#Squib!Reader

[blue-asher]

Percy Weasley X Squib!Reader

Summary: when you try to buy a book by a Squib author Percy shields you from the discrimination of the bookshop owner.

Let's say that the Weasley family and the Golden Trio decided to go to Diagon Alley to buy supplies for the new school year and they invite you and your siblings (who attend Hogwarts; that's how you met them) to come along.

Their first stop was a library where they got the essentials like paper and quills. There you decided to treat the trio and bought some matching pens that had witches' hats on them. Ron was the most intrigued out of the three.

Then you go to a bookshop with the list of required books in hand. It was then that problems arrised.

Once you enter the bookshop you all part different ways to find your things: Hermione goes straight to grab the school books so as to check out the novels later, Ron and Harry go the adventure books first so as to go for the school ones later, Ginny and her mother look into the new Lockheart's novel and Mr. Weasley went to look after the twins (as instructed by his wife) but soon lost track of them.

And, although you didn't notice at first, Percy decides to look out for you (his words, what if you got lost in all the sections and ended up in a shopping spree) and see if you actually had good taste in books at all—not because he was taking notes for next birthday presents, of course. He also didn't want to leave you alone. The rest of the lot had actual things to do in there and went straight to crossing names from their lists. All of them walked in different directions with confidence, like men on a mission. So he was fairly surprised when you did as well. He wanted to know what you were up to.

He considered going up to you and ask you what you thought about the bookshop after 15 minutes of just watching how you read the tilted of a couple books in sale. Until he saw you grab, rather excited, a particular book. Then the bookseller appeared.

"Good evening, young lady! I'm sorry to bother you but I couldn't help but notice that you picked up a particular book" the bookseller said anxiously "Memories of a forgotten kind. I hope it struck your interest, of course! but I must insist you buy it nonetheless" Y/N was quite shocked at the sudden approach and rambling of the man but she was just about to ask for more information about the magnificent book so she was glad the man came just in time.

The book in question is an elegant hard cover edition with beautiful art work in the front about philosophy. It was from a squib author that discussed the problems with Squib identity and how they perceived themselves in a world that seemed to want to label them one way or the other, essencially robbing them of the core of their existance: the middle. The author also included some biographical aspects in it to help make a point of his stand. You, being the same as him, were very excited to have found it as not only it spoke about an issue that had revolved around your self-confidence all your life (you had to admit you were just a tiny bit jealous of your siblings' magic) but because it was also a rare occurrence to find a squib author in general. Sadly, they rarely got published.

"You see, I've been having a real hard time to sell them. No one wants them—nobody could ever want them, really." His sudden statement quickly pulled you out of your thoughts as you were thinking about what to ask him first. You had just decided to ask whether the guy had written other books when he screamed that first statement.

"I shouldn't have made a deal with the man. I tried to diversify my collection, you know, my partner told me to. But I told him it was a bad idea, he just wouldn't listen" he continued rapidly ". I know everyone wants to say we are in modern times but business are business. You get me"

It was as if he was trying to excuse himself for even having the books in the shop; he didn't even stop to breath. You got concerned. Why was it difficult to sell? Had the writer been in some sort of scandal? Was the information in the book no longer valid? You didn't remember if you looked at the year of publishing but the book seemed brand new. Why was it in sale? It seemed like half the price a book so pretty.

"You don't seem too convinced. That's all right, I understand" you tried to pich in and tell him that he didn't understand at all because not even you understood what he was talking about. But he kept going "I'll make you a deal, just for you. You seemed like a lady of culture. How much is it? 400 sickles? I'll leave it to 300, what do you say?"

'I'll be damned' you thought. Shouldn't it be the other way around? What would he even gain from that amount? You finally got a moment to ask:

"I'm confused, It's such a beautiful edition with great quality, why is it so cheap? Did the author do something?"

You waited for his answer.

The bookseller looked at you like you just grew an extra head but quickly changed his expression to one of realisation "My apologies, ma'am. You mustn't have notice, how silly of me!" He spoke as if the fact was obvious but you still didn't understand. He composed himself and in a more calmer manner said "The author's a squib"

That's all he said.

And Percy thought he had already said enough.

You were stil expecting to hear something more, an aclaration, because clearly it didn't seem like a logical reason. What does that have to do with anything? You didn't have time to say anything else as Percy suddenly appeared beside you and put his hand on your shoulder. You looked at him but his gazed was fixed from above into the bookseller's eyes.

"I think we have heard enough desperate rambling from you. No wonder you can't sell a book for the life of it." His tone was cold and it shocked you greatly. You hadn't seen Percy this angry before, you hadn't ever heard him insult another adult like that.

The bookseller went off pretty angry and told the both of you to not bother coming back if you weren't going to buy a proper book. You were pretty sure you heard him say something about you only looking into the Sale section, most likely an insult.

However, you thought it had all went down hill unnecessarily and were about to question Percy's sudden change of attitude but when you turned you noticed that he was already looking at you. With a sad warmness in his gaze.

"He meant the writer, Y/N"

You stared at him for a few seconds and blinked "What?"

"He meant that the books didn't sell because the writer's a squib"

You felt embarrassed because of how long it took you to pick up on the que. Angry embarrassed. You had just made a fool of yourself, in front of Percy! Just when you thought you had dominated that kind of anti-squib talking.

In the end everyone left without buying a single textbook from the place, not wanting to support such a prick. But not before your siblings gave the bookseller a piece of their mind and spoke every insult the could come up with.

You insisted to the Weasleys that they didn't have to leave: they needed the books and the other bookshop was a good 20 minutes away. Hermione gave a nasty look to anyone who seemed tempted on the idea of buying the books and get the shopping over with. 'Anyone' being Ron -but just for a quick second.

Quickly you started making jokes about how you should have bought it either way because "Where else will I find a book so amazingly cheap? No, Y/N! You mustn't succumb to capitalism!! You have to support the writers" Your antics successfully made the trio and twins laugh and it was only then, when you wanted to raise your fist at the sky in a dramatic way, that you noticed that Percy had been holding your hand. Probably had since you left the bookshop. When you looked at him he sheepishly let go while giving you a shy smile.

You wished he hadn't.

A couple of days later you family had the Weasleys over for a farewell dinner since everyone left the following day for Hogwarts.

Just when everyone had left and you were making yourself comfortable in your room, you noticed a wrapped package in your bed. A gift that was not there before. It was very clearly a book but it didn't have any note as to who might have left it. Did the Weasleys leave a gift for you? You didn't see anyone entering your room.

Dying with curiosity, you opened to see what it was and find a clue of who your mystery friend might be.

It was the philosophy book you had tried to buy a few days ago! You were admiring it with delight when you noticed something falling from the inside of it.

A piece of paper had fallen, it was receipt! From a library you didn't know and where it stated that the book had been purchased at a price much suitable for its quality; probably the original price that the bookseller had tried reducing to nothingness the other day.

But there was something else written at the back of the receipt, something in handwriting.

"Proof that I've bought it at full price.

Found a new bookshop with a section dedicated to squib writers, mind if we explore it together some time?"

You would recognize that handwriting anywhere, and would make sure to send Percy a package of his favourite chocolates with your next letter.

[princesspuffle8]

Alioth Sirius Black

Your second child with Regulus had him questioning a lot of things. Although he loved his son with all his heart, this baby of yours was born without magical abilities. A squib. Which sent Regulus into a bit of an emotional spiral: questioning his pure blood status and the atrocities the black family did in the name of it, whether or not he would be a good parent to a non-magical child, whether his magical child would hate or resent him and his family for not having magical abilities, how you both would raise a non-magical child…

It was all a lot to take in, however with your support (coming from muggles yourself) and with the slow but steady exposure to muggle culture and debunking the stereotypes about it, his worries were slowly confronted and cured.

Alioth Sirius Black. He gave his son his brother’s name as his middle name because secretly he has always looked up to Sirius as his big brother. His baby boy has his grey eyes and your hair and skin tone. His nickname is Ali or Alio. 

His personality is more introverted but he greatly enjoys sports. Growing up he wanted so badly to be a quidditch player like his dad and it broke both your heart and Regulus’s when he learned that he couldn’t become one. But despite this, Regulus was determined to help his baby boy find his niche sport. He let him try out everything. Basketball, football (soccer and the American version), golf, tennis, karate, gymnastics, wrestling, you name it he let his kid try it. And it turns out, he’s a water baby. Is an amazing and very fast swimmer and loves the water. Also enjoys fishing and boating (Regulus bought him his own boat because of this). 

Regulus is a VERY involved parent. He shows up to all the muggle swim meets (early because being on time is being late in his mind). He also made sure that he enrolled his child into the best private school money could buy. He is the epitome of the PTA dad and often gets into petty squabbles with the PTA moms, which he rants to you about. And even though he was happy to spoil his child with monetary things (that’s how he was shown “love” growing up) you are quick to remind him that love doesn’t come from what you can buy but being there and spending time with your children. So he takes this to heart and makes sure to spend equal time with both of your kids and you. And lots of family vacations. Both to magical places and muggle ones too. 

All in all Alioth grows up super loved.

[joka13]

FANFICTION (REQUEST): George Weasley x Squib Reader (Female) - Empathy - Part 3

WARNINGS: none

The wait was only a few days, but Thursday couldn't come soon enough. And by the time it did come, you were more than ready to go with George to Diagon Alley.

You sat in the dining room at 9:30 a.m. with your shoes on and purse hung over your shoulder, staring at the clock on the wall. George had said he'd pick you up at 10:00, but you wanted to be prepared in case he arrived early.

You anxiously fiddled with your hands. You were certainly excited for what the day ahead might hold, but, of course, you couldn't help but worry something would go wrong. You wished you could talk to Mum to distract yourself, but she was at work.

You then realized that George wouldn't pick you up in a car. He was a wizard, after all, and would travel by other means. This made you even more anxious as you anticipated how you might get to Diagon Alley. Would you apparate? You remembered that was your father's preferred method. Could you use floo powder? You once saw your father use it in the fireplace. Should you get a fire started just in case? George would need to bring his own powder...

Three knocks on the front door startled you. You quickly got to your feet, but stopped yourself from rushing and took in a deep breath to calm your rapidly beating heart. You tried your best to walk casually to the door and put on a smile as you opened it.

"Good morning, y/n! You ready?" George greeted you enthusiastically. You were pleased to see him wearing fairly casual clothes: a pair of blue jeans, a light sweater, and walking shoes. You had wondered earlier as you got dressed for the day if he would wear something more... wizardy because you'd be going to a wizarding place. You had worried that you'd stick out in your muggle clothes, but seeing George's outfit made you much less concerned about that.

"Good morning, George!" you replied, grinning wider. "I am!" You then noticed a little, blue car that was unfamiliar to you parked by the curb. "Is that... your car?" you asked, puzzled.

"Indeed it is!" George laughed. "Though, I don't know how to drive it... legally. According to muggle laws at least. It flies, but I thought we... you could drive it the normal way if that'd make you more comfortable."

George's thoughtfulness touched you, and much of your uneasiness slipped away. "Thank you... I really appreciate that actually. Wait one moment while I get my driver's license." You went back inside to grab your license. When you came back out, you locked the door behind you and eagerly exclaimed, "Here we go!"

George smiled. "Off we go!" He led you to the car, opening the driver side door for you, then walked around to sit in the passenger seat.

Out of habit, you first fastened your seatbelt. George copied you with his own, though you wondered if he knew being without a seatbelt in a moving car was illegal.

From that point forward, George directed you as well as he could (knowing as little about road laws as he did) for about twenty minutes before you arrived at an inn and pub called the Leaky Cauldron. You parked down the street.

"Well done," George complimented as you both got out of the car. "I don't know much about it, but driving seems complicated without magic."

You laughed. "Thank you!"

You followed George to the front of the inn. He stopped before entering, looking about the area.

"Something the matter?" you asked.

"We've got to be clear of muggles," George said. There weren't any that you or him could see, so George went inside with you nervously on his heels. "To them, this building appears to be nothing but a solid wall. If you weren't used to such things, you can imagine our entrance might look rather... odd."

You giggled at the thought. "That's an understatement."

As you took in your surroundings (which weren't much to behold; the pub was dimly lit and musty), you silently appreciated being able to see the inn from the outside. It was something that separated you from muggles and (sort of) included you with the rest of wizardkind. You became distracted by a couple of bottles floating slowly back to their shelves as the bartender finished preparing a drink, and you accidentally bumped into George's back.

"Sorry," you apologize.

"No worries. I thought you'd like to see this," George said, stepping to the side so you could better view the brick wall in front of him.

"Er..." You weren't sure what he was talking about, and you began to wonder if he meant the rubbish bin at your feet, until he lifted his wand and tapped its tip against the wall.

You jumped back in surprise when the bricks began to move on their own, clicking against each other as they went apart to create a doorway that revealed an entire street with buildings and people.

George laughed at your reaction. "Welcome to Diagon Alley, y/n!"

"Wow..." you breathed in amazement as you stepped out of the pub and onto the street.

Witches and wizards bustled around you, and you quickly turned around to hold George's arm as you worried you'd be split up. He seemed to enjoy this, but didn't say as much.

"What would you like to do?" he asked, gazing contentedly out over the crowd.

You noticed the brick wall closing back up behind you and felt there was no turning back. "I don't really know where to start..." You took in another deep breath to calm yourself. "Oh!" you gasped excitedly, remembering that George owned a joke shop here. "I want to see your shop!"

George smiled. "Then we'll go see my shop!"

You continued to hold onto him (though you had to remind yourself to loosen your grip sometimes) as George happily strolled through the marketplace. As you walked, you began to recognize some things that your father showed or told you about when he was still around, though most of what you saw you couldn't help but gape at. You saw talking, moving gargoyles. There was a store selling potions and elixirs. An advertising wizard performed a jig with mini fireworks. A strange, furry, ball-shaped creature rolled on the ground instead of walking or flying.

You didn't want to bother George but wanted to ask so many questions at the same time. He realized this this, and he insisted that you ask away.

"That's a puffskein," George said, referring to the rolling animal. "They make very low maintenance pets... though they should be put away at night. They enjoy eating bogeys and find that easiest to do while you sleep."

You snorted. "That's hilarious...! It'd be nice to have a clear nose in the morning if the cleaning process wasn't so disturbing."

You and George laughed together.

He went on to answer any questions that you had. He was in no rush to show you his shop, kindly letting you wander around as your attention was had by one thing to the next. During this time, George's name was called out now and then by regular customers or friends of his.

"It's almost impressive how many people you know," you said as George waved to an old wizard who apparently worked with his father.

He looked back at you with a crooked grin. "'Almost'?" George teasingly repeated.

"W-well, I can see that it comes easily to you," you chuckled, becoming flustered and looking away. You pretended to be captivated by a store with brooms sitting in the window. "It is impressive, really. I myself find it difficult to make friends... or even talk to strangers."

"I can understand that," George said, and it surprised you. "All throughout my schooling years, it was easiest to just talk with Fred. He was my... permanent friend," George laughed. "I never needed to wonder if he... might leave me..." You glanced up at George. His expression was tired for only a moment before he put on another smile. "So, I never had any practice making friends. Well, real friends anyway. Fred and I were the biggest class clowns; we had other students lining up to watch or get in on our jokes... Speaking of which, here we are!"

You goggled at the vibrantly designed structure in front of you. It was themed with bright purples and oranges and was welcoming in a lively kind of way. You read, "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes" below a large, grinning, mechanical man with red hair (who you assumed was supposed to be Fred, George, or both). The mechanical man popped off his top hat to reveal a white rabbit. The hat was donned once more, but when the hat lifted again, the rabbit was gone.

"M'lady..." George held the door open for you, bowing low as you walked passed.

"Thank you, my good sir," you giggled.

What you had already seen so far in Diagon Alley was plenty magical, but all that seemed like nothing when compared to the contents of George's shop.

TAG LIST: @tomhockstetter7-111 @jasm-1ne @costheticbabe @luthien-elvenia-asher @megablonde22 @thecuteavocado @weasleylady92 @websfromallthespiders @rubyintheforest @weasleylover4eva @georgeweasleyslostearhq @im-coolrat @them-cute-boys @xmadigurlx @keirasinbin @huayan @deathtonumber7 @elmolovesw33d @coffeebeans11 @dumb4person

[greenerteacups]

I was just talking with a friend about possible great HP-world tv-shows and we ended up at "Pride and Prejudice in the HP wizarding world" (not the plot of P&P but the vibes; with Slytherin!Mr.Darcy and Gryffindor!Elizabeth (or OR! better yet vice versa)) and I thought you would be such a perfect fit to write it 😍

aw, thanks, that's a fun idea! I feel like Hogwarts AUs for other fandoms used to be more of a thing back in the age of peak Pottermania, and I wonder if they won't end up coming back when the TV show drops.

Darcy is totally a Hufflepuff, though.

[rxsilabeth--er]

ok this feels mean to do but, remus and a slytherin male reader. post-prank. essentially, post-prank remus is angry with sirius, but suddenly he find himself close with his 'sleazy' seatmate in charms. turns out, he's not that mean and less of a jerk from how he holds himself and how most people percieved Slytherin men. he's also very good at his studies, he helps remus out when remus seems to need it, he has this nice voice, and an even nicer face—wait what?

(i'd love to walk in the great hall with my arm around remus lupin's shoulder, maroon and burgundy marks on my neck and a sleazy grin on my face as i leaned down to his ear, just to whisper to him that his ex's staring. let 👏🏻 me 👏🏻 make 👏🏻 that 👏🏻 man 👏🏻 blush 👏🏻)

:: hickeys and a Slytherin that's tricky...

Now calling....Author: "This was a lovely request!! Though I LOVE wolfstar, this did hurt my wolfstar heart, but I love it nonetheless!!"

Now calling....Synopsis: "...After the prank, Remus prefers sitting alone in case one of the marauders come and he bursts open at the seams, but luckily during potions, a certain Slytherin helps his wrong potion and even fixes his seams perfectly..."

Now calling....warnings: "smoking, drinking, fashion show, personal headcanons, tying Remus to his bed for his health (dw), reader is mentioned to piercings, hickeys, mentions of sexual activity, The prank, angst on Sirius's part, possibly wrong potion making, I couldn't fortunately get my hogwarts letter...I deserve to be there more than Draco Malfoy, that's for sure...male!reader. Ooc? Bellatrix and Narcissa? Bellatrix doesn't like Remus in the beginning, but settles to tolerate him cause his ma was a squib and his dad a wizard so he's a pureblood, right? Bella had sexual history with reader. Beware, this is quite long."

the clinking of his spoon on the walls of the bubbling cauldron did not help Remus's situation, he could still hear James, Sirius and Peter's murmurs along with Severus's glare at him. What potion were they making again? Does not matter especially if you just got your heart torn apart by those you trusted the most in your life...

He softly looked around, Severus's glare still trained on him as he lowered his eyes with guilt, continuing to cut whatever he had as the instruction in his books said, his eyes already blurring the view with tears,

"You're not supposed to put three lacewings...the book says wrong." a gruff voice softly perked up as Remus flinched and looked around to find a particular Slytherin whom he had seen around, mostly smoking, snoozing or being lazy and chaotic.

With messy hair, messy shirt, Slytherin tie, a few piercings around your ears and tattoos poking out from under your sleeves, you stood there pointing at his book.

Seeing him basically zoned out string at you, you snapped your fingers in his face to pull him out of trance, as he shook his head and looked at you, his eyebrow raising,

"And what makes you think you're right?" Remus asked as he glared his eyes up and down you, as you simply shrugged and said,

"I mean, if you add three lacewings which makes the potion acidic to daisy roots who's job is to acidify the potion already, it will become..I don't know? Too acidic for anything to survive in it? We need it just enough acidic so that when we add the base, it will be enough to neutralize...I thought you were smart, Lupin."

and your words left him appalled, but he couldn't speak as he did understand your logic behind it as he scoffed and asked, "And how many am I supposed to add, genius?! Professor didn't say anything." as you looked at your own book at the corrections you made, "...One and a half".

As you said, as if on cue, Snape's cauldron bubbled too much and spilled everywhere leaving blisters on contact with bare human skin of those around as people winced and softly whispered, a Remus looked in surprise, you didn't seem shocked as Snape did think he knew better and added three and a HALF lacewings, idiot.

You simply continued to mix your potion, Remus decided to take your advice and only add one and a half instead of three like everyone did...You finished yours and tested it in front of everyone as Slughorn awarded your with fifty points for Slytherin, he must ave been impressed because this particular potion was a hard one, Remus's also turned out to be good but he was awarded only fifteen points, possibly because he showed it at the last minute.

As you got your things and walked out, the classes were over so you had free time as you walked down the courtyard down the grassy fields near the tree where the Slytherin skittles often sat. Throwing your bag up, you quickly climbed up there, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter before lighting it and smoking out smoke from your nostrils as you hummed to yourself, opening a book to read.

Remus didn't know how, but he somehow walked up and climbed up to meet you, you simply looked his way, nodding as a greeting as you went back to reading while Remus was panting from the tiny climb,

"Uhm....hey, thanks for the tip today in class..." Remus began as you nodded, taking another drag and softly blowing it out, as Remus stood there, clinging to the tree in disbelief,

"..Okay...Uhm..." he nodded to himself as he took a step down, "...What happened to you and marauders?" you asked softly, crawling to lay on your stomach on the slightly somewhat large space the tree had to offer, looking down at him with your face in your propped up hand, noticing the way he froze,

"...None of your fucking business." Remus said in annoyance, as you nodded, "Okay." you said taking another drag and blowing the smoke in his face, making him more annoyed, as he swatted your hand, "Fucking stop." Remus snarled, as you grinned..

Out of nowhere, with unknown confidence, Remus took your wrist and made you place your cigarette between his lips as he blew the smoke in your face before climbing down and walking away as you stared back at him in surprised with flushing reaching up your cheeks to warm them, a soft smile spreading your cheeks as you looked at him walking away.

You quickly gathered the book, the bag and jumped down, following him from a few feets away, walking behind him yet no doing anything, of-course he noticed, you weren't hidden or invisible and yet he didn't do anything. Up until the portrait of the fat lady you followed him and would have followed him inside if he didn't just stop in front of the portrait till you stood beside him,

"What is it? Why are you following me, you fuck?" Remus asked as you simply blew out more smoke, "You looked like shit, so I followed. I need to make you a forest brown again." you said simply as his eyes soften ever-so slightly...sighing, he gave the password and pulled you in, sitting you down and removing your tie,

"Oooh, already so eager to fuck, Lupin?" you asked smirking, making him scoff, "As if me, or anybody in fact, would sleep with a sleaze like you. Only doing it so people don't know I'm hanging with a serpent.", "Okay.. :)"

And the next month flew without a care of world for Lupin and you, as you simply pulled out a cig after classes ended and were pulled by Zahara and if she pulled you, you pulled him, cause if Zahara was around, you needed the 'Casanova' around so people don't think that Zabini be sleeping with you...

Or maybe you'd help Pandora to collect rocks or snails or slugs around the Black lake, while she rambled on and on to you while Remus stood there smoking.

Or maybe you'd be sharing a cigarette with Barty and Evan cause you three were being stingy and lazy to buy some from Hogsmeade as you three glared at Remus in envy while he wasted cigarettes from his brand new packet while he only took two drags before putting it out and pulling out another one all while smirking in your direction cause he knew you three were too prideful to ask him for one.

Or maybe you'd be reading while cuddling with Regulus and helping him annotate while Remus sat beside you hearing both of your interpretation, he didn't think you'd be into literature almost as much as Regulus while you both acted out Shakespeare sometimes.

Or maybe styling clothes with Andromeda, Narcissa and Dorcas and putting on a show for the house in the common room while people hooted or laughed at the dramatic display all while Remus sat there in confusion at how weird the whole house of Slytherin is if you don't notice the idiotic pure-blood supremacists (Lucius, Lestranges, Bellatrix, Snape, Mulciber, etc.).

The month went by quickly, you stood outside the door of the Shrieking Shack, smoking as he transformed for the month...The month had sadly two full moons and it did not go well...

if not for you standing outside until the morning and tying him to his bed, while putting on healing spells and refusing to let him go to class and leaving him there in the Shrieking Shack until the classes ended and you came back with the gang and sat beside him on the floor, playing truth or dare, having a fashion show, smoking, singing songs and playing stupid instruments and more...

For Remus, well it was small, not for the Marauders especially Sirius...No, on the contrary it was hell for them, Sirius could not help but feel guilt as he refused to let himself or James or Peter believe that he purposefully sent someone to be murder and maimed...

He could not let James or Peter turn their back on him, cause he knew that in the two's eyes he was still a good person..and a good person doesn't send someone else to be mauled....

Sirius had begun to cry himself to sleep, putting silencing charms around his bed post and sticking his curtains around him with a few spells as he heard Remus walk in every night, giggling at something another voice spoke, before he heard the sounds of him falling into his bed and the sounds of Remus...possibly kissing the person..No he could not have that in his mind..

Remus had changed a lot, everyone in Gryffindor could tell. He still wore his grandpa sweaters, but he had eyeliner around his eyes, his eyes seemed more hooded and bored, with no concealer covering his scars anymore.

And despite his sweaters, he was more often seen with Blazer, sometimes blood dripping down his nose or knuckles and mostly walking around Barty, Evan, Regulus and you, all five laughing while Pandora clung to your arm and Dorcas fussed over Remus's hair and scars and body, asking him if anything hurt...

Mary, Lily, Marlene, Alice often saw themselves being replaced by Dorcas, Pandora, Zahara and sometimes Andromeda and Narcissa and well rarely, Bellatrix who asked him to tutor her after swallowing a lot of her pride...Sirius, James, Frank, Peter saw themselves being replaced by you, Barty, Evan and Regulus...

Remus wasn't ever seen in the Gryffindor tower now, always roaming around the Slytherin common room, sometimes seen beside the Black lake with Pandora and Dorcas talking with merfolk with sign language, or waltzing with Narcissa in the courtyard who always smiled and laughed as he mixed up his steps...

And seen in the library with Zahara and Bellatrix who wore a scowl which sometimes melted away after a while as the two listen intently to whatever he taught them...

Or walking around Hogsmeade with you, Barty and Evan, Barty and Evan whining and clinging to each other before going away somewhere to make out as you simply bought him his favourite chocolates at Honey dukes and sometimes putting the tiniest bit of melted chocolate on the tip of his nose before kissing it away...

Or talking with Regulus and you about the newest books they read, or three-wheeling Andromeda and Ted, teasing the two with a smirk as you leaned against him, smoking with a smirk, sometimes enjoying him with the teasing. Sirius or other marauders couldn't bear himself seeing it and often teared up at the slightest mention of Remus and his new-found friends..

Despite being everything Sirius hated the most; a pureblood, coming from a noble family, serious, smart, cunning, ambitious Slytherin, you were everything that deserved you got and showed not everything is not as simple as it seems.

you did not worry what people thought when you helped people. Helping Andromeda through hexing a few of Ted's bullies from Slytherin who tried to hurt him for being with Andromeda,

comforting Alice after a fight she had with Narcissa,

sharing some weed with Peter,

helping Lily chase away Snape who was being too persistent,

helping Marlene get the snitch just to spite Dorcas yet make Dorcas laugh the other second cause you didn't want her to feel bad about loosing the match,

taking the blame for whatever Barty, Andromeda, Bellatrix, Regulus, Narcissa did cause you didn't want a letter be sent to their house and make them get punished by their parents,

learning to braid Zahara's hair the way she likes it to help her,

taking Pandora anywhere she wanted,

helping Evan with his homework in library...

You couldn't be thrown into one category cause you weren't like that, you were the hardest thing to navigate, you were always being sleezy, smoking, yet you helped, cared, comforted people who needed it...

The next morning as he stood up and walked down to the Great Hall, Remus left WAY earlier possibly to be with his new found friends... He walked in, and sat down as he simply ate whatever was present before Marlene smacked his hand pointed back at the entrance to see Remus.

In his usual black blazer, hooded, bored eyes, a few piercings, a cig in his hand with his shirt's top two buttons open and showing his collar and neck covered in bite-marks, hickeys...

some were even decorated with stickers as he walked and sat right behind Sirius, yawning as Zahara whistled, as Bellatrix scoffed,

"What, couldn't even handle being with Y/N?" Bellatrix asked grinning with confidence,

"Well, still better at handling him than you, no Bella? He isn't able to walk, last time I remembered, it wasn't him who couldn't walk, it was you who couldn't walk!" Remus said back with a evident smugness in his voice as Bellatrix sat there, appalled and shocked as she simply humphed and looked away as the table softly snickered...

Sirius couldn't bear to think that something he wished he could have was now with someone completely different. Sirius longed to be in your place as he couldn't help the tears which pricked his eyes...How come a large mistake of his took away everything he wished was his...?

He looked back at the entrance to see you softly walk in, slightly limping with a cig in your hand which you dropped on the floor and stamped on to put it out as you walked and sat down beside Remus, leaning against him, trying to catch on sleep which you obviously couldn't complete from last night's activities...

Sirius felt filth inside him at seeing you and Remus be together, through classes as you helped him read and developed spells for him to read through his Dyslexia, helped him sleep with a potion Regulus created to heal his own insomnia which you even gave to James to help his insomnia.

You helped Peter sometimes with his charms when he needed help, told Lily which colour looked good on her, helped motivate Marlene to cause pranks, told Mary she looked pretty, gave advice to Alice about Narcissa and even gave Rita some gossips you heard to satisfy her.

You even helped Sirius himself with pranks to pull on Snape whom you started calling "Snevillous" as well...no matter how much Sirius tried, he couldn't hate you..or even be you...

He saw you everyday with Remus, making out with him in some corner of the library, sitting on his lap to tease him, quoting books he hated simply to annoy him, stroking his scars with your fingers, putting on liner on his eyes, using spells to make drawings that Evan did to turn them into permanent tattoos, wearing his grandpa sweaters and flaunting them in front of the girls all whom laughed or giggled...

You even tried your hardest to fix the marauder's friendship, in which you succeeded..but not because their apologies were sincere, it was because you tried to fix their friendship.

© This writing work belongs to me, rxsilabeth--er, Aurelia, Rosilabeth, Cerine. Reblogging is appreciated, but plagiarizing or copying my works is forbidden, thank you for reading this and if you like this check out my blog!

[sgiandubh]

Damp squib

Now, I understand BIF has a personal problem with shippers in general and with this page in particular and systematically tries to rebuke whatever I post. Seriously, I really do: I must have hit a nerve they forgot existed and well, it is what it is. A la guerre, comme à la guerre.

To prove shippers were wrong and she (along with others of her ilk) were RIGHT, they posted this pic, probably showing T at the BAFTA 2018 venue, in painful conversation with S:

The supreme irony that your rebuke only shows C totally ignoring McInsipid, while happily networking, was not lost on me, this time.

How very rude of her, to not even introduce The Love of Her Life to the people she's engaging with at an important event. I'd be seriously pissed off, should that happen to me.

There was no need to introduce S. He was an insider and they were there as co-presenters. But not introducing your fiancé and leaving him hang out there with Cree, your 'co-star's +1? Riddle me this, BIF.

This is the second time in a row you (inadvertently, of course) throw the Goddess under the bus.

In the meanwhile, this is how things more plausibly played out that night (with special thanks to @bat-cat-reader, who posted these yesterday):

But sure, we know the talking points: fan service, etc and what-the hell-ever, really. I trust you'd pick better crayons, next time: you probably planned Nagasaki, you end up with a damp squib.

[prettybabybaby]

¡ 18+ only ! ¡ minors do not interact !

content: noncon, dark!regulus, fem!squib!reader, use of the imperius curse, degradation, objectification

¡ marauders masterlist !

Regulus didn’t really think he’d have to use it.

You were an obedient thing, eager to serve. And under the impression that he and the others were part of the order, you did just about anything he asked.

You were easy to fool, unaware of any wizarding politics after you were casted away following the reveal of your powers. Or lack there of. Your squib status was all over the daily prophet. He remembered scowling at the moving photo of you behind your parents, looking pathetically weak.

Regulus didn’t understand why he was so infatuated with a filthy squib like you. Much less why you hadn’t seemed to catch on. You just seemed so attentive and observant. The wheels in your mind always seemed to be turning as you tried to piece everything together from the little Regulus and the other death eaters spoke.

But you still couldn’t grasp the meaning of Regulus’ wandering hand and suggestive tone, ignoring his advances completely as your mind was occupied with trying to conspicuously draw information from him. You hadn’t managed to deceive him.

The eagerness to help was to make up for your feelings of inadequacy, he knew that, but the glimmering eyes and growing pupils that would look up at him as you nodded your head, thanking him for allowing you to help made his mind spin with thoughts. His fantasies plagued his mind more often than he cared to admit, embarrassed by the subject of his desire and the fact that he was somehow still yearning when he could just have you.

Regulus expected immediate reciprocation of his fervent touch but instead, he was pushed away mere seconds after his lips touched yours, tongue invading your mouth to taste you instantly. His brow raised as he kept a grip on your shoulder, taking in your widened eyes and your wet lips.

The taste of your lips lingered on his tongue as he stared at you, ears filled with cotton as words flew from your mouth. He cared very little about what you had to say but he loved to watch your mouth tumble open as you fumbled your words before stopping to lick your lips, collecting the remnants of his spit.

He leaned in again, a breathy, "relax," fanning your neck as he pecked the delicate skin he had been waiting to mark. You squirmed, wiggling out of his grasp and staring at him in disbelief with an underlying tinge of fear.

Regulus' patience was already running thin. He was just trying to get off before returning his focus to serving the Dark Lord. You were a useless squib who should've been begging for his touch, realizing that was the only way you were useful.

His wand pressed against your throat and the imperius curse was on his tongue as he pinned you to the wall. Your eyes glazed over, hands dropping to your sides and pleads coming to a halt. You were awaiting his command.

"Are you done?" He asked, condescension dripping from his tone.

You nodded dumbly, "yes."

"Are you gonna let me use you now, squib?" You blinked as he leaned in closer, "you gonna spread those legs for me?"

Another nod, "yes."

"You're a dumb little thing, aren't you?" he murmured, cupping your pretty face. "Kiss me."

Your eyes flickered to lips for a second before you tilted your face upwards, mouth puckered cutely as you pressed your lips to his. It was a light peck, over much too quickly. Regulus licked his lips as you leaned away from him.

"You can do better than that," he said, "kiss me like you mean it."

You leaned back in, giving him a desperate open-mouthed kiss. Your tongue met his, caressing the muscle with your own before you pulled away, suckling on it. Regulus groaned, of course you'd be a good little slut. What else could a weak girl like you possibly be good at?

You looked at him expectantly, lashes fluttering as you as you leaned back in. He could feel your thighs press together, hips moving as he began to slowly grind against you.

His hands slid down your body, bunching around the hem of your skirt and pushing it downwards, "get rid of it."

You obeyed, pressing your thighs together as your cunt was revealed. He took a deep breath, grabbing your face once again to connect your lips and somehow his movements were even more desperate than before as his hand reached your heat. You were so much warmer and softer than he imagined. You tightened around his fingers instantly as he moved you towards your bed.

The head of his cock, poked at your pussy as his tongue roamed your useless mouth. You stayed still, almost in a paralyzed state as his hands roamed your skin and his cock humped the lips of your core.

Your body jolted and you gasped, a tremble moving up your body as a high whine left your lips. Regulus pulled away instantly, catching the final seconds of your orgasm. Your lips were still parted, visibly swollen and your eyes were glazed, struggling to stay open as all the air escaped your lungs.

He felt disgusted by himself for feeling the need to see you do it again. He wanted to watch the way your body changed as you felt the climax building until it reached it's peak. He wanted to feel your body tense and your hole clench around his cock as he fucked into you.

Regulus found your opening easily, slipping in even easier with the help of your dripping slick. Your thighs shook and tried to close instinctively. "Stop," he muttered, "keep them nice and wide."

He relished in the way your pussy pulsed around him and tears began to fill your waterline, no doubt from the sensitivity of your orgasm lingering and the intrusion of his cock becoming deeper with every thrust of his hips.

You felt amazing, an obedient little slut forced to obey his every wish. Regulus thought all squibs should be met with this fate. But no other hole would feel as delicious as you and your warmth.

You came again, fingers digging into the sheets as your back arched and you convulsed. You were even prettier the second time, empty eyes dripping crystals. He felt himself getting closer to his own orgasm as his hips pounded into you sloppily.

"Finally useful," he panted as he spilled into you. He could feel his release shooting deep inside you in ropes. "Aren't you so grateful for me?" Regulus' stomach tightened and he let out a deep moan, feeling himself come down from his climax.

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Muggleborn!Dursley!Reader introduces Blaise Zabini to video games during the summer they spent together at 4 Privet Drive when Mrs. Zabini was on yet another honeymoon

I personally don’t think the Zabini’s are blood purist. I feel like they’re a more sophisticated version of Horace Slughorn who collects talented and well connected people.

Yesss!! First, I wanna say I’m really loving the Blaise x Muggleborn!Dursley!Reader dynamic! I honestly really just love the idea of Dursley!Reader with the whole Slytherin crew in general (Mattheo and Enzo included). And just them all being overprotective and possessive of their Muggleborn!darling, platonic or romantic. Especially someone so closely related to Harry cause you know it gets an irate reaction from him.

I love to imagine that Blaise and Dursley!Reader had so much fun with one another during their summer together. The Reader is just so happy and excited to show their classmate/housemate muggle stuff, meanwhile Blaise is honestly just happy and content seeing them so excited and open to share parts of their life outside of school with him.

Like, I could see the Reader having persuaded Petunia and Vernon into taking them all to the zoo, or the movies, or a museum. Heck, even to just drop them off at a muggle park. If Petunia and or Vernon wouldn’t take them then Blaise would just have his Squib driver take them instead. Harry of course is coming along whether he’s welcome to or not, meanwhile Dudley is too freaked out to/being kept back by Vernon, not to mention both Blaise and Harry make it pretty clear that he isn’t invited either way.

Dursley!Reader would have totally taught Blaise to play video games. They even go as far as gifting him one of Dudley’s old gaming systems or gameboys that fortunately still works. At first they lended it to him during his stay so they could play together but when the day comes for him to leave back home, the Reader tells him to keep it if he wants. And when I say that Blaise would treasure it, I fucking mean it. That boy would play it all the time back home and his mom probably wouldn’t even bat an eye at it or she just tells him to make sure none of the other purebloods see him with it, not like they’ll know what exactly it is. Even at school, Blaise would find a way to sneak playing on it. Hell, he’d honestly end up playing it out in the open not caring too much about what anyone says or thinks.

I can’t help but imagine Blaise’s reaction to either having used the gameboy so much that it stops working or because it’s an older one it just stops working one day. I could see him kind of freaking out and inwardly panicking at first, like oh shit he broke the first and so far only gift that his darling’s ever given him. He would spend so much time trying to figure how to fix it by hand before he realizes he could just use magic to do something about it. I could even see him reaching out to some of the professors to fix it if he was really desperate enough. Like, I imagine him just laying it in front of Snape one day after class and neither of them saying anything, only having a conversation with looks before Snape sighs and takes it, later returning it completely fixed to Blaise in the common room or the next time he’s in potions class.

[lavender-romancer]

The Astronomy Tower

Part One Draco Malfoy x Potter Reader

Even though you were Harry's twin you led very separate lives, different friends, and different focuses but one thing you had in common was that Draco Malfoy couldn't stand you. Or at least he acted like that…

*°*°•.˜”*°•.˜”*°•.˜”*°••°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”°*

When Harry got his Hogwarts letter you were surprised to see you didn't also receive one. He said it must have been a mistake andager wrote to you saying that you couldn't be a squib, it just didn't seem like you. You and Harry had always been together, you couldn't remember a time where you weren't but when Harry entered his second year you received a letter from Albus Dumbeldore himself through Harry. He detailed how it hadn't been the right time for you to join the wizarding world but that it soon would be.

You joined the school the following year as a third year and you were already behind. In addition to that stress, you were often seen as the same novelty Harry was when he first arrived. “A Potter twin?”, “Where has she been all this time?”. You learnt to ignore it and decided to meld into the student body as well as you could. You didn't struggle, like Harry when he first began learning magic you showed a great and immediate proficiency. Some said even better than Harry himself.

You kept to yourself for the first few months with late nights in the library being a regular occurrence, learning every charm you could to speed up the process whether that was to carry books or write notes. It didn't take as long as you expected, given that the first three years at Hogwarts were not as advanced. You had a particular penchant for defense against the dark arts and adored astronomy- often finding yourself staring up at stars more than anything else.

After your ability began to show you expanded into the quidditch team and this was your first experience with Draco. After you and Harry had fought for an appropriate amount of time about who would be the Gryffindor seeker during the first game of the season against Slytherin, Oliver Wood had to step in and tell you to “pull yourselves together and flip a knut”.

After three rounds you eventually won and gave a smug smile in Harry's direction. The game was going well for both teams but, always ambitious, you wanted that snitch. You'd never met Draco before now, only heard stories or seen him around sometimes, but that game you were chasing one another in and out of the structures of the Quidditch ground. It was exhilarating as you followed the white hair of the boy in front of you, at one point the both of you ended up above the ground looking down for the snitch. There was a moment when you looked at eachother and it was oddly quiet, looking just past Draco you saw a glint of gold and moved towards him as he looked dumbfounded as you got closer. But you reached out and caught the snitch just past his ear, raising your eyebrow at him and smiling.

From that moment on you were convinced Draco wanted you dead. It wasn't without reason, you enjoyed showing him up after all the bullying of your brother. But he didn't start retaliating until you got into fifth year.

When Draco became a member of the God awful Inquisitorial Squad, he would not leave you alone. When you were slightly late for a class, ate in the library or anything else he would dock you house points. When one day you were using a charm to carry more books and accidentally bumped into him, he took 20 house points! You'd finally had enough of him and decided that in your next class you would partner up with him and ruin his life.

Your next opportunity was a potions class you got to incredibly early. You stood at the desk Draco always worked at, a little etching on the top of the table reading DM 1994 made you smirk to yourself. When Draco finally got to the class he looked incredibly confused why you were sitting where his partner Blaise usually did but let it slide-assuming you wouldn't dare break any rules.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” He asked with a venom in his voice you didn't have the energy to muster.

“Wanted to be closer to the blackboard.” You smiled sweetly at him, hoping he would let his guard down. He looked at you curiously but sat down next to you all the same.

Snape wanted you to create a Wiggenweld Potion which for a class of fifth years was not complicated and more muscle memory. Making it the perfect time to sabotage Malfoy, messing up a simple potion would surely ruin his day and perhaps be explosive…

As you all got started you pretended to look over your textbook whilst pulling your wand out of your sleeve and whispering the confundus charm. You coughed after doing it to try and disguise it as much as you could but as the charm took effect Draco looked too focussed on his “great new idea to make this potion”. If you had done the charm correctly Draco's cauldron would soon be bubbling over and then become slightly explosive, if he just added a bit more flobberworm mucus and turned up the heat.

“Malfoy, it's bubbling over!” Goyle exclaimed almost on cue.

“Shut it! I know what I'm doing!” The ever obstinate Draco insisted. He added 4 more drops of the mucus and then you were both thrust backwards with the strength of the explosion that occurred. An acute explosion of force just as you had planned. You didn't realise the force would send you both back into a wall or that it would hurt so much, but regardless you got what you wanted.

“Malfoy!” Snape bellowed at the top of his voice his cloak billowing in his wake as he approached the two of you.

“Y/n!” Harry called as he ran over to you, crouching at your side he pulled you to your feet and sat you down at his potion station. “What happened?” He asked.

“Oh, nothing….” You tried to hide your smug look but couldn't help it and Harry rolled his eyes.

“It's because of the house points isn't it?” He looked at you with a smirk and you nodded. “Sir, may I take my sister to the infirmary, she feels dizzy?”

“Yes, yes. I need to deal with this ridiculousness here anyways.” Snape looked down at Draco who was sitting against the wall with a spattering of orange over his face.

“You're diabolical.” Harry told you as you left the classroom, he couldn't help but laugh.

“Well, he shouldn't have crossed someone as clever as me, Hermione would have done the same.” You shrugged.

“Will he know it was you?” Harry sat down on a bench at the bottom of the nearest staircase.

“Even if he does he can't prove it, I was in the blast too so how silly would it look if he complained about me. It was his poor potion making skills.” running a hand over your face you looked down at your orange palm, “Oh shit, is my face-”

“Orange. Yes,” Harry burst out laughing and you punched his arm. “I was wondering how long it would take to notice.”

Later that evening you put on the invisibility cloak that you and Harry shared and headed to the astronomy tower. It was a regular occurrence for you but especially when you couldn't sleep, you had never got into any trouble or even really seen anyone but with Umbridge about the worthwhile to take the cloak.

You stared up at the stars, dreaming of Hippogriffs and Thestrals as you gazed. It felt like the only peaceful part of the whole school, even more so than your door room- that you shared with someone who sometimes sounded like a troll as she slept. Breathing in and out deeply you relaxed your brain and let it go blank for a moment

“Well, doesn't my luck just overflow. Another Potter copying me.” You jumped out of your skin but clamped a hand over your mouth so you didn't scream.

“Malfoy! What the fuck?” You hissed and he raised an eyebrow.

“She speaks! My potion saboteur has a voice?” He took a few steps closer to you until you were meters away from one another.

“Potion saboteur? I was caught in that blast too! Or had you forgotten I was injured due to your idiocy?” You lied, surprisingly convincingly.

“You're really going to stick with that?” Draco asked as he took another step closer.

“What else would I say?” You learnt backwards onto the railings.

“Well I know you charmed me, I wouldn't fuck up such a basic potion like that.” Draco walked up to the railings and looked out on the Black Lake.

“Why are you here, Malfoy?” You felt it was acutely important to change the subject.

“I come here every now and then. Used to be my private little haunt but I see you've infiltrated that.” His voice didn't sound angry, just that he was observing your behavior.

“Do you think you own every part of the school!” You said loudly, finally exasperated.

“I could own all of it if I fancied it!” Draco returned even louder.

Then a door opened and the two of you went wide eyed. Thinking as quick as you could you pulled Draco closer to you and wrapped you in the invisibility cloak. In your haste you had tripped backwards and pulled Draco with you, he was basically sitting on you. Professor Sinastra came upstairs from her office and looked around for a bit but soon went back down. You pushed Draco off you and he let out a very displeased noise.

“Did you really have to sit on me?” You hissed, taking off the cloak and holding it bunched up in one hand.

“So the Potters have an invisibility cloak?” Draco raised his eyebrow again and it enraged you.

“I will end you Malfoy,” you stood and stepped closer to Malfoy until you were almost chest to chest. The anger in your blood was beginning to be replaced by a feeling in your stomach you didn't get too often.

“I would love to see you try.” He whispered, his lips parting slightly. You noticed how his hair shone in the moonlight and you felt like making a comment that it looked like he was balding but you chose not too.

“I might be quieter than my brother but do not mistake that for a lack of experience.” You turned to leave but Malfoy put his hand on your hip and turned you back to him.

“If you want to meet me back here again, I wouldn't oppose it.” It was a tone of voice you had never heard him use before, like for the first time he was afraid of rejection.

“Why would you want to meet me here?” You asked, not resisting his hand.

“I think you're bright enough to figure it out.” he said softly before squeezing your waist and walking off.

next part

[dracoxmalereader]

Watering Can

Draco x Male Reader

Context: A four-quel to my other ficlets All at Once, Windowsill, and Summer Sun. Reader is a ravenclaw in the year above Draco, and this fic takes place in Draco's fifth year (your sixth year) during Order of the Phoenix.

Also it's burdensome to keep linking every one of the previous parts, plus I imagine it's an eyesore, so if you want to read all the parts going forward they can be found on Wattpad and Ao3 under the name "Intense". <3

Summary: Draco can't help but go into Inquisitorial Squad Leader Mode™ when Filch mentions hearing rats in the greenhouses only for them to mysteriously vanish when he goes in to look. Lo and behold, who else would it be but the Ravenclaw he's more infatuated with by the day.

Word Count: 1560

The plaques on the wall shone in the dull light of the night sky. Bouncing off the glass, shining over the reflection of the hallway, the moon cast smudges of light gray along the dark walls. Draco's feet were cold against the floor.

He made quick work of his bathroom break, trotting back down the corridor towards the Slytherin dorms, wiping his freshly washed hands on his wool shirt. Footsteps rang from the end of the hallway, and Draco froze.

"Stinking bloody rats-" Filch muttered under his breath, his lantern lighting the walls before he turned the corner.

"What are you on about?" Draco stepped forward, the inquisitor within him already accustomed to jump at the chance to assert discipline upon other students.

"Filthy rats in the bloody greenhouses." Filch stopped in his tracks and rumbled on. "I hear 'em, but I can't find even one of the damn things. Gone before I get there, every time." His voice was bitter and rough like gravel.

Draco nodded, interest peaked.

Filch adjusted his grip on the handle of his lantern, Mrs. Norris yawned where she was tucked into his free arm. "Get to bed," He spoke, tone not lacking malice. "Wouldn't want to send Umbridge her own lapdog." He cleared his throat, starting again down the hallway.

Draco scoffed. Filch was one to talk about being Umbridge's lapdog. He rolled his eyes and pushed past Filch uncaringly, baring a sneer at the squib. He waited for them to disappear around another corner, rerouting himself when the last of Mrs. Norris's bushy tail was out of sight.

The school was quiet as he made his way through it, calm. He ducked past the dark walls until his feet touched the dirt-marred floor of the greenhouse hallway. He cringed at the feeling, but carried on.

Creeping along, he leaned slightly into the doorway of greenhouse one. His eyes scanned the room, the boxes of soil lining the walls empty.

Sloshing water broke his concentration. He turned towards the noise, squinting his eyes at greenhouse three across the hallway. He caught sight of a figure hovering over the plants, and pulled his wand from his pocket.

Gripping it tightly, he approached the doorway of greenhouse three as quietly as he could, waving it in the air before pointing it at the figure and casting, "Expelliarmus!"

Your startled shout rang through the air, watering can flying out of your grip and landing with a thud on the ground, rolling over and leaking water onto the floor.

"What the hell?" Your familiar voice made his stomach drop, and he swore he could feel the shame in his nail beds. You were audibly pissed, angry even. It was almost as terrifying as his father's wrath. "I'm not going to attack you with a watering can! Unnecessary!"

You dug your wand out of your pocket and flicked it in the air, muttering a Lumos and filling the greenhouse with light.

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't find the words.

You blew a puff of air from your nose. Your brows were furrowed. "Draco." Your voice around his name was laced with a bite he'd never heard from you, and it had him regretting every decision he'd ever made. His throat felt dry. "You gonna take me Um-bitch? Someone has to keep the plants alive."

"You shouldn't be out of bed after hours-" He chased the words out of his mouth, knees feeling weak from the clever nickname given to Umbridge.

Your scowl shut him up.

"Sorry," Draco choked, voice cracking.

His face felt hot, hotter than the air in the train car he'd last been able to speak to you in. He coughed, and it did little to quell the tightness in his airways.

"I, uh... I won't take you to Um-bitch." He let a breathless chuckle escape him.

You looked him up and down, and felt like he was about to crawl out of his skin. One of your brows jerked up in suspicion, and he wanted to run his thumb along it, to feel the muscles under the skin tense and relax.

He stepped into greenhouse three, taking a shaky breath and pushing closer despite the tension. He picked the watering can up off the floor, avoiding the puddle that had formed around it. The space beneath his ribs burned, and he held it out to you, his eyebrows raised in sincerity.

Your eyes met, and he hoped he looked as apologetic as he felt. Your face had matured over summer break and the beginning of the year, and he subconsciously tallied all the ways your face managed to fit you impossibly better. He wanted to touch it and feel for himself how your features had changed.

His lungs quivered when you reached to take the watering can back with your free hand. Your fingers brushed his on the handle, and he felt sparks fly up his arm. His knuckles ached. He wanted to throw the stupid watering can across the room and lace his fingers with yours.

"Thank you." The suspicion and anger bled from your face, and you returned to contently watering a line of plants, shriveled beyond identification.

He watched you quietly, admiring how your dirty fingers pressed and prodded the soil. "Regerminating Potion would help." He offered, pulse speeding up when your eyes met again. He'd missed you over break, and he found it a real shame he didn't see more of you day to day.

"That's a sixth year potion." You pointed out, a smug smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. Draco felt his face heat up.

His eyes widened and he opened and closed his mouth around an excuse he couldn't find to make. He'd rather go full inquisitor on you again than admit he'd been reading ahead and studying even advanced sixth year potions for the chance you'd need more help from him. Your observation went unanswered.

"We're not allowed to make potions anyways." Your smile morphed into something more leisurely, working your way to the last of the plants.

Finished watering, you set the can down on the ground quietly and looked at him. Maybe having special inquisitor privileges wasn't all that bad, Draco thought.

"I could make you some."

"You'd do that?"

Draco swallowed roughly. He'd do anything for you if you asked. "You want me to?"

He stared into your eyes, hoping you were paying close enough attention to see the unspoken vulnerability in them. He wanted to break every rule Dolores Umbridge put in place if it meant he could make you happy. His bones felt restless.

You blinked, and your eyes faltered for a moment. They flicked down over his face, catching on his lips and he felt his stomach lurch forward. His own eyes fell to yours before he tore them away and found you already looking back into his eyes.

It felt like you were strung together, thread tightening with every breath that fanned between the shortening space between your faces.

You took an audibly shaky breath, and Draco hoped it meant you were as flustered as he was. Your mouth poised open, forming words on your tongue that lost their chance to be spoken when the light of Filch's lantern reflected on the glass walls across the hallway.

The light at the tip of your wand went out. Draco whispered for you to duck under the table at the center of the room. Your wand clunked against the floor as you did, and Filch's footsteps picked up in speed until he was limping into the greenhouse almost shouting about the filthy rats he was set on catching.

Draco felt anxiety lick up his spine. "No rats here, there was only one." He spoke, projecting his voice like was giving a speech, guttural lilt not unlike the tone he took up with Potter. "Made quick work of the pest, you can be sure of that."

Filch huffed, peeved but uncomplaining. Must just be thankful those 'rats' are out of the picture, Draco figured. "I'm not gonna tell you again." Filch grumbled. "To bed with you." He twitchily shook his head and tore his disapproving glare from the room, righting back on his path around the school.

Mrs. Norris lingered in the doorway, nose bobbing against the floor, sniffing. Draco crossed his fingers behind his back and his gaze dropped to you. He held his breath even when his heart picked up at the amused look you gave him from under the table. Mrs. Norris licked the back of her paw before trotting away back to Filch.

When he held his hand out to help you up, it's a miracle it wasn't too sweaty to grip onto. He felt adrenaline pulse through his veins, and the energized smile you gave him mirrored his own as it crept onto his face.

"You know, these pajamas are a good look on you." You stayed in his space, pinching the fabric of his sleeve between two fingers. Butterflies raced through his chest at the contact.

The lightheartedness made him want to kiss you, made him want to pull you into a hug and breathe in your smell. You blinked at him and he blinked back, head reeling, picturing all the ways he wanted to break more of his own rules with you.

My mom watched me make the Wattpad cover for this and told me she appreciates that I never stopped being a pre-teen. To express my gratitude this chapter is dedicated to her. Thank you mom for supporting my antics. <3

Drawing by me

Tags: @gayaristocrat @nowayisthistakenyet @dracoshusband

[artemisia-black]

Chamber of Secrets- an insight into intersecting identities.

I'm currently rereading the series, and while Philosopher's Stone introduces us to the magical world in general, Chamber of Secrets provides detailed insight into the hierarchy of the wizarding world and the intersectional identities within it. 

For context: Intersectionality was first developed by Kimberle Crenshaw, a legal scholar and critical race theorist, to address the limitations of traditional feminist and anti-discrimination movements, which often focused on single dimensions of identity, such as gender or race, while overlooking the intersections of multiple identities.

Intersectional identities recognize that people have various social, cultural, and personal characteristics that collectively influence their experiences and social positioning.

Using the information the reader learns in Chamber of Secrets, I will outline how specific characteristics influence an individual's social positioning within wizarding society by examining each broad social category. 

1.0 Squibs:  Magical competence as a baseline to acceptance within magical society

In chapter 8, the reader is first introduced to the concept of Squibs via Harry finding Filch’s Kwickspell letter on his desk. 

The letter itself quickly establishes how Squibs are viewed within magical society: 

“Feel out of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spells? Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork? “

Terms such as “feel out of step” denote a strong sense of societal disadvantage. The final question about being “taunted for your woeful wandwork” shows how this disadvantage is viewed in wider society. 

This sense of societal disdain is furthered by the testimonies at the end of the letter, with Madam Z. Nettles apparently saying that her potions were a “family joke” and Warlock D. J. Prod of Didsbury claiming that his “ [...] wife used to sneer at my feeble charms.”

Indeed, reading the letter makes Harry ask himself the following question: 

“ Why on earth did Filch want a Kwikspell course? Did this mean he wasn’t a proper wizard?” 

This idea of Filch not being seen as a ‘proper wizard’ is then further reinforced when we examine the position of Filch within Hogwarts. 

 In the scene leading to Harry reading the letter, Filch has been cleaning the school despite having a cold, both of which could be easily fixed with magic. 

“It’s only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me, it’s an extra hour scrubbing!” shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose.” 

Interestingly, in a previous scene, we see Ginny Weasley taking a Pepperup Potion for a cold, yet Filch is visibly ill and made to do manual labour. 

This contempt towards squibs takes on a new layer when we examine the pureblood character’s attitude towards them. When Harry first tells Ron about Filch, Ron “stifles a snigger” before saying: 

“Well — it’s not funny really — but as it’s Filch,” he said. “A Squib is someone who was born into a wizarding family but hasn’t got any magic powers.” 

This quote demonstrates that Ron essentially regards the characteristic as a misfortune, and this is furthered by Neville Longbottom’s anxiety when the attacks begin ramping up: 

 “Neville Longbottom bought a large, evil-smelling green onion, a pointed purple crystal, and a rotting newt tail before the other Gryffindor boys pointed out that he was in no danger; he was a pureblood and, therefore, unlikely to be attacked.

“They went for Filch first,” Neville said, his round face fearful. “And everyone knows I’m almost a Squib.”

Neville’s behaviour provides an interesting insight into how being a pureblood doesn’t count unless you have magical power, and therefore, being a pureblood with the intersecting identity of being a squib nullifies all social power afforded by the label of pureblood. It is also interesting that Neville spends money in order to protect himself from attack(and I will get onto wealth later). 

2.0 Muggleborns - Wealth does not buy social capital 

This is the first book where the slur ‘mudblood’ is used and is the first (in depth) look at how muggleborns are treated within society. 

The reader first learns about the myth of the chamber from Professor Binns, but Hermione says that the myth is also discussed within “Hogwarts a History.” Therefore, the muggleborns who read the book about the history of their school are aware of a myth about a monster who exists to rid the school of their presence (a myth that is reinforced by the slurs that are thrown at them). Additionally, the very real chamber being located under the foundations of the school, only further reinforces the idea that muggleborn students exist in a world that at its core is hostile to them. 

Furthermore, the markers of social privilege from the muggle world does not provide any protection from the discrimination and we see this in the character of Justin Finch-Fletchley. In his introduction to Harry, he says:

“My name was down for Eton..” 

For context, Eton is an elite British public school that has turned out countless politicians, royals and the majority of the people in power today. Thus, Justin being down for Eton is shorthand for the immense privilege he must come from within the muggle world. 

However, this wealth and privilege do not save him from attack. Similarly, neither Penelope Clearwater’s status as a prefect nor Hermione's magical aptitude save them from being petrified. 

Therefore, it can be concluded that the stigma and discrimination associated with being a muggleborn often detracts from or does not influence characteristics that would add to their social standing if they were purebloods. 

3.0 Part humans and wizarding unease 

In this book, house-elves are introduced as powerful magical beings who despite being fully sentient are enslaved to wizards, and in later books we learn about the ban on Goblins carrying wands (despite, or more likely because of, them running the wizarding banking system). Both house elf enslavement and the treatment of Goblins allude to deep unease felt by wizards towards sentient beings with magical power. 

Furthermore, the reader gets a glimpse into the treatment of part-humans through the story of Hagrid’s expulsion (although at this point we don’t know that he is half giant).  

Indeed according to Tom Riddle, there was very little evidence for Hagrid’s expulsion: 

“It was my word against Hagrid’s, Harry. Well, you can imagine how it looked to old Armando Dippet.”

And while it is clear that Tom Riddle leveraged his own charisma against Hagrid, even he expresses surprise at how well it worked: 

“…. but I admit, even / was surprised how well the plan worked.” 

Perhaps the plan worked so well, because consciously or subconsciously Dippet did not like seeing a half human with a wand? 

And upon expulsion, Hagrid is given a manual job (much like Filch) and occupies a lesser position within the society. That he perhaps wouldn’t occupy if he were fully qualified (like Flitwick who is part Goblin).

4.0 Hierarchy amongst Purebloods

The top of the wizarding pecking order is undoubtedly the purebloods. However, amongst them there is an internal hierarchy which is determined by two key intersectional identities: 

Being part of the sacred 28- This list represents a group of families who claim to have no Muggle or muggle born ancestry and these families consider themselves to be the "purest" of wizarding bloodlines. They are also often concerned about keeping muggleborns out of wizarding spaces. 

Wealth

Although the Sacred 28, is not mentioned directly in this book, Lucius Malfoy uses its principles to assert his superiority over the pureblood Arthur Weasley: 

“Obviously not,” Mr. Malfoy said. “Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?”

[...]

“We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy,” he said.

“Clearly,” said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. “The company you keep, Weasley ... and I thought your family could sink no lower — ”

During this exchange, Malfoy slips Riddle’s diary into Ginny’s book, imposing his ‘Sacred 28’  onto a family that lacks the wealth to shield themselves from the consequences of the havoc about to be unleashed. And this is not something he does on a whim, as Dobby tells Harry about the plot to open the chamber weeks before this (although he doesn’t say it directly). It is a calculated move by Malfoy who understands the intersecting identities at play between himself and Arthur. 

5.0 The case of Half-bloods

Ostensibly Half-bloods appear to occupy the middle ground between Muggleborns and Purebloods. 

However, the identity of Half-blood does not have a slur attached and is often presented in the text as fairly value neutral when compared to the other blood status identifiers. And the key Half-blood characters seem to place on a spectrum depending on their other intersecting identities: 

Dumbledore- is more on the Pureblood side of the spectrum as he has magical power (which from the discussion about Squibs can negate even Pureblood status) and potentially also has wealth (a marker of hierarchy even amongst Purebloods). 

Harry- is similar to Dumbledore in that he has power and wealth. In addition to having the social status of being the wizarding world’s saviour. 

Tom Riddle/Voldemort- uses his magical power to move towards  the Pureblood side of the spectrum and becomes a ruler to many sacred28 Purebloods. 

Snape- Despite his lack of wealth, his magical power moves him towards the Pureblood end of the social spectrum. But the lack of wealth does impede him from being fully accepted.

In conclusion, the wizarding social hierarchy is not as clear cut as pureblood or muggleborn. Instead it is formed of several idiosyncratic, intersecting identities.

[joka13]

FANFICTION (REQUEST): George Weasley x Squib Reader (Female) - Empathy - Part 2

WARNINGS: mentions of death

You had an unexpectedly wonderful time.

You opened your birthday gifts, receiving a book from your mother, a scarf (knitted by Mrs. Weasley) from the Weasley family, and a simple though lovely pair of silver earrings mailed from your grandmother.

It seemed childish at first, but you enjoyed having "Happy Birthday" sung to you as your mother carried your cake to the table. You closed your eyes, making a wish as you blew out the candles and everyone cheered.

After being dished a slice, you brought your dessert and new book to the living room couch. You took your sweet time opening to the first page, smiling at the popping sound of the book's fresh binding and running your fingers over the clean, smooth paper.

Soft chuckling startled you away from your delight. You hadn't noticed George, who stood in the doorway to the dining room. He leaned against the frame casually with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on you.

"Oh, excuse me! Am I interrupting something?" he teased.

"No, no!" you laughed, feeling a bit embarrassed that he caught you in a vulnerable moment. You closed your book and set it on a side table for later. "Come in."

He did. George sat down on the other end of the sofa in a slouch, sighing leisurely. "What I'd give to feel the way you looked just now," he sniggered. He meant it jokingly, but the distant look in George's eyes abruptly reminded you of his brother's passing, making his comment seem very sad.

You laughed, trying to keep the mood light. "Nothing makes me so happy as opening a brand-new book. There's something so... satisfying about it."

George nodded. "Hmm... I think I remember feeling similarly when I was younger every time I opened a chocolate frog. I used to collect—"

You gasped in excitement, cutting him off. "I remember those! My dad used to bring them home for me... every now and then..." You trailed off as you remembered vaguely your father telling you about a particular chocolate frog card featuring a famous witch.

"Ah, that's right. You're... probably not buying much wizard candy these days," said George, and you're thankful that he continued the topic of sweets instead of your father.

"Nope," you said bluntly. "Even if I tried, I don't think I could. I assume I'm not allowed."

George surprised you with a disbelieving snort. "There's no way you wouldn't be allowed. You're a... a squib..." He paused, as if expecting you to be offended, but you only waited patiently for him to go on. "Not a muggle. As far as I know, no one should reject you, especially candy shops."

"Really?"

"Really. And if they did, it'd most likely be for your own safety." He laughed. "Now that I think about it, I definitely wouldn't want you in my shop without my close supervision."

"You own a candy shop?" you asked in astonishment.

He chuckled smugly, taking pleasure in your amaze. "I do! Well, I sell more than candy. It's a joke shop really."

"Oh, I wish I could see it!" you groaned and imagined all of the fantastic things you were missing out on.

George's expression changed to something of consideration. "Now that you know you're allowed, the only reason you don't is because you have no way of getting there, correct?" he asked.

"...Pardon?"

He gave a lop-sided smile and sat up straight, leaning toward you in excitement. "How would you like to come with me? To my shop I mean. I can even show you 'round all of Diagon Alley if you'd like!"

"Really?"

George laughed. "Really!"

"I would like that very much!" you said, grinning ecstatically, but your smile began to fade away. "Although... I'll have to talk over it with my mother first. She worries about me enough already..." It was then that you started to worry. You'd always dreamed of exploring places where witches and wizards gathered, let alone the famed Diagon Alley. But, since the Weasley's made you feel so happy that night, you'd forgotten for a time about your new little fear of magic until now.

George seemed to notice your anxiety. "Well, you can tell her that you'll be in good hands," he said cheerily. "I know that spot like the back of my hand, and we'll only do what you want to."

His words comforted you only somewhat. It wasn't that you didn't trust George; he was a childhood friend. You were more concerned about the other wizarding folk you might encounter in Diagon Alley.

At that moment, your mother walked into the room carrying a full tea tray. "Hello," she said as she set the tray down on the mini table in front of you and George. "I thought this would go nicely with the cake."

"Thanks, Mrs. y/l/n!" said George, moving to pour you and himself a cup.

"Yes, thank you," you said, though it was only out of politeness. Something about the way Mum was acting seemed suspicious.

She nodded. "You're very welcome." When you expected her to leave and go back to conversing with George's parents, she didn't. "I couldn't help but overhear something about a trip to Dragon Alley," Mum said, and you could tell she was trying to mask enthusiasm.

Ah, there it is, you thought to yourself.

"It's Diagon Alley. And yeah, George offered to take me. That is, if it sits well with you," you said. You weren't yet entirely sure if you wanted to go, but Mum's opinion would solidify your decision either way.

"Oh, of course!" Mum responded, all too encouraging, and you wondered if she had been intentionally eves-dropping on your conversation with George. "You are an adult now, your own person! You don't need me to tell you what to do or not do. Just stay safe and have fun! Enjoy the tea!" And with that, Mum went back to sit with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley in the dining room.

George sipped his tea noisily to catch your attention, eyeing you with raised eyebrows.

You chuckled awkwardly. "I suppose that's out of the way now..."

"My schedule is open on Thursday," he said and proceeded to drink his tea whilst staring at you.

"Hmm... Alright. Let's do it."

"I'll pick you up at 10:00?"

"That's fine."

"It's a date then!" George stated gladly, placing his empty cup back on the tray.

You weren't sure of what he meant exactly when he said "date", but all that really mattered to you at that moment was the fact that you had plans to visit Diagon Alley. The Diagon Alley: only the biggest wizarding shopping district in the UK! You could scarcely believe it.

You took a sip of your tea.

During the next forty-five minutes, you listened to George list all the things you could do on Thursday while at Diagon Alley. It made you so excited that, by the time Mr. Weasley came to tell George it was time for them to go, your face hurt from smiling so excessively.

You and Mum bid the Weasley's goodnight, and each of the three Weasley's bid you one more happy birthday before leaving.

"See you Thursday," George said as he was the last to step off your front porch, and you were taken aback when his smile disturbed the butterflies in your stomach. They had been dormant for so long, you had almost forgotten what it felt like.

"I look forward to it," you replied, biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from grinning stupidly, and closed the door. You turned around to come face to face with Mum, who was all but jumping up and down with eagerness.

"So? Tell me what's happening!" she demanded.

"He's gonna come get me at 10:00 on Thursday, and we'll just go from there!" you responded, and your own giddiness surprised you. You then pointed an accusatory finger at Mum. "Don't think I didn't know exactly what you were doing with that tea nonsense!" you laugh.

She giggled, shrugging shamelessly. "I've got to play my part as your mother! You might have chickened out if I hadn't."

"Wha— 'chickened out'?" you repeated.

Mum nodded. "You were this close," she said, holding her fingers together in a pinch. "Ever since you graduated highschool and your father passed away, you've really made an effort to hide away in this house. I want you to get out and... grow!"

You opened your mouth to make a rebuttal, but Mum interrupted.

"And you want it, too," she added. "You just don't know it yet."

"I understand where you're coming from, but I don't imagine getting a tour of the magical world is an easy start to 'getting out'," you snorted. "Aren't you a little bit... you know... afraid?"

Mum took a moment to think over your question. "Well, if I'm being honest, no," she said. "The threat that You-Know-Who... Voldemort and his followers posed is gone. Sure, there are still bad people, but that's just how the world is no matter where you are. You can't afford to be scared of reality, my dear."

You sighed. "I know. You're right."

"I always am," Mum chuckled. "I'm not sure why you were angry at me. I helped get you a date with a cute boy." She winked and nudged you in the ribs.

"Yeah, yeah, thanks a million," you snickered, rolling your eyes. "For the record, I'm an adult now; I don't date cute boys. I date handsome, young men."

Mum laughed. "That's more like it!" She then kissed you on the forehead, following with a hug. "Goodnight, y/n. And happy birthday."

TAG LIST: @tomhockstetter7-111 @jasm-1ne @costheticbabe @luthien-elvenia-asher @megablonde22 @thecuteavocado @weasleylady92 @websfromallthespiders @rubyintheforest @weasleylover4eva @georgeweasleyslostearhq @im-coolrat @them-cute-boys @xmadigurlx @keirasinbin @huayan @deathtonumber7 @elmolovesw33d @coffeebeans11 @dumb4person

[gimme-gimme-georgie-weasley]

earlessly bloody. [g.w. x reader]

Summary: The war took away loved ones, but he was resolute.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: BRIEF brief BRIEF mentions of suicidal thoughts.

* * *

[GIF not by me]

11:23 pm.

Nights were sleepless, cold, and threatening.

The town outside Ottery St. Catchpole had fallen right into the hands of the Dark Lord; burning it down to mere cinders– reduced to nothing but a whisper of what was once bustling with magical life.

Your nightmares had progressively gotten worse– the voices of those who had fallen were wisping around your head, crying out to you to spare them. You could feel their dead touch slowly creeping its way up your leg as if they were trying to drag you down with them to the abyss. 

Muggles, Wizards, Squibs, young, and old. They all fell to the hands of Lord Voldemort.

The face of a noseless man whose withered hand beckoned you, lulling you into his grasp, “Y/N, won’t you join me?”

Slowly, he was getting closer.

And closer.

And closer.

Then,

A ghoulish, hoarse voice, “Kill the spare.”

“Avada Kedavra!” 

A bright bile green.

Then, you jolted awake violently. Tears were trickling down. Your breathing hastened shallowly, fighting for air as your heart pounded, threatening to jump out. Everything was a blurry mess, though. Your vision seemed as though you were looking through a shattered muggle camera lens. Everything seemed disfigured as if the world was rotating at a hundred kilometres per second. 

Before you realised it, furniture was being thrashed around the room. Mirrors had shattered into smithereens. Tables were upturned. Windows were wide open. The wind howled into your ear, sending shivers down the sweaty, sticky skin of your spine; but something else was trying to call out to you. It seemed as though it were trying to pull you back into conscience. Trying to snap out of your magical nightmares.

“Y/N?” the muffled voice was getting progressively louder and louder.

“Y/N!”

Your eyes had finally focused. You were in the present, safe and sound. 

There was no Dark Lord grabbing you, no voices trying to drag you down with them. 

A large, warm, yet rough hand had combed through your hair, “You’re safe now, my love. It’s okay, you’re okay. Everything is okay.”

George.

Your strands fluttered back into place, though some had stuck to the sides of your sweaty temples. Your rugged breathing had slowly stabilised. George’s hand lifted your chin, beckoning your eyes to meet. A warm kiss was placed on the top of your head.

His hazel eyes were dark and fatigued with eyebags laying low underneath. They were stained by the loom of war, but still, they looked lovingly at you, searching your eyes for any sign of distress.  How you’d kill to rid him of all his worries, and he the same.

Molly had rushed into the room with Arthur filing behind. They both had their wands in hand, ready to cast protegos and stupefies, but what they found was the same scene for the last Merlin knows how many nights.

“Oh, Y/N!” Molly cried out with a shuddered breath. 

She rushed over to you, pulled you away, and enveloped you in her warm, motherly embrace.

You couldn’t help but fall right into it.

“When will it end?” You cried as your breathing hitched.

How you wish it could all come to an end. Every now and then, you wondered if by just pointing your wand at yourself– no. You mustn’t. Never. 

Never, ever, ever.

Molly gingerly patted your back as your face deepened into the crook of her neck, staining her sweater with tears, “I know, dear, I know.”

George absentmindedly filled his father in on the details whilst Arthur restored the damaged furniture. He kept his eyes on you, pondering when to drop the bomb. He knew, however, that now was not the time, with you having just recovered from a panic attack and all. He hated seeing you like this, knowing the war had affected you so much even in your sleep. If only…

If only he could keep you safe, forever. And ever.

And ever, and ever.

And ever.

And oh, how he wished he could just take you by the hand, and with a crack, apparate the two of you where the Dark Lord was the least of your worries. A place where he could take you on the back of his broom, chasing sunsets, sunrises, and many more to come.

However, he knew, deep down, for as long as the Dark Lord was alive, your days together were numbered.

Your sunsets and sunrises were indefinite.

* * *

2:57 am.

George had cast a quick Muffliato in the living room. His eyebrows were knit together, face reddening by the second as he pulled at his scalp, ripping out a few ginger strands in the process.

“No! I’m not leaving her! You know how vulnerable she is!” He roared out, pacing the living room back and forth.

Ron, who had arrived half an hour prior, turned to Hermione with a ‘Please help’ look on his face.

Getting the memo, Hermione turned back and tried to place a reassuring hand on George’s shoulder but was quickly shoved back rudely.

With a huff, she straightened her woollen coat, “George," she started, "I understand that Y/N isn’t stable at the moment, but we have to escort Harry to Grimmauld Place! It’s not safe for him at the Dursleys anymore!” her voice laced desperately with reason. Surely he would understand?

Then, for a brief moment, he saw an image of him and Fred carrying Harry in the Gryffindor common room proudly with the golden egg in hand. Harry was one of his closest friends, if not his younger brother. He had helped fund Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, after all. He owed that debt to him. For the rest of his life.

...

But what about you?

The world, or you? You, or the world?

Nevertheless, he knew if he helped save the world, you’d be finally safe again. You were his world. 

No more dreams plagued by Vile Voldie, no more nightmares; just you and him. 

Safe and sound.

Resolute, he finally grabbed his wand that had been flung frustratedly to the corner of the room, and with a swoop of robes, he was in the Floo.

“Well? What are you two waiting for? We have the world to save!”

* * *

3:46 am.

A Patronus had been sent out to you, and before you knew it, you were up, dressed and Floo’d to Grimmauld Place.

The sight in front of you.

Oh, Merlin.

Please, no.

Why?

Why him?

Merlin, why?

Why? Why?

Why?

WHY?

Then, your tears became an ocean.

Terrible. It was all terrible.

If only he hadn’t. If only he were a little more selfish. Oh, Merlin’s beard, it all came crashing down on him. He was an ear lighter. There was a deep, deep, gash in the side of his face.

His clothes were covered in cold, dark, dried crimson. Sparks of black seemed to crackle where his ear would have been.

You howled out, “George!” 

Arthur, Bill, Fleur, and everyone else who had helped in escorting Harry, stood around the couch that nestled the maimed George, almost like a protective barrier.

Your legs barely managed to pick themselves up as you bolted over to him, dropping your wand and satchel. Fred was right beside him, head resting on his abdomen as he grasped his cold hand. Molly’s wand illuminated a warm sort of yellow, trying to ease him of the pain that writhed in the side of his face, as if a bunch of maggots were crawling around, nestling away into the deepest depths of his cheek.

“Dark Magic.” Harry, who had been unscathed save for a few scratches, muttered.

Of all the sacrifices in the world to protect the Boy Who Lived, it just had to be him. You couldn't blame Harry, though. Without him, the Wizarding world would've been burned to ashes by now.

You could barely make out your words in between ugly, mournful sobs, “Oh, my love…”

Hands wrapped gently around his head, you stared at him wondering where you went wrong. What did you do in your past life to deserve such karma? It should’ve been you instead who took that stupid sectumsempra. It should’ve been you, but you had only found out about George joining to escort Harry moments ago after being woken up by a brilliant stag. 

Then, his eyes slowly fluttered open. They were drained of life, hazel and oh so dismally dull. But still, they widened like glass marbles, glistening with tears and red-rimmed from fatigue.

“Y/N? Why’re you–?”

You placed a hand over his mouth, relief lacing your voice as you could only speak a few broken sentences before you were a mess again, “Shh… Rest, my little spark.” 

Then, his chapped, cold lips kissed your palm and you were back in fifth year again.

Waltzing 'round the empty corridors to a slow Muggle tune with his arms around your waist, kissing the palm of the hand that he had lifted up. Then, he'd lift you up, giggling like little children.

What a time to be alive, you reminisced, but was brought back to the present by his silky sweet voice.

“It’s alright, love. I feel saint-like– holey.” You snorted, and so did Fred, whose head had shot up the moment he knew his brother was back, “Holey?”

Fred added, “Out of all the ear-related jokes in this world and you choose ‘holey’?”

The room erupted into raucous, heart-warming laughter; and for a moment– there was no Dark Lord hot on Harry’s trail, or a pack of Death Eaters wreaking havoc. It was just friends and family.

And George, albeit earless and bloody.

* * *

a/n: did anyone else get the wee hamilton reference?

[ominiscient]

Sneaking into the Restricted Section

Ominis Gaunt x reader Fluff, a bit of crack, 1k words AO3 link I wrote this for @cuffmeinblack, and I was inspired by a tiktok by tiktok user gauntlete    Ominis was impatient to get started on his research. He'd laid in bed and waited until his roommate's breathing evened out before slipping his shoes on and slipping out of their shared room and out the Common Room, into the dungeons. The castle seemed eerie without the ambient sound of other students chatting and walking to classes. He cast a disillusionment charm on himself before climbing up the stairs on his right toward the Library Annex to grab a few books from the Restricted Section. As he reached the top, he paused, listening for any sounds other than his breathing.

   From behind him, so quietly that he would've missed it if he'd been walking at a regular pace instead of creeping, came a familiar voice: "So this is why you've been falling asleep in class."

With a strangled cry, he whirled around and grabbed at his chest as if the motion could stop his heart from leaping up into his throat from the shock. His disillusionment charm dropped and his wand's sensing charm was flaring as wildly as his heart.

   "Sebastian!" he hissed, hearing his friend chuckle. "Are you trying to kill me?"

The brunet had winced at the startled shout but was finding it hard not to laugh. After all, it wasn't every day one saw Ominis lose his cool. 

   "No," Sebastian said, a line forming between his brows, "but I'm sure if you keep making a ruckus, Peeves will see to it that Professor Black rings both our necks for being out of bed after hours."

   "Then do us both a favor and don't sneak up on me like that!"

Having regained his composure, Ominis ran a hand through his hair and held his breath, listening for any sign that someone was coming to patrol the corridor. The only sounds were his heavy breaths and Sebastian's snickering.

   "I wouldn't have to sneak up on you," Sebastian huffed, "if you were in our dorm like you're supposed to be. What are you doing out of bed at this ungodly hour anyways?"

   "... Nothing."

Sebastian rolled his eyes at his oldest friend.

   "Honestly, Ominis, just admit you're trying to sneak into the Restricted Section."

Ominis sputtered.

   "What?! Who mentioned anything about -"

   "You're really going to try and tell me, the person who always gets detention, that this route you're taking at this late hour isn't the exact one that leads to the Library Annex?" Sebastian deadpanned.

Ominis cast a look in Sebastian's direction and sighed. 

   "I suppose there's no lying to you, is there? You guessed correctly; I'm sneaking into the Restricted Section for some research."

Raising his eyebrows, Sebastian nodded. 

   "Seeing as it's your first time on this daunting adventure, I suppose I could help sneak you in. Is there a certain book you're hoping to find?" said Sebastian, eager to know what subject his friend, who never broke the rules, would be so interested in.

   "...I do have a few books in mind... but if you help me with finding them, you can never, ever mention them!

   "Well, sure-" Sebastian started before Ominis cut him off, waving his hand frantically.

   "I mean it, Sebastian! You must never speak of it! 

   "Whatever it is you're researching, it can't be that bad." Sebastian's curiosity was peaking, and he was itching to hear what had the blond so worked up. Sighing, Ominis reached into his cloak, pulled out a neatly folded piece of parchment, and handed it to Sebastian. Opening it, Sebastian read the first book title without comprehending it fully. Surely he had misread?

   "'Don't be a SQUIB at LOVE'?" he asked incredulously. 

   "Please don't read them out loud!" Ominis was blushing, but trying hard to sound stern. Ignoring him, Sebastian continued.

   "'No Love Potion? No Problem!'" he snickered, the titles were getting better and better the further down he read.

   "'Chocolates or Flowers? The Muggle Art of Seduction.' What would your family think?" Sebastian shook his head in mock disappointment. 

Ominis wasn't sure if he could die of embarrassment, but in this moment, he wouldn't be surprised if he did.

   "'I'm Not a Warlock... I'm a Lovelock!'" Sebastian was trying his best to keep quiet, his shoulders shaking, and tears welling up in his eyes.

Much like Sebastian's shoulders, Ominis was trembling and blushing a firey red at this point. He silently begged for someone to end his suffering.

   "That's enough! Shut it, Sebastian-"

   "'Wild Ways to Bewilder Your Witch by Your Bedroom Wandwork!' Ominis, you wild beast!" Sebastian was howling.

Ominis reached to grab the parchment, but Sebastian was too quick.

   "'Leave Your Witch so Satisfied, She'll Continue Moaning into the Afterlife!'" at that, Sebastian was doubling over in a fit of tears and laughter, his lungs desperate for a proper breath of air.

Ominis gripped his wand and considered using a Confundus Charm on the brunet. Maybe even Obliviate just for good measure. Sebastian reached out and patted the blond's back in a reassuring way while wiping his tears away with the other.

   "Don't worry, buddy, I'll help you get these books and I swear, I will never mention anything about them. Still want me to make that Unbreakable Vow?" he held his hand out. Still blushing, Ominis shook his head. 

   "I trust you, Sebastian. Even though you laughed at my expense just now," he said tiredly. 

Recasting a disillusionment charm, they both made their way to the library to get the books for Ominis. Sebastian had suspected for a while now that Ominis fancied the new 5th year, and to him, this list proved it. 

   The next morning, MC, who had actually spent the night in their bed, walked into the Great Hall to find both boys asleep next to each other at the breakfast table. They looked positively knackered; Sebastian had dark circles under his eyes and Ominis' usual neat hair looked like it was one strong breeze away from being mussed. Smiling mischievously, MC took their wand out and pointed it at an empty bowl that sat innocently on the table between the two Slytherins.

   "Aguamenti," they whispered, then proceeded to gently put one hand each into the bowl before heading off to class.

[hestella]

Tick, Tock (Gellert Grindlewald x reader)

Summary: You are an outcast. Not a squib, no, but not a wizard. you were something in the middle, so limited. And while despising the fact that you were closer to a no-maj, he’s interested in you, more like a tool and a pet.

A/N: why are there so little Gellert Grindlewald smut/stories?? ugh fine i’ll make it myself.

Warning: torture(kinda), killing magical animals, hurt, no use of Y/N, kind of a squib! reader, angst, manipulation, BISEXUAL reader, AFAB reader, long ass fic. That’s all I think. there will be a pt 2 i promise with smut. it’s just all so long.

A young woman stumbled through a dense forest far from Kweilin, her breath coming in sharp gasps as she ran. Every few moments, bursts of light flashed around her as Grindelwald’s acolytes fired spells her way, cracking branches and lighting up the foliage in bursts of green and red. The shadows seemed to close in tighter, the sounds of pursuit growing louder with every step.

She felt her foot snag on an exposed root, and with a gasp, she crashed to the ground, pain shooting through her leg. Desperately, she tried to rise, her fingers clawing at the earth as she dragged herself forward. But the acolytes were close now, and she could hear their low, mocking laughter.

A blinding spell struck just to her side, and her vision blurred. The world tilted, her strength slipping away as her consciousness faded. The last thing she saw was the dark silhouettes surrounding her, cold and remorseless, before the world went dark.

-=-

When she drifted back into consciousness, it was the soft rustle of curtains in the mountain breeze that drew her back, faint sunlight trickling through. She blinked, her vision swimming as she took in the simple wooden room around her. Her body ached, and when she tried to sit up, a dull clank stopped her cold.

A shackle was fastened around her ankle, its chain secured to the bed’s sturdy frame. Panic surged through her, and she struggled in vain to tug it free, the cold metal biting into her skin. Forcing herself to stay calm, she turned her gaze to the open window, taking in the view of snow-tipped mountain peaks stretching endlessly.

The beauty felt strangely hollow, tainted by the reality of her captivity. A soft, rhythmic tap of footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing closer. She felt her heart thunder in her chest, every instinct urging her to brace herself.

The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside, filling the room with a presence as chilling as it was charismatic. There stood Gellert Grindelwald, dressed impeccably in a dark suit, a stark contrast to the rustic room. His eyes—one a cold, piercing blue, the other a dark, calculating brown—settled on her, and his lips curved into a smile that held no warmth, only a quiet, knowing menace.

He looked entirely at ease, as if he were welcoming her to some fine estate rather than confronting a prisoner bound in chains.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice smooth and almost cordial, but his tone carried an undercurrent of something dangerous, something predatory. “I trust you slept… adequately?”

She swallowed, her throat dry, every nerve in her body tensed as she held his gaze, frozen by the strange pull of those mismatched eyes.

There was no escape in them, only a sense of inevitability, as if she were a mouse caught under the gaze of a snake. He tilted his head, watching her with mild amusement.

“Fear is natural,” he continued, his tone almost gentle, “but don’t let it control you. After all, you’re here for a purpose.”

She found her voice, though it came out in a hoarse whisper. “Why am I here?”

Grindelwald’s smile deepened, a glint of satisfaction flashing in his gaze as he leaned ever so slightly forward, as if savoring her question. He moved with a feline grace, taking a single, measured step closer, his presence casting a chill over the room.

“You’re here,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “because of what you are. You’re neither squib nor wizard… something else entirely.” His words were both a statement and an accusation, as if he had unearthed a secret hidden even from herself.

A flicker of confusion crossed her face. Only a handful of people knew about her unusual abilities—her family, and Albus Dumbledore. She had spent her entire life concealing her strange, limited magic, magic that wasn’t like the spells or charms wizards cast. Her power was subtle, woven with time itself. She could nudge it forward or back in moments, but every time she used it, she paid a price, a drain on her very being. It left her weak, fragile, as though the very fabric of her reality thinned with every use.

“How…?” she breathed, unable to contain her shock.

Grindelwald’s gaze remained fixed on her, his face impassive but for the slightest curve at the corners of his lips. “I know many things, my dear. More than Dumbledore might wish, more than even you could guess.” He moved to a chair near the bed, settling down with the ease of someone who felt entirely in control. “You, with your unique gift—you’re far too valuable to be left under Albus’s protection, squandered, untrained.”

She tensed, forcing herself to sit still under his penetrating gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, though her voice wavered. “I can’t do anything… special.”

His expression flickered with mock disappointment. “You shouldn’t lie, especially not to yourself. The way your magic bends time… it’s remarkable. Just a slight twist of the hourglass, here and there. Dumbledore has hidden you well. But the truth always has a way of surfacing.”

Her heart pounded, a mix of anger and fear surging through her. Dumbledore had warned her to stay hidden, to never rely on her powers if she could avoid it. She’d heeded his advice, knowing all too well the toll it took on her body each time she tampered with time, the exhaustion that left her almost unable to move. And yet, here was Grindelwald, seeing through every layer of her secrecy, her carefully hidden limitations.

“What do you want from me?” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Grindelwald’s eyes gleamed with a hunger that made her shiver. “All in due time,” he replied smoothly, his tone deceptively soft. “There are things I could teach you. Techniques that could amplify your gift, make you stronger… if you’re willing to listen.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And if I’m not?”

A low chuckle escaped his lips, one that seemed to carry the weight of centuries. “I think you will be. There are things you fear even more than me.” He leaned forward, his mismatched gaze locking with hers, his voice barely a breath. “I can show you how to wield your gift without it consuming you. Or you can let it tear you apart, little by little, until there’s nothing left. The choice… is yours.”

He rose, leaving her with the hollow sound of his words echoing in the silent room. The door closed behind him, and she was alone once more, the mountains looming outside, beautiful and indifferent, a stark contrast to the dark future grinding toward her.

-=-

Hours turned into a haze of silent waiting and cold stares. Her captors came and went, bringing trays of food she barely touched, their glances dripping with disdain. It was a look she knew all too well—the one reserved for the “other,” for something that didn’t fit neatly into the wizarding world’s categories. She was neither squib nor wizard, and her family had never let her forget it. Growing up, her strange powers had always marked her as different, her peculiar grasp of magic enough to unsettle even her own blood.

Here, in Grindelwald's custody, that look returned with new intensity. She could see it in every narrowed eye and disdainful frown, in the way they barely spoke to her, treating her like an oddity—an impurity that didn’t belong.

Despite herself, a fierce anger simmered beneath her fear. It was one thing to be shunned by her own family, where it almost felt normal; this was something else, something harsher. Grindelwald’s followers saw her as little more than a pawn, a tool to be used for whatever scheme their master had in mind. She tugged at the shackle around her ankle out of habit, the cold metal pressing into her skin, a constant reminder of her helplessness.

But if Grindelwald thought he could sway her as easily as he had others, he would be mistaken. She didn’t want his promises of power, nor his twisted version of liberation. Her power—rare and risky though it was—was her own. She clung to that thought, letting it anchor her, remind her of who she was beyond this prison.

At some point, when the door opened again, her back stiffened, and she turned her gaze toward her visitor with steely defiance. But it wasn’t Grindelwald who entered. It was a younger acolyte, his face twisted in a mixture of curiosity and unease as he placed the next meal by her side. He paused, glancing down at her with a look that wasn’t quite as cold, as if he was trying to work out the strange girl in chains.

“Why does he keep you here?” he asked, almost as if the question slipped out by accident.

She met his gaze, her voice low but steady. “Ask him,” she replied. "Maybe he’s afraid of me.”

The young acolyte’s lips twitched, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he took one last look at her, a hint of doubt flickering in his eyes, before he turned and left, locking the door behind him.

In that moment, she felt something stir in her chest—a faint, impossible hope. Grindelwald and his followers had their plans, but so did she. The power within her might be risky, dangerous, but it was hers, and it was her only chance at escape.

But after a few hours, the young man came again, but not for himself. He undid her shackle and asked her to follow. she obediently did, knowing it was the best to do in the situation.

The young man’s grip on her arm was firm but cautious as he led her deeper into the depths of Nurmengard. They descended floor after floor, each step taking them farther from any trace of natural light and deeper into the castle’s hidden heart. Cold, damp air filled the stairwell, and the stone walls pressed in close, echoing every footstep. She counted each turn and landing, but eventually lost track, the descent blurring into an endless downward spiral.

At last, they reached a heavy iron door. The young man stopped, glancing at her with a fleeting look of sympathy—or perhaps it was simply apprehension—before he pushed the door open and ushered her inside. She hesitated, feeling an instinctive chill run through her, but took a deep breath and stepped forward, determined to keep her composure.

The room beyond was vast and dimly lit, an underground cavern carved into stone. At its center lay a large pool of water, its surface rippling faintly as though alive. Runes, ancient and forbidding, were scrawled across the stone walls surrounding the pool, their jagged lines catching the flickering candlelight. Several candelabras stood on the floor, their wax-dripped frames casting long shadows, while others dangled from iron chains above, their flames guttering in the draft. The air felt thick, charged with magic and a strange, unsettling energy that made her skin prickle.

And there, standing waist-deep in the dark, steaming water, was Grindelwald. The faint mist swirled around him like tendrils, twisting upward in unnatural spirals, as if drawn to his very presence. His dark attire was discarded, leaving only a loose, high-collared shirt open at the neck, his silver hair glinting in the candlelight.

He watched her with that same unnerving calm, his mismatched eyes gleaming with anticipation. She couldn’t tell if it was for what he intended to show her, or for how she might respond.

“Come closer,” he called, his voice echoing faintly in the cavern.

She hesitated, instinctively stepping back, but the young man behind her nudged her forward, a silent command. She took a few steps, her pulse racing as she approached the edge of the pool, her eyes fixed on Grindelwald’s unwavering gaze.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked, his voice low, resonant. His tone was almost patient, as though he were a teacher instructing a reluctant student.

She clenched her hands, fighting the urge to look away. “You’ve made it clear I’m here for some purpose of yours,” she replied, struggling to keep her voice steady. “But if you’re expecting me to help you, you’re wasting your time.”

A smile flickered at the corners of his mouth, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Such defiance… yet I see the fear, too. Don’t mistake this for a negotiation.” He extended a hand, gesturing to the water around him. “This is an ancient place, where truths are revealed and illusions stripped away. The runes on these walls—they bind the past and the future, making them one.”

She glanced around, taking in the intricacy of the symbols, the words she couldn’t quite understand but felt in her bones.

“You,” Grindelwald continued, his voice deepening, “have a gift for bending time, something that cannot be taught. It’s not a skill—it’s a birthright. But you’ve barely scratched its surface.” His gaze bored into her, relentless. “Imagine what you could do if you embraced it fully.”

She swallowed, the allure of his words hitting a nerve despite herself. She had spent years hiding from her power, treating it as something to be feared. The thought of mastering it, of using it freely… it was intoxicating. But she knew the cost, and she knew the price Grindelwald would demand if she let him guide her.

“I don’t need you to show me anything,” she replied, forcing her voice to sound stronger than she felt. “I’m not one of your followers.”

He laughed, a sound that echoed through the cavern like a ripple across the pool. “Oh, but you will be, if only you’d stop resisting the inevitable.” His tone dropped, quiet and insidious. “I don’t seek to control you—I seek to free you. With my help, you could be so much more than you are now.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and she felt the pull of them, the dark promise they held. The mist from the pool curled around her ankles, cold and unsettling, as if trying to drag her in. She took a half-step back, but Grindelwald’s gaze pinned her in place.

“Step into the water,” he commanded, his voice soft but unwavering. “Let me show you what you’re truly capable of.”

The young man behind her stiffened, his hand still on her arm. She could feel his tension, sense his own misgivings. She hesitated, every instinct telling her to run, but there was nowhere to go, no one to save her.

Taking a slow, shuddering breath, she lifted her chin and met Grindelwald’s gaze with a spark of defiance. “You don’t know me,” she whispered.

His smile returned, dark and assured. “I know enough.”

Grindelwald sighed, his patience thinning, and with a flick of his hand, she felt an invisible force grip her ankles, pulling her forward. Her feet slid toward the edge of the pool, her body dragged against her will. She stumbled, nearly losing her balance as she lurched forward, and would have plunged headfirst into the water had he not reached out to catch her.

She found herself mere inches from him, his hands firm on her shoulders, steadying her in the steaming pool. Her breath hitched as she tried to pull back, but his grip held her still, a silent reminder of her lack of control.

The water enveloping her felt strange—warm and almost unnaturally soft, as if the liquid itself were imbued with magic. It didn’t have the usual resistance of water but was light, buoyant, as though it were infused with air or an ethereal energy. Her limbs felt strangely weightless, as if the water were drawing the tension out of her, whispering an invitation to surrender. She tried to shake off the feeling, but the water seeped into her senses, calming her in a way that felt both soothing and deeply unsettling.

“Good,” Grindelwald murmured, his voice low and close. He released her shoulders, but she found she could no longer pull away—the water itself seemed to hold her, keeping her fixed within arm’s reach of him. “This pool is an ancient wellspring,” he explained, his tone almost reverent. “A place where the boundaries between time and space are… thinner.”

She swallowed, feeling the pulse of magic radiating from the depths of the pool, an ancient rhythm that seemed to sync with her heartbeat. The runes on the walls glowed faintly, the candle flames flickering in rhythm, casting the room in an eerie, shifting light.

Grindelwald’s voice softened, coaxing. “Do you feel it?” he asked, watching her intently. “The magic here resonates with yours. It’s responding to you, calling to be unlocked. Your power—your gift with time—is not a curse. Here, it can be freed.”

She clenched her fists, trying to resist the seductive pull of his words. “I don’t want it to be ‘freed.’ I know what happens when I use it. It drains me, takes something from me.”

“Yes,” he acknowledged, with a hint of admiration. “You’ve paid a price each time. But that is only because you’re resisting. The strain you feel, the weakness—it’s the cost of denying your power, of fearing it.” His gaze held hers, unyielding. “If you embrace it, I can show you how to wield it without the pain.”

She shook her head, her voice a shaky whisper. “I don’t believe you.”

A smirk flickered across his face, one that sent a chill down her spine. “You will.”

He took a step back, releasing her to the pool’s warm hold. “Close your eyes,” he instructed. “Feel the flow of time around you—the currents that pull the past, present, and future together. Let go of your fear, and listen.”

Against her better judgment, she allowed her eyelids to flutter shut. In the quiet of the room, she began to sense it—the gentle, thrumming pulse of time itself. It brushed against her, coaxing, drawing her awareness deeper, as though the magic around her sought to reveal something hidden.

A single memory flickered behind her eyes—herself as a child, staring out at a storm from her bedroom window, watching the lightning flash across the sky. But it felt different, as though she were seeing it through a lens, the edges of the memory stretching and shifting like ripples on the water.

She gasped, snapping her eyes open. She was still in the pool, still staring into Grindelwald’s calm, calculating gaze. But her heart raced with a strange, new clarity.

“That,” he said softly, his voice triumphant, “is only the beginning.”

The more she focused, the more the world around her seemed to slow, as if she were no longer part of the usual, rushing current of time. Her breath came shallow and steady as the memory unfolded before her eyes—this time, not as a recollection, but as a living, breathing scene. She was there, back in that room, staring out at the storm as it unfurled across the sky. But it was different now. She wasn’t simply witnessing it—she was inside it.

The speed of light, the invisible pulse that usually went unnoticed, stretched before her like a slow-moving river, its current suddenly visible, tangible. The lightning, which had once been a blur, now arced through the dark clouds with deliberate slowness. Each jagged bolt seemed to freeze midair, the electric fingers of light delicately tracing their path through the sky, the subtle, chaotic dance of energy unraveling with grace.

She could see it now—the delicate tendrils of the lightning as it danced between clouds, the way it arced and coiled with elegance, as if teasing the atmosphere before striking the earth. The details were stunning, each fragment of light flashing with a purity and clarity she’d never noticed before. It was like time had become a stretched canvas, and she was an artist, painting the moment with every breath.

Her heart pounded with a mixture of awe and dread. This was what Grindelwald had been talking about. This was the power she could wield.

Time had slowed—not just the storm, but her own perception of the world around her. It was as though she had gained dominion over the very flow of existence, allowing her to reach into it, manipulate it, feel the edges of every moment. She could almost hear the pull of the future, a faint hum at the edges of her consciousness, but it was distant, faint, like a far-off melody just out of reach.

“You see?” Grindelwald’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it seemed to resonate in the silence of the room. “The lightning, the flow of time—you’re not just watching it anymore. You can bend it, shape it. Control it. You’ve been fighting this gift your whole life, but it’s yours. It always has been.”

The weight of his words pressed down on her, making the air in the room feel thicker. She felt the tension in her chest, the conflicting desires—one part of her wanting to push back, to reject the power he was offering, and another part, a darker part, that wanted to embrace it, to make this feeling of mastery last forever.

She closed her eyes again, focusing on the lightning in the storm. This time, she didn’t just observe—it was as though she reached into the very moment, grasped the flow of time, and gently nudged it. The lightning slowed further, almost to a halt, each bolt hanging in the air like frozen tendrils of raw energy. She felt a rush of exhilaration, as if the power were singing in her veins, urging her to push further, to take control of more than just this small moment.

But then, the exhaustion hit. Her limbs felt heavier, her thoughts sluggish, as though the effort to control time itself was siphoning away the strength from her body. She gasped, the world around her spinning as the weight of her power threatened to crush her.

"Stop," she murmured, not sure if it was a command to herself or a plea to the universe. "It’s too much."

Grindelwald’s face softened slightly, but there was no kindness in his gaze—only the cold calculation of a man who understood the true cost of power.

"You don’t have to fight it," he said, his voice a low murmur in the haze of her growing weariness. "It’s natural. Let it come. The more you struggle against it, the harder it will be."

But she wasn’t sure she wanted to let go—not yet, not until she understood what this power meant, what it could cost. The weight of it—the gift that could bend time and space, change the very fabric of reality—was both an intoxicating temptation and a deadly curse.

Her breath came faster, and she collapsed, her knees buckling beneath her, but Grindelwald’s hand was there, steadying her, guiding her back to the water’s edge. The pool’s warmth soothed her skin, but she could still feel the drain on her body, the toll the magic had taken.

“Don’t worry,” Grindelwald said, his voice low and almost comforting. “You’ll learn to control it. In time.”

-=-

As the large, iron doors to the cavernous room swung shut behind her, the weight of the moment crashed down on her. She had barely stepped away from the pool when it hit—the feeling of being pulled, stretched, as though something deep inside her was being torn and twisted.

Her legs faltered, the ground beneath her swaying like a ship on a turbulent sea. She gasped for breath, but it felt like her lungs were filled with lead, her body slow to respond to her frantic calls.

The storm inside her mind began to churn—chaotic, violent, and all-encompassing. Time seemed to warp around her, the past, present, and future intertwining in a disorienting blur. She could feel the stretch of it, the inexorable pull of it all—the way her very existence seemed to be fraying at the edges, as if something was reaching out from the past and future to claim her. It was unbearable.

A sharp, biting pain shot through her head, and she stumbled forward, her knees hitting the cold stone floor. She gasped, clutching her forehead, but the pain didn’t relent—it twisted deeper, throbbing with a ferocity that made her vision blur. Her senses distorted, as though she were being stretched thin across dimensions she didn’t understand.

Then, she felt it—the unmistakable, coppery taste of blood, coating the back of her throat. She swiped her hand up to her nose, only to find it slick and warm with blood. The taste was sharp, metallic, and it lingered on her tongue as the world around her tilted again. She could feel the slow drip, drip, drip as it ran down her chin, but she couldn’t summon the energy to care.

A panic rose in her chest, a familiar, suffocating feeling, but there was no time to dwell on it. The power she had summoned was pulling at her—no, tearing at her. The same magic that had seduced her moments ago now felt like a cruel, invisible predator, feeding off her strength, her very essence.

She wanted to fight it. Wanted to stand, to scream at the unseen force that had intervened. But she couldn’t. The exhaustion was too deep, and the world outside her thoughts felt so distant. All she could do was surrender to it, let the stillness wash over her, and drift back into the fragile safety of unconsciousness.

=

The air was thick with an unsettling silence as she entered the dungeon once more, the sound of her footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls. The Qilin, nestled in her arms, seemed to sense the heaviness of the atmosphere, its golden eyes alert and focused on the darkness that stretched before them. She tried to steady her breathing, though the last time she had been here had left a deep mark on her—one she couldn’t easily shake. Her heart pounded in her chest, her body stiff with anticipation, unsure of what Grindelwald would do this time.

When she reached the edge of the pool, the familiar sight of Grindelwald standing there, waist-deep in the water, met her eyes. There was no warmth in his presence, just the cold, calculating figure of a man who knew the power he held. His mismatched eyes tracked her movements as she carefully set the Qilin down beside the pool, making sure it was comfortable, its golden fur gleaming in the low light.

The Qilin nuzzled her leg, sensing her anxiety, but it trusted her—of that, she was certain, she could feel it.

Grindelwald’s voice broke the silence, smooth as silk but carrying the weight of authority, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving the creature. “Let’s see if it will bow to me.”

Her stomach twisted, dread creeping in. She had seen the Qilin’s response to his command before—this creature was not one to bend its will easily. But something inside her told her that Grindelwald had no interest in simply observing the creature’s obedience. This was a test of something far darker.

The Qilin, in its quiet grace, remained still beside her, eyes meeting Grindelwald’s with a gentle yet resolute gaze. It didn’t bow, not even in the face of his persistent command.

Grindelwald’s lips curled into a smile, a smile that sent a chill down her spine. He stepped forward, his movements slow, deliberate. She felt the first pangs of panic rising within her chest, but she couldn’t move—she was rooted to the spot, watching in helpless horror.

With a flick of his hand, Grindelwald effortlessly lifted the Qilin from the ground, cradling it with an eerie tenderness. She could feel the air crackling, thick with his dark magic, as he moved it closer to the edge of the pool.

The Qilin’s eyes were wide, but there was no fear in them—just an unspoken understanding. It was no longer a creature to him; it had become a pawn, a test of power and control.

“No...” she whispered, but the words were barely a sound, lost in the cavernous space.

Grindelwald’s grip tightened, his other hand drawing a sharp, dark blade from his side. Her breath hitched, her mind unable to process the scene unfolding before her.

In one fluid motion, he slashed the blade across the Qilin’s throat. Blood—dark and thick—spilled into the water, staining it with the tragic finality of the act. The creature’s body jerked, its golden fur slicked with crimson, its once gentle eyes now dimming in the flickering light.

She couldn’t breathe. The scream tore itself from her chest, raw and anguished, as the horror of the act gripped her in a vice of terror and disbelief.

“No!” she cried, her voice breaking, her legs giving way beneath her as she collapsed to the cold stone floor. The world spun around her, and the only sound she could hear was the deafening rush of her pulse, drowning out everything else.

Grindelwald stood there, watching her with cold indifference, his expression unreadable. The pool rippled with the creature’s blood, the steam rising in soft tendrils as if mocking her pain.

She couldn’t stop shaking. Her hands reached out in desperation, as though she could reverse what had happened, as if she could undo the horror in front of her. But there was no undoing it. The creature—the one being that had trusted her, the one she had cared for—was gone, its life snuffed out in an instant, just as Grindelwald had always intended.

“I warned you,” Grindelwald’s voice was a whisper, a cruel murmur. “You’ve shown me what I needed to see. It was never about the creature’s obedience. It was always about your reaction.”

Grindelwald’s gaze flickered, just for a moment, but he said nothing as she crawled to the lifeless Qilin, her hands trembling with the weight of her grief. The sight of the blood-streaked creature in her arms was enough to break something deep within her. The softness of its golden scales now dulled, the warmth that had once radiated from its body gone, leaving only the chilling finality of death.

She cradled it tightly against her chest, her hands trembling violently as she pressed the still form of the Qilin to her, not caring that its blood smeared her clothes, not caring that the water swirled with crimson. Her vision blurred as tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t allow them to fall just yet. She was choking on the words, on the unbearable truth.

"You... You know I can't make a Qilin bow to you," she muttered, her voice barely more than a strained whisper. The weight of those words hung between them, heavy and bitter. “It only bows to the purest souls.”

Grindelwald remained silent, his expression unreadable as he watched her. He had already won. He knew she was right. The Qilin didn’t bow to anyone who wasn’t worthy—its very nature was to serve only those it deemed pure. And it had chosen her, not him.

The realization struck her with the force of a physical blow. The creature, in all its majesty, had trusted her. It had come to her for care, for protection, and in return, she had failed it. She had failed them both.

Her heart clenched as she felt the last remnants of warmth fade from the Qilin’s body. She could almost hear the thrum of its heartbeat, as though it were still alive, still trusting her. But it wasn’t. It was gone.

The sound of Grindelwald’s boots on the stone floor was almost too much for her to bear, his presence still looming over her like a shadow, suffocating and unyielding. She didn’t look up at him. She couldn’t. She was too lost in her grief, in the ache of the moment, the horror of what had just transpired.

Grindelwald stepped closer, his voice cutting through the silence. "Your bond with it was never meant to be permanent," he said, the words dripping with a cold, calculated detachment. "You were meant to be tested. To see if you would break."

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stop shaking. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her break completely, not when she still had some measure of strength left—some thread of defiance that refused to be snapped. She inhaled sharply, trying to steady herself, but her hands, still clutching the Qilin’s lifeless form, betrayed her.

"I did not break," she said, her voice cracking, though she did her best to make it sound firm, defiant. "But you—you broke it. You broke everything."

The words hung in the air, charged with the weight of her sorrow and anger. The Qilin was dead, and there was no bringing it back, but in this moment, she refused to let him erase the bond they had shared. She wouldn’t let him twist it into something he could control.

Grindelwald’s eyes flickered, a momentary flash of something—amusement?—crossing his face. But it was fleeting, quickly replaced by that same, unyielding coldness.

"You still don’t understand, do you?" he asked, his voice smooth but tinged with an edge of condescension. "The Qilin’s purity means nothing. It’s only power, in the end. And you will never see it for what it truly is—just another tool, just another piece to play with."

She swallowed hard, her throat tight with both grief and rage, but she didn’t reply. There was nothing more to say to him, nothing that would make him see beyond his own twisted vision. He had always been this way, ever since the first time she had met him—manipulative, calculating, and utterly indifferent to anything that didn’t serve his purpose.

Her fingers trembled as she reached out, instinctively trying to grasp onto something—anything—to undo the damage that had been done. Her heart pounded in her chest, desperation fueling her every movement. The faint flicker of magic surged through her, drawing on the little she had left, the magic of time that she had hidden and rarely used.

With a quiet breath, she focused, her mind locked on the Qilin’s still body. She wasn’t sure how, but she knew she could bring it back. She had to.

She drew a deep breath, pushing the limits of her magic, feeling the familiar weight of time pull at her. The green glow surrounded her hands, swirling around her fingertips, coalescing into a shimmering ring that encircled the Qilin’s neck. She could feel the strain, the way time fought against her, as if it knew she wasn’t supposed to be tampering with it. But she had to—she had to try.

Her voice barely a whisper, she muttered the incantation, the words feeling like they were made of sheer willpower alone. “Revertus Temporis…”

The magic pulsed with energy, a soft, crackling ring of green light flickering around the Qilin’s body. Her heart leaped for a second as she thought she felt something shift. The warm glow of the Qilin’s fur seemed to flicker in the dim light, as if it might just come back to life. But then, as quickly as it had appeared, the ring sputtered, fading into nothing.

Time didn’t bend to her will. The green glow faded to nothingness, leaving her only with the weight of her failure.

Grindelwald watched her, his expression unreadable, but there was a certain awareness in his eyes. He knew what she had tried to do. He knew what she had attempted—and he knew it had failed.

“Time isn’t something you can control,” he said, his voice cold and almost pitying. “Especially not for something as insignificant as this.”

She buried her face in the Qilin’s body, her shoulders shaking with muffled cries, a sound that carried the weight of every ounce of pain she had felt since the moment she had been taken. The blood that stained her clothes, the blood that stained the creature in her arms—it didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore. She was powerless. The magic, the one thing that had always been a part of her, was slipping through her fingers, just like everything else in her life.

The sorrow that gripped her chest was suffocating, and the weight of her failure—her inability to bring back the creature she had loved and cared for—seemed too much to bear. The tears flowed freely, mixing with the blood on her hands, and she didn’t even try to stop them. She had no fight left in her, no strength to pull herself from the despair that enveloped her.

Grindelwald’s gaze remained fixed on her, sharp and calculating, his cold eyes never leaving her. His voice was soft, almost an afterthought as he spoke again, “You failed. And yet, there is something... compelling about you. A hidden strength that, even now, you refuse to acknowledge.”

She didn’t look up at him. The last thing she wanted was to hear his voice, to feel his presence any longer. His words were hollow, cruel, and they only deepened the wound she had been left with.

Instead, she remained cradling the Qilin, the weight of its lifeless form in her arms as she let her sobs echo in the cavernous space, the silence of the dungeon pressing in from all sides.

She had failed, and nothing in this broken world could fix it.

[dreamcubed]

i did something bad | tom riddle x reader

song; i did something bad [taylor swift] pairing; tom riddle x fem!slytherin!half-blood!eastern european!reader genre; s2l, angst, hurt comfort(ish) word count; 6,5k timeline; tom riddle's last year at hogwarts warnings; referenced child abuse (physical/psychological/verbal), discrimination (muggle-borns), minor character deaths, minor character murders, swearing, extreme manipulation, toxic/unhealthy relationship, srsly tom is so manipulative to y/n, blackmail summary; an orphaned boy with sinister plans for the future, and a new girl who is about to discover she may be just as bad as her parents. what happens when they meet?

fyi i do mix up the order that tom makes the horcruxes a bit :)

PSA | Please Read | y/n is EXTREMELY morally unethical by the end of this. i do not condone such a moral compass, this is a work of fiction and should be treated as such.

masterlist

"you say i did something bad, then why's it feel so good?"

———————————

Hogwarts had a friendlier presence than Durmstrang - but maybe you just had bad memories associated with the latter.

The flashbacks of backstabbing friends and relentless bullying, with you not even getting a break from physical and mental torture during the holidays.

Why?

Well, that was a story.

As like many magic families from the Durmstrang catchment zone, pure-blood supremacist idealism was strong, coupled with the muggle-born hatred that came as a result. Your father's family was no exception: the purest of the pure when it came to blood, or so they claimed.

A stark difference from your mother: a muggle-born.

Only, she didn't tell him that, she lied and told your father (and everyone else for that matter) that she was a pure-blood witch, and the reason they didn't know of her family is because she was from Western Europe (which she was) and fed into Beauxbatons instead. After all, she didn't meet your father until post-education at a European wizarding event.

It wasn't until after marrying and falling pregnant with your father's child did she reveal the truth, burning your father's reputation on the spot. Evidently, your mother had thought that locking down a pregnancy with your father would prevent him from divorcing her - she was dead wrong. Literally, dead wrong.

You would never be sure, but you suspected that your father's family had something to do with your mother dying during childbirth. After all, magic medicine meant there were rarely fatalities around labour.

After you were born and your mother was dead, you were kept as hushed child, hidden away in the corners as your father remarried a woman of a well-known Swedish pure-blood family and continued on to have pure-blood heirs to your family's estate. In all fairness, your stepmother wasn't horrible to you.

But your father was.

The physical and mental abuse you endured for years chipped away at your sanity, and your siblings grew to mirror your father's behaviour. They were younger than you, but there were more of them, and your friendships fell apart at Durmstrang after they enrolled and told everyone of the circumstances of your conception.

Your stepmother never particularly abused you, but she didn't do anything to stop the abuse either. She simply acted indifferent towards you, which given how everyone else was, made her your favourite person by default.

You hated your father and everything he had done to you.

You resented your mother and the situation she had put you in.

When your stepmother fell terribly sick, your father decided to send you away. Which, honestly, was the nicest thing he had ever done for you.

He sent you to live with another hushed secret of his family - even more hushed than you - his squib sister. After she was discovered to be magicless, she had been essentially banished to England where she then was put through all-year muggle boarding schools until she aged out of the system. You had never even heard her mentioned before, yet she welcomed you more warmly than anyone had before, and under your father's orders, you transferred to Hogwarts - the magic school closest to your aunt's residence.

So, there you were, at the beginning of seventh year in an entirely new school. The certified new girl.

Hogwarts was more welcoming, sure, but you didn't think the idea of friends appealed to you anymore. You had been a lone wolf for so long that being anything but seemed unnatural, you were just looking forward to not being bullied like you used to be.

You were sorted into Slytherin: the green house. Unfortunately, it seemed to be the one house that had a similar vibe to Durmstrang. Well, beggars can't be choosers, you thought.

The people in Slytherin gave you curious looks as you sat down, making you scowl.

"What?" you snapped.

They all mumbled, "Nothing," and looked back down at their plates, all apart from one.

The one boy that remained gazing at you curiously had a piercing stare, accompanied by his strong jaw and perfectly gelled hair.

You raised an eyebrow at him, "Can I help you?"

He cleared his throat, "Tom, Tom Riddle. As head boy, I am more than capable of answering any questions you have." His words came across as kind, but the sinister glint in his eye told you every sentence he spoke was just for show.

So, you rolled your eyes, and began eating your food.

***

Your very presence pissed Tom Riddle off.

Everything from the way your lips moved when you spoke to the colour of your eyes irritated him.

The way you answered shortly and curtly towards him, the way you didn't give him the time of day, the way you didn't hang off his every word.

The way you saw through his façade.

Tom Riddle hated it when things didn't go his way, despised it, even. He had learned to perfectly craft his words in such a silky smooth manner that both men and women fell at his feet. He could talk anyone around, fall into anyone's good graces.

But you didn't even give him a chance to build a positive rapport. It was like you smelled his true intentions on him the very second his cologne entered your nostrils. Which was an exaggeration: you were naturally mistrusting of people given your childhood, so you clung to any reason to dislike someone in order to give yourself a reason to avoid them and not risk exposing yourself to another betrayal.

Tom Riddle was too arrogant to realise you treated everybody the exact same way as you did him. He was but another face that could potentially harm you, like every other person in Hogwarts.

Your dorm mates had given up on trying to bond with you, so why wouldn't he?

"Miss L/N," Tom Riddle called to you after a potions lesson. Glances from other students came and went - Tom Riddle was not known for speaking to girls alone all that much.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, turning towards the head boy to raise your eyebrow at him.

"I feel as though we may have gotten off on the wrong foot," his words were calculated, "Perhaps I can amend that?"

His question - if it could be even called a question - was left open ended, leaving the ball in your court. You narrowed your eyes at him. "Amend what exactly?"

"The impression I have made upon you."

"Tom Riddle, I do not think about you outside of whenever you speak to me. There was nothing between us to be broken, and thus nothing to amend."

You picked up your bag and began leaving the classroom, only for the boy to quickly catch up to you. "But your responses have been so curt and... rude."

"Have you ever considered that maybe it's not personal? Maybe my attitude isn't a vendetta against you specifically?" you countered, refusing to even look in his direction.

"Yes, but-"

You stopped in your tracks and turned to him, "The world doesn't revolve around you, Tom Riddle. I treat everyone like this and I have no interest in a positive relationship with anybody here. Please leave me be like everyone else is doing."

And then you departed, only this time, Tom Riddle didn't follow you. He stood, stunned at your words.

Unfortunately, as big of an impact as your words had on him, they had the opposite effect of what you wanted.

Instead of him abandoning all thoughts of you and ignoring your existence, you became a person of incredible interest to the orphaned boy.

***

Tom Riddle moved to sit next to you in every single lesson you shared.

Tom Riddle would always sit next to you during meals.

And Tom Riddle would follow you around a significant amount of the time, always trying to make conversation with you. The conversations were very one-sided, and he didn't lose the arrogant aspect to his personality, nor ever show that he actually cared about you. He would just talk. Talk and talk.

Apart from during lessons when a teacher was talking: he was a studious boy and aimed to master every subject. You cherished those moments of silence.

"Great question, Mr Parkinson," your history of magic professor spoke as you came back to reality from your thoughts, "How does a man as evil as Grindelwald come to be?"

You glanced at Riddle's notebook which was full of notes.

"Bad people come from bad people," your professor stated, making your grip around your quill tighten to the point you snapped it.

Riddle observed your reaction curiously.

"Grindelwald was likely abused as a child, giving him an intense desire for power to make up for the lack of power he had while receiving the abuse."

Your English may not have been perfect, but you understood what the professor was saying all too well.

You couldn't be your father, you simply couldn't.

"We all have skeletons, L/N," arrived a whisper from Riddle in your ear. You turned to him in mild horror, feeling as if he could read you to your core as he gazed into your eyes.

That was when you felt him in your mind. You weren't all that familiar with legilimency, but you were almost entirely sure that Tom Riddle was using it on you.

You broke eye contact with him, but it was too late. He knew.

"Fascinating," he muttered, "Absolutely fascinating."

It felt like you couldn't keep up the cold exterior around Riddle anymore as you shrank in your seat, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," he said simply, "As long as you do a few things for me."

Fuck, blackmail.

***

Now you were the one who followed Tom Riddle around instead of him you. Despite maintaining a cold nature towards everyone else, you trailed behind the head boy like a scared little lamb - because you were. You didn't want people to know of your past in fear of being bullied again. You could no longer speak to him brashly, your voice would crack and quiver as you avoided eye contact with him, not wanting to feel so vulnerable with his presence in your mind again.

He hadn't even given you anything to do yet like he said he would, and it had been a week. Was it an empty threat?

No, that wasn't it. It fuelled his ego to have you following him around and maybe that was enough for him to keep your secret - for now.

***

"How do you feel about mudbloods?" he asked you one time, sat in the library together as you worked on your respective homework assignments.

You looked up at him and frowned. You had come to understand that 'mudblood' was an English insult for muggle-borns. "My mother was muggle-born."

"I am aware." Right, he had been in your mind. "But you're upset with her, yes? Her faking her blood status to your father ultimately led to your life being the way it is."

"What are you suggesting?"

"That she is an example of why mudbloods should not be allowed in this world. Her greed and selfishness is what killed her in the end."

"What caused you to be so hateful?" you asked - a bold question on your part. Your voice was timid as you spoke.

"Well, growing up in an orphanage doesn't help," he said, sitting back in his seat, "My mother was a pure-blood and my father was a muggle, and look what happened. Muggle culture should stay separate from the wizarding world. But that's only possible if mudbloods are eradicated."

You cast your eyes down to your work laid before you. Tom Riddle scared you. He scared you because he had the eyes of a cold-hearted man, and you knew what came from people with those kinds of eyes.

Riddle observed you as you zoned out, attempting to piece together your thoughts, which was difficult as your eyes weren't locked with his.

"You and I are not so different, Miss L/N," he spoke, "Relations between someone from muggle society and a pure-blood is what caused our childhoods to be so unfair. We have the right to retaliate."

"How do we know it wasn't the pure-blood's fault?"

"It doesn't matter whose fault it is, it simply proves that the two societies should not mix. Mudbloods are the bridge between them, and so we must break that bridge."

You exhaled slowly, daring to look up at Riddle but without looking in his eyes.

"Are you not angry? Angry for what has happened to you?"

"Of course I am, I-"

"Whose fault is it you ended up in an abusive situation?"

"Technically my mother's, but-"

"No, no buts. There's your answer, L/N."

You finally locked your eyes with his, but he didn't push into your mind like he did before.

"You think I'm going to abuse you like your father did, don't you?" he had drawn that conclusion without even using legilimency - was it that obvious?

At your lack of response, he hummed.

"I understand you are distrusting, but I do not wish to hurt you, Miss L/N. I am here to help you."

You stared at him blankly.

"Look, everyone else avoids you, thinks you are strange. But not me, I understand you. I'm the only person who understands you."

Considering his childhood, that was a fair observation, you thought.

"You need to learn to trust me," he said simply, "Because I am all you have."

"But, Riddle, I-"

"Tom," he corrected, "Call me Tom. You will never trust me if we continue to be so formal. May I call you by Y/N?"

You feebly nodded, unsure of what was happening to you in that moment.

"Perfect," he smiled a gorgeous yet uncanny smile that made you feel queasy, "If you are ever in dilemma, don't hesitate to come to me. I'm your only option, after all, but I'm a good option. I'm here for you."

You again nodded.

"I'm going to need you to verbally agree, Y/N."

"Y- yes, Tom," you words almost caught in your throat.

He smiled the eery smile again, "Glad to hear you're willing to build trust with me."

***

When he said to do some things for him you had thought he meant do his homework for him or something along those lines - apparently he meant join his muggle-born hate group. You didn't know where your life was heading, but you did know that you were becoming increasingly trapped.

With the amount of time you spent with Tom Riddle, rumours were beginning to flood around the castle that the head boy and the new girl were dating. He never corrected the rumours, not even once.

In fact, you were pretty sure it made him feel as if he had even more ownership of you.

"Students, it is with great sadness that I inform you today that a student by the name of Myrtle Warren has passed," the headmaster said during dinner, "Due to the circumstances of her death, the girls' toilets on the second floor will be shut until further notice, and an investigation into the cause of her death will be opened."

Although he didn't say the word 'murder', everybody knew, but they didn't know who. You, however, had a sneaking suspicion that was confirmed when your eyes met Tom's and he smirked at you.

Myrtle had been a muggle-born.

With an increased amount of fear you followed Tom as he departed from the table, as you usually did on your way back to the dungeons. He hardly acknowledged your presence, but you still heard mutters of how cute it was that you were always together as you passed the tables. Well, at least you weren't being bullied, you supposed.

And it wasn't like Tom ever harmed you - he was true to his word in that sense. So, maybe your fear was unwarranted.

In fact, this was the safest you had ever felt.

Was it Tom that made you feel this way? You glanced up at his stern expression as he walked, feeling your stomach twist when you heard someone in the corridor say, "Look, it's Riddle and his girlfriend." Girlfriend?

You continued to look at Tom, trying to fit the word boyfriend to him: he was handsome, that was for sure. And he cared about you, in a strange way, but cared nonetheless.

He was truthful about wanting to eradicate muggle-borns, as proven through Myrtle, so he must be truthful about not wanting to harm you as well. After all, if he had proved such an extreme thing about himself, a much milder thing such as caring for someone else's wellbeing was basically a given.

"Are you alright, Y/N?" his voice brought you out your thoughts, "You are staring off into space."

"Sorry," you mumbled, taking a deep breath before asking, "Are you my boyfriend?"

Tom stilled in his movements, turning to properly look at you, "What makes you ask?"

"Well, everyone says because we spend so much time together we must be dating," you said nervously, "And you don't correct them."

"If that's how you would like to describe our agreement, then so be it."

Agreement was a strong word.

"I don't correct rumours because I don't care for them," he added, "But if me being your boyfriend makes you more inclined to trust me, then I suppose I should thank the rumours."

"I don't... not trust you," you found yourself saying, which made Tom smile.

"Then all that's left is trust," he held out his hand to you, and you stared at it pensively for a few moments before taking it.

***

"Salazar, I sound just like my mother," a girl sat nearby you at dinner laughed in reference to her previous statement, her surrounding friends joining in with the giggling.

"Well, that's what they say. We become our parents," one of the friends added, which was a passing remark - but one that stuck with you.

You couldn't be like your father... you simply couldn't.

"Tom," you asked quietly after you were tucked away in the corner of the Slytherin common room together, "Do you think I am like my father?"

The boy looked up from his essay, "In terms of what? Appearance?"

You shook your head, "Personality."

He paused, "You are not entirely different."

That struck a chord in you, "But- but I'm not abusing anyone!"

"You are not pleasant to anyone who speaks with you," he said, "I assume the manner in which you talk is learnt from your father."

"No, I- I'm like that because I don't trust people!" your voice was exasperated, but not loud.

"Did your father trust you?"

At your lack of response, he continued talking.

"Darling-" that was new, "-when you are raised by bad people, you know more of how to be a bad person than somebody raised by good people. In fact, you know more of how to be a bad person than a good person in general. It can't be helped."

"Why not?" all the insecurities and self-doubt you had built over the years were now amplifying.

"Because it's your default learned behaviour."

"I- I..." honestly you felt like crying, "No, I can't be..."

Tom shushed you softly, "Don't fret. I understand you, remember? The others don't accept your flaws, but I do, because I have the same flaws."

"You just called me a bad person," you mumbled.

"Bad was perhaps the wrong word to use. Misunderstood or socialised differently are perhaps more fitting terms."

"We really can't change ourselves?"

"No, but we can find like-minded people and grow in numbers in order to change the structure of society. Make it a place for us and not them."

"That just seems so extreme."

Tom traced his fingers along your exposed arm, sending shivers up your spine, "Don't you think it's our time? The so-called good people have had their way for so long. We didn't choose to be 'bad', we were unlucky with who we were born to - we deserve compensation not societal neglect."

"I mean, I- I guess."

The head boy smiled at you: that uncanny yet charming smile he had equipped in his inventory for moments like these. Still, you hadn't been smiled at in such a way ever before, and couldn't help the fact it gave you butterflies.

You let the silence sit for a few moments, noticing how the common room was now practically empty because of how late it was. It hadn't been Tom's turn to do the prefect rounds that night.

With the absence of people, you felt safe enough to state, "It was you."

"It was me what?"

You let your eyes meet his for a brief few seconds, but he didn't attempt to enter your mind. "You know what. Who else would it have been?"

He hummed softly, "She would have just gone on to traumatise her future children with her muggle ways in some way or other."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. I was raised in a muggle orphanage. Muggles are cruel and horrible, and they cannot plague wizarding society."

You stared at him, no words coming to mind.

"Besides, her death was not without cause. I needed someone to die in order to ensure my immortality."

"What?"

Tom gave that smile again, before explaining something that only made you further aware of how twisted his mind was.

***

That night you lay awake in bed, thinking over everything Tom had told you about horcruxes and the basilisk that lived in a chamber beneath the school. You knew you weren't the only one that knew, as you weren't the only one who hung around him. Avery, Lestrange and Malfoy were also a part of Tom's 'movement', as he called it.

You didn't know what to do. You felt trapped within a relationship with Tom, since you now knew he was fully capable of murder and you knew too much about him to be able to distance yourself safely.

At the same time, a lot of what he said made sense, and maybe you were just harbouring more and more resentment for your mother, but you found yourself beginning to agree with him. I mean, you were sorted into a house that didn't allow muggle-borns into it, just like Durmstrang didn't allow muggle-borns at all. At this point, it was written in the stars that you weren't supposed to be fond of 'mudbloods', since you always wound up in spaces that despised them: your family, Durmstrang, Slytherin... and Tom Riddle.

It's not that you even had a choice anymore.

***

The Christmas holidays arrived, and you didn't think twice about signing yourself up to stay at Hogwarts for the two week period - Tom was obviously staying as well. It was weird, as you weren't sure if you should be getting him a gift for the day.

Despite the fact you had never kissed or even hugged, he was technically your boyfriend, so you reasoned that you should be getting him something. But what do you buy for a man whose only interests are world domination? On top of that, you had no money.

You could make him something.

And that was how you found yourself sat at your desk in your dormitory (which you had all to yourself until the next term), carving a snake out of a bit of wood you had (magically) cut from a part of your bed. It wasn't a large amount, just enough to make a small figurine, but you intended to charm it to create some sort of snake hologram that would erupt out of the wooden snake's mouth. Wood carving had been a common activity in your family growing up, although you always had to use the scraps of wood and blunt knives while your siblings got the good quality stuff.

Once you had completed the final step of perfecting the charm, you smiled proudly to yourself at your work and wrapped it up carefully.

***

Your routine since the Christmas holidays began was pretty simple: you, Tom and a second year were the only Slytherins staying, and there was only a handful from the other houses too. Every morning you would meet Tom in the common room at 8am and head to breakfast together, where you would eat plenty before heading to the library to study. Tom's studies were almost exclusively directed towards dark magic, meanwhile you worked to improve in your subjects, which you struggled more with due to English not being your first language.

Being head boy, Tom had basically permanent access to the restricted section, especially because he could get Professor Slughorn to sign off on anything. Everyday he learned darker and darker wizarding secrets, which scared you more than you would ever admit.

After morning studies, you would return to the Great Hall for lunch, and then Tom would insist on a walk around the castle grounds after a morning of mostly sitting down. Afternoon would be when he would have his meetings with Slughorn, whatever they were about, whilst you took the time to relax and decompress in the Slytherin common room with a good book.

Then it would be back again to the Great Hall for dinner, and then, since Tom didn't have prefect rounds to worry about, he would sit with you in the common room for a couple hours. Sometimes you chatted, sometimes you didn't.

"Y/N, darling," he spoke as he sat down next to you, the two of you having just returned from dinner. The second year was nowhere in sight.

You hummed, turning to look at him.

"Slughorn is starting to suspect my interest in dark magic is more than just curiosity."

"It is, isn't it?" you replied nonchalantly.

"Yes, but it is making him stop answering the questions I ask so easily. It is most frustrating."

"Maybe you should back off for a while then, build up trust again."

That was when Tom surprised you by dropping his head on to your shoulder, exhaling as he felt your warmth touch his cheek. "I'll have to. I just hate that it will cause a delay in my learning."

You nervously let your head rest against his as you pushed back the butterflies swarming in your stomach, wondering desperately how a man with such violent thoughts had only ever been so kind to you. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't so bad being trapped with him.

Tom's eyes fluttered shut as his body began relaxing, and you took the moment to work up the courage to initiate more affection. You reached out and took his thumb into your hand, since the rest of it was balled up and not easy to hold. He acknowledged the gesture by rubbing the back of your hand with his forefinger, without opening his eyes.

You were probably the first to see this soft side of Tom.

***

Christmas Day quickly rolled around, not that the day had ever particularly meant much to you. So many years had been spent with you watching your half-siblings open their luxurious gifts, meanwhile you got a new pair of socks if you were lucky. That was until you were at Durmstrang, where you always stayed behind for the holidays while your half-siblings went home to loving parents that you never got.

Tom's Christmases had probably been even worse when they were spent at an orphanage. At least you were allowed a small portion of the grand Christmas meal at your childhood home. Orphans likely got the usual everyday food.

Regardless, you weren't expecting anything when you left your dormitory and entered the Slytherin common room. The Durmstrang Christmas feasts had made the traditional food your favourite part of the day, and you were simply hoping Hogwarts could top the delicacies. You were pleasantly surprised to see Tom already in the common room on the sofa by the tree, holding a neatly wrapped gift.

You couldn't help but smile at him as he noticed your presence, and clutched your gift for him behind your back as you approached his location.

"Merry Christmas, darling," he said to you, rising in order to greet you properly.

"Merry Christmas, Tom," you replied, standing still in front of him.

"I got you something," he said, holding out the box.

You accepted it and presented your gift to him, "And I got you something."

He smiled a small smile and accepted your present, moving in sync with you as you sat down to eagerly open the parcels.

You were absolutely shocked to uncover an absolutely gorgeous white gold ring with a snake design wrapping around, and two large emeralds in place of the snake's eyes. You had seen many expensive things in your life, but you had never had the privilege of touching one - let alone owning one. Looking over at Tom to search for some sort of answer, you received none as he was too busy gazing at the illusion you had spent ages charming.

"It's beautiful, darling."

"Thank you," you couldn't help but be shy, "I don't have any money so I could only make you something."

He smiled, "What do you think of my gift?"

"Oh, Tom, it's- it's gorgeous," you were speechless, "I- I don't know what to say. Thank you. Thank you so much."

"It's to your taste, then?"

You didn't hesitate to nod.

"Lovely, I was hoping it would be. I had to resist using legilimency to confirm."

"Why didn't you?"

"I want you to trust me, doll, and invading your mind won't get you there, will it?"

You softly shook your head, shifting closer to him so you could embrace him in a side hug. He turned his body to hold you properly, and as you buried your face in his chest, you smelled a scent that you had never had the privilege of smelling before: the scent of home.

Tom was your home - he had to be. He was the safest place for you to be in all regards, and that was what a home was, right?

"But what's the ring for?" you asked as you pulled away from the embrace.

"It's for my darling," he said simply, and he didn't elaborate.

But as you tried it on all your fingers, you found that the only one it fit perfectly snug on was your ring finger.

Perhaps that was a coincidence.

***

You had taken to wearing the ring at all times, and you could tell Tom liked it that way, having that mark of ownership on you. Due to the finger on which you wore the piece of jewellery, you received many comments from students and teachers when they returned after New Year's.

"Is congratulations due?" Professor Slughorn had asked during the first potions class of the new year, to which you had merely smiled as you didn't know what to say.

It didn't matter, though, because the rumour spread through the castle quick enough to be considered a well-known fact. Tom Riddle and Y/N L/N being engaged was simply a fact at Hogwarts, and no one had ever debated it.

It wasn't unusual for seventh year couples to get engaged: in fact, it seemed that your 'engagement' had triggered a domino effect of more proposals.

You supposed this probably happened every year after there was a first couple to announce their engagement. Girls pushing more hints towards their boyfriends to get them to ask to tie the knot, probably somewhat out of jealousy and not wanting to be left behind.

"How many kids are you going to have?" one of your dorm mates asked at lunch - the first time she had bothered speaking to you in a while.

"I- I don't know," you had never felt safe enough to even consider if you wanted kids. It's not like you even had a good role model to base your parenting off of. Her question had caught you so off guard you failed to even put up the cold exterior you held for everyone except Tom.

"I think I want four," the girl continued, "I want a kinda big family but not overwhelmingly big, you know?"

You nodded absently.

"But if my husband wants more then I guess I would consider it," she said pensively, "How many does Riddle want?"

"I haven't asked Tom," your cold tone finally caught up to you.

"Asked me what?" your 'fiancé' arrived at the table and sat next to you, greeting you with a kiss on the cheek - which he had never done before. The girls opposite you awed at his behaviour.

"How many kids you want," the same girl reiterated.

You watched as Tom chewed on his cheek a bit before saying, "As many as my wife wants, it's her body that has to go through the turmoil after all."

Your dorm mates began murmuring about how considerate that was of Tom, and how one of the girl's boyfriends was insistent on at least three kids with no room for negotiation.

"Salazar, L/N, now we all want your man," one of the girls joked.

You turned to look at Tom to see that he wasn't even looking in their direction, and instead looking at you.

***

"This diary is my first horcrux," Tom explained to you, handing the book over. He had surprised you by showing you the Chamber of Salazar Slytherin, where the basilisk who killed Myrtle under Tom's orders (as you learned) resided. Despite the fact you hadn't seen the giant snake, you were nervous. "This is what Warren died for."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" you asked, flicking through the pages of the diary.

"You weren't ready to think too much about my plans, as you were still processing the motive," he said, handing you a quill and ink pot, "Write in the diary."

You frowned, but took the quill and dipped it in ink, before writing a simple message of 'hello'.

You nearly jumped out your skin when the diary replied to you.

"What is this?"

"I've charmed the part of my soul in the diary to be able to interact with whoever's writing in it, and in the case I lose the body I currently have, drain the life force of this hypothetical person to create a new body for me."

Regardless of your feelings about the matter, you had to give it to Tom that he was incredibly intelligent.

"So, I suggest you don't write anymore in it," he said, taking the diary back, "I quite like you alive."

"You're immortal now."

He hummed, "After we leave Hogwarts, I would like to continue making more. I want them to be grand, meaningful items, like the valuable objects of each house here."

"Like the sword of Gryffindor?"

"Yes, but that one wouldn't be very wise to pick. It's kept in the headmaster's office."

You nodded, "What are the others?"

"Ravenclaw's diadem, Slytherin's locket and Hufflepuff's cup."

"And which one do you want to use?"

He sighed, looking around the gloomy chamber, "Ideally, all three of them."

***

APPROX. SIX YEARS LATER.

***

You returned home with bags of food weighing your hands down, a playful song replaying in your mind in a loop. This was a normal day for you, thus far, as you entered the household that you shared with your husband, Tom Riddle. It was a house in the middle of nowhere, as he preferred it.

As you walked into the kitchen, you couldn't help but notice that it seemed way too quiet - normally you could feel Tom's presence from his work study, but today you couldn't. After checking the office to confirm he wasn't there, you turned back towards the kitchen to unpack the shopping (presuming he was simply out somewhere and forgot to mention) when you noticed that the door to the cellar was slightly open.

Ensuring your wand was definitely on your person, you entered through the door of rotting wood and slowly made your way down the stone slab stairs. You peered around the corner to see Tom stood across from a slumped figure in the corner, and between them stood a small table with Slytherin's locket set on it. Next to the locket was a wand, but it wasn't Tom's since he was holding his.

You had never witnessed Tom during his... dark magic... before.

You observed as Tom slightly turned his back to the captive person, reading carefully a page of the dusty book he was holding. It was then, to your horror, that the person got up and rushed to grab their wand from the table, beginning to say the fatal killing curse, "Avada kedav-"

"Avada kedavra!"

Tom turned around in shock, looking between you with your wand extended, and the now-corpse on the cold stone floor. All you could do was stare in horror at what you had done.

Only, the horror didn't come from the fact you had just killed someone for the first time - no, the horror came from the fire pumping in your veins and making you feel alive. Why did something so bad make you feel so good? It was like a drug - unholy but godly all the same.

"Darling?" Tom snapped you out of your thoughts, and you finally lowered your wand, "Darling, are you okay?"

You nodded, finding yourself breathless as your husband embraced you.

"You saved my life."

"You're immortal, my love."

"You saved me the hassle of creating a new body," he corrected, parting from you to look down at your face, "How do you feel?"

You exhaled slowly, "Exhilarated."

He raised an eyebrow at you.

"Were they a mudblood?"

Tom's face displayed even more surprise: you had never referred to muggle-borns in such a way before. "Yes, doll, but I'll need a new one now to finish this horcrux."

"Sorry."

"Don't be," he chuckled, pecking your lips, "Never apologise for the death of mudbloods."

You gave him a small smile, "I'm apologising for the kidnapping hassle you now have to go through again, not the death."

"I'm in love with you," he said quickly, staring at you with his piercing eyes.

You beamed up at Tom: your lover, your devil, your rock.

"I'm in love with you too."

———————————————

masterlist

written; 08/03/2023 —> 19/03/2023 published; 20/03/2023 edited; —/—/——

taglist ; @workinatdapyramid