross over his heart and smiles again, "I swear it's nothing that will cause temporary or permanent damage."

That's as good as it's going to get, Tim guesses, and sets the present back on the table, untying the ribbon. He is great at keeping a straight face, but his fingers are almost literally itching for him to find out what the gift is, and he is barely able to keep his impatience at bay at this point.

It takes him less than three seconds to finally unwrap his late Yule gift, and when he takes the cloth away, it unravels... a jar.

A plain glass jar, sealed with a cork on top and full of... mist? fog?

Tim tilts his head to the side and throws a puzzled look at Danny, but the boy keeps on smiling. Then, he reaches for the jar and taps on the cork on top; not in any kind of pattern, just tap-tap-tap, like he's trying to wake up whatever it is inside the glass.

The mist reacts immediately. It swirls and moves, shimmering in all the colors of blue and silver, and Tim, who still keeps one hand on the jar, suddenly feels the glass becoming warm under his palm.

"Remember you told me how it's always kind of chilly in your common room?" Danny asks from beside him, "I know it makes sense - you're all literally living under the lake - but I thought it might get cold at night, so, here you go, a night light and a portable heater in one jar. No need to recharge or renew charms on it or anything, it's entirely self-sufficient." He sounds proud of it, and Tim thinks that he knows why: this must have taken a lot of effort to make, especially since they are both, well, first-years. Tim's warming charm lasts a little more than two minutes, and he is great at Charms. Danny's warming charm barely works at all.

But this jar is actually giving off a constant, slightly pulsing under Tim's palm heat - kind of like a heartbeat - and the swirls of silver inside are mesmerizing. Before today, Tim thought that Jason's night light was the coolest, showing the replica of the actual night sky on his ceiling. But this is so much better.

And so much warmer. Tim doesn't like the cold, and Hogwarts, being a giant stone castle built way before heating was invented, is not the most comfortable place in winter. Of course, there are loads of charms, spells and runic enchantments that keep the place from freezing, but Tim can't help but shiver sometimes, when the chill still makes its way all the way into his bones.

But the jar in his hands is giving off a steady, soft wave of warmth, and Tim wraps his cold fingers around it, slowly breathing out. It's perfect. Totally worth being a late gift.

He turns to Danny, gratitude on the tip of his tongue, but stops short when the boy meets his eyes. For a moment, Tim thinks that the shimmering blues inside the jar are of the exact same color as Danny's eyes.

But then he blinks, and the illusion is gone.

Although, the warmth stays, and, maybe, it's coming not only from the jar in his hands but also from somewhere deep inside his chest. He can't tell, since wherever it's coming from, it's pulsing in the same, steady rhythm.

"What is it made of?" He asks, bringing the jar closer to his chest.

Danny blinks, seemingly taken by surprise, and looks to the side for a moment, "Ah, um, it's-"

"Will-o-wisp," Manson suddenly cuts in, leaning over Danny's shoulder, her eyes on the jar and her face strangely pinched, "That's a chunk of a ghost's soul you're holding there."

Tim's eyebrows shoot up. And, judging by the sudden pause in the lull of the conversations nearby, not only his. Danny's cheeks become red, which, in contrast with his pale skin, looks like someone used too much blush on him.

"Err, yeah, it is," he confirms awkwardly, "Don't worry, though, the ghost consented, and it's safe, and I, well, I kind of done this before, so it's all fine and you can't return it anyway," he rambles, picking up his bag and standing up, his cheeks, ears and neck still looking like they are a moment away from spontaneously setting on fire. "Merry late Yule, I hope you like it, bye!" And, without giving Tim a chance to reply or react, Danny is already running out of the Great Hall.

Tim turns his confused gaze to Manson. The girl, apparently paying no mind to her friend's weird behavior, is back to assembling a monstrous sandwich. That has no meat or eggs in it, now that Tim is looking closely.

"You're vegan?" He asks before the thought even registers, and he expects her to snap and hiss, just like she always does. But, surprisingly, she doesn't. Samantha Manson only gives him a considering side-glance and shrugs.

"I am. Got a problem with that?" She doesn't look like she is trying to pick a fight. Or, well, not actively, at least.

"No," Tim shrugs and goes back to his own breakfast.

The jar full of a ghost's soul is still pressed closely to his stomach and feels like it's slowly warming him from the inside out.

Tim reminds himself to thank Danny for it later, when he is not running away from the Slytherin table in panic.

—☆—☆—☆—

Breakfast at the Great Hall vibes:

The jar:

[Picrew]

I know it's technically their first day back at school, so they should be having classes after breakfast that day, but when I started writing, I planned for this scene to happen over break, hence, have Tim, Danny and Sam in their more casual wear:

Tim is cold, Danny doodles on his jeans and likes muggle fashion. Also, in the original scene, Sam was off to go to the greenhouses next, hence the overalls and the shirt that she doesn't care for if it gets dirty.

[Picrew]

—☆—☆—☆—

Honestly, when I first heard the song, I immediately went 'that's Tim struggling to not feel his immense feelings for Danny', and I was in the process of planning my Hogwarts AU at the time, so it kind of spiraled. It might not be as in line with the song lyrics and vibes as my other game pieces, but god knows I'm in love with this bit. Also, since we are here at this topic, I'd like to say I'm so very grateful to @wisteriavines-side blog for their literal immediate reblogs of whatever I write, it always fills me with warm feelings all over when I see your reblogs. Your side blog is one of the few that I've grown to recognize at first glance and, just, thank you. It's a little thing, but it means a lot <3

Anyway, notes!

It's January now, just past the Christmas break - as you might have guessed from the text lol - and the prankster team has been made fully aware of each other. By that, I mean the twins (the sneaky but loud and boisterous as we all know them), Steph (the innocent who is always incredibly hard to catch in the act), and Danny (pulls the weirdest shit that is technically not against the rules most times and always admits it was him when asked). They rarely ever team up - and everyone prays they don't, it's a recipe for disaster - but they also hold a fair bit of rule-breaking solidarity among them, never ratting each other out.

By this point, Danny has put a pause on his Hogwarts exploration and switched to the grounds around the castle. Everyone is of an opinion he is going to choose Care for Magical Creatures as his elective when the time comes.

Yes, that jar holds a piece of Danny's soul. Yes, Sam knows it - she is great at connecting the dots, and she knows Danny's secret. This is also the moment when she realizes that Danny likes Tim in a very not-friendly manner. She is going to come to terms with it rather quickly, though, because in her mind, that means Tim is no competition for her. He is never going to take her title of 'Danny's best friend', so why bother fighting with him?

On the topic of presents, Danny got Sam a whole bunch of poisonous mushrooms that she kept obsessing over when she came to visit the Febton house - specifically, their garden that's full of all kinds of odd things that don't grow anywhere else. Maddie and Jack refused to give an eleven-year-old a fungae that could quite literally kill her if touched without any protection, but Danny has no such reservations, and he is pretty sure Sam is cautious enough (it's not the first time she is handling something deathly poisonous, not that any adults know that).

[ <- part 9 | part 11 ? ]

P.S. a lot of shit happened in my life recently, so, as of now, this series is on hiatus.

[charlottes-diary-entries]

metamorphmagus!reader drabble <3

very, very long fluffy ass drabble approaching, just about 2k words. im actually deeply insanely obsessed with the concept of the metamorphmagus (my non-binary is showing, i know) and need more content of a metamorphmagus!reader + poly!marauders.

you officially meet the marauders during your later years at Hogwarts. they'd heard of you before, how could they not? beyond the small class sizes (which required you be aware of essentially everyone in your year, willingly or not), and the houses (which only further narrowed your chances of not knowing anyone), it was difficult for something as rare as a metamorphmagus to slip under anyone's noses.

james recalled seeing you at quidditch games, your hair vividly colored to match whichever team you were supporting. he was often proud to look through the crowd and find you sporting flaring red locks, cheering alongside his fellow gryffindors. he was proud, even if he knew you weren't there for him. very secretly, he often found himself wanting you to be there for him.

remus remembered the awkward instance of a professor dragging you to the front of the class and demanding you transform for him and your peers. it was a substitute for care of magical creatures, and he was determined to treat you like something to study. remus had cringed as you shifted, clearly uncomfortable and disjointed, before running off and skipping the rest of the day, upset. he wished he had gone to comfort you.

sirius often thought about when he spotted you shifting back to your true face while being dragged through the corridors by minnie. she was huffing and puffing about something you had done, some harmless prank scaring some first years with a strange face, but you only laughed. when he caught your eye, you winked, and he could feel his cheeks flush as he grinned. he'd suspected you'd be great fun for a while yet, but you were just beginning to prove yourself to him.

you had mostly slipped them all by up until their fifth year. by then, the boys had all been dating each other only for a short amount of time but it was becoming apparent to the rest of the school that the marauders were now strictly "look, but don't touch". they were really too fond of each other to consider anyone else now! (this was deeply upsetting information for the many young witches and wizards who had their hearts set upon a member of the famous group.)

however, as you had continued to find passion and joy in care of magical creatures despite your previous experience, you were studying to be a magizoologist. this meant, you were assisting kettleburn while james took the class. which of course meant, he finally had a clear opportunity to befriend you.

you and james caught on like wildfire, and it didn't take long for him to begin dragging the other marauders into your study sessions. hours would pass by, quiet jokes turning into loud laughter and getting shushed by the librarian. they found your ability endlessly fascinating and you were only too happy to oblige your new friends. (one time you transformed into sirius and the two of you acted out him falling in love with himself. the uproar it sent james and remus into actually got you kicked out of the library.)

it didn't take very long for you to become the newest unofficial member of the marauders. you were their beloved friend, and unfortunately in remus's eyes, all too smart. you had figured out his "furry little secret" just within the first month of knowing them all. the next month, they sat together in the hospital wing. sirius was holding remus's hand as james lay next to him on the bed, trying to bring him what comfort they had to offer when you stormed in. they were all aghast when you appeared in the hospital wing after the full moon with a full load of chocolate, several novels, and a promise that you'd do anything you could to help Remus through the lunar cycle. (remus thinks this very well may be when he fell in love with you. didn't help that you refused to leave his side for the rest of the day, reading to him and holding his hand in an entirely friendly way.)

you often joined them for the famous gryffindor parties, often getting sufficiently drunk and completely out of your mind. your appearance would shift constantly, struggling to find one stable face and body when your mind was so fuzzy. you would dance and laugh with them all, so when remus had squeezed sirius's hand and sent him to the corner you'd tucked away in, he knew something was wrong. you had been rather viciously rejected by a ravenclaw you liked, and now, very drunk, you were moaning to sirius about your appearance. could you have made your lips fuller? grown your hair? maybe cut your hair? what could have been different, more attractive, what could have made them like you? bigger eyes? sharper features? he had held your shifting face, helping you calm down and relax into your true complexion. (sirius had thought you looked completely gorgeous as yourself, because no matter how you looked, no matter what changed, he could always tell when you were comfortable in your own skin. he liked you best like that.)

and you always stood for what you believed in. once, james and remus had to not-so-gently drag you away from someone who had loudly claimed werewolves were "inhuman monsters". you continued to shout after them until you were dragged out of their sight, after which you gave remus possibly the longest hug he'd ever had. james gave him a soft kiss on the cheek after they sent you off to class, hoping you wouldn't attack any other students. unfortunately, later that same day, james caught you shouting at the very same student, defending a muggle-born slytherin. he didn't hear what they said, but something shifted in your eyes before you physically shifted, taking on a shit-ton of muscle and pouncing on them. he raced to pull you off as you bellowed at them, wordless and angry, before a professor raced over and helped him. you were dragged off to detention for a week and the slytherin dealt with a broken jaw and black eye as punishment for calling the student you had defended a mudblood. (james only felt immense appreciation for you afterwards. he'd never seen you spark like that before, and he'd never seen you look so undeniably hot.)

it was an incredibly comforting conversation between the three of them when sirius had audibly expressed just how attractive you were. james and remus were quick to agree, and it grew to them admitting to each other their collective feelings for you. but with it suddenly out in the open, none of them knew how to interact with you anymore. the previously friendly touches now felt charged, every glance your way was longing, and none of them knew how to manage it.

it didn't help that you seemed to be pulling away from them either, flushing and quickly making your way out of most of your conversations with them. they thought they were scaring you off. in reality, you were scaring yourself off.

you felt the exact same as them, but deeply feared ruining one of your few lasting friendships at the school. you began shifting into new faces, new bodies, ones they wouldn't recognize in order to avoid them in the halls. it stung to see them searching for you in class and around school, and it stung more when they gave up. maybe if you avoided them you'd begin to feel normal about them again. (you'd had enough weird for a life time, the few normal things you could have you desperately clung to.)

eventually, they caught onto you. again, there were only so many students at Hogwarts, so seeing a new one every other day during their classes with you? it was a painfully ineffective tactic.

remus caught you one day, lounging by the lake. well, sulking seemed a more accurate word, as you were incredibly glum, despite being relaxed enough to look like yourself. it felt like the first time he'd seen your actual face in years. he called out to you.

you jumped, and turned to run, but he cried out for you to stay. and well, you couldn't deny him. not when he sounded like that. not when he sounded so... abandoned. you cringed as you turned around and he rushed up, grabbing your face, turning you this way and that, filled with worry. he asked if you were okay, if you'd been hurt, if they'd hurt you somehow, and why in godric's name were you avoiding them so much-

and gently, you grabbed his wrists to still him, opening your mouth to... to what? comfort him? lie and say you were fine? no words escaped you as remus realized what he'd done and quickly pulled his touch away from you, a flush spreading across his cheeks. (he nearly didn't notice how you'd deflated as he stepped back.)

an awkward, pained grin crossed his face as he looked at you and whispered to you, "where'd you go? what happened to... to us?"

you very nearly broke down in tears right then and there, sucking in a sharp breath as you tried to prepare for losing them. that could be the only possible resolution to all this mess, and you'd be on your own. again. that was fine. you began to speak again, before a shout interrupted you.

james barreled past remus to give you a bear hug so forceful he actually tackled you to the ground. sirius was not far behind him, slipping a hand around remus's side and leaning into him, relaxed at finally seeing you.

a few tears slipped down your cheeks as you hugged james back, who only held you tighter, shouting that you could never leave them alone again. "we all love you too much to lose you ever again, so don't ever get lost, okay?"

you chuckled softly, more tears escaping as you buried your face into his neck. your laughter quickly boiled over into quiet sobs, shakily asking, "love, huh? that's- that's an awful big word, you- are you sure you love me?"

"love you? dove, we're plain obsessed with you-" james finally pulled back, shaking your shoulders then cupping your cheeks. "don't cry lovie, why are you crying?"

"because you don't- you don't love me the way i love you."

james tilted his head at you, deciphering your words, before your true meaning hit him like a truck. he grinned, whispering a quiet "fuck it" before shoving completely into your space and smashing his lips against yours. his glasses went crooked and you gasped into it, and there was some teeth clashing from how much james was smiling, but it was wonderful.

when he finally pulled back, panting and gleefully laughing, you could hear sirius's wolf-whistle and remus's shocked chuckles. you quickly looked between all of them, completely shocked before locking back onto james.

"you- you kissed me."

"sure did, dove."

"did," you glanced between all of them again, now keeping your eyes on sirius and remus as you leaned towards james and whispered, "do all of you want to do that?"

james somehow grinned even brighter. "sure do, dove."

"oh."

you felt your cheeks become ridiculously warm as sirius plopped beside you two, dragging remus down with him and smirking at you the entire time. you shyly smiled at him as he leaned over and smacked a kiss to your cheek.

"how- how long have you all been- how long have you felt this way?"

"long enough dove," remus said, leaning over and pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead before smiling down at you.

"certainly long enough."

i'm begging someone to request more metamorphmagus!reader, especially gender queer or otherwise. (i'll probably still write it even if you don't though, lol) i will also be writing more magizoologist!reader! just smth about a reckless partner that the marauders just can't keep track of... <3

[redheadspark]

14. “My love for you will truly become my downfall, I just know it.” with Oliver & that'll be it from me bestie 🙂 Happy Writing!

A/N - STELLA! I hope you like this, bestie!

Happy

Summary - You and Oliver have different interest, but the same love for one another

Warnings - Mix of angst and fluff :)

“Come on, you can do it,”

“Do I really have to?”

“You promised you would,”

Oliver could see that you were watching him with a soft smile on your lips, your eyes glistening in the evening moon as he sighed and looked back in front of him, down at the Mooncalf that was watching him with its massive blue eyes and a chirp.  You had to admit, it looked downright adorable and cute, but you were keeping it to yourself as your boyfriend, Oliver Wood, was holding out some veggies in his hand to feed the Mooncalf. 

It was part of your Care for Magical Creatures assignment, Professor Kettleburn called you one of his brightest students and an amazing fifth year with a keen eye for Magical Creatures.  You considered him one of your favorite professors at the school, and to get some extra marks and make up for assignments you missed, he asked you to help feed some of the creatures in the corral outside the Hagrid’s Hut. You could spend hours out there within the corrals of the creatures if you could, then again it would look odd to others.  But you never cared, you found the company of the creatures were more enjoyable than of the students,  Sure you had some friends and would spend time with them, but it was nothing like being with Kneazles, Puffeskins and even Diricawls. 

Your boyfriend, Oliver Wood, was opposite of you.  He would rather fly and play quidditch than be with Puffeskins and Nifflers.  He didn’t mind the class at all, but it was not his forte.  That was your department, yet you two compliment d one another as a couple.  Though other students didn’t see the appeal with the pair of your being together for about a year, you both were content.  He made you laugh, you made him feel at ease.  Seeing the two of you clearly enjoying each other’s company.  The whispers of the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain dating the Beast Whisperer would always be consistent and hovering over you two throughout the year you both were together.  But neither of you cared to listen in on those rumors.  You loved Oliver and he loved you, it was all that matters in the end.  

But as of late, you both had a bit of a fight when it came to eat other’s interests.  Not that you hated that he played quidditch, you admired it.  He was a natural at the game and he loved playing anytime he could.  But it was when the last month you two barely had time for one another.  Being the Captain for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team meant that he was busy and barely had time to be with you.  It was eating you alive to think negative about something that Oliver loves.  And it wasn’t that he didn’t acknowledge it, he knew he was spending less time with you and more time with his team or planning out plays on his own. 

“It would be nice to have more time with you, not to be next to you while your head is buried in your playbook!”

“You know how important being captain is to me!”

“I do, and I am not saying it’s not important! I just want to know where I belong in your busy life!”

It came to a head one stormy night in the Gryffindor Common Room, you coming in from being buried under books at the library and seeing Oliver still hunched over his playbook, right where you left him two hours again.  Two hours before he swore he would join you in the library after he was done with his playbook, but he never showed.  After waiting two hours for him and feeling a massive headache coming through, you had enough and abandoned your study date.  Oliver saw you storm into the Common Room, a scowl on your face and papers sticking out half-hazardly out of the books you took with you.  He then realized what happened after checking his watch, and before he could apologize to you as he stood up to stop you, you brushed past him.

“Don’t even start, Wood,” you growled, Wood looking in shock as you walked up the stairs and away from him.  He felt like he crushed your spirit after breaking a simple request and promise, not realizing that both Fred and George Weasley were sitting near one of the massive stained windows watching the whole thing.  

“He’s in trouble,” George whispered to his twin, but Oliver heard it and gave the twin a death glare.  

Oliver found you the next morning, coming down the stairs with bags under your eyes and flushness in your cheeks.  He knew you were going to head down to breakfast and he was going to walk with you, meeting you in front of the fireplace and then engulfing you in his arms.  You hugged him tightly, Oliver squeezing you a bit tighter.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” He said against your head.

He made a promise that he would put Quidditch to the side when it was time to be with you.  He felt terrible after that night, making a note himself to make sure he carved time, real time, out for you.  You were grateful that he was doing to make change, and although you felt bad in how you reacted that night, you were still happy.  You apologized to him, he shook his head and framed your face in his hands.

“I need to be with ya more than I realized,” He confessed to you as he scanned your eyes, the pair of you sitting side by side at breakfast that morning in The Great Hall, "Bein’ with ya makes me happy, if not happier, than I have ever been playin’ quidditch. I didn’t mean to ignore us in the process, and I won’t mess that up again,”

Since then, you two made more time together. It was more of blessing for Oliver since you could tell once he was not thinking about Quidditch, it was a bit more relaxed.  Even the twins pulled you aside one day after Defense Against the Dark Arts, praising you for making sure he would take a break.

“Thanks to you, he’s less of an ass!” George said in a chuckle.

Oliver was even willing to help you out with Magical Creatures, a subject he was not great in.  You didn’t mind, you were simply glad he was showing interest in the subject since you loved it so much.  When you two would study together he would ask questions about certain creatures.  You could tell it was not a familiar thing to him, but he wasn’t going to shy away from it either.  It made you smile inwardly, seeing Oliver put in the effort.

Just like now, under a full moon, with a newborn mooncalf looking up at Oliver and was ready to be fed veggies.  Professor Kettleburn saved a herd of Mooncalves from poachers that were roaming the highlands not too far away.  He was going to help mend some of their injuries before re-releasing them in the wild, also having only a certain number of his top students study them in the evenings under a full moon.  It would be the only time a moon calf would be out and fully active.  You were one of his best students, and he invited you to come feed them while he was woking away with some of the Thestrals that were also in one of the corals.  

You brought Oliver along, whom has never seen a mooncalf before.  

"My love for you will truly become my downfall, I just know it.” He grumbled, though you said him have a small smile and not be serious about it. You rolled your eyes as he then looked at the mooncalf.

“Here ya go,” He mumbled, reaching out a bit more as the small mooncalf chirped at him with his amazing blue eyes. The mooncalf then reached out, barely on his tiptoes and took a few bites from Oliver’s open palm.  Oliver chuckled from the sight as you watched in amazement.

“You’re rather good,Oliver,” you reassured him as he shook his head.

“Naw, he was just hungry is all,” He countered but you shook your head.  

“A mooncalf is skittish around those they don’t know, real skittish.  This one trust you, and sometimes that takes a while for a mooncalf to build trust,” You explained, grabbing another set of veggies to give him, “This time, lean down a bit more since he’s a baby. There you go,”

Oliver leaning over the pen a bit more, getting closer to the creature as the creature ate some more from his palm.  You could see Kettleburn from the corner of your eye to the right taming a Thestral, looking at you and Oliver with a wide grin.  He could see how you were showing Oliver how to care for the mooncalf, being the professor yourself.  

Oliver laughed as the mooncalf’s tongue licked at his palm, you giggling alongside of him as he wiped the saliva on his robes, “Cheeky thing ain’t he?”

“He likes you!” You hummed as you leaned over to kiss his cheek, “As do I.  Thank you, for coming out here with me,”

Oliver looked over at you, pecking you on the lips as he grinned and shrugged, “I don’t mind spendin’ time doin’ this with ya, since I know it makes ya happy. If you’re happy, I’m happy,”

It would be your mantra together, after graduating Hogwarts and getting married.  Oliver would play quidditch professionally while you would become the Care of Magical Creatures professor at Hogwarts.  

The End

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

harry potter timeline sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER FIVE (see full series list here)

1992

You reunite with Remus later in the Great Hall as you take your seats at the staff table beside each other.

"Dementors every where, just lovely," you grumble, before looking at Remus with a small smirk. "So...remind me why you didn't decide to tell me you were coming?"

Remus sighs, a small guilty smile tugging the corners of his lips upwards. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

You scoff, hitting his arm jokingly. "Fuck you, I could've spent my summer looking forward to having my best friend here with me. When did you find out?"

"Last month. Dumbledore said you had recommended me."

"I didn't necessarily recommend you, I just...may have mentioned your name along with the words 'great' and 'looking for a job'."

Remus chuckles, shaking his head. "I'm sure. But seriously, thank you. I really didn't expect him to hire me."

You lay a hand on his shoulder, smiling warmly. "You're brilliant, and I am right: you're going to be a great teacher. And hey, he hired me, didn't he? Only one who would." With that, you're reminded of your little visit from the Ministry and open your mouth to tell him about it but close it once you spot Dumbledore standing up to begin his speech.

"Welcome!" he booms brightly. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it's best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast..."

He clears his throat and continues. "As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the Dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business."

You feel your heart start to beat faster at the topic at hand, and suddenly become very interested in the empty porcelain plate in front of you.

"They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds," he says, "and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises — or even Invisibility Cloaks."

You exchange a knowing look with Remus.

"It is not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the Prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs foul of the Dementors."

Dumbledore pauses and looks very seriously around the Hall, and nobody moves or makes a sound.

"On a happier note," he says with renewed joy, "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year. Firstly, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

You clap enthusiastically, smiling widely as the room fills with some...scattered, rather unethusiastic, applause. You spy Harry, Ron, and Hermione clapping heartily and smile proudly at them. You glance around at the rest of the staff, clapping politely, and notice the sour expression on Snape's face. His gaze is dripping with pure loathing as he glares at Remus. You don't know whether to be pissed at Snape or to laugh at his pettiness.

"As to our second new appointment," Dumbledore continues, as Remus' applause dies away, "well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties."

You beam down the table at Hagrid, clapping loudly. He's gone completely crimson, hiding his happy face in the tangle of his black beard.

"Well, I think that's everything of importance," Dumbledore concludes. "Let the feast begin!"

The plates and goblets lining the table in front of you fill with delicious food and you waste no time piling things onto your plate. The Hall echoes with talk, laughter and the clatter of cutlery against porcelain.

"So, now that you're here, I guess I can talk to you about...y'know," you say quietly to Remus, though the lowered volume isn't really necessary when the Great Hall is alive with such chatter and noise. "Got a visit from the Minister of Magic and a few of his buddies the last day."

"I expected as much," he replies with a sigh. "Actually, I'm so sorry, I meant to visit as soon as I found out but it was a full — "

"It's alright, Moony. I'm glad you didn't," you say with a weak smile. "They're monitoring the house again. I don't want you to have to get caught up in all this."

"Still...I feel bad about leaving you to deal with that alone."

You wave him off. "It's fine, honestly. I'm very brave." You chuckle at that last part, elbowing Remus playfully.

He doesn't seem to find it too funny, and worry lines crease his eyes as he opens his mouth to say something before shutting it, seemingly choosing against whatever he was going to say and returning to his meal.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

The weeks pass much quicker than usual, spending less time bored and alone now that you have Remus to pester. Every Monday at breakfast, you wait anxiously for your delivery of The Daily Prophet, practically snatching it out of the air and rifling through it and scouring for any mention of Sirius. There are plenty, of course — constant reminders from the Ministry that they are doing everything they can to locate him.

Nothing interesting really happens, apart from Draco Malfoy throwing such a fit over Hagrid's lesson that his father is practically trying to get the heads of both Hagrid and Buckbeak on the chopping block. You understand that he was hurt...but in a magical world, most injuries are just not worth fretting over when you can pop up to Madam Pomfrey's and she'll have you mended in a minute.

You check up on Hagrid a few times for a quick cup of tea and it's obvious that the incident has shaken him and he's lost most of his excitement for his lessons. You feel awful. Hagrid has too kind of a soul to be subjected to the threats of Lucius Malfoy.

Speaking of which, you notice the uncanny resemblance between Draco and his father. Your distaste for Lucius has been present ever since you went to school together, and do your best not to let that impact the way you treat Draco — even if the fact that he decides to chat for most of his astronomy class while you are talking drives you up the walls. He is only a boy, after all, and we cannot help what values we are raised with and by whom we learn them from.

You really do wish Lucius hadn't passed on that hair to him though. It's a monstrosity.

You sigh as you sit at your desk, reading over your third years' homework. You hum quietly to yourself, Dubh sleeping soundly on your lap as you work.

You give Harry's a glance, ticking the labels scribbled beneath each star, before you find one incorrectly labeled and positioned star that strikes you as familiar. You shuffle through the other students' charts, eventually landing on Ron Weasley's, taking it out and holding it against Harry's in comparison. Same exact mistake and same exact misspelling of 'Gamma Geminorum'.

You chuckle, writing, 'Nice try' on both charts and moving on to the next.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

The Halloween feast passes with you and Remus chatting amicably, the Great Hall lit up by floating candle-filled pumpkins, flaming bright orange streamers and clouds of fluttering live bats. And the food — Hogwarts dinners are always something you miss during the summer holidays.

Later that evening, you walk through the hallways back to your room, when you hear Dumbledore yell loudly from the Gryffindor corridor. Confused and curious, you change course and head down the hallway to find a large crowd of students murmuring, all pushing themselves up onto their tippy-toes to see over the heads in front of them.

Dumbledore is at the front with Percy Weasley beside him, so you push through the students to see what all the fuss is about.

The Fat Lady's portrait is void of the woman, replaced by vicious slashes ripping through the canvas, leaving strips fallen on the ground beneath it.

Dumbledore looks at the strips of canvas on the ground, glancing up and noticing you, before his eyes shift to your right and you turn and see McGonagall, Snape and Remus hurrying towards you.

"We need to find her," he says. "Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady."

"You'll be lucky!" Comes a cackling voice and you immediately know the speaker.

Peeves joyfully bobs over the group of students, blowing a raspberry at one trembling first-year.

"What do you mean, Peeves?" Dumbledore says calmly, and Peeves mischief fades quickly and he takes on a much more professional tone.

"Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn't want to be seen. She's a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful," he says cheerfully. "Poor thing," he adds, unconvincingly.

"Did she say who did it?" Dumbledore asks quietly.

"Oh, yes, Professorhead," Peeves replies, with a devious expression, as though he's got something truly shocking to reveal. "He got very angry when she wouldn't let him in, you see."

Peeves flips over, giggling, winking at you through his own legs. "Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

->-> read chapter six here!

→ all kinds of interaction are appreciated ♡

sorry it's been almost a week since last upload! had a bit of writer's block 💔

[siriusblack-the-third]

marauders aesthetic: dark academia

sirius: chin length silky hair in a shag cut. fingers stained with motor oil and black ink. drives everyone crazy with the bold black eyeliner he gets marlene to teach him. twirls his wand and quills between his fingers. old leather jackets thrown over messily buttoned shirts. tie hanging untied around his neck. reads any book he can get his hands on. always has a peppermint on his person. if you're close enough to get a sniff, he smells of damp grass, leather, parchment and mint. chess comes as easy as breathing to him. can't sleep at night, so he climbs out the window and sits on the top of gryffindor tower to stare at the stars. french is his first language, and he speaks italian, greek and latin. only has to study occasionally for herbology. a properly made macchiato, always. half smirks and cocky grins, and grey eyes that spark with mischief. cruel streak a mile wide, so he hates getting angry. a little bit of a slob (it drives james mad). won the under 19 europe duelling tournament at age fourteen. god tier poker face. climbs into james' bed after particularly terrifying nightmares. hums french songs to him to calm himself down. david bowie, led zeppelin, ac/dc, sex pistols. immense raw power that sizzles under his skin and smells like lightning storms. his magic is visible in his veins when he gets emotional. silver eyes, sharp glare, wicked words, even crueler spells. mastermind behind more than half of their pranks. when he laughs, he sounds like the pureblood he is; all refined and perfect. at six feet four inches, he's the tallest of the marauders. loves giving james shit for being shorter than him. plays the violin, and composes sometimes. it reminds him of the nights he locked himself and regulus into the music room at home and played till his fingers bled. perfect waltz, perfect posture, perfect table manners and perfect posh accent.

.

remus: curly golden brown hair in messy undercuts, lanky body and lean muscles. five foot nine inches and hates it. leaves when a person lights up a cigarette; says the smell is overwhelming on his senses. always has a cup of black coffee with him, but never drinks it. comfy jumpers, pressed trousers, perfect uniform, prefect badge pinned to the front. piercings— tongue, ears, nose and lip. charms the tongue piercing to taste like chocolate. hates reading, but does read a few of the books that james recommends. will never give up a chance to sleep in. polite smiles and genial nods in the presence of teachers, quirked eyebrows and infuriating smirks otherwise— he's a two faced little bitch and he's proud of it. doesn't get angry, but does get annoyed. hates confrontation, and will get out of one as fast as possible. sharp wit, sharper tongue. dry, sarcastic remarks under his breath that make peter cry with laughter. a human heater. fingers stained with blue ink and chocolate smudges. if he's not with the marauders, he's either sleeping or studying in the library. best at defence against the dark arts, but still not as good as sirius and james. speaks welsh, scots gaelic and old english. learns french and latin from sirius. a complete, utter mess; everything from his school satchel to his wardrobe to his bed is chaos (james despairs over his habits). absolutely loathes history of magic and potions. favourite subject is care of magical creatures, mostly due to the chaos that professor kettleburn causes. elton john, cher, tchaïkovsky. cannot play any musical instrument, but loves it when sirius and james duet together. smells like chocolate, cinnamon, and honey. owns a diary, and gets called a girl for it by peter. has chronic joint pain that is aggravated by the scotland weather. difficult relationships with his parents, but he still loves them and they love him back.

.

james: messy curls long enough to be tucked behind his ears. the only one who can beat sirius at chess. had an indian accent the first three years of hogwarts. plays the piano to calm himself. six foot one inch and hates it because sirius keeps giving him shit. fingers stained with charcoal, graphite, and alta dye applied for bharatanatyam. always moving, can never sit still unless he's reading or sketching. kajal lining brown eyes and dotted behind his ear for good luck. bright smiles and fondly exasperated shakes of his head. mother hen because "none of these idiots can be trusted to look after themselves". brown skin that just gets darker from quidditch practice in the sun. reads literally anything he can get his hands on, genre does not matter. dozens of journals filled with detailed sketches of anything and everything that catches his eye (a couple of journals are dedicated solely to green eyes. a couple more are filled with sketches of sirius). outstanding at transfiguration and arithmancy. never has to study (it drives peter to apoplexy). does not get offended or angered easily, but will go off on anyone who insults his friends. fits into any clique— jock, nerd, theatre kid, musicians, you name it. hopeless romantic. hates messes, always nagging his friends to clean up after themselves. chai, always. unapologetic mama's boy. proud of his indian lineage. rises before the sun does. always has cold fingers, and steals sirius' jackets. burrows into sirius' hugs for warmth. long, scalding hot baths. mother tongue is marathi. speaks hindi, urdu, french, latin, tamil, greek and sanskrit. loves every subject except history of magic. listens to any genre of music as long as it sounds good. loves balls and galas because he gets to dress up and dance. always has some sort of indian confectionary on him— barfi, laddoo, maisurpak, gulab jamun. it adds a sugary layer to his chandan perfume.

.

peter: buzz cut, but wants to grow it out. steals james' books and never reads them. smells of earth and a woody perfume his mother got for him in fourth year. can't play chess for shit, but is better than remus at gobstones. his bed and closet are well maintained and always neat. laughs a lot (it sounds squeaky), and his eyes twinkle when he smiles. best at herbology and care or magical creatures, but he hates the latter. a sarcastic twerp and a sneaky little shit. has the normal sense of humour— the other three boys thrive off of dark jokes. absolutely loathes studying, but needs to do it, so he does (while grumbling good naturedly about sirius and james not needing to). whistles when he walks the corridors of hogwarts, with his hands in his pockets. loves the waltz, and always has a record playing at low volume whenever possible. atrocious sense of style/fashion, and gets heckled by sirius and james for it. has notebooks upon notebooks filled with little doodles that are surprisingly good. always listens when sirius or james play the violin or piano, and sometimes drags remus into a waltz to make everyone laugh. claims to be annoyed by james' mother henning, but everyone knows he adores it. friends with a lot of the younger students, and always has liquorice or lozenges on him to give to them. cat person, terrified of mcgonagall. he loves watching james perform bharatanatyam, and asked for lessons in fourth year. he gave up within a month, saying he would stick to waltzing, thank you very much. always, always, has a granola bar filled with nuts somewhere in his pockets. does not understand why mint chocolate is a thing, and absolutely refuses to eat anything that has mint in it. steals james' confectionary and gets tackled for it. will eat ice-cream no matter the season, even if he has a cold.

[honora-antares]

Severus Snape Headcanons for my upcoming Fanfic!

Part Two - Contains MAJOR Spoilers so read at your own discretion.

 Was A Hat Stall. It took the Sorting hat exactly 7 minutes to decide whether to place him in Slytherin or Ravenclaw. Ultimately, it yielded to Severus’s pleas and chose to sort him into Slytherin.

 Should he have chosen Ravenclaw, maybe things with Lily and The Marauders would have turned out differently.

 Can See Thestrals after the accidental death of Tobias (and his own) and helps out Professor Kettleburn in feeding them for extra lessons. 

 He of course had read about them in Care of Magical Creatures, but he never thought he would ever see any at such a young age. 

 Though maybe he should have, given how his father treated his family. It was only a matter of who it would have been.

His Animagus is a Fox, many would think it would be a bat, with how people often compare him to a vampire.

 That's not to say that his Fox is just any ordinary fox, because his bat-like appearance did manifest on his animagus, for his Fox is a Bat-Eared-Fox. 

 Just how bats have larger-than-their-heads ears, so does this breed of foxes.

Invented Discedere Malsti, with the inspiration of Expecto Patronum. Where the Patronus Charm defends with an illuminating light Guardian, causing Danger to flee, thus allowing its castor to remain safe, Discedere Malsti helps its castor by shadowing them in darkness, thus allowing them to escape.

 It's known that Expecto Patronum is conjured by a happy memory, in order for Discedere Malsti to create thick shadows, one must conjure it by a devastating memory.

Discedere (To leave) + Malus Hostis (Evil foe)

Discedere Malsti = Leave my foes behind

Wand movement is a reverse to its inspiration

[hphm-fandom-events]

WELCOME TO HPHMTEMBER!!!

This is just like your typical inktober event, but taking place in September and centered around Hogwarts Mystery. Each day has one basic prompt and one character prompt- you are free to only draw one, or even both! Do as many or as few days as you’d like, and just have fun with it!

Prompt List:

In order of Days:

1. First Year, MC

2. Gryffindor, Jae

3. Professor, Beatrice

4. Halloween, Erika

5. The Three Broomsticks, Barnaby

6. Care of Magical Creatures, Penny

7. Siblings, Alanza

8. Vault, Jacob

9. Duel, Merula

10. Hufflepuff, Chiara

11. Friends, Murphy

12. Pet(s), Talbott

13. Patronus, Ben

14. DADA, Tulip

15. Graduation, Corey

16. Childhood, Charlie

17. Quidditch, Rowan

18. AU, Bill

19. Ravenclaw, Andre

20. Celestial, Victor

21. Forbidden Forest, Kettleburn

22. Best Friends, Badeea

23. Family, Diego

24. Fight, Orion

25. Creatures, Ismelda

26. Animagus, Skye

27. Ball, Jules Egwu

28. Spells, Tonks

29. Slytherin, Liz

30. 7th year, Someone else’s MC

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

The Quiz

I've recently become obsessed with The Dandy Lyon Club, so have this stupid oneshot based on one of their videos

They're just sitting in James and Lily's house, the first time all together in months, when she says it.

Sirius is resting against Remus, Remus' arm around him, with his feet in James' lap. Lily glances away from her conversation with Marlene, catches the sight, and it seems to provoke a question.

"Hey, Sirius?" The three of them turn to her, mostly surprised that she's asking Sirius a question, not Remus. "Who d'you reckon knows you better? James or Remus?"

"Oh, uh..." Sirius considers it carefully for a moment, and Remus watches him with a smile. "You know, I have no clue. What do you guys think?" He glances between his best friend and his boyfriend, but they both shrug.

"I don't think I've ever thought about it," Remus says casually, half expecting that to be the end of it.

"No, wait, I'm curious now," Sirius says with a smile, and Remus can already feel the dregs of a scheme dawning on his boyfriend. A scheme he probably won't want to be a part of. "How can we figure it out?"

"A quiz," Marlene says without missing a beat. "A competition between Remus and James."

"Oh, we don't need to-" James starts, but it's already decided amongst the rest of their friends.

"That's a brilliant fucking idea!" Mary says brightly, and Remus wants to facepalm. He honestly doesn't care if James knows more about Sirius, because he loves Sirius. That's all he really cares about. Still, it's clearly not up to him or James.

That's how they find themselves still at the house at three in the morning, Remus and James sat either side of Sirius on a sofa. Peter, Mary, Lily and Dorcas are sat on the floor, Marlene in an armchair beside the sofa, parchment in hand. Apparently, she had written all of the questions, and Sirius just had to confirm who answered correctly. Lily's been put in charge of points, holding a quill and a journal. Remus still doesn't see the point in it, but at least his friends seem to be enjoying themselves. Besides, it could be fun. Maybe.

"Okay, I have ten questions. They're going to get progressively harder, and both of you have to give an answer before Sirius reveals what the correct answer is," Marlene explains. Remus and James both nod, and Marlene wastes no time in launching into her first question. "Number one: when is Sirius' birthday?" Remus breathes a disbelieving laugh.

"The third of November, everybody knows that," Remus says, and James nods in agreement.

"Yeah, the third."

"Marlene, that was a bit too easy," Sirius says with a chuckle.

"Don't worry, I'm just getting started," she answers with a smile.

Yeah, that doesn't exactly fill Remus with confidence.

The next few questions leave them tied because, again, who doesn't know basic shit like Sirius' middle name?

"Right, question five: who's Sirius' favourite relative? Not including Regulus," she adds quickly, and-

Oh.

Okay, yeah, that's tricky.

"...Andy?" James tries, and Remus knows they have a better chance of figuring it out if they guess two different names.

"Er... Alphard."

"James is right, Andy's the best one," Sirius says, pointing briefly to James while he laces his fingers through Remus'.

"Finally! Okay, James is a point ahead. Question six: which Hogwarts Professor would Sirius shag?" Sirius snickers, and Remus just frowns, confused.

What the fuck are these questions? How can they get harder than a literal guessing game? He and James guess dutifully, though.

"Slughorn."

"Dumbledore."

"Guys, come on," Sirius says disbelievingly. "Kettleburn, obviously!"

"Padfoot, that makes no sense!" James argues.

"Right, since Remus needs a chance to even the playing field again," Marlene interjects quickly, "sorry James, the next question is an easy one for Remus."

That doesn't exactly fill Remus with confidence.

"Alright! Question seven: when was the last time Sirius had sex?"

"Oh, that's not-" Sirius starts, but James doesn't waste a second in answering.

"Last week."

Hold on.

For a second, Remus is at a loss for words. Namely because James is right.

"...yeah. Yeah, last week. That was- James, that was a very quick answer," he says, more than a little concerned and having forgotten that most of his friends are present. "Why does he know that?" He asks Sirius, who just shrugs.

"I don't really think before I speak," he answers simply.

"I was just expressing concern," James says innocently, eyes meeting Remus'. "Y'know, a whole week-"

"Oh, fuck right off, you know full well why it's been a week! It was the full!" He argues, and he can see Sirius laughing beside him. "Can we move on?" Remus asks, turning to Marlene, who's clearly trying to avoid laughing herself. She nods, eyes flicking back down to her parchment.

"Okay, right, uh..."

She doesn't get the next question out before she dissolves into laughter, and before Remus even knows what has happened, they're all laughing with her. Sirius drops his face into Remus' shoulder for a moment, and Remus just wraps an arm around his waist.

Something tells him that the quiz is over.