#a wizard’s wardrobe is never finished
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Is this frolicking? It feels like frolicking.
#bg3#bg3 screenshots#screenshot#video game screenshots#baldur's gate 3#baldur gate 3#baldur’s gate 3#bg3 screencaps#game screenshots#baldurs gate#gale#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#bg3 gale#baldurs gate gale#a wizard’s wardrobe is never finished#bg3 wizard#wizard of waterdeep
275 notes
·
View notes
Text
Photos. Wolfstar Microfic. 1770 words.
Remus was sitting at the tiny, overflowing table in in his kitchen having his third coffee the morning after an extremely taxing full moon when it happened. A large barn owl flew straight into his window. He froze, head snapping up to look at it as he slowly drew out his wand, never in much use these days though never far away. Who would be writing to him? He hadn’t had correspondence with anyone from the wizarding world in years, and Mary always just telephoned. He opened the window slowly, looking down at the poor thing, hopping indignantly and ruffling its feathers. On the envelope attached to its leg he spied the green Hogwarts crest. He sighed heavily, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. If Dumbledore was writing him, it couldn’t mean good news. Resignedly, he ushered the owl in and tapped the kettle with his wand, setting it to boil. If Dumbledore was writing him, tea was most definitely in order. He pulled the letter from the owl and sat back down at his little table, noticing vaguely that the bird made no motion to depart. Waiting for a response then, he thought grimly, certainly not good news. He pulled open the envelope and shook out the single sheet of paper, surprised to see not a long looping script but a cramped messy scrawl.
Dear Remus,
I hope you don’t mind me writing to you. Harry’s just started at Hogwarts this year and he’s every bit the son of Lily and James. The way he looks at magic is Lily all over and he’s already had 150 points taken from Gryffindor, detention, and been in the forbidden forest- that’s all James. So I know you’d be right proud (he’s in Gryffindor by the way). Anyway he don't have a single picture of his parents. His aunt and uncle are great ruddy Muggles I’m tellin ya, and I would like to give him something to remember them by. If you have any pictures of them would you be able to send them back with Archimedes? I wouldn’t ask- but it’s for Harry.
Hagrid.
Remus stared at the page, reading it over and over again. It couldn’t be, Harry couldn’t be at Hogwarts yet that would mean it had been… ten years. Ten years since Lily and James- He closed his eyes, running a hand over his face. He finished his tea and turned it in for firewhisky.
For the rest of the day Remus drank steadily as he conversed with Archimedes, the owl, who seemed haughtily impatient to return to the school. He’d always found comfort in talking with animals, particularly magical ones. They understood you. Sometimes they were even your best friends. He closed his eyes against the building tears, pushing the memory of running a hand through thick black fur as he confessed things that would be impossible to say to grey eyes to the back of his mind, unwilling to go further down that road.
Eventually, when the light began to dip and Archimedes began nipping his whisky-numbed fingers, Remus turned to his wardrobe, digging through the overflowing stacks of books and effects that had been shoved in here long ago and forgotten, the door never opened and Remus’ own clothes simply remaining in a dresser, or cast over the chair in the corner of his room. When he saw a leather jacket, he broke down fully, clutching it to his face as he cried all-consuming, rattling sobs.
Eventually he’d been able to get a hold of himself, schooling his sobs into something more manageable in order to find the box at the very back of the closet with L+J scrawled in shaky writing over the top. Gingerly, he lifted the lid, something visceral swooping up from his stomach as he caught the slightest hint of Lily’s perfume. It shocked him but seemed to fill him with an odd sort of calm, and he was reminded of the disastrous Amortentia he’d attempted to brew in fifth year potions that had to be rescued through Lily’s assistance. He allowed himself a small smile.
Slowly, he picked up the box and carried it back into the main room of the flat, bending over his single table and attempting to make some space with one arm as the other wedged the large box against his hip.
He placed the box down and sat shakily after it, reaching in and beginning to pull everything out, a flick of his wand bringing the bottle of firewhisky zooming back into his hand.
As he sifted through the contents of the box, he was surprised by how much he had. He was never much one for sentimentality, and never much one for being photographed either. But Sirius was, and Sirius’ things were his things, he supposed. He found countless pictures of Lily and James, the day they moved in together, the two of them arm in arm with Mary and Marlene at a seventh-year party, their wedding, Harry’s first birthday. And in many of the pictures, there was Sirius, smiling wider than all of them, the enchanted magical picture version of him running around with the same jubilant chaotic energy he’d always possessed in real life. Remus cried some more.
There were letters too. Correspondence from Lily or James, notes from the depths of the war with shaky writing asking after peoples’ safety, their whereabouts. Swapped rumours of attacks or death eater activity. It clenched a fist of ice around Remus’ heart to relive those memories. He tucked them away.
Eventually he came across a photo that made him draw in a sharp breath, it was one of the few with him in it, having been taken when he was unawares. It featured him sitting peaceful in one of the bay window seats of the Gryffindor common room, reading a book. Then Sirius would run into frame, taking a dive and jumping bodily over Remus’ lap, followed by a clearly laughing James and Peter, the boys tussling for a moment before they all settled in some sort of companionable heap, James wedged up against the glass of the window, Pete sprawled across Remus’ legs, and Sirius sitting happily in his lap, reaching up to twirl one of Remus’ curls around a finger, ‘it’s gotten so long,’ he’d said, the memory coming back to him with perfect clarity, ‘it suits you’, and then the three boys turned with massive smiles plastered on their faces to wave at the camera, held laughingly by one Lily Evans. Photo Remus threw a hand of embarrassment over his face, and the scene reset.
He looked down at the photograph for a long time, watching the same loop play out over and over again, knowing that if he had the choice, he would live those thirty seconds out in eternity, never once feeling cheated of a true life’s experience.
He gathered up all the photos he’d found of James and Lily, tucking the one of the four Marauders away in his pocket before bundling the rest up in some brown paper, tying off the parcel with some string. Archimedes hopped forward with a huff, looking eager to be going. Remus paused for a moment, wishing to write something to go along with it. Harry was at Hogwarts now. Harry who was every bit James and Lily’s son. Harry who was already getting into all sorts of trouble. Harry who he’d played with as a baby and whose first word had been Pad- though James had argued until he was blue in the face that it had been dad.
He'd tried to see him before- of course. A few months after the end of the war he’d gone to Dumbledore, pleading to be told of Harry’s whereabouts, pleading to see the little black-haired boy with piercing green eyes who clenched Remus’ finger in his whole fist and rode around on a toy broomstick better than he could walk. Dumbledore had outright refused, asserting Harry’s safety as the number one priority, and when Remus had protested, the man had invoked the fate of Frank and Alice, asking Remus if he wished the same upon Harry. Remus had gasped, the last flickering nodule of hope sputtering out in his chest as if blown out by a gust of cold wind. Nodding, he’d seen himself out, pleading for Dumbledore to let him know if ever a time came when it would be safer. Dumbledore had merely nodded, already turning back to the piece of parchment he had been pouring over on his desk when Remus had entered.
And that had been that. That had been ten years ago and now Remus was staring down at a blank sheet of paper, pen clutched in a shaky hand, the word Harry scrawled at the top of the page.
Harry,
I know you don’t know me but I’m Remus Lupin, I was good friends with your mother and father, best friends in fact, I knew you when you were a baby. I’m so sorry Harry I’m so sorry I couldn’t save them. I never suspect-
He closed his eyes in frustration, shaking his head at himself as he balled up the paper and threw it away, pulling forward a new sheet.
Harry,
My name is Remus Lupin, I was friends with your parents in school. I’m sorry I haven’t written to you sooner, I’m poor and a dangerous werewolf you see
Shake, scrunch, throw.
Harry,
Oh you sound just like James, he was the biggest trouble-maker I’ve ever known, well- second biggest trouble maker-
Cry, scrunch, hurl at the wall.
Harry,
I know Lily would be so proud of you, she loved you so much more than you could even imagine, and that’s saying something, I never knew a more loving person than Lily Evans, she even loved me. James too, they loved me. God knows why
Scream, tear to pieces, little paper confetti in his whisky.
Harry,
He lifted the pen, staring at the page for a while longer. There were dozens of balled up letters strewn about him, all covered in ink blotches and tear stains. He shook his head, thick and spiking with pain from the aftereffects of the whisky. He gazed for a moment longer at the paper before standing up with a scrape of the chair, startling Archimedes from his slumber on the windowsill.
“Here you go,” he murmured to the owl as he attached the little brown paper parcel, bending down to hurriedly jot two endlessly insufficient words on the face of the wrapping.
For Harry.
#sorry#wolfstar#wolfstar microfic#wolfstar fanfiction#marauders fanfiction#harry potter marauders#sirius black#remus lupin#mwpp#james potter#peter pettigrew#marauders#post first wizarding war
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dangerous and Delightful — Chapter 8 — Sebastian walks
— PAIRING: Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader
— SYNOPSIS: Sebastian is a purveyor of forbidden artefacts, a dark arts researcher, and a curse-breaker for hire. Ominis, desperate to save him from himself, hires Reader in secret to persuade him, by any means necessary, to leave his illegal activities behind.
— WARNINGS: none
— WORDCOUNT: 3.9k
— A/N: If you're familiar with the film Withnail and I, you will notice a lot of references to it here 😂 You can probably guess what I was listening to when I was writing Sebastian's walk, and the name Vivian is a reference to the actor who was the inspiration for Withnail, Vivian MacKerrell.
— TAGLIST: @bloofinntoona @sarcasticpluviophile @estrotica
Sebastian woke with a start. His head hurt terribly, and when he opened his eyes, he couldn’t see a thing. He grumbled and turned on his back, realising after a few confused moments that he’d bumped his head into the wall. He wasn’t in his old bed anymore. Slowly, it all came back to him: the Aurors, the visit to Ominis, and then coming here…
As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he could see the vague angles of the room painted in pale blue from the sunrise just peeking over the horizon. He threw the heavy sheets off his body and groggily got up, walking through the room with one eye open until he reached the desk where his pocket watch was. He picked it up and frowned at it — he hadn’t slept until the afternoon had he? Oh, he was just holding it upside down…
Sebastian braced his arms against the windowsill and looked outside. The glass was framed with the wild growth of her garden, beyond that was the small stone fence, and beyond the fence, between the houses of her neighbours across the road, waves of grass rolled across the landscape and foamed with shrubs and stout thick little trees, growing into taller hills up in the distance. A veil of fog was cast over the land, and the sky was draped in clouds.
He opened the window. The leaves were brushed away briefly, then flicked back against the wall, sprinkling the frame with dew. Cool air washed over Sebastian’s body. He felt his skin tightening and his lungs filling to the brim as if it was his first real breath. The air quickly filled the room behind him, making the wood furniture creak.
It was certainly something different from his London flat… He almost felt back home in Feldcroft, although the terrain there was far more angular and grey.
Sebastian gave up on the idea of going to sleep again. He took his nightshirt off and threw it over the back of the chair, then washed his face in the basin on the desk. The water was cold against his sleepy face. It crossed his mind to warm it with a spell but, for some reason, he decided not to. The splash of brisk discomfort, the dark and quiet room, the unfamiliar view outside, its beauty — it made him feel like someone else, someone new. It felt as though, in this place, his old self couldn’t find him anymore.
As he splashed cold water over his neck and ruffled his thick brown hair, he even thought of using some sort of alias. The idea made him laugh… He’d used aliases before on mainland Europe a couple of times when the situation called for it, but never in an attempt to refashion himself into a new man — never for fun.
What sort of name would he pick, if given the choice? What sort of history could he invent for himself? Who did he want to be, if not Sebastian Sallow? Maybe some aristocrat on vacation, someone from a wealthy pureblood family, like Ominis… Someone pompous, frail, and without a care in the world, with an extravagant name like Vivian Macmillan, or Sylvain Greengrass, or Aetius Avery.
He finished washing and dried off, feeling quite awake by now. Moving slowly, quietly, he began to pull out what to wear from what he’d managed to hang up in the wardrobe the night before. What would a wealthy wizard wear? Something starched and sturdy for the countryside, and a practical tweed in rustic colours for the suit. He smiled to himself — they would see it as quite the experience to have to dress themselves for once, rather than have a house elf see to it. They might be slow at it, careful, deliberate…
And what would a wealthy wizard do in the morning? Why, go out for their daily constitutional, of course. Keep their body fit as they familiarised themselves with the area and maybe got to know some of the locals as well… That carried the risk, of course, of exposing Sebastian to people who might realise he’s not who he says he is. Then again, there weren’t that many Macmillans or Greengrasses or Averies in the region, and the only major wizarding family, the Clokes, were unlikely to be well acquainted with them since they weren’t all that wealthy.
Still, if he wanted to play it a bit more inconspicuous, he could pretend to be a Hogwarts professor instead. A haughty academic spending his days in peace and quiet in an unassuming little village, before the start of the next term…
He smiled as he put his arms through the jacket sleeves, then tugged it firmly to his body with decorous poise. Next, he threw on his oldest coat, a linty woollen thing in black that fit a bit more firmly around his body than it had ten years ago, and transfigurated his hat into a sturdy tweed cap to match the suit. As a finishing touch — and after digging in his suitcase a little while for it — he wound a green scarf around his neck, one he had kept around since 7th year. As a Professor, he would still be quite supportive of his House, wouldn’t he?
With his wand tucked in his pocket, he opened the door slowly and tip-toed outside. The living room was dark and quiet, its windows far more shaded than his room to let much of the morning light stream in. But even so, he found the mirror hanging near the clothes hanger to the right of his room and could finally admire himself in it.
Bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, with whisps of brown hair curling up around the rim of his cap, he would make for quite the reassuring teacher. His eyes crinkled as he smiled in that self-assured, pretentious way he’d seen Headmaster Black do so many times. But Professor... Valdemar Vane — yes, that would do well — who taught Defense Against the Dark Arts, could not be more different than Headmaster Black.
He would inspire a love of learning in his students, he would teach them to respect the dark arts, and he would be firm but fair — oh but he would play favourites, because of course he would. He wound the green scarf around his neck one more time in a brisk flourish, and parted from the mirror with a smirk.
There was a door to the left of the fireplace, wide open, which led into the kitchen. To the left of that and through a little hallway that lead into the deepest place of the house, was the door to what he knew to be her bedroom… He walked toward it, careful not to make the floorboards creak. Was it curiosity? Was it morbid fascination? Was it whatever he was feeling for her? All the same, he felt something drawing him to her room.
The hallway was narrow, its walls adorned with a few small paintings he could hardly make out in the dark. No light came from beneath her door, and all around was quiet. Sebastian stood outside for a few moments, just listening, just thinking… she was on the other side. Asleep, alone. His hand came over the handle, and very slowly, he pressed it. The door was unlocked, and unwarded by any spell — how sweet it was that she trusted him. His heart nearly froze in his chest when the door opened, but nothing happened. She didn’t wake, she didn’t scream at him… There was only silence.
The little he could see of her room was dark, so he opened the door wider, wider, enough to poke his head through — and he saw her. The bed was soft and overflowing with a thick duvet that was tangled in her legs. She slept on her side, curled up like a foal, her hair in a messy braid over her back. He smiled; it made him feel warm and soft just to see her like that…
Fearing that she really might wake up, he closed the door as lightly as he’d opened it, and walked away.
By the door was the cupboard for the shoes, and he’d had the good sense to leave a pair of his own there last night. He put on his firmest boots, fit for whatever muddy roads they had around there, and stepped outside.
The sun was shining over the hills like a partly opened eye, and the fog had lifted somewhat, leaving the thicket of flowers in her garden heavy with dew. Sebastian felt his face sting from the cold, but his body was comfortably warm. He blew into his hands and rubbed them together, then shoved them in his coat pockets and began an aimless walk.
It was so deathly quiet on her street, although the trees that lined the road were loud with birds. All the houses in the neighbourhood were far apart, and all stood at different elevations. The cobblestone street was weaved between them like a river on a whimsical course.
Sebastian decided to take on the wealthy Vivian Macmillan persona, a more carefree choice than Professor Vane, and strolled straight-backed and high-headed, peeking shamelessly through the windows in passing — as much or as little as he could, seeing as they were all fenced off, and each had various amounts of trees or shrubs in their gardens. All the windows were curtained and dark anyway, with few things placed on the windowsills for him to see — a candlestick, a potted plant, the occasional forgotten toy… From one of the windows, a black cat stared at him with its yellow eyes. He tipped his hat to it.
It was fairly easy for him to tell which house belonged to a wizarding family and which to a muggle. He recognised old-fashioned charms placed outside doors like inconspicuous dried herbs, special knockers, and even a few flying brooms — which might come in handy someday.
The street widened, and Sebastian decided to just keep walking straight ahead where the houses grew sparse. Soon, he found himself on the edge of the village, in something like a tamed wooded area. Between the trees, he could see a few resting carriages on one side, a distant farm, a shed on the other side… He kept walking.
The morning was warmer now, the trees grew thicker, and he took his cap off to lean his head backwards as he walked. Sunlight dappled his skin, peeking between the leaves. The ground beneath him was soft with fallen flower petals. They were mostly chestnuts there among just as many oaks and a few sad grey beech trees.
He found himself surprisingly enjoying it. He’d gotten so used to the crowding of buildings in Diagon or Knockturn Alley, like crooked blackened teeth, and even to the tight packing of muggles on the London streets, that he tricked himself into thinking he could be at home there — certainly more than in old Feldcroft, with its uncomfortable memories. But this, this was pleasant…
He still thought this life boring though, the little village existence with its dull people and nothing to do and nowhere to go and no way to become somebody… He thought that, and Mr Macmillan, and Professor Vane — none of them would like it as more than a curiosity, a passing eccentricity but ultimately insignificant, just like all the people who lived there. He caught himself thinking that and wondered whether that was Vivian’s opinion, or his.
With each step, loud with flowers and crackling with branches, and a chorus of birds overhead, he felt more ill at ease. How could he think that? How could he think that… about her? Because she certainly wasn’t insignificant to him.
“Perhaps it’s better if she were,” he said to himself with a note of sadness.
A person like Vivian would certainly not allow himself to fall in love with her, and wasn’t that wiser? She certainly seemed to have little interest in him and Sebastian found himself drawn to her the more she drew herself away.
Their conversation the night before in the kitchen still echoed in his mind, and pained him. It was mercilessly clear that she lived in quite a different world from his own, and what was worse, she thought he could be swayed to join her. That, for a taste of peace, he could abandon the depths of the dark arts, the taste of death and power, his joys and his desires.
“She’s just like Ominis,” he thought with a sad smile.
Well, what Sebastian was unwilling to do, Vivian could… attempt. It was typical of the wealthy, wasn’t it, to be two-faced in that way. Whether one called it being decorous or, in fact, duplicitous, it all led to what they valued above all else, which was a certain flavour of social harmony.
And he certainly wanted to be in harmony with her…
He walked until he was so deep into the forest that he could no longer feel the road beneath his feet, then turned around. Checking his watch, he saw that it was 6:30 — he’d be home in time for breakfast.
The forest woke up all around him too. As he walked back, he could see butterflies flapping through the air, squirrels fretting on their branches, and even a couple of hedgehogs crossing the path. A childlike wonder came over him again, like being back at Hogwarts exploring the grounds…
He found it harder to walk back as Vivian Macmillan than as plain old Sebastian. It was easy to play around with the idea as he had walked away, but walking back to her, he realised there was something frightfully, delightfully real in his heart — and it would have been the worst insult to tarnish that with a lie. He felt something for her, he truly did. From her quiet elegance and domestic softness to her daring and acuity, he saw in her a complete person, one who held so much inside — if only he was allowed to reach it, to touch it, to take it...
It had been a comfort to speak to her so openly, even if she didn’t always understand or agree with his choices, but at least he could speak and be heard. And get to see her, and touch her, and taste her every time she let him kiss her hand.
It was, indeed, harder to see her little house approach up the road and pretend to be Vivian Macmillan. He didn’t wish to imagine any other man returning to her home than him.
By the time he got there, the chickens were awake. He could hear them clucking in their part of the garden on the left side of the house. Peeking over the fence crawling with thorny roses, Sebastian saw them picking at their food — she must’ve fed them already.
“Are you at the wrong house, Sir?” came a rough little voice.
Sebastian looked around and eventually spotted a woman leaning over the open window on the first floor of the house next door, looking straight at him while she was airing a pillowcase.
“Excuse me,” he said, “do you mean me?”
“No, the lad next to ya,” she laughed.
He could tell she was a witch, probably the neighbour he’d heard of before.
“Do you happen to be Mrs Berta?” he asked with a grin.
“Well, I see we’re well acquainted then, aren’t we?” she chuckled, leaning further over the windowsill. “Only I don’t seem to remember meeting ya.”
“Then I hope someday you will meet me.”
Sebastian smirked, tipped his cap at her, and stepped inside before she could give any retort.
He walked in quietly, wondering where his host was. A rustling of porcelain sounded from the right.
He leaned over the edge of the wall and saw her from behind, bent over, at his door. She was placing a breakfast tray down, and seemed undecided on where to leave it right outside his door, or to the side — worried, perhaps, that he might step in it when he came out.
He leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets, watching on until she got up, assessing her work — she had settled on transfiguring a slipper into a little stool and placed the tray on top of it, to the side of the door. She stood with her hands on her hips and seemed quite satisfied, then turned around with a smile on her face, and that’s when she saw him. She gave a startled little gasp.
“Apologies,” grinned Sebastian, “I didn’t wish to interrupt you.”
“Seb— you were out?” she said, taking in how he was dressed. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Not long,” he shrugged. “I was just admiring the view.”
She paused for a moment, then gave him a sideways glance. Sebastian took it with a cocky smile.
“Well then, you might as well have breakfast with me,” she said, picking up the tray to take it with her to the kitchen. “I thought you were still in bed.”
Sebastian took his coat and cap off, and hung them on the hook by the door.
“I woke up quite early,” he said, taking off his boots and placing them with the others in the little cupboard by the entrance. “Couldn’t sleep, so I thought I might as well take a stroll, see the neighbourhood.”
“And did you?” she asked from the kitchen as she set the table up for two.
“Not really,” he laughed as he joined her. “I just walked on until I reached the forest, then kept walking. It was… rather peaceful.”
She smiled up at him in a warm, mysterious way, then went to open the window. Fresh air chilled the kitchen, breezing further into the living room and bringing with it the scent of flowers and fresh laundry. She stayed at the window, eyes closed, head tilted back, and let the sun bask her face.
They sat down for breakfast together, which consisted of sausages, oatmeal, bleak tea with milk and honey, buttered toast and marmalade, and boiled eggs. Sweetie did not join them this time, unfortunately — probably still asleep after his nocturnal adventures.
“I apologise if this is a little piteous,” she said with an awkward smile as she pealed her egg. “I don’t tend to have a fancy breakfast when I’m by myself.”
“If it’s piteous, I can hardly tell,” said Sebastian with a comforting grin. “Can’t even remember the last time I had breakfast.”
“Oh I don’t believe that…”
“No, really,” he laughed. “In my profession, I tend to work nights most of all, so, breakfast is usually something I skip.”
She looked at him from the corner of her eye but seemed to believe him by now. Her gaze turned to one of pity.
“Besides,” said Sebastian as he cut into the sausage, “I’m certain the breakfasts you and your brother had were quite hearty, weren’t they?”
She paused and looked at him curiously for a moment.
“Unless, I suppose, he wasn’t a big eater either…”
“Oh, he… he was,” she said, seeming a bit upset by the conversation. “I mean, he still is, I’m sure, somewhere…”
Sebastian looked at her from above the rim of his cup of tea. “I take it you still haven’t heard from him…?”
She shook her head quietly as she focused on her plate. She seemed rather sad… and scared.
Sebastian nodded. “I wish I could help you more…”
With the excuse of eating her breakfast, she smiled silently and shook her head again, her warm gaze meeting Sebastian’s. He couldn’t help but wonder what was behind that silence, that tight smile, those sad, unwavering eyes… He knew so much of how she felt, and it pained him that they couldn’t speak openly about it, wouldn’t allow themselves to…
‘And whose fault is that?’ he thought to himself, chewing morosely as he looked back down.
The breakfast was conducted under a sort of mournful silence, each in mutual respect for the presumed losses of the other — respect which, at least to Sebastian’s heart, was resented. He respected her as a host, that much was certain, and even as a client of sorts — he had yet to tell her that the cursed necklace was still in his trunk — but as a person, respect felt… underwhelming.
His brown eyes slid up to look at her again while she finished eating, her eyes downcast, her thoughts distant. She looked so pretty with the morning light shining right on her, like an angelic being or a garden fairy in stern dress. Her face had the flush and fullness of a good night’s sleep, her hair was soft and elegantly pinned, and her eyes, although they no longer looked at him, were so much sweeter and larger when she was sad… He didn’t know if she did it on purpose, but he found himself enjoying that look on her to a degree that he felt quite guilty.
Sebastian finished his tea and coughed politely in his fist. It got her attention.
“What plans do you have for today?” he asked.
“No plans in particular,” she shrugged. “There’s some sewing that needs to get done, and have the bed linens changed, and decide what to do about lunch and dinner… But those should be quick to do with a wand. I need to tend to the chickens later in the afternoon, though, and that’s more delicate work,” she chuckled.
“Yes, the neighbours have eyes everywhere, don’t they?” Sebastian smirked. “I met one of them as I came in.”
“Which one? Bertie?”
“I think so.”
“Well, it’s not her we need to worry about,” she grinned.
“Do we not? She seemed quite suspicious when she saw me coming in,” he said with a teasing tone of voice.
“Oh dear… I hope she doesn’t think — well, she’s a good friend,” she said with a definitive nod. “There’s nothing to worry about from her.”
Sebastian smirked as he fiddled with the fork among the eggshells.
“And what do you plan to do?” she asked after a few moments.
“I have an owl to send,” he said, looking down. Then, after a few moments and with a more cheerful tone, turned to her and added, “I can help with lunch as well, if you trust me.”
“Oh, have a guest cook?” she laughed. “Never.”
“It’s the magic that will do it,” he insisted. “Come on, let me try…”
She frowned at him, but kept her smile. “I shall think about it,” she said, a transparent and diplomatic “no”.
Sebastian sighed, but didn’t press the issue. He turned his gaze to his empty plate again. “And tomorrow?”
“Much of the same, I suppose,” she shrugged.
He hummed. “Since you’ll be quite free around the house, then,” he said at length, “and since you seem to want to escape your neighbours quite a bit… how about we go for a walk?”
“A walk? Where to?”
“Just around,” he shrugged. “I much enjoyed the woods around the village… If we have the same weather tomorrow, I think it would do us both some good.”
She paused and thought about it. Perhaps she was so well accustomed to the surroundings that they were not remarkable for her anymore, or perhaps she was not one for the outdoors… She was quiet for so long that Sebastian prepared himself for rejection, but —
“Alright,” she said in the end, turning to him with a little smile. “That sounds lovely, actually… Yes, we will walk together.”
#Sebastian Sallow#hl#Sebastian Sallow imagine#Sebastian Sallow x reader#Sebastian Sallow x MC#Sebastian Sallow fanfiction#sswallow;made a thing#sswallow;fanfics#fanfic;danger and delight
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
Last-Minute Leather
Harry x Draco | @hp-yuletide-bliss Day 6: Last-minute Christmas shopping haul | WC 1539 | Rating: M
What do you give to a bloke who has everything?
Harry always knew what to get Hermione, and Ron loved anything he could eat, but Draco? His boyfriend was the sort of wizard who bought what he wanted when he wanted–no matter the cost.
Harry quickly discovered that Draco Malfoy was a man of many and varied interests.
The question re-imposed itself at the forefront of his mind: what do you get someone who has everything? Where does one even begin when that same person shrugs when asked, simply answering, “You don’t have to get me anything.”
In Malfoy-speak, that essentially meant, “I’m just happy to be with you.” Of course, the git would never actually utter something so openly affectionate. Harry knew better than to expect that. What they shared was still so new, that he was afraid to exhale too hard and shatter what they’d built together over the past year.
Diagon Alley was packed to the brim with other last-minute shoppers–mothers hustling their children from storefront to storefront, undoubtedly hoisting their shrunk-down purchases within their purses; merchants hawking their wares with free samples and colorful displays; weary partners sitting on the many benches lining the cobblestone road as they waited for significant others to finish up their business. Objectively, Harry thought the wizarding shopping district had never looked more festive. Wreaths hung from the lamp posts and every shop featured their own array of holiday lights. All they needed was a sprinkling of snow to finish off the pretty painting.
Harry stuck to the edges of the crowd holding his coffee cup aloft, partially for the warmth and partially to hide his face. He could just disguise himself and avoid any overly-zealous fans, or use the Invisibility Cloak, but the pressing bodies would immediately reveal the odd hole that was his hidden body and he hated having to go through the extra effort at all.
No. Better to make up his mind on what he wanted to get Draco, then plan his angle of attack.
“Harry?”
He turned at the familiar voice and came face-to-face with a mountain of mahogany curls.
“Hermione!” Hope bubbled up at the sight of her cheery grin. Hermione always made for a good target to bounce ideas off of.
She eyeballed the tote under his arm. “I take it you’re still getting gifts?”
A sheepish smile was her answer, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation.
“What! Not everyone can be as well prepared as you,” he exclaimed. Then, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Although, what are you doing here?”
She didn’t look like she counted among the harried customers, but who knew what secrets she kept hidden in that beaded bag of hers. She’d been known to hide a few tricks in her hair, as well.
“I’ll have you know I’ve been good on presents for weeks, some of them for months,” she said, her smug tilted upward. “I just so happened to be here to catch Pansy’s new winter collection.”
He nodded slowly as he recalled Pansy’s blossoming fashion business, which she’d started after breaking off her arranged engagement with Gregory Goyle. Call it a distraction, or her version of a rebound, but the decision had been the best choice she’d ever made. She thrived under creative pressure and stepped her best heel forward as she took the wizarding fashion world by storm.
He certainly had much to be thankful for, given her almost-immediate attention to his person, demanding that he dress as befit his station as Head Auror, public figure, and Draco Malfoy’s lover. He’d never worn such perfectly-tailored suits and robes in his entire life once Pansy took control of his wardrobe. Draco certainly didn’t have any complaints, if the way he worshiped him behind closed doors was any indication of his…vast…appreciation.
“I’m pretty much done except for one problematic individual.”
“Malfoy?” She served him a knowing smirk.
“Well, what about you? What did you get your wizard?”
“Well, Theo is much easier than Malfoy,” she smacked him on the arm as he started to make a suggestive comment. “He doesn’t spill his Galleons at the drop of a hat like somebody else.”
She seemed to consider whether or not to tell him more, eyes flitting around for any possible eavesdroppers. Skeeter had long been ousted from any respectable news agency after Hermione exposed her Animagus status, and was currently serving five years in Azkaban to boot, but there were always other would-be paparazzi where the Golden Trio were concerned.
“Muffliato,” she murmured, before leaning in unnecessarily towards him. “I picked up some custom lingerie that Pansy designed for me.”
His eyebrows jumped high on forehead. He thought of Hermione like a sister, so any mentions of her and sex were about as appealing to him as a mouthful of Hagrid’s treacle fudge. Still, she was on the right track. Draco adored Harry in just about any and all uniforms (his Quidditch kit, his Auror uniform, re-sized Hogwarts robes) as much as he loved him naked.
He had yet to wear something overtly sexual in nature.
“Do you think Pansy might have something for blokes?”
“Oh, Harry.” Hermione looked fit to burst, her cheeks puffing up as she grinned wide and a high-pitched squeal starting to work out of her mouth. “She totally would! Please, go see her.”
Godric, he was a lucky man to have such brilliant friends in his life. He swept Hermione up in a hug, thanked her profusely, then headed in the direction of Pansy’s shop.
As he approached the familiar storefront with its black brick and tasteful window displays, arranged almost like snow globes, complete with falling snow that somehow never reached the floor, he realized this might take much longer than he’d thought. There were so many witches seeking her services that there was a line going out the door and down the street.
He could bite the wand and take his place at the end, risking recognition and ceaseless questions, or he could leave and return at a less busy time–perhaps just before the end of open hours. Better yet, maybe he could just owl Pansy and ask her to come up with some options. She already had his measurements, after all. Surely she was skilled enough to math out some of his other assets she had yet to put a tape measure to. It couldn’t be anything more complicated than a snug pair of boxer briefs, right?
His mind now made up on the third option, he spun on his heel to make a hasty retreat, only to walk straight into the witch herself.
“Potter!” She stumbled back, nearly losing her balance before he quickly grabbed onto her elbows to steady her.
“So sorry, Pans. I didn’t realize anyone was behind me.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. In this crowd, there’s no avoiding a few bumps here and there. What about you? Is there something I can help you with?”
He glanced nervously at the line of women, before returning his attention to the one right in front of him. One perfectly-manicured brow lifted in curiosity.
“I’m shopping for a gift. I just ran into Hermione and she told me what you made for her, and I just thought that maybe—”
She held that same hand up to stop him.
“Say no more.” She ran an appraising gaze down his form, the corners of her lips curling upward as a dangerous glint appeared in her eyes. “I assume this is for you, for Draco?”
“Shhhh!” he hissed, frantically looking around to see if anyone had heard.
“Oh, please, lingerie is nothing to be embarrassed about, Potter.”
“It is for me. I’ve never worn, never even thought about, this kind of thing before. I can’t imagine what others might say if they find out that I’m looking to…looking to…”
Her chin dropped and she leveled a stern face at him, far too reminiscent of Hermione’s best discernment for his liking. “To what? Dress up special for someone you love?”
It sounded so simple when she phrased it like that. Not just simple, but even normal.
“Well…yes, I suppose.”
She nodded in approval. “I’ll come up with several options. You come back tonight at 5 and we’ll go over them together.”
“Isn’t that when your doors close?”
Pansy looked pointedly between him and the line behind them. “Do you want to come back here during open hours?”
He swallowed heavily and shook his head.
She patted him on the shoulder and moved past, their plan now set. “I’ll see you tonight, then. Don’t be late.”
That evening, Harry learned a great many things he had never known before, including harnesses charmed to withstand any amount of stress to the straps, jock straps meant for more than just sports and how they differed from split jock straps, and that he quite liked how he looked wearing a snug bit of leather. He walked away with a few different options, already looking forward to the look on Draco’s face once he opened the first present.
Harry would already be wearing the other gifts, and he expected to be unwrapped with far less finesse and a good deal of swearing.
Cross-posted to Tumblr and AO3
I was recently introduced by a friend to Nasty Pig while asking him questions about different types of menswear, and boy, oh, boy, did I get some wonderful images for reference. If you’re at all inclined towards harnesses, jock straps, and the like, feel free to check it out, or let me know if you know of other sources of inspiration.
I don’t write much Drarry, but I’ve always loved the idea of them. They’re such an obvious and wonderful pairing given their obsessions with one another at Hogwarts. I don’t know how much justice I could really give them, though, in a scene, hence this being wholly in Harry’s POV, and Draco in the periphery.
#harry potter fanfiction#drarry#draco malfoy x harry potter#draco malfoy#harry potter#hp yuletide bliss#christmas hp fest
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
Healing Ulfric (chapter 1)
Ezra knew coming here was a terrible idea, even before he stepped into the Palace of Kings. He stood outside the castle in the snow, staring at the doors for several minutes, fiddling with the letter in his hands.
“Are you going in, or what?” a Stormcloak Soldier asked him suddenly, causing Ezra to flinch.
“Y-yes, yes, I am…” he stuttered out. Taking a deep breath, Ezra reached out, pulling the large doors open.
Ezra had been inside the Palace of Kings a handful of times, but that had merely been to visit with the court wizard, Wuunferth the Unliving. Never had he dared to enter the main part of the hall before, let alone speak to the man who resided there. Ezra hesitated, gazing at said man.
Ulfric Stormcloak, in all his glory, sat upon an imposing stone throne at the very end of the great hall. He was a large, intimidating man, much larger than Ezra. Wild, golden blond hair erupted from his head, and he wore a combination of elegant Jarl’s robes and armor. He was speaking quietly with his right hand man, Galmar Stone-Fist. His steel gray eyes suddenly focused on Ezra.
“You there. Boy,” Ulfric Stormcloak’s voice boomed through the hall. Ezra shivered. “Stop loitering. Approach the throne.”
Ezra swallowed hard, trying to calm himself. He followed Ulfric’s directions, though, coming to stand before him. Ezra suddenly felt very self conscious of the ragged robes and scarf he wore around his head. Unsure of what to do, he bowed.
“Only the brave or the foolish dare to come before me. Which one are you?” Ulfric asked, his voice even.
Ezra hesitated, unsure whether to answer that question or not.
This seemed to royally piss off Galmar. “When the Jarl asks you a question, you answer, Redguard,” he snapped. Ezra flinched.
“I-I’m sorry,” Ezra said quickly. “I just…I received this letter from Wuunferth the Unliving, asking me to come help…”
“Help?” Ulfric asked, narrowing his eyes. “Help with what?”
Ezra swallowed hard, glancing at Galmar. Focusing on Ulfric again, he held out the letter. “It’s all in this note.”
Ulfric frowned, but took the note.
Ezra shifted from foot to foot as he watched Ulfric read the letter. His expression remained passive the entire time. When he finished reading, he folded the note and tucked it away. “I see,” was all he said.
Ezra bit his lip. “If…my services are no longer required-”
“Go wait upstairs, in my private quarters,” Ulfric interrupted him. “I will be along shortly.”
Ezra’s eyes widened, but he nodded. He made his way over to the door that led to the Jarl’s Quarters, where a guard was waiting to escort him
“What’s going on? Who is this Redguard?” Galmar asked, clearly not enjoying being out of the loop.
“Nevermind that,” Ulfric said, a note of finality in his voice. “Let’s get back to what we were discussing before…”
Their voices faded away, as Ezra and the guard made their way up the stairs. They came to a long corridor with lots of doors on either side. The guard led him all the day down to the end, to a large, reinforced door, holding it open for him.
The Jarl’s private quarters were dimly lit and smaller than Ezra would have expected. It gave the room a rather homey feel. In the center of the room was Ulfric’s bed, draped in velvet and furs. It looked so plush - Ezra longed to sleep on something so elegant.
Ezra took a seat by the fireplace, to wait for the Jarl. It took much longer than he was expecting, though, as eventually, he began to drift off to sleep.
He was awakened when the door opened rather roughly. He lurched to his feet as Ulfric entered the room. Immediately, gray eyes were focused on him.
“Oh. Right,” he mumbled, sounding less-than pleased. “You’re here.”
“Y…yes sir,” Ezra gave a small nod. “I’m here to help…”
Ulfric sneered, going over to his wardrobe. He removed the heavy fur mantel he wore. “Do you know how you can really help?” Ezra opened his mouth to respond, but Ulfric didn’t give him the chance. “You can put an end to this bloody war.”
“I…I’m sorry…” Ezra said, helplessly. “I-”
“Nevermind,” Ulfric interrupted, turning back to face Ezra. He looked the smaller man up and down, frowning. “What is your name?”
“Ezra,” he said, wringing his hands anxiously.
“Right. And you are…” Ulfric crossed his arms.
“A healer,” Ezra answered the unspoken question.
“Hmph,” Ulfric made a sound. “I see.”
“Ezra shifted nervously. “I…I assume Wuunferth sent that letter to me without your knowledge…?”
“You would be correct,” Ulfric sounded almost tired as he said that. Ezra didn’t blame him.
About a week ago, Ezra had received a letter from Wuunferth the Unliving, concerning Ulfric Stormcloak’s health. He had said that Ulfric was dealing with a severe form of Rockjoint that was progressing rather rapidly. Wuunferth had been trying to help him, but his specialties lied in making poisons and destruction magic, not healing. That was why he had decided to contact Ezra, as Ezra was one of the best Healers he knew, who also wasn’t on the Imperial side of the Civil War.
Ezra swallowed hard. “I’m…I’m so sorry…If my services aren’t needed, I will be on my way…” Ezra turned for the door.
“Wait…” Ulfric said, stopping him. Ezra once again turned to look at him. Ulfric looked as though he was waging an internal war. “While I am…displeased with how Wuunferth handled this, I believe his heart was in the right place. After all, I…do require your assistance with something.”
Ezra’s eyes widened. He had half-expected to be tossed out of the palace after he had learned that Wuunferth’s message had been sent without the Jarl’s consent. But instead, it seemed like Ulfric was willing to accept help.
“Your joints must be very painful…” Ezra guessed, his voice sympathetic.
“The feeling is not one of pleasure,” Ulfric admitted.
Ezra began rummaging around in his alchemy satchel. “Could you remove your armor and outer layers of clothes? I need to get a feel for your joints to see what I’m dealing with.”
Ulfric looked like he was going to protest, but instead, he sighed, following Ezra’s instructions. Eventually, he was wearing nothing but an undershirt and pants. While he was a little less intimidating like this, Ezra still hesitated to give him orders.
“What now?” Ulfric asked, prompting Ezra to point to a chair by the fire.
“T-take a seat, and I’ll look you over…”
Ulfric did as instructed. Ezra approached him cautiously, like one would an injured bear. After a few moments of him standing there awkwardly, Ulfric let out an irritated sigh.
“What are you waiting for, boy?”
“S-sorry. I just…” Ezra stuttered. “I-in order to properly assess things, I need to…touch you. Is…that alright…?”
Ulfric sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he said eventually.
Ezra nodded to himself. After another moment of hesitation, Ezra reached out with thin, scarred hands, touching Ulfric’s shoulder.
Ezra worked quickly, so as not to make Ulfric too uncomfortable. First, he started with his arms, feeling his way from shoulder to elbow to wrist. Then he moved onto Ulfric’s legs, feeling his way down to his ankles. The last major place Ezra needed to check was Ulfric’s back - that was usually where Rockjoint revealed how severe it was.
Ezra’s hands were gentle as they worked, often lingering on areas he could tell were especially painful. By the time he had completed his assessment, he was frowning deeply.
“With how severe your Rockjoint is, it’s a miracle that you are upright, let alone able to move!” Ezra exclaimed.
“Just tell me you can help me,” Ulfric said tiredly.
“I…I can help you,” Ezra said haltingly. “But…it might take a while before you’re fully healed. A-and…the healing process might be a little more…invasive, than you would like…”
“Invasive?” Ulfric questioned. “How so?”
Ezra pulled a potion bottle from his satchel. “This is a topical healing salve I made. It works alongside a healing spell I cast…which means-”
“You have to apply the salve, I can’t do it myself,” Ulfric pieced things together. “How many times would this have to happen?”
“As many times as it takes,” Ezra said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “Likely twice a day, for at least a week…”
Ulfric let out a heavy sigh at that, gazing into the fire. After a moment, he spoke, “I suppose it can’t be helped.”
Ezra nibbled on his lip nervously. “I promise, I will do everything in my power to heal you. You can count on me, sir.”
“I will hold you to that,” Ulfric said seriously. Ezra was unsure if that was a veiled threat or not.
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
gingham
Lucy is in love with her blue gingham dress.
She got it last year, in kindergarten, as an Easter present. The perfect spring dress that made her look just like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, which has been her favorite movie since she was two. Her parents bought her the dress because they knew she’d love it. They also bought it for her to break the news that they were moving away from Connecticut and into Michigan. In just four months, the Callaghans would leave home and make it somewhere else.
Lucy wasn’t sure how to feel. She didn’t have any friends at school, not really, so it wasn’t like she’d be leaving any of them behind. But at least she’d had a year of being in school with the same group of kids who didn’t like her. To think that in first grade, she’d have to start over with a whole new group of kids who won’t like her … she wasn’t thrilled about that. Besides, she was very attached to her room in Hartford. It had a seat in the window, perfect for reading, perfect for wondering what life would be like if she was Dorothy.
But four months later, she packed up that room and got in the moving van, bound for Detroit. Her parents swore up and down she’d love it there. Something about good music, square pizza, and better potato chips. Better something potato chips. Mom and Dad tried them when they were there for their campus visit, and they hadn’t been able to stop talking about them. Lucy didn’t listen much. She held her hands in the lap of her blue gingham dress and thought about how she’d survive a new place.
New place, she thought. Same weird Lucy.
She’s lived in Detroit for about three months now. The air is beginning to cool down, and people are starting to talk a little too much about Christmas. But Lucy’s feeling fine. As it turns out, she’s still weird, but there are some good kids in her class who are willing to overlook that. They’re a little weird, too.
They go to a Catholic school and wear uniforms, so no one really knows what anyone’s ordinary wardrobe looks like. Even when they have casual days, most kids end up wearing school shirts. Walking billboards, as Dad calls them when he drops Lucy off at school on casual mornings.
On the last casual dress day of the school year, Lucy decides to bend the word casual, just a little bit. She spots her blue gingham dress in the closet and wonders how long it’s been since she last wore it. Too long, probably. So, she puts it on and tells Mom she’s ready to go to school. Mom asks if she’s sure she wants to wear that. Lucy doesn’t know what that means, so she’s all too happy to say yes.
And then she gets to school.
And the kids start to make fun of her.
“Hey, Dorothy!” Kim Campbell taunts her from across the room. “Why don’t you go back to Kansas and stop bothering the rest of us?”
“Yeah, Dorothy,” Robby Blair adds. “Where’s Toto?”
Lucy swallows hard, not sure if she wants to cry or start punching people left and right. Before she can make a decision, Sadie – in all her seven-year-old glory – stands up and takes Lucy’s hand.
“I’m right here,” she says. “And we will go back to Kansas. To get away from you.”
At that moment, Lucy decides she’ll never have a better friend than Sadie. She squeezes her hand tightly and smiles, delicate as it may be.
“I probably shouldn’t have worn my hair in these braids,” she says. “I look like it’s Halloween.”
Sadie gently pulls on one of the braids and grins.
“I like ‘em,” she says. “Pretty.”
The bell rings, and everyone in class pretends like they’ve never been mean, never said a bad word about anyone’s clothes. Lucy smiles as she runs her hands down the front of her blue gingham dress.
It is pretty.
(part of @nosebleedclub july challenge -- day xxix. i’m getting there, and soon -- in september -- i’ll be finished with what i started)
#drabble#writeblr#ch: lucy callaghan#ch: john callaghan#ch: mary callaghan#ch: kim campbell#ch: robby blair#ch: sadie doyle#dynamic: sister christian#year: 1973#year: 1974
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
The smile on Polly's face became real. She sorted through the books. The only one she had ever heard of was The Wizard of Oz. There were eleven others. Polly hovered a moment between Five Children and It and one most enticingly called The Treasure Seekers, and then picked up at random The Wolves of Willoughby Chase. She began to read it. She read for the rest of Christmas, mostly kneeling on the floor with her hair dangling round the book like a curtain, but sometimes, when a cousin crawled up and tried to grab the book, she took it away behind the sofa and crouched there in the shadows. She never head the television. She only vaguely heard Ivy saying, “It's no good speaking to Polly when she's reading, Maud. She's deaf and blind. Reg used to stop her. You let her be.”
Polly read greedily, picking up another book as soon as she had finished the first one. She felt like a drug addict. She had read The Box of Delights and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe too before she went home, and was beginning The Sword in the Stone. She read the rest in the week before school. Then she surfaced, with a flushed face and a deep sigh. The feast was over.
“And I only sent him a Christmas card!” she wailed.
— Fire and Hemlock (Diana Wynne Jones)
#book quotes#fantasy fiction#diana wynne jones#fire and hemlock#books#reading#presents#christmas#the wizard of oz#five children and it#the story of the treasure seekers#the wolves of willoughby chase#the box of delights#the lion the witch and the wardrobe#the sword in the stone#happiness#joy#contentment
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Rules: List 10 (non-ancient) books for people to get to know you better, or that you just really like. Tagged by @wintersmitth, @lenreli, and @valeriianz - thank you! I have pretty much read fanfiction exclusively for the past couple decades, but let's see what I can dredge up from memories of my youth I have been working on this for weeks now.
D'Aulaire's Book of Greek Myths - I checked this out from the library dozens of times as a kid, and it is definitely the foundation of my knowledge of Greek mythology The Tower of Geburah - I don't recall the author, my apologies, but this was my first real lasting introduction to fantasy. I had no frame of reference at the time, but in hindsight it's heavily inspired by The Lion The Witch and the Wardrobe (which I have never actually read). The Shannara series by Terry Brooks - I found these as a teen and caught up at about the time the sixth book was published; I distinctly remember the anticipation of waiting for book seven (at that point I'd never been reading anything that was still actively in progress and finding out at the end of book 6 that the story wasn't over yet was a tremendous surprise). I re-read those first seven books probably a dozen times; I know Brooks has gone back to that world with a few more trilogies but I haven't followed, alas. The Vampire Diaries by LJ Smith - found these post high school and this was my introduction to vampire romance. No, I haven't watched the show. The Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice - read these after enjoying the movie; fell off somewhere around Blood and Gold. I remember the characters better than the stories at this point. Armand is my favorite. Saiyuki by Kazuya Minekura - okay yes it's a manga series not a book-book but I'm not gonna hit ten for this list regardless so. Based on the old Journey to the West stories; vibrant characters who gave me so many good fandom memories. Still the best fandom experience I've had. I don't know if it's still getting new chapters or when it last updated or what Minekura's present health status is; it may never be finished but I will always love what we have. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland maybe? I've definitely read it and Through the Looking Glass but I am far more attached to like. The feel of the story and all the ways it permutates through pop culture and ways it can be played with than I am in really picking it up to read again. Same with the Wizard of Oz. ?? There was this book I borrowed from my mother-in-law and I don't remember the name or author but it was both backstory for Erik and retelling of The Phantom of the Opera from his perspective with that backstory incorporated. It lined up really well with me always finding Erik the most sympathetic character in the story.
That's it, I guess that's it. I mean I did nothing but read as a kid, practically lived at the library in my teenage years, but I am absolutely drawing a blank trying to come up with two more my apologies.
Edit: whoops I forgot tagging uh. If you want to do this one please feel free to tag me when you do
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Guests
In honor of Halloween/Whumptober, posting this piece that came about because one night I had dream I was writing it. So of course the next day I had to go about writing it for real.
If you look at the table in KQ3, there's a line about how Manannan never has guests. But sleeping brain went, what if?
A small brown spider was building a web in a corner of the kitchen, strand by strand. Gwydion had noticed it when he first came in to start breakfast and had been checking it periodically ever since.
The tiny creature was nearly done when he was ordered to the office; he tarried just long enough to shove a barrel over and hide the small web out of sight. He’d hate to be forced to destroy all the spider’s hard work right after it was finished.
Several books lay opened and scattered across Manannan’s desk. The wizard himself stood before a bookcase, busy pulling several more books.
With his back still turned, Manannan stated, “Three days hence, we’ll have several guests for the evening. I want this place shining, top to bottom, and dinner ready when they arrive.”
Gwydion was still processing the news as the wizard crossed the room to his desk and dropped the books onto it with a thump.
Guests?
A gnarled hand reached out, efficiently making motions that magically yanked Gwydion forward and suspended him midair, bringing him eye to eye with the wizard. It wasn’t painful, but his stomach twisted in knots.
“And you will be on your absolute behavior. If you embarrass me in the slightest, you’ll regret it for the rest of your miserable, insignificant life. Understood?”
Gwydion’s mouth had gone dry, and he struggled to respond. “Y- yes, sir,” he finally whispered.
The wizard’s eyes narrowed. “Repeat your orders.”
Louder this time, Gwydion stated quickly, “I’m to clean the entire house-”
“Every inch!”
“Clean every inch of the house, prepare dinner, and be on my best behavior while they’re here.”
This seemed to satisfy the wizard; a hand wave dropped Gwydion into a heap on the floor.
Manannan had already turned back to the bookshelves, muttering to himself, by the time Gwydion got his feet under him. He hurried out of the room before the wizard’s bad mood could turn on him again.
The three days that followed were the most exhausting of his life. He polished the doors and doorknobs until they shone, lugged out every rug and beat them until his arms could barely lift the beater anymore, laundered the wizard’s entire wardrobe, and cooked and prepped as much of the meal ahead of time as he could. His cherished books became but a memory as he worked late into the night and dragged himself to bed for a few hours, only to get up and start again before dawn.
Even the spider wasn’t spared his attention, though Gwydion did move the spider out to the garden before sweeping away its old home. Safer out there anyway. Even when the wizard was in good spirits, any vermin he happened across was ash within seconds of being spotted, and the wizard was anything but in good spirits. Even the cat started to slink out of the room as soon as Manannan appeared; Gwydion wished he could do the same.
From the wizard’s muttering and complaining, he gathered this meeting’s venue wasn’t his master’s first choice, and he was not happy about having his sanctuary invaded.
It was a relief when all was ready and the sun started to set, setting the distant desert aflame in golden light. Gwydion didn’t know what the next few hours would bring, or even if he should dread them or looking forward to it, but at least the waiting was over. Gwydion stood to one side of the entry hall as the shadows lengthened and the appointed hour approached. He fingered the edge of his shirt as he waited; the garment, though made of hemp and undyed, was still the nicest thing he’d ever worn.
He tried not to fidget from nerves as he watched Manannan perform a spell unfamiliar to him. The wizard hadn’t bothered to explain what he was doing and Gwydion certainly wasn’t going to interrupt to ask.
Manannan had given him the new clothes earlier that afternoon along with a long list of instructions - don’t speak unless spoken to; don’t even breathe loudly, along with a half dozen others that could be summed up as be useful, but invisible. Given that Gwydion strove to do that already, he found the lecture fairly pointless but listened intently anyway lest he miss something actually important.
The wizard had then inspected the house and the preparations. Gwydion had fully expected him to take fault with something, no matter how trivial, but after only a cursory look around, the wizard had waved him away distractedly and told him to go change.
The spell finished, Manannan straightened, resting his arms at his sides. If it had any effect, Gwydion couldn’t detect it. A few moments later, though, he felt the air around tinge with static that usually marked the wizard’s appearance via teleportation.
This time, a different robed figure suddenly materialized with a small rush of displaced air. The newcomer nodded in Manannan’s direction and stepped to the side, in anticipation of several more figures who all appeared within seconds of each other.
“Boy! Don’t just stand there gawking. Take their cloaks.”
Gwydion snapped out of his enthralled stupor and moved toward the closest figure, who handed him a black cloak. The others followed suit and suddenly his arms were overflowing with fabric.
As the strangers started talking with each other, Gwydion moved over to the hooks where Manannan’s cloak was hung. There was only one extra hook, so he laid the four overflow ones neatly over the edge of a nearby chair instead. Six cloaks in all, each one as black as the night that had fallen outside.
The group still stood in the hall, talking quietly, apparently waiting for at least one more arrival. All were men, though the ages ranged from middle-aged to one crooked, wizened guest who might have been almost as old as Manannan.
And every single one of them had magic powers - Gwydion could sense that just being in the same room with them. His grip tightened on his shirt and he shrank back further into his side of the room.
The air turned static again and the room immediately quieted, everyone turning in hushed anticipation as the latest - and last - guest arrived.
Though the new arrival wore a black cloak just as the others had, he did not hunch with age or glance curiously around as several others had. He was not the tallest, but his authoritative presence more than made up for his lack of height.
The others bowed their head in respect, including Manannan, Gwydion became even more uneasy in the presence of the man who could demand even his own master’s subservience; he wouldn’t have thought it possible.
Whoever the stranger was, he turned in Gwydion’s direction and Gwydion cast his gaze downward before he could catch even a glimpse of the man’s face.
“Come here, boy,” said a voice that only could have been the newcomer’s. Gwydion had never felt so inconsequential. He might have been a gnat hovering next to a giant - a gnat easily squashed.
Gwydion shuffled forward until the hem of black robes came into view and he could feel the intensity of the unseen eyes looking him over as the others watched.
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Gwydion, sir.”
“And how old are you now?”
“I… I don’t know, sir.”
From his left, his master supplied the answer, “Sixteen.”
“Hmm.”
Before Gwydion even realized the man was moving, a hand gripped his chin, forcing him to look up, nails biting into his cheek.
He couldn’t help but recoil, which caused the hand to squeeze tighter. He’d expected the power that radiated from the black eyes. But what surprised him was the… strangeness. Manannan, for all his age and power, was still human. The being holding him looked human, but the soul inside was... distinctly something else, something he had no name for.
The hand turned his face side to side as the man studied him for a second, then released him as suddenly as it had grabbed him. Face still throbbing, Gwydion returned to studying the floor.
“I never understood this habit of yours, Manannan. Seems far too much work.”
Manannan made a noncommittal noise, then announced, “That’s everyone who’s making it this evening, I believe; Gwydion, the food.”
The robes before him shifted as the man shed his cloak, and Gwydion again belatedly remembered his duties. He joined it with its brethren, then followed as the group filtered into the dining room. He silently slipped around them and into the kitchen where - at last, out of sight - he felt as if he could finally breathe again.
But the respite was short-lived as he quickly started delivering the meal to the table. He caught little of the dinner’s conversation, only snippets here and there as their guests discussed success or failure with a spell, politics, and something about a dragon. Mostly, he focused on dividing his attention among seven diners rather than the usual one. Between filling cups about to run dry and clearing empty plates, he did, however, overhear the name of the leader of the group: Shadrack.
As he cleared away the dessert dishes, Gwydion heard Shadrack’s attention suddenly sharpen on Manannan in response to whatever the wizard had just said. The surrounding conversations died off and Gwydion froze, along with everyone else.
“Need I remind you, Manannan, where you got your powers from in the first place? You seem to have forgotten in your old age where your loyalties lie.”
“I assure you, Shadrack, our great endeavor is never far from my mind. I -” Manannan’s voice cut off as Shadrack held up one hand.
“Slave or not, I’ll not have our real business this night fall upon uninitiated ears.”
Manannan nodded, and without saying a word, made a familiar twisting motion. Less than a second later, Gwydion stood in his room, dessert plate still in hand. He didn’t bother trying the door; it would be locked. He hadn’t had a chance to eat himself, but he didn’t particularly care. Better hungry up here than fed down there with them.
His door didn’t unlock until the following morning, and whatever had happened that night, Manannan never mentioned it or their guests, which suited Gwydion just fine; he was in no hurry to encounter any of them ever again.
1 note
·
View note
Text
We'll Take Our World By Storm Chapter 1
Harry Potter | 2021 | 6,085 | Ao3 | Masterlist | Next
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has educated more than seventy percent of the last three centuries’ historical figures. Foster siblings Harry Potter and Fay Dunbar-Black are beginning their first year there this fall, and they have plans. They’re not the only ones, though, and it seems like all plans have one kink in common - Harry’s twin brother, Connor; known for not dying when he should’ve. [or at least, known for being caught not dying.] Connor would like to go on record saying he’d love to stay out of this too. Between suspicious teachers, learning magic, the castle trying to murder their Ravenclaws, and Harry’s biological family trying to reconnect after ten years, everyone is busy. At least one thing hasn’t changed: the Wizarding World won’t know what hit them.
I think the beginning is always the hardest point to find. In this story especially, finding the beginning, the start of it all, is a rather arduous task.
Why would I say that? Because everyone who’s even marginally important has their own motive. Their own beginning. And their beginning was caused by the actions of someone else who had a beginning of their own, and so on and so forth until keeping them all straight is a titan’s job.
Which is probably why Narrators are in such high demand.
I know which beginnings I will use for this story, but before we get there, I’d like to tell you about some of the other beginnings I could have used.
Many pieces fall into place years before our beginning.
Some will say this started with an injured elf, and his Master’s dedication. A surprising thing, for commonly it goes the other way.
This beginning is one of my favorites, as it led to a wonderful finish.
Others of my kind will snarl that it started with a burning wardrobe and then-misplaced distrust. It’s true that Tom proved him right in the end, but I dislike that answer because they never tell us why the distrust came.
Hate for things not yet done is a terrible thing.
Some who have lived through our story can claim it started with witchcraft that shouldn’t be, the backlash of a spell that doesn’t follow any rules we know. Of course, they only say this after the finish line has been reached, because when the girl arrives out of time she doesn’t know of magic. She knows of more important things, though -- She knows of chaos, ruthlessness, and family.
A few say it started with three brothers; brothers who were too powerful, too curious, too dangerous. Sadly, most of these few overlook the most important bit. These brothers were too loving; they loved the world and each other so, so much.
Enough to look death in the face and say Not Yet.
Some will tell you it started with four great friends who wanted safety for themselves and their futures. Friends whose names went down in history alongside their home. Four friends who, like the brothers, fought and bled for and against each other, determined and caring till their end.
(Four friends who were ripped down to three).
Others still will claim it started with four boys sharing a dorm. And here again, the cycle repeats. When their story stagnates and slides into another, there are three holding each other up. I don’t like this cycle, which may be one reason I like my story and its beginning best.
You see, some, - many, - bonds aren’t meant to be broken, but wounds can be sutured.
Another can claim it started in a dreary playground, where a boy told a girl about magic. Their friendship, built on secrets and similarities, seemed like it would last forever.
It didn’t. I can’t say I rooted for it.
Some claim it started years later, in a train compartment and with a friendship forged on stubbornness and an odd conversation about treason. As if anyone uses the word treason anymore.
A rare few, so few I hear their voices like whispers on the wind, claim it started in a hospital. I ignore them. Nothing starts at birth, just as few things end in death.
Many, those I like, will tell you it started with an experiment gone wrong in a basement, and a mother who was lost too early. I don’t know if this started anything, but it did affect a lot of things. You must understand, some abilities don’t have a baseline because they don’t have a point of reference.
An achingly large group will tell you it started with a prophecy, which is just… ugh. Prophecies aren’t there to start stories, they guide them.
And many of the aforementioned will also waffle and say it started with a failed massacre. (Whether there’s one survivor or four, it’s a failure.)
I could tell you how macabre I find that, but there are rather a lot of failed murders where we’re going, so I suppose I shouldn’t.
As I said, there are many beginnings out there. Others claim it started with a letter, or with blood on the sidewalk, or a soft question under a tree. A threat to a young celebrity, maybe, or sharing a compartment on the train. A professor-murderer turning to dust under a child’s hands. Screaming from warnings ignored. Whispers against walls while children with quiet eyes observed.
I find if we were to follow those theories, it wouldn't have started with any of the mentioned events. No, it would have started with the following acceptance.
The last claims I’ll mention are those from the people who claim it started when magic was first born. This is conceited, and yet it’s true. What is magic, if not intent and imagination? What are stories, if not the same?
I’ve walked you through many of the other beginnings that will grow to be important, however vaguely. I’m afraid if I took you through all of them, we’d never reach our story. But if you pay attention, and perhaps review these passages here and there, they should clear up nicely.
My favorite beginning is a bit more of a middle.
On Wednesday, July twenty-fourth, nineteen-ninety-one, the day begins rather normally for a number of people. Assuming you aren’t utterly annoyed by my last set of openings, I’ll give you a few more quick ones before expanding upon my favorite.
In a castle on the Scottish highlands, an owl wings away one day after its brother and moments after its friend, delivering a letter to a small muggle town. Eight months ago this same owl took nearly the same route, delivering a near-identical letter to the same house.
In Potter Cottage, the man of the house heads to work while the woman reads. Their son sleeps in, having been up late last night practicing spells in secret. His letter will come today, delivered by the friend of our first owl. But he doesn’t need a booklist to get a wand.
In number ten, Magnolia Crescent, an adult cracks open a door to check on their children, only to find both asleep, one over a book and the other on their back, sharing a pair of blue earbuds. The adult smiles and moves on.
Within a wizarding mansion known as Chamois Hills, the heir is ensconced high in the library, despite the hour. Has he slept at all? Probably not.
In Casa Di Cianuro, a child wakes up with a heaving chest and a black tongue. He doesn't remember going to sleep.
In number eight, Magnolia Crescent, most of the tenants are sleeping, like many others. Magic was washed from this house six years ago, but sometimes those living there can still see something off. The hallway’s just barely too long, and the four year old is trying to figure out how they know that.
(There’s an extra bedroom, sometimes).
Back across the country, in a once-Selwyn Townhouse known as Tannis Villa, a child wakes up to tapping from one of the owls mentioned earlier. His school letter came yesterday, but the important letters, the one from his friends and brother, are coming today.
In number four, Privet Drive, a woman cooks a large breakfast for her larger husband and son, cooing all the while. Their manners are atrocious, but she loves them anyway. They’re her only chance for a normal life.
Now let’s hop over again, because in a territory off to the west of London, (or so I assume. Maps are a little… wrinkled here), there are two children laying on a bedroom floor. They’re in the middle bedroom, on the second story, of number ten, Magnolia Crescent.
Harry Peverell and Fay Dunbar-Black are both asleep. Very typical, I know. Probably in the top fifty ways to start a story. I like this moment of peace, because it gives me a slow moment to let you meet our characters. And believe me, you’ll want your slow moments. Chaos dogs many a waking step.
Hadrian Peverell, or Harry Potter, where most of the world are concerned, is ten only for another week. His skin is brown, excluding the marks of unnatural black. He has four as of today. A simplistic lightning bolt across his right cheek, a static edged circle on his left shoulder, a ragged near-triangle on his back, and a small line near his brain stem. The last mark is hidden under his hair at the moment, since he’s asleep on his stomach, using his arms as a pillow while the book he was reading six hours ago lays just to the side of his head.
Harry’s hair is black, and the pieces still in the braid are nearly collarbone length. His sister braided it two days ago, and the flowers have been removed, but the braid hasn’t. The flyaways give a bit of a halo effect.
He’s dressed in blue pyjamas that fit, contrary to many stories where someone with his name and some of his traits appear.
Fay shifts, just barely, at this point. She looks a lot like her brother. Her skin is a pale brown that would match his if only a few shades deeper, and her hair is just as deep of a black. Her pyjamas are purple and black, and unlike Harry, she meant to fall asleep. It’s obvious in the way she’s on her back, shifted so she can share Harry’s earbuds and still be comfortable enough for sleep, and by the blanket that’s under her arm. Her hair is loose, and snarling something fierce. This is where the most obvious difference between the siblings will be seen; Fay’s hair is calmer than Harry’s when loose. She takes after her mother as much as he takes after his father.
They both sleep like the dead, unmoving aside from their breathing. Sometimes that stutters too.
Fay’s papa leans his head into the door, a soft smile on his face. Adrian Dunbar is a stark contrast to most of this family. Pale and blond, scottish to their indian, iranian, and latina, the biggest commonality he has with them is long hair. That’s never stopped him from loving his children, though by the standards of some, only one of them is really his. Adrian has never pretended to care. They’re his on paper and in heart, and that’s what matters.
Adrian moves on, now that he’s assured himself that neither of his middle kids are missing, despite one bedroom being empty. There’s a three year old in the room beside Fay’s, who he checks on next. Ian’s parents had been killed in a car wreck two days ago, and the Dunbar-Black residences were looking after him until a safe permanent placement could be found
Ian is also asleep, so again Adrian moves on. The lone room across the hall holds sixteen year old Caspian Ellington, who’s been with them almost as long as Harry. He’s awake, and drawing. Adrian knocks on the doorframe once, and Caspian looks up enough to wave and wish him a good morning.
From there we follow Adrian to the end of the currently short hall, past the bedroom at the top of the stairs, and down into the main house. He walks past the living room, which is empty, past the cupboard under the staircase, which he can see into since they removed the door years ago. Into the kitchen, where his wife is glaring down at the pancake griddle.
Vivian Dunbar looks over and smiles. “Morning, love. You get enough sleep?”
Adrian shrugs, coming up to stand beside her. “I hope so. Carl said the tox screen and the metal residue were enough to match a suspect, so it should be over until I have to go to court again.”
“So not enough sleep, but you’re fine with that because you got justice instead?”
Adrian laughs and bumps noses with his wife. “Got it started, at least. The kids are all still asleep. Any word from Reg?”
“Not yet,” and although Vivian’s tone is wry, it’s my job to tell you she’s hiding worry. Vivian’s best friend, Regulus Black, returned to a terrible place two days ago, on an investigative kick. The last time the three of them got together in that place, Regulus was nearly killed.
“He’ll call Kreature if something happens,” Adrian says. His tone is solid, but he’s just as worried. Last time, Regulus didn’t. “He wouldn’t leave the kids.”
“Of course not,” Vivian agrees, as if it’s obvious. And it is; if anything can be said for Regulus Black it’s that he cares for his kids, as many as those are. She’s reassured by the statement anyway.
They continue on for a little while, spending a lazy summer morning together before having to go their separate ways for work that doesn’t end by the season. Adrian still has to complete the autopsies for Ian’s parents, and Vivian works with Regulus in CPS.
But before they split, they’re joined by the kids. Fay leads the way, her hair loose but brushed straight and dressed in a denim dress over leggings. “Morning Mama! Morning Papa.” She greets her parents with hugs.
She’s followed by Harry, who’s carrying Ian. He’s dressed in a graphic-t under a flannel and jeans, and his hair still hasn’t been redone. Ian’s in plain blue and white, wide blue eyes smiling under red hair.
The last in is Caspian, brown eyes smiling, with a pencil tucked behind his ear and poking out of dark hair.
“Well if it isn’t Thing Three,” Adrian grins, greeting him with a forehead kiss.
“Dadri. Did you find the cause of death?”
“Not as such, but I found something. Tell you when it hits the court. My bet is on poison, though.”
Harry grins, moving to cut a pancake into smaller pieces for Ian. “We certainly do love poisons.”
“Poison and acid are not the same thing!” Fay and Caspian chorus.
Vivian laughs. I won’t explain the inside joke yet, but I will tell you it is one, and it concerns melting enchanted metal.
By the time Harry has his own breakfast plated and begins eating, the last to do so since he’s on toddler duty this meal, Cadmus has returned and descended softly onto his tier of the dining room perch. Harry clicks his tongue, and the dark owl moves to settle on his bare forearm. “Hey buddy, what did Nev say?” Cadmus screeches an owl affirmative. “All good things? Good.” Harry bumps his nose to Cadmus’ beak. “Can I read it?”
Cadmus sticks out his leg in response.
“Thanks, Little One.”
Cadmus alights, and returns to the perch. Noctua looks down at him and chirps. Cadmus returns the sound, and Vivian tuts her own response. “Not during breakfast, please.”
Noctua screeches again, high and short, but both owls listen.
Of course, magical post owls are very smart, so it isn’t at all surprising that they can follow commands. Due to being both magical and extremely intelligent, Cadmus and his fellows only appear when convenient, unless a letter is exceedingly urgent. Often post owls greet their charges or recipients at breakfast, as correspondence will always be a good way to open a day.
“Did he like the Calendar?” Fay asks around a strawberry. Even I do not know where the strawberry came from, as she is the only one with any. Some things are not worth the narrative stress.
“Let a guy read, Faerie-circle.” Fay stuck her tongue out, bouncing in her seat. Harry unfolded the letter and started reading around eating. “He says thank you, but it hasn’t been long enough for the calendar to really start working so he hasn’t mentioned the fun features.”
“Heck yeah!” Fay shrieked, pumping a fist into the air.
“Yeah!” Ian agreed.
Caspian reached over and ruffled the kid’s hair. “Would you like more food, Ian?”
“No.”
Conversations slowed down for a little while, but picked back up when another owl, this one tawny, slammed into the kitchen window.
“I wonder how many hits it takes to kill an owl?” Harry said.
“Or a concussion?” Fay countered. “Can owls even get concussions?”
“If an animagus gets a concussion as an owl, will it carry over when they transform back?” Caspian asks, flicking his fingers. A fissure of black smoke reaches out and shatters the window, allowing the owl inside. “Think it’s from Dad?”
Noctua screeches in displeasure at the mere idea of her human using another owl.
“Hush, baby,” Vivian says, leaning backwards to pet her soothingly. “Why don’t you open it, Caspian?”
“Looks like a ministry owl,” Adrian says as Caspian follows Vivian’s instructions. “More likely Amelia.”
Caspian hums confirmingly as he reads through the blue-inked letter. “She’s confirming the count for dinner tomorrow. Think Dad’ll be back?”
The table was quiet. Harry watched black smoke curl around the letter. No one was willing to say what they were all thinking.
Vivian broke the silence after a minute, moving out of her seat. “I’ll write her back, let her know we haven’t heard from him. Do you three have any plans today?”
“Harry’s supposed to get his Hogwarts letter,” Fay said, taking the subject change and running with it. “And the new Scooby-Doo is supposed to be on this afternoon.” Meanwhile, Harry and Caspian were having a silent conversation made up mostly of grabby hands and making faces.
“I need to go to the library,” Harry says, looking away from his cousin-slash-brother to glance at his aunt. “I’ll probably walk.”
Caspian grins sharply and hands the unopened second letter to Adrian. “I don’t have anything planned.”
“Purple ink, Uncle Adrian?” Harry asks, tilting towards the table.
“Mhm,” Adrian hums, reading the letter. “It’s an offer for the research project I wanted to try, in conjunction with one of their cases.”
“A good offer?” Vivian asks, returning to the table with a pen.
“Seems to be.” He stands up, kisses his three kids’ foreheads, ruffles Ian’s hair, and kisses his wife full on. “I’ll floo her now, see what’s what. Come get me if you need anything?” He takes the required minute to take care of his dishes before leaving for his lab. I would hope I don’t have to tell you he enjoys his job, and is nearly always willing to take a case.
The case in question isn’t important right now, but it does give me a nice segway. The tawny owl that brought the letter came from Amelia Bones’ office in the Ministry of Magic. Ministry owls are trained differently than casual post owls. These owls care nothing for convenience, only time management. While they’re wonderful for proving owls are magical, it does make sending messages after arriving to work a little awkward. Amelia had been at this for years, so she knew when to send them off so they could at least pretend to be considerate.
Vivian sends Noctua with their response, and the dark speckled owl takes a little more time to return to the Ministry. She is not a Ministry owl, but she is both smart and fast.
Noctua slips across air currents like the professional she is, and once she finds the owl window, she glides inside and past the ministry owls.
Noctua is both professional and a metaphoric queen, and she considers only two owls worth her time. Cadmus, because his owlet is her owlet's nestling, and Albert, because he was smart and cared more for his nestlings than he did about retirement. Any other owls, especially the Ministry's unbonded and inconsiderate owls, aren't worth the dust off her wings.
She screeched in warning when one of the unbonded owlets dive bombed her, and then she swooped to the side and into the building itself.
Honestly.
This trip of hers took about three hours, so when Noctua landed in the auror's office, Amelia was on her way back from the field. She ruffled her feathers importantly, and glared at Walnut. Walnut's owlet was a big, fusty human who looked like the egg-father of Cadmus’ owlet, and Noctua did not like that. Human parents were supposed to keep their chicks in the nest for much longer than owls, and the fact that the fusty human had never come to see his chick was wrong. Noctua knew her owlet made his nest out of human chicks who had been harmed by their parents, whose owls and other protectors failed.
That meant Walnut’s owlet deserved his eyes pecked out. Noctua hadn’t done it yet because she was a Black owl, and knew better than to attack with so many witnesses.
Amelia and the fusty owlet entered the room together, and Noctua rustled to get Amelia’s attention. Amelia’s nest of chicks includes Albert’s owlet, and Amelia helps Noctua’s owlet find safe nests for other chicks. Amelia is okay.
Amelia notices Noctua as she walks past, and holds up her arm for Noctua to alight to. Noctua glares at the fusty human, but stays in her place on Amelia’s arm. He breaks off when their conversation ends, and Amelia is finally able to turn to Noctua.
“Thank you, Noctua,” Amelia says seriously. “Will they need a reply?”
Noctua screeches a negative as Amelia pulls the letter away from her foot. Amelia reads the letter as she moves into her office, and when she finishes she looks over at Noctua and hums pityingly. Amelia pets her head, and decides to reply anyway.
Vivian,
Thank you for letting me know. See you tomorrow evening, the girls have missed you guys.
(And remind Adrian to sleep. The cadavers aren’t going anywhere.)
-Amelia
And for the second letter, well, it’s as much for Noctua as it is for Amelia. She has no doubts Regulus told Noctua to stay with the others unless they needed to contact him.
Regulus,
You’re worrying people again. If you need an investigative team, I have benched agents who would love something new. Please don’t miss dinner - Delphi might cry. She’s been trying to read that book on the mind arts since you left, and I haven’t been able to answer any of her questions.
Susan’s joined Delphi in trying to learn, but I don’t know if it’s actually helpful. Hannah got her hair colored, too, and between that and Delphi’s tendencies, I think they’re plotting to make Susan’s match.
That said, nothing is truly going haywire on our end. If the choice is between you home safe or you home soon, I can guarantee that despite our worry, we’d all agree safe is better.
Call for backup if you need it.
-Amelia Bones, DMLE
When Noctua takes the letters out, she ends up in the lift with the fusty human. Noctua considers it, and then takes the deplorable step to land on his head. His hair is puffy and messy, and unfairly soft. Rat bones like him shouldn’t have downy hair. Walnut looks and her and hisses, smart enough to know this isn’t a cease-fire. Noctua chirps back lightly, and gets Fusty to softly tell off Walnut for being rude.
Noctua considers this a win. When the lift reaches her floor, she pees on his head and takes off. Fusty swears behind her, and Walnut hisses again.
As Noctua leaves, I’m going to stay with Fusty.
Firstly, you should know his name is actually James. James Potter, and he’s an auror, but before that he is a friend, a husband, and a father.
The second thing you should know, is that Noctua is both biased and misinformed. Not completely wrong where the facts are concerned, but the conclusions she drew were incorrect.
James is headed home early today, because today is the twenty-fourth and his son is supposed to receive his Hogwarts letter today. That gives them a little over a month to schedule a supply run, but most parents take their child to Diagon on their birthday, not the day they get their letter. James and his wife, Lily, are planning to go today in the hopes that it will help mitigate the crowds.
Augusta Longbottom, a friend of Lily’s, offered to take the Potters with her when she took her grandson yesterday, (I believe I mentioned him earlier? Neville’s his name.) but the Potters refused. They wanted this milestone to be done properly, despite their son’s fame.
Ah. Do you have questions yet? I hope so. By now, James has arrived outside his own door, so it’s time to answer some of them.
Not that I’ll actually tell you anything this time.
No, that wouldn’t be nearly enough fun.
James opens his door and enters the entryway. After the explosion that destroyed their cottage the first time, they moved in with his cousins for a short time while repairs were being made, but returned when they could. Lily refused to leave the site as a memorial, and after a few years people stopped coming to gawk at the once-battle ground.
The two-story, four-bedroom cottage is all they need for their small family, and despite their ability to live lavishly, none of them want to.
James is greeted first by his son, Connor Potter. Connor has light brown skin, hazel eyes, and dark, bird’s nest hair. His glasses are basic, round wire frames, and beside his father, he nearly looks like him in miniature. The easiest difference to see, beyond age, is how James’ skin is darker. Another one is the rune carved into Connor's forehead; sowilo, or a lighting strike. While James has scars - you can’t work in a firing zone and avoid them - none of them are this stark or shapely. Connor barrels into James for a hug, which is easily and enthusiastically returned. “Did you get it?” James’ voice is loud, bright with love and enthusiasm.
“I got it!” Connor agrees with a bright smile. None of them really doubted that he would get his Hogwarts letter, but it’s still very rewarding to hit the milestone that almost every important wixen in Britain reaches. Hogwarts, once a refuge for any wix in need, is now prestigious, and the Potters have attended for centuries.
While they’d never admit it to Connor, after their scare with Harry (and see, now is one of those moments where I as a narrator wish the characters had my brand of omniscience, it would solve so many problems) Lily and James both looked into other options. They’re glad to not use them.
“That’s great! Congratulations, Bucktooth.”
“Dad,” Connor whines. It’s an old nickname, and like most of the Marauder nicknames, it’s obvious if you’ve known the subject.
“You’ll be gone for months,” James whines exaggeratedly. “I have to get in my dose of teasing before you leave.”
“Ulch.” Connor makes a face.
This is when Lily Potter catches up to them. She’s white, with a dark red bob and bright green eyes. As a teenager, they were interesting, but now they’re eye-catching. They’ve glowed so many times that the excess light seems to stay just behind her irises.
“Don’t tease him too much, Jamie,” she nudged her husband with a grin. “He’s outgrowing it, remember?”
James huffs in mock offense. “All the more reason to get in as much as I can!”
Connor rolls his eyes and pulls away from the hug. “So can we go yet? Please?”
“After lunch, Bucktooth,” James reminds him. Connor huffs, but lets them leave the entryway/living room and migrate to the kitchen. Conversation stays trained on Hogwarts; the supply lists, stories of Lily and James’ glory days, the best secret passages and the perfect place to place pranks against the Slytherins. And, of course, “Don’t forget to write us either! I want so many details I feel like I’m the one going to school.”
Connor starts laughing at that. When he calms down, his next question is slightly pointed. “Is Uncle Moony joining us?”
“Last I knew,” Lily says. “We’ll meet up in the Leaky Cauldron.”
“Awesome.”
The three Potters eat quickly, and the only thing that holds them back from leaving right away is a letter to the Weasleys, since Connor forgot to send one out earlier. They send Walnut; Connor will buy an owl of his own today, but they haven’t needed two before now.
I’m tempted to follow Walnut, but while the Weasleys are incredibly important for a multitude of reasons, I know you won’t need to meet them today. You’ll meet them plenty soon, I promise.
Instead, I’m going to break the rules of time-space for what is going to be the first of many times. It’s a narrator’s right, you see, to tell a story as we see fit. Now, if you’ll follow me back a few hours to when the Potter household received their letter from Hogwarts, I can tell you three very important things.
It arrived with an owl. One of the many magical owls I mentioned earlier, trained specifically as post owls, but also trained to be unbonded. This was a Hogwarts owl. They were a common barn owl, much like Walnut. They stayed only long enough for an acceptance note to be written, and to take a drink of water. After that, they took to the skies again, and returned to the castle.
This is important because once this barn owl reached the castle and delivered the letter, the letter was put in a pile with many others; including the acceptance letter from Harry Potter.
Not that the Potter letters are the only ones in this pile. They could be, if one Minerva McGonagall opened letters every-day, but she also had a life to live, so it’s understandable she couldn’t.
The other letters in this pile include notable names like Theodore Nott, Neville Longbottom, Sue Li, Tracey Davis, Susan Bones, and Stephen Cornfoot.
I could take you to see any or all of them, if I were so inclined. Instead, I’m going to find Noctua again.
This darling speck of darkness in the sky has long-since alighted upon the shoulder of her owlet, as being convenient in this instance is more to the owl’s liking than the human’s.
Regulus Black, however, takes the arrival of his owl with minimal panic and a smile for his darling. “Good afternoon, Noctua. How are things at home?”
She chirps an affirmative, not wanting Regulus to worry. He runs his fingers over her crown, the speckled feathers soft.
“I’m glad. What’ve you brought me?”
She sticks her leg out to give him the letter from Amelia, and he takes them both off. He sorts them quickly and reattaches Vivian’s.
He smiles at Amelia’s letter, the unsubtle updates on some of his kids and the clear offers. They’re colleagues, professionally, and friends otherwise.
The area he’s in is near Mappleton (I think. Again, I must apologize - magic makes everything a little slippery, including landmasses and landmarks.) and hasn’t been much help in his research project. The only thing he was able to find was an old fire site. Once there was an orphanage and a church, with some apartments flanking them. Now there is a large hotel.
“A gas fire,” the few locals who remember the change say.
A mission, a raid, Barty’s journals say.
‘Revenge,’ Regulus thinks. ‘Covering his tracks.’ Finding records of the children who were raised here was slow going, since he had yet to find any surviving members of the administration. Or any surviving family of even one administrator.
And the library. Goodness. The library. Regulus was a Slytherin and proud, but his Ravenclaw side (the little voice that's all that remains of his once best friend) wants to dive headfirst into the challenge of finding anything useful in that mess.
Instead he's trying to figure out what coded method of organization is used before he tries to find the information he needs. It's not working.
Since, when we found him, Regulus was walking through the town on his own, leaving the library to find one of the quaint muggle restaurants that was specific to the area and might truly benefit from him eating there, it was easy for Noctua to find him.
And, more important to both the story I've been tasked to tell and Regulus' investigation, being in the open instead of his hotel when Noctua appeared will be what finally gets Regulus a clue.
Not yet though.
First, Regulus reaches the small ice cream and burger shop. It's not until he's almost at the door that he remembers it's a muggle establishment, and therefore would probably not take too well to owls inside the building. Noctua has been perched on his shoulder since she found him, so he just has to turn his head to look at her. "Would you mind waiting outside, countess?"
Noctua looks at him, yellow eyes hard, before taking just a second to preen his hair and take off. He smiles at her, and continues on his way.
The building is small, and offers both booths and bar seating. Regulus takes the bar, and chats with the old man behind it.
It's an odd thought that this man would be barely older than his father, had Orion Black lived, when he looks decades older than Orion had.
Once Regulus has eaten, save for the meat he will give Noctua, he clears his small area, thanks the man, and deserts the place. His conversation won him nothing but goodwill and an appreciation for combs, but in the twelve years since he last investigated something like this he has learned to be grateful for that too.
Regulus offers the food to Noctua as soon as he is accessible, holding it in his metal hand because he knows his owl to be violent sometimes and he does like his remaining fingers. Noctua takes it like she's winning a contest, nearly hitting the concrete behind Regulus before looping around and swooping up to land on his shoulder. The metal doesn't climb all the way up to his shoulder, but she does land on the same arm.
A few steps back towards the library, Noctua nips his ear and huffs.
"And what do you think I should tell them?" Regulus asks, picking up on her meaning well enough. "I'm safe just like I promised, but there's been no progress beyond confirming what I already knew?"
She coos an affirmative, and starts preening his hair.
"We're all codependent, aren't we?" Regulus' last question is less of a question and more of a resigned statement. Noctua keeps preening, like he’s a baby owlet.
There's an old lady at the door to the library when they get there. Regulus smiles at her, and turns to ask Noctua if she can wait outside until he has a response letter, but before he can get beyond Noctua's name, the lady is talking.
"You are one of them, then?"
"I beg your pardon?" Regulus turns back to give her his full attention.
"There was a boy like you here once. Years and years ago. Sadistic. A devil child. They say he returned to burn the orphanage and kill those who tried to tame him."
Regulus swallows. It wasn't untrue.
"Oh yes," the lady continues on, wispy hair fettered by sudden wind. "I tried, I tell you. But it wasn't enough. He came back from that school every year darker, quicker to lash out."
"They taught him bigotry," Regulus says softly, a confirmation. “Taught him that the only way to earn respect was through fear.”
“Did they teach you that too?” The woman asks.
Regulus’ answering smile is wry. “They tried. And it worked, for a little while.”
“You don’t have the look of vileness,” she remarks shrewdly. “They failed?”
“I saw how far I was going, and when I defected I met people who taught me better.”
She nods, sharp and serious. “Then you are looking for something.”
“Yes.”
“I will help. What do you need?”
Regulus looks at her, really looks at her, considering. “They say Tom Riddle liked to collect trophies. I want to find and destroy them. I need the names of those he grew up with.”
“You have
questions.”
“Yes.”
The woman smiles. “I’m Loretta,” she says suddenly. “Follow me.”
Regulus grins, but Noctua nips his ear. He sends her an unamused look. “May I send a letter, first?”
“Do as you must.”
#Regulus Black#Harry Potter#WBWL#Vivian Dunbar#Adrian Dunbar#Fay Dunbar#Faith Dunbar-Black#Caspian Black#Cathy The Narrator#Not (our parents') children#NOPC#WTOWBS#Connor Potter#Lily Potter#James Potter#Jaymeow writes#Crossposting Spam
1 note
·
View note
Text
#video game screenshots#screenshot#baldur's gate 3#bg3 screenshots#baldur gate 3#baldur’s gate 3#bg3 screencaps#game screenshots#baldurs gate#bg3#gale#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#bg3 gale#baldurs gate gale#a wizard’s wardrobe is never finished
61 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello! Can I request an imagine with Draco and a Slytherin! Reader where they both are totally in love with each other and maybe one day in class Draco is being particularly needy/frustrated one day and she’s his partner and sees he’s super hard and she teases him but when class is over he asks the reader to give him a blowjob because he loves her mouth and he’s just so whiny and he later spoils the hell out of his girl at Hogsmeade!
This is literally SOOOO LONG!! I don’t know why I wrote so much, but I just really wanted to include all that stuff, lol. My excuse for the length is that I hit a 1,000 followers about two days ago so this is the celebratory piece!
This goes without saying, but this piece contains a lot of sexual content so please do not read if you are underage or uncomfortable with said topics. I also wrote this in a different perspective because I wanted to try it out so I hope you enjoy!
Warning: SMUT, Oral (Male Receiving)
Title: Princess
ϟ ϟ ϟ
It was a warm summer’s day, close to the start of the new term. These past few weeks at Malfoy Manor had been tense and Draco often found himself rather stressed . A large part of him felt guilty for leaving his mother at home in the presence of Lord Voldemort, but another part of him felt grateful to be out of his sight. Finally, he could escape the Dark Lord’s watchful eyes, but he could not escape the plan set for him to complete.
Draco’s eyebrows knitted together as he squinted towards the merchandise wall inside Twilfitt and Tattings. Even when he was not around, Draco could still sense the Dark Lord’s influence and the constant reminder of the outcome if he were to fail. However, as he thought of better ways to mend the vanishing cabinet, something caught his attention.
“Draco darling,” You called to him, stepping out of the changing room with a small smile on your face. Draco’s eyes widened in an instant, a lump forming in his throat as he examined the champagne dress clinging to your body. It was a delicate number with thin, spaghetti strap sleeves attached to the cowl-neck gown, the silk fabric shimmering softly as you stepped onto the podium.
With a content hum, Draco pushed himself off the wall, his grey eyes locked with yours in the shop mirror as he walked towards you. He rested his hand against your waist, his fingers tenderly sliding down to feel the smooth silk against them, “You look ravishing,” he whispered against your ear, pressing a kiss against the shell of it before stepping back to get a better view of you.
You smiled satisfyingly, taking a moment to admire the all-black ensemble he wore and how it slimmed him down in all the right places. He stood in a black turtleneck and a fitted suit jacket, his left hand in the pocket of his slacks while the thumb of the other swiped over his bottom lip. A string of questions crossed through Draco’s mind, “When would you wear this?” he thought, tapping his finger against his chin.
Surely, there was no surprise ball this year, he would’ve heard by now. “Would you wear it on a date?” he questioned, imagining a scenario where the two of you ate dinner at a fancy restaurant, illuminated by just candlelight. “Even better,” Draco trailed off, his eyes lingering over your arse as you admired yourself in the mirror, looking over your shoulder to see the diamond detail that connected the open back, “What would such an expensive piece of clothing look like on his dormitory floor?”
Draco recalled the conversation he shared with his mother a week prior, where she had counseled him after a particularly difficult day. Narcissa Malfoy had an interesting way of comforting her son. Of course, she sat and listened to him, holding him as he cried, a mixture of guilt and failure coursing through her veins as she fought against the Dark Lord’s plans for her beloved son. The next day, however, she entered Draco’s room with a smile and presented a brand-new wardrobe for him as a start of term gift.
Pulling himself away from his thoughts, Draco gave a gentle smile and looked up at you, instantly meeting your hopeful eyes.
“Oh, those eyes”
“I’m not sure if I should get it,” You admitted, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout as you hopped off the podium and halted in front of the platinum-haired boy. Closing his eyes, Draco took a deep breath, captivated by the intoxicating smell of vanilla radiating off your body. An exquisite aroma, packaged in a —hand-blown— glass perfume bottle with delicate golden leaves painted onto it, finished off with your initials carved at the bottom of it.
Another one of Draco’s thoughtful gifts.
“And why is that?” asked Draco, his hand resting against the side of your neck, his thumb rubbing small circles against your jaw. The dress was cut just right, the tight, draped bodice granted him a wonderful view of your breasts, but he looked away to halt the tightening of his pants.
“I’ve got no occasion for a dress like this,” declared a slightly defeated (Y/N), taking another glance in the mirror, “Well, we’ve still got the goodbye dinner with your parents” You recalled, running your hands down your hips, unintentionally catching Draco’s attention as he remembered the family dinner he had forgotten about.
“That settles it then,” announced Draco in a chipper tone, “I’ll buy the dress,” he grinned, stepping towards his girlfriend, but halting by the display of diamond accessories. With a glance over the merchandise, he pointed at a necklace set with a pair of earrings, receiving praises from the shopkeeper. Taking the necklace from the older wizard, Draco walked over to (Y/N), “turn around,” he uttered and you happily obliged, watching him as he placed the delicate piece around your neck.
“Draco-” you began to protest, but he only pressed a kiss against your cheek, clasping the necklace and letting his fingers linger at the back of your neck. The necklace was a breathtaking, diamond necklace with seven glittering emeralds spread evenly across the center.
“The bracelet and earrings will do nicely as well,” Draco said, nodding his head in approval and signaling for the shopkeeper to begin ringing them up. You opened your mouth to protest again, but Draco placed his finger against your lips, “I believe you recall what I’ve told you, hm?” he teased, raising a questioning eyebrow as (Y/N) nodded, fighting back a smile, “Then, let Daddy spoil you, Princess.”
There was no denying the power Draco’s tone held over you. His words shot straight between your legs, the feeling of his lips pressed against the side of your neck making you fall against him, finally becoming aware of his erection now pressed against your thigh.
“Let's finish up so we can go back to the Manor,” you proposed, shifting your thigh ever so slightly to provide him with some much-needed friction. Draco bit his lip and gave a stiff nod, stepping away from you before you could tease him further.
“Go change,” he ordered, the cocky smirk returning to his lips, “You’ve got five minutes.” Running back towards the dressing room, you peeled off the dress and stepped into your usual clothes, practically sprinting out of it once finished. After a hasty checkout, the two of you exited the shop hand-in-hand, the bag containing your gifts swinging in Draco’s other hand.
ϟ ϟ ϟ
This school year proved to be the most difficult one yet. N.E.W.T.s we’re now less than a year away and it was never too soon to begin revising. You, however, found it quite difficult to focus on school these last few days. Despite his constant reassurances that he was all right, (Y/N) found some of Draco’s recent behavior quite odd. This strange feeling first arose the week you stayed at Malfoy Manor, where the four of them sat cautiously at a table with Draco’s aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange. You had always had a good relationship with Draco’s relatives, but it was clear to you something was occurring under wraps, something Draco did not want you to know about. Noting his hesitation whenever you brought up the subject, you decided against prying any more information out of him and returned to your studies. Your dedication to academic achievement, much to your surprise, did not go unnoticed by the new Potions Master at Hogwarts, who had heard all about you and Miss Hermione Granger, the two top students of the sixth year.
Horace Slughorn was a portly, older man, but very gifted with potions and an excellent Professor. Upon arrival, he sought out some of the school’s most promising students and invited them to his office for an elegant dinner. One morning, during breakfast, your owl dropped the intricately decorated envelope right in front of your plate. You had no chance to conceal the envelope from your curious boyfriend, the same one that had tried, without succeeding, to get invited to said dinner.
However, to your surprise, Draco was not upset. Instead, he pressed a gentle kiss against your temple and muttered the words, “You deserve it, baby girl.” The pet name sends chills down your spine, a smile playing at your lip as his hand rests upon your knee, the cold metal of his rings easing any sort of tension in your body. His left hand rested against your jawline, his slender fingers twiddling with the pearl earring, admiring the small ruby motif encrusted right above the hanging pearl.
(Y/N) leaned her cheek against his palm, setting the invitation down on the dining hall table, “Are you sure, Darling?” you questioned, taking the time to rest your hand over his, “I might not be able to fit it into my schedule...” you admitted, thoughts of Draco’s mysterious disappearances crossing your mind. Bringing your hand up to his mouth, Draco pressed a soft kiss against the back of it before leaning to press one against your lips.
“I think,” he started, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes, “You should go show them what the brightest, most caring, and, without a doubt, sexiest girl in Slytherin House has to offer” Draco praised, giving your thigh a small squeeze before dipping to steal another kiss from you, “How does that sound?” He asked sweetly, showering you with yet another kiss, this one against your forehead.
It was no secret that Draco Malfoy and (Y/N) (L/N) were truly and undeniably in love. Often, the corridors were filled with the incessant whispers of jealous girls who longed for Draco’s attention, but he paid no attention to them. The Slytherin Prince only had eyes for you, the only constant ray of sunshine in his life. Whenever he looked at you, he reminded himself of his vow to keep you completely satisfied, and the only reward he wanted was seeing that gorgeous smile on your face. You were everything to him. You were the only one who knew about his previous family troubles, the one who would hold him when he cried during the late hours of the evening. The one who would fix his tie the second it seemed out of place, the one who would rub his shoulders whenever you noticed him bent over his assignments.
He would do everything and anything to ensure you felt like the luckiest girl in the world because he knew you, out of all people, deserved it the most.
”You make an excellent point, Mr. Malfoy,” You grinned, nodding your head in agreement, and flinging your arms around his shoulders. A soft smile crept up Draco’s lips as his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you tightly against his chest and placing a kiss at the top of your head.
“Don’t I always?” teased Draco, running his fingers through your hair as the other students exited the Great Hall and made their way towards the classes. Rolling your eyes at his response, you placed your hand against his cheek, stealing a kiss from him this time and rising from your seat.
“We should go,” you announced, stretching your hand out for him to grab, which he happily obliged, rising from the bench and escorting you to your classroom.
ϟ ϟ ϟ
A week had passed since Slughorn’s dinner party, the memory of the evening still fresh in Draco’s mind as he tapped his fingers against the wooden desk. Needless to say, he was not particularly pleased with the events of last Saturday. One of Slughorn’s guests had taken quite the liking to you, practically undressing you with his eyes during breakfast hours, something Draco found incredibly disrespectful. He recalled the way Cormac McLaggen eyed you this morning when you bent over to kiss your boyfriend goodbye, skipping out of the Great Hall without a care in the world.
Draco clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as his eyebrows knitted together, sparks of frustration igniting within him. Not only was McLaggen ogling you like you were his last meal, but he was also casually brushing up beside you in the corridors, shooting Draco arrogant smirks when they locked eyes.
Oh, how he would love to jinx that insufferable look off his face. Yeah, that’ll show him.
He should have been paying attention to Professor Flitwick discussing the proper hand movement for the Gouging Spell, but the thoughts of McLaggen badgering you when he was not around boiled his blood. In hindsight, it was a good thing he was neglecting this lesson because the prospect of gouging a large hole through Cormac seemed very appealing.
You were particularly busy this week and did not have a lot of time to spend with Draco. Sure, the two of you bid your usual goodnights in the Slytherin common room, but your studying had kept you away from Draco. Due to this, Draco Malfoy was left very touch starved and found himself daydreaming of your earlier rendezvous around the castle.
Draco turned his head towards you, his face relaxing at once as he watched you diligently taking notes, as usual. You had your bottom lip between your teeth, gnawing it softly as your quill scratched against the parchment. With a content sigh, he admired your concentration and wondered how a person could be that gorgeous. He was, truly, the luckiest man in the world when it came to you.
He supposed that one could not blame McLaggen for falling for you- I mean, who wouldn’t? Any person would be swept off their feet if you entered the room wearing those silk dresses you were oh so fond of. Draco glanced down at those pretty, pink lips of yours, his eyes practically rolling to the back of his head as you parted them, tongue swiping over your upper lip as you added the final details to your diagram.
Biting his lip, Draco forced his attention towards Professor Flitwick, but it was already too late. The thoughts of you, sprawled across his bed at Malfoy Manor were enough to replace his earlier frustrations with feelings of lust.
“Stop,” thought Draco, closing his eyes to contain his feelings, but it was no use. Your lips made an “O” shape when you finally grasped the Charms concepts, making goosebumps appear on Draco’s skin as he shuddered.
What he would do to have you begging for him right now.
His pants grew considerably tighter and he couldn’t help but feel grateful towards the school uniforms. The robe he was wearing did a decent job at hiding his current problem, but he knew it would be noticeable when he stood. However, that did not stop him from hearing the way you called his name in the back of his head.
“Please, Draco...”
“Fuck,” cursed Draco under his breath, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, a slight touch of pink dusting his cheeks. Unable to keep his eyes away, Draco looked back towards you, scanning the soft skin of your neck, and noting how awfully bare it looked. With his self-restraint wavering, he subtly slid down the bench you shared and rested his hand on your knee, something he did quite often. However, you did not question him until you felt his lips against your neck and a hand wrapped tightly around your thigh. Turning your head to face him, you were surprised to see him with his hand over his mouth, his eyes averted from yours as his fingers danced against the smooth skin of your inner thigh.
“Draco,” you cooed, but the only response you received was a rather harsh nip at your neck, “Draco, someone will see…”
“I don’t care,” Draco snarled against your ear, “I need this bloody class to be over…” He murmured in a much softer tone, his hand rubbing circles against your thigh and inching closer to your clothed heat. But once you turned to scold him, you noticed the dark, red blush that painted his cheeks and felt his hot breath fanning against your face.
“Are you alright?” you asked cautiously, innocently rubbing your thumb against his thigh, but that only made Draco twitch in his seat, and his reaction suddenly lit the bulb over your head. Your lips curled into a smirk as your hand moved closer to the bulge on Draco’s pants, turning your attention towards the front of the class as you continued your movements.
Luckily, the two of you sat at the farthest end of the Charms classroom, away from any overly inquisitive eyes. You were certain nobody would notice, if Draco kept his cool, the two of you would be in the clear.
“Couldn’t even wait till class was over?” You tutted, delicately tracing your fingers over his crotch, and smirking as he shifted in his seat, “Be careful, I don’t want us to get caught.” You added, firmly cupping his erection through his slacks, a wide grin spreading across your face as he doubled down and hid his face behind a book he propped up. It was honestly quite surprising to see Draco this way. Usually, he would be the one teasing you to no end, but you were currently in control and that was enough to light the fire of your arousal.
“D-Don’t stop,” Draco pleaded under his breath, biting down on his thumb to hold back a moan as your palm worked to release the built-up tension. Encouraged by his dick twitching underneath your hand, you quickened your pace and watched as he parted his lips, struggling to keep any sound from coming out. As his breathing grew more ragged, you felt his abdominal muscles tense up against your touch, indicating that his release would wash over him soon.
Fighting to keep the small sense of composure he had left, Draco gripped (Y/N)’s wrist and halted her movements. It took him a minute to catch his breath, but when he did, he spoke in a low whisper, “Wait...” His eyes never met yours because if he looked into those beautiful eyes of yours, he would not be able to control himself. And although the prospect of taking you over the desk seemed quite promising, he did not fancy the idea of letting the rest of the student body see you bent over in such a vulnerable state.
That was only for him, of course.
“What’s wrong, Darling?” You teased letting your fingers trace over his crotch again, but he only clicked his tongue at you. Draco knew you too well, he knew you were only trying to rile him up again, but he could not let that happen, not right now. With adrenaline coursing through your body, you leaned towards Draco and let your breath fan against his neck before licking a stripe behind his ear, “Didn’t want to come all over those expensive slacks of yours, hm?” You murmured, gently nipping his earlobe, and taking his momentary lapse of strength to palm his erection once more.
Draco gritted his teeth once again, pulling your hand away from his pants, “I said wait,” he growled, his lust-clouded eyes finally meeting yours, “You do know how to follow instructions, don’t you?” He asked in a much harsher, more desperate tone.
“Depends on who’s giving them.” You replied sarcastically, placing your free hand on his knee with a smirk.
However, Draco did not get a chance to shoot his response back at you. Once the bell signaling the end of class rang, he shot up off his seat and gathered both your belongings before taking your hand and hastily pulling you out of the classroom. A few students stared as the two of you rushed down the hall, blushing in embarrassment as you stumbled after Draco.
His hand gripped yours tightly, leading you towards the Prefects’ bathroom, and stuttering out the password once the two of you arrived. Flinging your book bags across the floor, Draco turned and stalked towards you making you step back until your back hit something solid.
“Think you’re funny, are you?” sneered Draco, pinning you against one of the cubicles, his thigh pressed firmly between your legs and his right forearm braced beside your head. Replicating your earlier movements, Draco dragged his tongue underneath your ear before taking the lobe between his teeth, making you gasp. “Why don’t we put that filthy mouth of yours to better use?” He cooed, blowing a puff of air against your ear, and admiring it as it turned red.
With a sudden burst of confidence, you gripped his robes and pulled his face towards yours, breaths mingling together, “I think,” You muttered, leaning your lips close to his, “That’s the best idea you’ve had all day…” Looking up at his half-lidded eyes, you crashed your lips against Draco’s, fingers immediately tangling themselves in his hair. Draco returned your kiss eagerly, his hands cupping your arse underneath your skirt and pulling your body flush against his.
You could feel Draco growing more impatient by the minute. His hands were grabbing desperately at your skin, squeezing every inch of bare flesh he could feel. Longing to have you closer to him, Draco slipped his hand underneath your thigh and hooked it over his hip, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. Your back arched off the wall, hips grinding against Draco’s as your tongues laced together in a heated kiss. Tugging at your tie, Draco reached to unbutton your blouse and pulled it open, exposing your bra-clad breasts.
He pressed his lips against the base of your neck, biting and sucking encouraged by your moans beside his ear. One of his hands held your thigh firmly while the other kneaded your left breast, pulling the fabric of your bra down and taking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You gasped harshly, bucking into him, and digging your fingers into his hair, messing up the parts that remained previously neat. Draco rolled his erection against your soaked panties, smiling down at your face as his hands kneaded your clothed breasts, “So pretty,” he murmured, captivated by your flushed face and the shameful sounds passing through your lips.
Your hands reached up to grab his face, pulling him down for another kiss. This time, using the momentum to switch your positions so Draco’s back hit the stall door, earning a small moan of surprise from him. Grinning up at him, you pressed your lips against his neck and slid your hand down the front of his body, cupping him firmly as you sucked the sensitive skin.
Draco let out gasping breaths as you moved your hand, his fingers digging into your waist, “On your knees,” commanded Draco, trying to regain some sort of control over the situation. You obliged happily, dropping down to your knees and lazily running your fingers over his thighs before reaching up for his belt. After fiddling with the buckle, you took your time sliding Draco’s slacks down, purposely neglecting his throbbing dick hidden in his underwear.
“Don’t be a tease,” snapped Draco, gripping your chin harshly, “Suck,” He commanded firmly, releasing you as you pulled down his boxer briefs. Draco’s thick length snapped up towards his lower abs, almost slapping you in the face when it sprung out of its constraints. Almost drooling at the glorious sight of his cock, you took it in your hand, running your thumb over the pre-cum leaking out of the reddened tip. Draco bucked his hips forwards, hissing at the light touch, and looking down at your concentrated expression as you slowly pumped your hand.
Lolling your tongue out dramatically, you leaned forwards and gave the tip a kitten lick, earning a frustrated groan from Draco. Satisfied with his discomfort, you gave the swollen tip another kiss before taking his length fully into your mouth. He let out a strangled gasp in response, his eyes squeezed shut as you enthusiastically licked up his length. Sealing off your lips, much like a vacuum seal, you bobbed your head up and down his shaft, tongue swirling around it as Draco trembled underneath you, his hand over his mouth attempting to stifle the sounds coming out of it.
Draco looked down at you, unable to control the string of low moans and grunts spewing from his lips. The sight of your plump lips stretching around his cock made him lose the few ounces of coherent thoughts he had left in his mind. Draco let out another strangled moan, throwing his head back against the stall door as you swirl your tongue around his shaft and use your hand to pump the base of his cock. His hand flew to the back of your head when you moved to take all of him in your mouth, your nose brushing the trimmed tufts of hair as you choked around him, the contraction of your throat making him groan out your name.
With another husky moan, Draco balled your hair up into a ponytail and used it as leverage to thrust into your mouth. “Yes, yes,” whimpered Draco, his face flushed red and his breath caught in his throat, “Just like that, (Y/N)” he hissed, his grey eyes flickering down and meeting yours, making his roll back again as he pulled his lip between his teeth. Your fingernails dug into the back of his thighs, squeezing them tighter as he quickened his pace. You moaned around his dick, the vibrations sending a violent quake through his body as he face-fucked you, his climax only moments away.
“Ah, you take my cock so well, Princess” groaned Draco, his pace stuttering, “You’re so bloody gorgeous” He sighed, his fingers delving tightly into your hair as you continued to swirl your tongue around the shaft, relaxing your jaw to let the tip of his penis hit the back of your throat.
The sounds coming from Draco’s mouth had you soaking wet and yearning to feel his load shoot down your throat. Determined to finish him off, you moved your hand to fondle his balls, moaning with satisfaction as his cock pulsated in your mouth. His breaths grew ragged and the only sounds coming from him were small whimpers and grunts. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, his platinum blonde hair fell messily over his eyes, which were currently screwed shut as his face twisted with pleasure.
Draco’s eyes fluttered open, meeting your eager ones for a second time, but it was too much. Cursing loudly, Draco’s pace grew sloppier and rougher, his body trembling as you fondled his balls once again.
“(Y/N)!” He cried out as you gagged around him, thick ropes of cum coating the inside of your mouth as he came, hard. You struggled to swallow his heavy load, but you were adamant on taking every last drop, just how he liked it. Draco gasped as he caught his breath, his hand still in your hair as he gave your mouth two final shallow thrusts, pulling out as you licked him clean.
With his chest heaving, Draco delicately placed his hand against your cheek and slid his thumb over your swollen lips. You press a chaste kiss against the pad of his thumb, the corners of your mouth curling up into a loving smile. He brought you back up to your feet, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all tongue before pulling away with a satisfied smile on his face.
“You’re quite chipper now, aren’t you?” You teased, hitting him playfully on the shoulder as he pulled his slacks up, tucking his shirt back into his pants and shooting you a wink.
“Yes, actually,” He retorted, his usual smirk appearing on his lips, “And why is that?” You asked, taking the time to button your own shirt, blushing as Draco stalked towards you. He placed his hand on the side of your neck, pulling down your collar to admire the angry, red marks that decorated it.
With a small huff, he dipped down and sucked on the spot below your jaw, your knees buckling and hands gripping his shoulders as he bit down. Once he was satisfied with his handiwork, Draco pulled away, smirking at the mark that would surely be visible for days.
“Because I’m the only one who gets to have you like this,” admitted Draco, pulling you into a hug and resting his chin atop your head, “Can’t wait until I catch McLoser drooling over you, I’ll make sure to remind him who he’s dealing with.”
You laughed at Draco’s declaration, your arms tightening around him as you embraced, “Are you ready for lunch then? He could already be there” You teased, pressing a kiss against his nose, and pulling away to pick up your bag from the bathroom floor. Draco chuckled as you skipped back towards him, giving your behind a playful smack as you walked past him, “Don’t run off thinking I won’t return the favor,” stated Draco salaciously, catching your hand and pulling you back before you could exit the bathroom.
You looked up at him with a curious expression, “Is that so?” You questioned with a grin, walking towards him, and placing your hand on his chest, “Is it something I should look forward to?” You asked, tilting your head to the side innocently.
Draco laughed, raising his hand to cup your cheek, “Come to my room tonight at eleven, wearing that pretty little dress from Twilfitt and Tattings,” muttered Draco, his lips close to yours once again, “I’ll make it worth your while,” he winked, his fingers dipping underneath your skirt to swipe over your clothed core.
Shivering under his touch, you blushed embarrassingly as he examined the slick now coating his finger, “All for me, Princess?” He teased, contently licking his finger clean and grabbing his own book bag, “Actually, I was thinking about McLaggen” you quipped, stepping out of the Prefect’s bathroom with a bounce in your step which Draco followed after, his eyebrows furrowed as he flanked you.
“Careful, Love” warned Draco with a hum, his hand sliding into yours as you walked, “or I’ll have to teach that naughty mouth of yours another lesson.”
ϟ ϟ ϟ
Your four-year anniversary drew nearer, and you found yourself worried about Draco’s behavior yet again. He grew increasingly distant as the term progressed and you could not help but worry, despite his constant reassurances, stating there was nothing to worry about. This, again, left you feeling frustrated. You and Draco started dating during your third year and it had taken a while to break down his walls to understand him, but now it seemed like some of that progress was overturned.
However, when he was around, he always made the effort to shower you with affection and ensure you were being taken care of. Draco knew your habits better than anything, he knew you would be questioning his behavior and launching your own investigations to find the underlying cause of it, but he could not let you interfere. He was already under fire for having ‘distractions’ and had promised the Dark Lord nothing would come in the way of his success.
To keep you safe, you had to be left in the dark. It wounded Draco to see that distraught expression on your face when he came into the common room past midnight, sometimes even asleep, curled up on the couch waiting for him to return. He felt guilty for putting you through all this, but it was necessary for your safety and nothing was more important than protecting you.
His nights were constantly haunted by horrifying images of you injured or worse, dead in his arms after some terrible mistake he made. These thoughts were constantly wearing him down, but he could not tell you, it was just too risky to involve you in this situation. This stressful internal struggle encouraged Draco to show you how much you meant to him.
He wanted you to know that you were, truly, the most important person in his life.
“Draco,” You whined with your hands over your eyes as Draco led you through the empty streets of Hogsmeade, “Can’t I just open my eyes? I’ve been to Hogsmeade plenty of times” you reminded him, but he only chuckled beside you, holding you by the waist as you walked.
“I’m trying to surprise you,” Draco stated, rolling his eyes, “So why don’t you stop complaining and follow me.” He declared, pressing a kiss against your cheek, and leading you towards the clothing shops in the village. Draco halted in front of a large store window, looking up at the dress and envisioning you in them with a proud grin.
“Alright,” he started, grabbing the hands that covered your face, “Ready?” He murmured, pressing a kiss against her fingertips as you nodded. Counting to three, Draco pulled your hands away from your face and stepped out of your view, letting you take in the sight before you.
In front of you stood a tall mannequin wearing a floor-length shimmering, emerald green gown with small silver detailing the bust, “Wow” you muttered breathlessly, leaning closer to the window to get a better look of the design. The mannequin turned 180 degrees, giving her a better view of the open back and long train that followed the dress.
“Do you like it?” Draco asked, looking down at his ring with a content smile on his face.
Your eyes scanned over the glittering, diamond pendant necklace complete with matching water drop earrings, “It’s gorgeous,” you replied, looking over at your boyfriend with a puzzled expression, “Why do I get the feeling you’re up to something?” You asked, quirking your eyebrow at him as he laughed.
“You know me well, Darling” Draco admitted sheepishly, leading you towards the door of the stop and holding it open, “I just thought, since you’ve been attending Slughorn’s dinner parties, that you would need some more evening outfits to show off,” He stated proudly, his hand against the small of your back as he gestured you towards the changing rooms.
“Draco, I couldn’t possibly! You bought me one at the start of term!” You protested, grabbing his hands but part of you knew his mind was already made up.
“You’re right,” He agreed with a nod, placing his hand against your cheek, “And I’m going to buy you four more today,” He stated nonchalantly, looking back at the four sets of the dresses brought over by the shopkeeper, “You better get started,” he urged, taking a seat on the ottoman in front of the dressing room.
With a loving smile, you captured Draco’s lips in a kiss, “I love you” You said, squeezing his hand as he returned your smile.
“And I love you most,” He replied, pressing a kiss against your forehead, and urging towards the dressing room, “Come on, I want to see how stunning you look in those.” Giggling, you ran into the changing room, winking back at Draco before sliding the curtain close and getting into the first dress.
Several hours later, you and Draco exited the shop with four bags containing various dresses, jewelry pieces, and, even, a brand-new suit. After one final stop at Honeydukes, the two of you made your way towards the castle, treasuring the time you spent together and the memories you created while doing so.
#Draco Malfoy#draco malfoy smut#draco malfoy imagine#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy x you#draco malfoy reader insert#draco x slytherin#Harry Potter#Harry Potter Smut#harry potter imagines#harry potter imagine#draco malfoy x reader smut#hogwarts mystery#hogwarts request#hogwarts fan fiction#hogwarts fanfiction#hogwarts mystery fanfic
3K notes
·
View notes
Note
if carlisle and dumbledore were put in each other's respective stories / dilemmas , how do you think they would react? how would a carlisle cullen have dealt with voldemort/grindelwald? and how dumbledore would have dealt with vampirism, etc? i almost view the two of them as a sort of foil to each other, not yet able to articulate why or how though
I mean, they'd live completely different lives, because they're completely different characters. It's very unlikely they'd end up in the same situations.
But alright.
Carlisle is Dumbledore
Carlisle's born in a working class family that quickly begins to fall apart. His father's sent to prison, his mother dies, his sister has a chronic illness that will never disappear, and it's just him and his brother left with very little chance of a future between them.
Handsome Gellert Grindelwald moves in next store with grand, new, ideas concerning the muggles.
Now, this particular Carlisle won't be Christian, he's a pureblood wizard and we can pretty safely assume that the Dumbledores were no more religious than any other wizarding family is.
It's a little up in the air whether Carlisle would be seduced by Gellert or not. Gellert is learned, foreign, and has all these radical, new, theories that weren't very prevalent at the time (well, anti muggleborn sentiment was, the facism was new). On the other hand though, Carlisle is also a man who once radically changed his own beliefs to something that went against nearly every edict of his previous religion. This is not a guy who takes things for granted and is not afraid to both confront himself and the true nature of the world he lives in.
And he has a deep respect for human life that, had it been any lesser, would have undoubtedly led to him eating humans as a vampire.
So, I'm going to say no, or if he does, it lasts up until Gellert says, "We should totally make the muggles our slaves." The muggles may have irreparably damaged Carlisle's sister, they may be hated by society, but they are free thinking beings who should be enslaved to no one. Carlsile raises his pacifism flag.
As a result, Gellert probably thinks he's a tool. Hot, of course, and intelligent, but a useless tool. Without somebody to bounce ideas off of/confirm his radicalization, Gellert has little to no interest in Carlisle or any of the Dumbledores. Gellert spends his time in Godric's Hollow then goes elsewhere, Ariana lives, at least for now, unclear how long her lifespan was going to be otherwise, Carlisle does not have the Gellert incident, and he and Abeforth remain on good terms.
Carlisle graduates Hogwarts and either is a) bullied into taking Flamel's apprenticeship opportunity by Abeforth who screams "DUDE, GET YOURSELF A FUTURE or b) immediately sets about trying to find a relatively high paying job so he can support the family. In the case of B, I imagine he goes to work for the goblins who seem to hire those straight out of Hogwarts with good enough grades. In the case of A, well, he goes to study alchemy.
Knowing Carlisle, he does a bastardization of both. He studies alchemy under Flamel and then works nights as a bartender in Paris or something to that effect. When he finishes, what career he does then is out in the air.
Given that, as a vampire, he had all the choices in the world open to him in terms of education (and tried many different things) before eventually settling on and sticking with human medicine despite the dangers, I think that's telling. Carlisle probably tries to get a job in something healing related.
However, that strays more into the "What if Carlisle was in the wizarding world" vs. "What if Carlisle was Dumbledore" so we'll say that the idea of teaching appeals to him and he returns to Hogwarts for the Transfiguration position.
This all goes well except then there's a first world war on, the muggle world goes completely insane, and no one understands why Carlisle's so upset.
And now we enter the world where Carlisle starts really making choices in Dumbledore's shoes.
First, Tom Riddle. Carlisle, I imagine, makes 100,000 times of a better impression than Dumbledore on the young Tom. He does not, for one, light his wardrobe on fire and threaten him. Carlisle might think this kid is weird, but he lives in poverty and an orphanage, much of his behavior can be explained from that. I imagine Carlisle becomes determined to take Tom under his wing.
I imagine at first Tom thinks this is excellent, LOOK HOW MUCH HE'S MANIPULATING THIS ADULT! And then he realizes that, no, Carlisle is perfectly aware he's a little shit. He just likes talking to Tom after classes about how to fit in with pureblood society/weird esoteric muggle philosophy.
Trouble is, Carlisle is so damn likeable (see his friends all over the world), that Tom can't help but like him. When the Blitz begins, and Carlisle undoubtedly offers Tom (and any other muggleborn who was not moved to the country) a place to stay, that seals the deal, the wizarding world might suck but Carlisle's a pretty cool guy.
Of course, Tom still thinks the government should be reformed or overthrown, but he and Carlisle actually sit down to talk about things like communism and facism (Carlisle's not a fan though the modern, muggle, form of democracy not practiced in the wizarding world is a weird concept to him).
My point being, it's unlikely this Tom Riddle becomes Voldemort or even really aspires to become him. You want more on that topic, check out these posts.
Grindelwald meanwhile, becomes a bigger and bigger deal, and things start looking... bad. However, it's not immediately obvious that Carlisle's the one who should do something about it. He's not a duelist, he's a professor, and his job is to teach the children. He may have been alright in school, but that was decades ago now. More, unlike Albus, he feels no personal responsibility, he knew Gellert, briefly, yes, but they had no real connection. Gellert spoke about insane things and Carlisle said, "Mm, don't like". Add to that that Carlisle's a pacifist, he's going to insist that someone trained for the position do the job.
Given canon, this means that Grindelwald likely invades and takes over wizarding England and, with a strong enough foothold, enacts his "enslave the muggles" plan. Which very well might result in a nuclear holocaust as Grindelwald was likely not keeping up with muggle technology and the muggle world war.
The muggle world collapses, which in turn causes society collapse, and the world may or may not be a nuclear wasteland that Tom and Carlisle get to wander around.
If Carlisle by some divine intervention has a prophetic dream of "YOU MUST DEFEAT GRINDELWALD OR DOOM DOOM DOOM" then he goes and tries to defeat Grindelwald. Considering Grindelwald has the elder wand, he probably needs Deus ex Phoenix to win, but if it worked for Dumbledore it might work for Carlisle.
Well. No one saw that coming.
Carlisle's an overnight sensation and a national hero, the hero of Western Europe even. He's suddenly being presented medals, honors, seats of power, and Carlisle desperately tries to refuse, feeling very squeamish that he's being given these things because he took it upon himself to murder another human being (yes, even a war lord).
Tom finds this funny and Abeforth is ureservedly proud and tells everybody.
All Carlisle wanted to do was teach children and now he has to reside over trials in the Wizengamot. This is terrible.
As for what happens to the wizarding world from there, well, inertia probably carries it along for a good while. However, antimuggleborn sentiment is still on the rise an even without Voldemort I imagine there's quite a bit of unrest.
I imagine Carlisle, not wanting in any way to be a political figure, is not nearly as outspoken as Dumbledore on anything. He just wants to be headmaster, guys, leave him alone.
Tom may or may not go into politics and do it for him. But he probably ends up teaching too and just laughs as the country collapses.
Harry Potter is an ordinary student who has no prophecy surrounding him. Carlisle did not recruit children to join an illegal resistance movement nor does he have a plethora of spies and moles in the ministry.
Harry Potter canon does not happen.
Dumbledore is Carlisle
Well, Dumbledore undoubtedly also burned witches and very much believed in their existence. An irony there. He may chase the vampire, probably isn't first in the mob, in which case he remains human or dies.
If he does survive being bitten, I imagine it pains him for a while, but I don't see Albus having the same willpower as Carlisle. Or at least, not as much, Albus probably ends up eating people. He at first probably tries to be picky and eats those who harm society in some way (pick your poison for what that means) and then over time becomes less picky.
They're just humans, after all.
Albus probably isn't invited to stay in Volterra, he's not all that interesting. He doesn't become a human doctor, he's just your ordinary vampire. He might hang around libraries as much as he can but that's about as far as that extends.
He probably turns a Gellert equivalent at some point as a mate and they have a grand time together.
Edward is never turned nor the rest of the Cullens and Bella dies in a parking lot.
#twilight#twilight meta#twilight headcanon#twilight renaissance#carlisle cullen#albus dumbledore#meta#headcanon#opinion#harry potter#harry potter meta#harry potter headcanon
190 notes
·
View notes
Text
almost caught
something for @jilytoberfest! prompt: "if we get caught-" "i'll make it worth your while, i promise."
i wrote this quickly and didn't revise it a ton, but im just excited to contribute for jilytober!!! hope you lovely's like:)
"Okay, James. I'm going to be completely frank here- and I wholeheartedly mean every word when I say this- this is perhaps the stupidest idea you've ever had- and you've had loads of stupid idea's."
"Oh, come on. Try to have some faith in me," James whispered back, opening one of the drawers of the desk. They were in the Ravenclaw Prefect's office. James had suspected that the Prefects were somehow involved with their Quidditch team cheating by using weighted and magic-infused balls. The only evidence he had to back his theory up was a "gut feeling" and the fact that the bludgers seemed to target the other team more often, which Lily chalked up to confirmation bias. While she disagreed with cheating, she figured a better idea was to talk to their Prefects, not snoop through their office.
"Famous last words," Lily rolled her eyes, "I can't believe that I let you drag me into this. If we get caught-"
"I'll make it worth your while, I promise," The boy reassured her as he looked up at Lily, messy dark curls hanging in front of his eyes. He had finished looking in the first drawer and moved to the one below it, quickly searching. Lily wasn't sure what he meant by that, "Besides, we won't get caught. Now, are you going to start searching, or are you going to make me do all the work like usual?"
"Like usual? Excuse me?" Lily said. She was standing in front of him, hands firmly planted on her hips disapprovingly before turning to the cabinets. Besides breaking his collarbone last night in a quidditch game (Which Madam Pomfrey fixed just fine, and if he followed her instructions, he'd be totally healed in days), the year was going swimmingly for James and Lily. She enjoyed working with him as Heads and was seeing real change in him. He was no longer a bully, and in fact, he always shut that sort of thing down.
"I don't even know what I'm looking for."
James just chuckled as he closed the second drawer, kneeling to search the third drawer, "Probably anything quidditch related."
"You've got the wrong person for this," Lily sighed. That was probably true. She knew nothing of sports- both muggle and wizard alike. She turned to the cabinets on the far wall, which was full of books, mostly student records, and smelled musty.
"You know, this would be so much easier if you just agreed to use the cloak with me," James commented as he stood up and brushed off his pants. Lily had grown to like him over the past few months and didn't mind working with him as co-Heads. He was kind, responsible, and enthusiastic enough that almost everyone adored him- even Lily. She was even starting to get butterflies around him, something she never thought could happen.
"I'm never going under that damn cloak with you," Lily said as she took out a book of student records. She dusted it off and then put it back where she found it.
"Never is a strong word," James said as he walked over to the wardrobe. He opened it up and stepped inside, pressing against the back of it to see if any secret openings were on the back wall.
"I know," Lily said, following him and standing behind him, "That's why I said it."
That's when they heard the door handle jiggle, indicating that someone was trying to come in.
Lily, panicking, looked up at James. He quickly grabbed her by her waist and lifted her into the broom closet, quietly slamming the door. One hand was on her waist, the other over her mouth to try and keep her quiet. He gently took it off and put it behind her head. One hand was still on her waist as he tangled his other in her hair.
Fucking hell, he was hot.
Lily's hands were holding tightly at the bottom hem of her skirt. She knew that if she didn't plant them there, they'd undoubtedly find themselves tangled in James's dark locks.
"Maybe you were right about that cloak," Lily whispered as they were both breathing heavily and pressed up against each other. She wondered if he could feel how hard her heart was beating. She wasn't sure if that was from fear of getting caught or being so close to James.
James just brought his finger back to her lips and shushed her softly. His breath was softly blowing on her bangs, which caused them to tickle her forehead. All Lily could do was look up at him, remembering what was going on outside the cabinet, hearing the door open. He then anxiously looked out through the crack of the wooden doors, trying to watch whoever she heard come in. Lily tried to ignore the way he was clenching his jaw. She noticed that was a sort of nervous tick of his, something that he did when anxious. One hand was still on her waist, the other resting on her hair on the nape of her neck.
Why was she caring more about James's hands on her than she did at the idea of getting caught?
"Weird, I swore I heard voices," Sabrina Wood, the sixth year Prefect, said.
"So did I," Robert Thomas responded.
James, seeming to spot something above Lily's head, quickly reached his hand up. However, he never got to inspect what he wanted to. Lily heard the sound of his collarbone crack, implying that it was rebroken. While Madam Pomfrey had patched him up just fine, she said he needed to refrain from sudden movements of reaching above his head. Lily now realized this was why.
James leaned forward and grimaced in pain. Still on Lily's neck, his hand grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled at it slightly.
"Fuck," He groaned quietly in Lily's ear, and she felt his hot breath against her ear and neck. Her eyes widened at how attractive that word was coming from his lips, silently cursing herself at the sinful thoughts that flashed in her mind.
The sound of footsteps walking around the office brought Lily back to the current reality. She looked above her see his arm clenched in a fist. He was in a lot of pain.
Wordlessly, she pulled out her wand and pointed it at his broken collarbone. She had practised nonverbal spells a number of times, although never this one. She wasn't sure if she'd ever done this one on a human before.
The footsteps were walking towards the wardrobe and she looked at James. He had relaxed his grip on Lily's hair (much to her disappointment) and moved it to her waist. He nodded slightly, giving her permission to try.
She wordlessly performed the healing charm. James gripped at her shirt in response to the painful snap of bone back in place, just as they heard Robert say something about how they needed to get back to their rounds. They heard the two leave and the door close, listening to the charm the Prefects performed to lock the door. Once they determined they were alone, James let out another groan as he brought his hand down from above Lily's head.
"Good girl," He exhaled as he melted into her, and Lily's eyes widened again. That should not make her feel the way it did, but regardless her toes crinkled and she tightened her grip on her wand.
"You alright?" She asked sheepishly, trying to relax. She was feeling bashful and disappointed that they now had to exit the wardrobe.
James, slightly sweaty from the pain, nodded and raised his other arm to what he wanted to look at earlier. He pressed against the wall, and a hidden drawer slightly popped out. He reached his hand in and pulled out a piece of parchment from inside it.
"Lumos," he said, still breathing heavily. The room lit up, and Lily looked at James, light reflecting on his glasses. He was looking so damn good, skin sticky and lips soft. She fought against the image of something else that could make James groan, sweat, and breathe heavily.
They both looked at the parchment, and written in neat handwriting was "For those who forget, use wingardium leviosa to control replaced quaffles."
James looked up at Lily, a victorious smirk on his face, which Lily couldn't help but smile at.
"God damn it," Lily said, annoyed that he was but also influenced by his contagious smile, "You actually were right."
"We did it, Evans," James said excitedly, putting his hands on her face and shaking it with enthusiasm.
Lily laughed, blushing at his hand placement, "For Ravenclaws, they really are thick. That was way too easy to find."
James shrugged and dropped his hands, "I don't really care too much. We'll take this right to McGonagall. She'll sort this whole thing out."
Lily nodded as he opened the wardrobe door, feeling the cooler air hit their skin. She blinked at the sudden brightness as he helped her out.
"I can't believe you could do that spell so well, and wordlessly too! You never fail to astonish me with your brilliance," James ruffled her hair with his empty hand and pocketed the parchment with his other.
Lily, blushing harder, smiled at him, "Says the idiot who rebroke his collarbone."
"True," James just laughed, putting his hand on Lily's back to push her forward. He then put both hands on her shoulder and shook them back and forth as he guided her out of the door of the office and down the corridor, "What would I do without you, Evans? My saviour."
Lily just laughed as she shrugged off his hands, playfully pushing him. She looked up at him, his hands clasped behind his back and glasses peering down at her.
"Probably walk around with a broken collarbone."
"Of course," He looked forward, "I've got a question for you, Miss Evans."
Lily's stomach lurched at that statement, and she bit her lip in anticipation, "Yes?"
He stepped in front of her, stopping her. His hands were still behind his back, and he looked down at her. They were nearly as close as they were in the wardrobe.
"Did you think about kissing me in that wardrobe?"
Shit. Fuck. How did he know??
Her stomach dropped, and while she was taken back from the question, but decided she wasn't too mad about it. So they were doing this now?
Lily, full of panic and anxiety, was determined to remain as calm and collected on the outside as she could. She smirked and tilted her head flirtatiously.
"Maybe. What's it to you?"
James smirked back and stepped back to Lily's side as they started to walk again, "Why didn't you?"
"For starters," Lily said, deciding to remain confident, started to lie, "You had a broken bone and seemed to be in a decent amount of pain."
James scoffed sarcastically, "I don't know what you're talking about. Didn't hurt at all."
"Ah, of course, it didn't," Lily looked at her feet as they walked as she remembered the way that he grabbed at her hair and his tone when he whispered "Fuck" in her ear. She got chills again.
They were heading to McGonagall's office. She wasn't sure how James would explain how he obtained the evidence to McGonagall, but she wasn't thinking about that too much at that point. They were talking about kissing, something much more compelling and appealing to Lily.
"Regardless, and back to the more important thing at hand," He smirked at her as he leaned to whisper in her ear, sending chills up Lily's spine, "Perhaps we can get stuck in another wardrobe soon- and don't hold back next time. I still have to make it up to you for nearly getting caught."
#jily fanfic#jily fanfiction#james potter#james x lily#jily fandom#marauders#jily fic#jilytober#jilytober fest#jilytober 2021#mauraders era#jily fan fiction#jily#jily tension#tension#lily evans x james potter#james & peter & remus & sirius
104 notes
·
View notes
Note
Ask for a sirius request and you shall receive. I've been thinking about this idea for a while (and your writing is perfect for it ily) but how about a ravenclaw reader who is friends with james or remus and they introduce them? The one in my head was remus going to her dorm for a sleepover and bringing sirius and just being like "isn't she neat :)" and sirius immediately falling in love 🥺 no pressure if you dont vibe with it 🥰 ily bunches
i went to ravenclaw tower and all i got was this lousy stained shirt
pairing: sirius/reader
word count: 3.9k
summary: james and remus play matchmaker for you and sirius
content: ravenclaw!reader, fluff, it gets awkward (some of this was hard to write... 😭😭), dialogue heavy, you and sirius are very back-and-forth-y and witty (you’ll see what i mean), i know the title is long but i thought it was funny and i can do what i want
this was such a fun request!! i hope you don’t mind i took some liberties because i just immediately imagined remus and james secretly trying to match the two of you up for a while!! also i turned the sleepover into a party at ravenclaw tower!! (also also i came up with some cute ravenclaw girl ocs just for this, they were supposed to be minor but ended up having their own sideplots because i get carried away with everything. but they were fun to write! i gave them backstories and everything so if anyone wants to know more about them just ask :)
warning: mentions of alcohol!!
“You should meet Sirius.”
“Black?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, do you know another Sirius?”
You stick your tongue out at him and Remus smiles.
“What is it with Sirius, huh?” you tell him, adding a few drops of rain water into the potion before handing Remus the spoon to stir. He takes it and immediately gets to work.
“You and James,” you continue, idly counting Remus’s counterclockwise stirs in your head. “Not a day goes by where you don’t tell me I have to meet Sirius.”
In truth, you’d seen Sirius a few times. And he’d seen you, but neither one of you had actually spoken more than a few words to the other. Especially not since sixth year. Sirius had dropped Potions and Astronomy as quick as he could - the only two classes you’d had left with him. And seeing as you were in different Houses, bumping into each other in the common room was off the table as well.
But you had Potions with Remus and Astronomy with James, and whenever they could, they would always mention how you just had to meet Sirius. You sometimes wondered if Sirius was always being told he had to meet you.
“I just think you’d get along,” Remus shrugs, halting his stirring before you can even tell him to do so.
You both work in tandem for a bit after that, dropping ingredients into your potion and stirring when needed. You liked partnering up with Remus for this exact reason. You’d both fall into a comfortable silence and develop a good rhythm - you just flowed well together.
Once the potion is nearly finished, Remus speaks up.
“What about tonight? Isn’t there a party at Ravenclaw?”
“Robin says not to call it a party.”
“Well, that’s what it is.”
“Yeah, but we can’t call it that. At least not out loud,” you insist, not wanting your dorm mate’s wrath to come back later and haunt you. “It’s a quiet get-together,” you correct him.
Remus scoffs, knowing damn well that Ravenclaw parties are anything but. “That, then. You can meet him there.”
You raise an eyebrow in complete disbelief. “You’re gonna get Sirius Black to come to a Ravenclaw party?”
“What happened to quiet get-together?”
Damn it.
You quickly spare a glance at Robin, but she’s all the way across the room, scolding her partner for something he did to their potion.
“Good luck with that,” you continue, pretending to ignore his quip.
“We’ll convince him!” Remus assures you, as if it’s the least of his worries.
“Okayyy...” you sing, entirely unconvinced.
You’ve never seen Sirius Black at a non-Gryffindor party. He has way too much House pride to ever be caught partying in another common room. You’re almost positive you’ve seen him root for Gryffindor at Quidditch matches even when the team isn’t playing.
“Okay? So you’ll meet him?” Remus presses.
You laugh. “Okay! I guess!” you tell him, resigned. “But you and James have been hyping him up for a while, so don’t be surprised if he doesn’t live up to my expectations and I end up hating him.” You shrug a shoulder as you turn down the fire under the cauldron.
Remus just grins. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”
.
.
.
Despite your nonchalant attitude with Remus earlier today, you actually find yourself feeling a bit nervous.
“Hey, do you guys know Sirius?” you ask over your shoulder as you straighten your outfit in the mirror. “Black?” you add quickly.
“Did you just ask us if we know Sirius Black?” A shrill voice cuts through the air and you know immediately that it’s Robin.
You groan, “I know, I know, everyone knows-”
“Everyone knows him,” Robin talks over you, and then sprays a copious amount of hairspray into her already voluminous blonde locks.
You move out of her way so she can use the mirror and she gratefully takes the opportunity, stepping in front of you to fluff up her roots.
“Yeah, how do you not know him?” Bea calls from the bathroom, where April is helping her into her dress.
“I mean, I know him,” you say, flopping down on your bed. “But I don’t actually know him. You know?”
“He was April’s first kiss!” Bea taunts. She makes several kissy noises and then you hear her say ‘ow!’
“You’ve got to stop bringing that up,” you hear April scold, “It was second year!”
Bea giggles and then skips out of the bathroom, April trailing closely behind.
Bea has on a stunning yellow sundress with long, belled sleeves - going all out, as usual. The color compliments her dark skin beautifully, but you know she’s really only wearing it to lure in that Hufflepuff boy she’s had her eye on.
April has still yet to get dressed, always waiting until the very last minute, but her straight black hair has been flawlessly curled - presumably Robin’s work.
“So what is it? Why do you wanna know about Black?” April asks politely, leaning against your bedpost as Bea sits on her trunk to slip on her shoes.
“James and Remus... They’re gonna get him to come here.”
Bea nearly drops her shoe, and Robin spins around to face you.
“Here?” The two say at the same time.
“Is he really?” April asks mildly, voice much gentler than the other two.
You shrug and nod your head at the same time, giving them an uncertain look. “I think so? Maybe? If they can convince him.”
There’s a beat of silence and then the hissing sound of Robin’s can of hairspray fills the air once more as she frantically tries to get her hair to cooperate. At the very same time, Bea starts to rummage around her wardrobe, muttering to herself about how ‘I think I have a red dress in here somewhere...’
It’s clear they’re both doubling their efforts, hoping to catch Sirius’s eye.
You laugh a bit and then turn to look at April, whose eyes are stuck on Robin’s reflection. She has a solemn expression on her face, but quickly snaps out of her trance when she notices you watching her.
“So,” she starts, putting on a small smile, “You’ve really never met Sirius Black?” she asks, sitting down beside you and crossing her legs beneath her.
“No, but I hear you have,” you tease, and she rolls her eyes.
“Yes, the first and only boy I’ve ever kissed.” She rolls her eyes.
You hear Robin fumble with her can of hairspray but think nothing of it.
April continues, “Anyway, that was second year,” she waves it off. “I do have muggle studies with him.”
“What’s he like?” you find yourself asking.
April shrugs a shoulder. “He’s nice, I suppose. Funny. Asks the professor a lot of questions about motorbikes.”
You tilt your head. “Motorbikes? Why?”
“Who knows. I think you two would get along, though.”
“Why’s that?”
April observes you for a few beats and then laughs a bit. You expect her to say something more but she just gives you a slight nudge with her elbow and then walks off, most likely to go get dressed.
Well that was pointless. You didn’t really learn anything useful. But then again, you’re not sure what you expected out of a conversation with April, who tends to keep her talking to a minimum (She claims it makes her more mysterious) (And she’s right, too).
Oh well. Perhaps you could find a way to strike up a casual conversation about motorbikes with Sirius.
Yeah, right.
.
.
.
It’s a few hours into the party when the door opens up, letting in James and Remus. Trailing behind them, looking unnecessarily wary, is Sirius Black. He traipses around as if at any moment something in the common room is going to jump out and bite him, and you struggle to stifle a laugh.
You quickly wander off before any of them can spot you, fleeing towards where the drinks are. You figure that when they find you, you may as well be doing something instead of just lamely standing around. So you pick up the ladle and start to refill your cup.
April had transfigured her cauldron into one made of glass, and Robin had used it to concoct her famous sickly sweet, lavender colored drink that she’d aptly named ‘Robin’s Brew’. It was made up of a mixture of muggle and wizard liquors, as well as a myriad of different fruit juices. The taste itself was actually semi disgusting, but you get used to it after the initial few sips.
You ladle some more of the drink into your cup and then spin on your heel, ready to resume the search for your friends.
That is, until you crash face first against a broad chest, effectively spilling ‘Robin’s Brew’ all over whoever you just bumped into.
“Oh my gosh!” you blurt out, setting the now empty cup down. “I am so sorry, I-” Your words catch in your throat when you finally look up to see the person’s face.
So much for a good first impression.
Sirius waves you off, looking down at his now purple stained white shirt. “Don’t worry ab-” he stops in the middle of the word as he raises his gaze to look at you.
His lips are still slightly parted as if his voice had simply escaped him mid-sentence, and his expression is stunned and mesmerized all at once.
“I, um...” he tries again, but it’s as if he’s been put in some kind of trance just by looking at you.
“Oh, great! You’ve met!” A cheery voice cuts through the tension, and you both turn your head to find James beaming at the two of you.
Trailing behind James is Remus, who takes in the state of the two of you and grimaces.
“Met?” Sirius voices as he looks at James, sounding a bit dazed.
“Yeah, remember? Y/N!” James reminds him. “She’s great, right?” he grins, and you cringe.
“Oh, this is...?” Sirius slowly turns his head to look at you again. “Hey...” he says faux-smoothly, as if attempting to salvage your very first meeting.
“Hey...” you say back a bit awkwardly. “Um... Look, there’s towels in my dorm, we can all go?” you suggest, looking to the others for approval.
“Why don’t you two go?” Remus proposes instead, and you shoot him an alarmed look.
“Yeah!” James nearly shouts, looking at Remus as if he’s a genius. “Yeah, you’ll find us later!” he’s quick to agree, and they both start to walk away.
You let out a nervous laugh. “Oh, I don’t know if-” you start, not sure if comfortable enough to be alone with a man you just met after spilling your drink on him.
But Remus and James don’t wanna hear it.
“Alright! See you later!” James throws a finger gun at you as he walks backwards and then spins on his heel.
“But I-”
“Bye!” Remus calls, and then they both disappear into a small crowd of people.
You turn to face Sirius, whose shirt is still dripping and who’s watching you with rapt intrigue. He turns away the moment your eyes meet, clearing his throat awkwardly.
Soon enough you’re leading Sirius down the corridor that leads to your dormitory, trying desperately to remember whether or not you’d tidied up your area of the room.
The door swings open just as you arrive at it, and from out of it come April and Robin who seem to be having a serious looking discussion. They quickly stop talking as soon as they spot the two of you, and April is quick to storm off, leaving Robin behind.
“Oh, you’ll want to get rid of that,” Robin says with a wince, gesturing at Sirius’s shirt. “The stain actually gets darker the more you try to get it off... So...”
You give a heavy sigh. “Yeah, thanks Robin.”
She shrugs apologetically with both hands in the air and then starts to walk off. “Robin’s Brew! Patent pending!” she calls over her shoulder as she scurries off to catch up with April.
“What’s up with them?” Sirius mutters under his breath as you lead him inside.
“Well, aren’t you nosy?” you’re quick to reply.
You say it as a joke, but immediately wish you could take it back. What were you thinking?! You didn’t know Sirius enough to joke around with him like that! You didn’t know him at all! Hell, you’d just spilled your drink all over him, for all you know the guy hates you!
You spin around, ready to apologize, but then Sirius is laughing, and you nearly let out a massive sigh of relief.
“Uh-” your apology catches in your throat for a moment but you quickly recover. “Sorry, I-”
“No, it’s okay.” He shakes his head. “You’re right, nosy is my middle name,” he tells you with a shrug and a lopsided grin.
You find yourself smiling back. “Sirius Nosy Black, huh?”
He hums. “Rolls right off the tongue, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, definitely.”
It’s silent for a moment as you both look at each other. Your thoughts leave you a bit as you get distracted by that strange way that he’s looking at you, but then you remember with a jolt that Sirius Black is in your dorm, shirt stained lavender and dripping ‘Robin’s Brew’ onto the floor.
“Um!” You scramble towards the bathroom and yank a random towel off the rack. “Here,” You toss it and Sirius catches it with one hand.
“You can, um...” You trail off but then realize you’re still standing in the doorway, effectively blocking his entrance. “Oh!” You quickly move out of the way, leaving a clear path for Sirius.
“Thanks,” he says with a slight laugh before disappearing into the bathroom.
Once the door closes you’re left alone, idly shuffling around, not really knowing what to do now.
This was horrible. All of this was horrible. You’re alone in your dorm with a man you’ve just met - sure he’s friends with Remus and James, but that doesn’t mean it’s not awkward!
You have to focus. You have to avoid any more tense silences. What would you say when he got out of the bathroom?
You suppose he did laugh at your quip earlier - he’d even added a little joke of his own. You’d gone back and forth a bit. It was easy to converse once you’d gotten started. But getting started was exactly the issue... You needed a good topic. Why can’t you think of a good topic?!
The door to the bathroom opens up and out walks Sirius, leather jacket now slung over his forearm and white shirt drier, but still equally stained.
You panic.
“Hey, do you like motorbikes?” You blurt out, and then have to resist the urge to hurl yourself out the window.
Sirius’s eyes widen and he opens and closes his mouth a few times, looking like a stunned fish, before saying “Motorbikes?”
You purse your lips. “Yeah, I was...” You shrug, trying to play off your very strange, very targeted question as just casual conversation. “I was just wondering... I dunno...” you say, leaning against one of your bedposts.
Sirius breaks out into a smile. “I have a motorbike.”
“Really! No way!” you exclaim, pretending to be shocked. Although you didn’t really know Sirius owned a motorbike, it wasn’t all that surprising considering what April had told you just a few hours ago.
Sirius’s eyes narrow slightly, looking at you as if he’s trying very hard to figure you out. “Yeah... I’m fixing it up right now...” he tells you, still grinning.
“Oh? Is it broken?”
He tilts his head back and forth a few times and then says “Not exactly.”
You cross your arms. “Then why are you fixing it up?” you challenge.
Sirius just rolls his eyes. “Well I’d argue that anything that can’t fly can definitely be improved.”
That startles a laugh out of you. “You’re gonna get your motorbike to fly?”
“Laugh it up now!” Sirius nods as you bring a hand to your lips, stifling your giggles. “No one’ll be laughing once I finish my flying motorbike!”
“Oh, I’d love to see it in action.”
“Sure, I’ll take you on a ride once it’s done,” he tells you, voice genuine.
That shuts you up. All of a sudden you find that you have no witty response. Apparently out of all the things that could have rendered you silent, the prospect of going on a ride on Sirius Black’s flying motorbike seems to have done the trick.
Sirius notices.
“I mean- If you want.” he quickly says, raising a hand. “I mean- Sorry. I know we just met, and I made you spill your drink, and I think I stained your towel with whatever that drink was - sorry about that too - but I-”
“Hey,” you cut him off, giving him a pointed but lighthearted look.
He gazes back expectantly.
“I’d love to,” you assure him, and he grins.
You don’t even remember what you were so nervous about. This was easy. Talking to Sirius was so easy once you got into a rhythm.
So you did.
You talked for a while, and when you got tired of standing you laid down on your bed, face down, head resting in your hands and legs kicking behind you as Sirius sat cross legged on your trunk in front of you. You talked about possible spells and modifications for Sirius’s motorbike, you bonded about all the times James and Remus had tried to get the two of you together, you even just talked about whatever nonsense came to your heads.
You were still talking (now both sitting on your bed) when the door creaked open, letting in April and Robin. April was asleep and Robin was carrying her bridal style. You notice they’re both barefoot, but Robin only has April’s shoes in hand - hers were probably somewhere in the common room.
“Oh, hey,” you say in a hushed tone, not wanting to wake April.
“Hey,” Robin responds, though she’s not quite as cautious with her volume as you.
Earlier today you’d have thought Robin would’ve freaked out the moment she saw Sirius, but if she cares about him being in the dorm, she doesn’t show it.
“She fell asleep on the couch. Thought I should leave her here,” the blonde explains as she pads over to April’s bed. She drops the shoes on the ground and then pauses to look at you. “Do you mind?” she questions, nodding her head towards the bed.
You quickly get up, striding over to April’s bed and pulling back the blankets.
“Thanks,” Robin murmurs as she gently sets the raven haired girl down.
You pull the covers up again and April stirs a bit but doesn’t wake up.
Robin finally acknowledges Sirius. “Hi,” she waves with a smile. Sirius smiles back. “Sorry, I didn’t-”
“No, it’s fine. We were just talking,” you assure her, and she nods a bit before turning her attention back to April, gazing down at her with a slight furrow to her brow.
“Where’s Bea?” you voice, curious.
“Went off with her Hufflepuff, I expect.”
“Mm. Is the party over?”
“Quiet get-together.” Robin corrects you without a second thought and you laugh lightly, sitting back down on your bed beside Sirius. “And yeah. I’m gonna go try to clean up a bit,” she says, sounding like the prefect she is.
You watch as Robin hesitates over April for a bit, smoothing the blankets over, brushing stray hairs from the sleeping girl’s face. It’s as if she wants to take care of her but isn’t sure how. In the end, she gives you a smile, bids a polite ‘goodbye’ to Sirius, and then exits quietly.
“We never went and found James and Remus,” you turn to look at Sirius once the door closes and he grins.
“I don’t think they ever expected us to.”
“You’re probably right.”
April stirs again and you get up to close the curtains of her four-poster.
“I should go help Robin,” you tell Sirius, and he takes the cue quickly standing up.
“Right. Sorry I kept you up.“
“No, it was fun. Sorry I spilled my drink on you.”
“No, it was fun,” Sirius echoes, and you give him a slight shove.
The two of you walk across the room and out of the door in comfortable silence, and once you’re in the corridor you speak up.
“So, hypothetically,” you start.
“Uh-huh,” Sirius assents immediately.
“If you wanted to... I don’t know... Have breakfast with me tomorrow...”
“Oh?”
“How would you go about that?”
“Hypothetically?” Sirius raises an eyebrow, as if double checking.
“Of course,” you nod.
“Well in this completely made up scenario,” he starts, “I’d probably meet you here at seven and walk you down to the Great Hall.”
You fight a smile. “Well, great.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah. Hypothetically I’d definitely be ready by then.”
“Perfect.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.”
You’ve reached the door that leads out of the common room by now, and you open it up, leaning against the frame. The rest of the castle is dark as it’s well past midnight, and you can hear the quiet sounds of nearby portraits snoring. You’d be worried about him getting caught, but with all the pranks the Marauders have pulled throughout the years, you know for a fact that Sirius Black had plenty of experience sneaking about the castle after curfew.
You watch as he lights his wand with a quick ‘Lumos’ and starts to walk off, but then he hesitates.
“What?” you voice as he turns around, walking back towards you.
He stops right in front of you, looking at you very intensely, scrutinizing every inch of your face. For a brief moment you expect him to lean in and kiss you, but then he speaks.
“I know you brought up motorbikes on purpose. That girl April takes muggle studies with me, and she-”
You quickly shut the door in his face and press your back against it, eyes wide and smiling despite yourself.
You scurry off to help Robin and a few others clean up, spirits high with the promise of having breakfast with Sirius tomorrow morning.
And who knows, maybe by tomorrow he’ll forget all about the motorbike thing. At least, you hope he does.
(He doesn’t.)
.
.
Bonus, the next morning:
“There they are!” James exclaims as you and Sirius approach the table.
“Did he live up to your expectations?” Remus asks you pointedly as you sit down, and you poke your tongue out at him in response.
And then you shrug. “I’ve gotta say, right off the bat I wasn’t impressed.”
“You’re the one who spilled your drink all over me. My poor new shirt! Ruined!”
“Oh, boo hoo. Where will you ever find another plain, white T-shirt?”
“It had sentimental value!”
“And now it has a cute new design! So you’re welcome.”
“You want me to thank you for a stain?”
“It’s a fun souvenir from your first time in a non Gryffindor common room.”
“I should write on it. Big letters: ‘I went to Ravenclaw Tower and all I got was this lousy stained shirt.’”
“At least the stain is purple, it looked nice. Suits you.”
“Are you saying I look good in purple?”
“Sure.”
“So you’re saying I look good?”
“I- I didn’t-” you stammer, and then groan.
“Ah-ha!” Sirius points a finger at you. “Outwitted by a Gryffindor! If only Rowena Ravenclaw could see you now.”
Across the table, Remus and James watch on in dismay.
“Are you already regretting getting them together or is it just me?” James voices.
In response Remus sighs, “Oh, it’s not just you.”
.
.
.
(hey ps for the sake of my sanity let’s just pretend there was no easy simple drying spell they could’ve used)
also: about robin & april
.
.
.
taglist <3 // @isxfisticated @l-adysansa @tomshollandz
408 notes
·
View notes
Text
Meeting the Weasleys | Bill Weasley x Reader
Summary: The reconstitution of the Order of the Phoenix bring Bill back to England to help his family and others fight against Voldemort. Bill takes you along and you meet his family...who has no idea he has a girlfriend
Pairing: Bill Weasley x Reader
Word count: 1880
-
Muggle transport sucked. Especially planes. Fascinating transportation system, but why must they take so long to get to places? Portkeys were much faster.
Usually, when going to his family home, Bill would use a portkey to the Burrow, but as the Weasleys had temporarily moved to the new Order of the Phoenix's headquarters, there was no point going there. There was also no portkey available to Grimmauld Place since it was a secret house.
A plane was the only option.
''You didn't tell your family you wouldn't be coming alone?!''
Bill slung his satchel bag over his shoulder, thankful for the extension charm. ''Erm, no. I wasn't going to announce to them that I have a girlfriend through a letter, it doesn't sound really serious.''
For that, he wasn't wrong.
''We can't just show up together on the doorstep, Bill.''
Suddenly, you started re-evaluating your decision to come to England and think it was a bad idea. It's not like you and Bill were old friends. You had never met his family. What if his mom was angry for not warning her he was bringing his girlfriend? Would this put you on her bad side?
Bill shrugged, seeing no issues. ''Why not? Mom won't mind. She'll be so happy to see me that she'll forget to be mad for not telling her about you. It'll be fine, Y/N.''
As you expected, it didn't go like Bill had planned. He was a fool to think he could trick his mother like that. Molly was furious.
At first, she was confused. Then, she thought Bill had brought a friend to help with the Order - they could always use more wizards and witches on their side. But, when he introduced you as his girlfriend, her mood changed and she started scolding his oldest for not telling her something so important - even swatted his arm with the spoon she was holding. Ouch.
Bill too had been surprised by his mother's reaction, having not been talked to in that tone since his teenage years.
''William Arthur Weasley, how could you do that? You disappear in Egypt for six years and come back with a surprise girlfriend and expect me to not get mad and act as if it's nothing important? How long have you been hiding this from us? I'm your mother, how could you hide this from me?'' her voice boomed through Grimmauld Place. It was like getting a real-life howler. Pretty scary.
Once Mrs. Weasley was finished, she turned to you, her facial expression completely changed, and smiled warmly. ''Sorry about that, dear. Some people have no manners and assumes they can't be scolded after leaving the nest.'' She narrowed her eyes at Bill. ''I'm Molly, Bill's mother...but I'm sure you've caught that already. What's your name?''
''Y/N,'' you introduced. ''I'm sorry for coming unnoticed. I kept telling Bill it wasn't a great idea.''
''Don't feel bad, it's all forgiven.'' The plump woman smiled warmly at you. ''Would you like some biscuits? I just took a batch out of the oven.''
.
After eating some biscuits in the kitchen and chatting a bit with Mrs. Weasley - Bill was trying to be forgiven -, you and Bill took your luggages upstairs and went to put everything away. There weren't a lot of rooms left - a lot of members of the Order had taken residency at Grimmauld Place -, but Mrs. Weasley had kept one for Bill. Ron was supposed to share with him, but now that you were there, Ron was going to have to move rooms. Sorry, Ron.
''I didn't think she would be that angry. If I has known, I-''
''Angry? She was furious, William!'' you interrupted as you entered the bedroom, finding it a complete mess. There was a trunk opened in the corner, quidditch magazines and wrappers on the nightstand, and dirty clothes everywhere. Bill's little brother was a messy person.
With a few whisks of his wand, Bill gathered Ron's stuff and put everything in his trunk - dirty or not - to make room for yours. In the end, the trunk struggled to fit everything, but with a little bit of magic, everything was possible. It might explode when Ron will open it, but it wouldn't be your problem then.
''I guess I overestimated myself.''
You started with your clothes, folding them neatly in the chest drawers and hung the jackets in the small wardrobe. There was an old smell floating in the room, but it was inevitable in a house this old.
While you did that, Bill reached for the toiletries items, frowning confusedly when he saw how many bottles of who-knows-what you had brought. What were they all for? Did you really need all of those?
''I...I thought she was going to hate] me because of that,'' you admitted, genuinely scared you were going to be one of those girlfriends that's hated by her future in-laws. All because Bill omitted to tell his mother about you.
Bill huffed a short laugh, but seeing how you were genuinely worried of so, he turned into a serious face and he came up to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. ''That's very unlikely,'' he said, turning you around in his hold and tilting your chin up. ''My mom has no hatred in her body - except for the ones who harm her children. I promise she doesn't hate you.'' Bill kissed your temple, but his speech didn't convince you completely.
''Well, she was yelling. To me, yelling is not something positive.''
''At me. She was yelling at me,'' he corrected. ''But then, she offered you biscuits, didn't she?''
''She did.''
Food was how Molly showed affection and care. She loved to cook all sorts of meals and desserts to feed the ones she loved. If you were particularly kind with her, she might cook your favorite dish at supper.
''Let's finish unpacking so I can introduce you to the rest of the family.''
You nodded and slipped out of your boyfriend's hold. Hopefully it'll go better, this time.
.
When you left the bedroom, you ran into two boys of the same height and physique, which you recognized as the infamous twins. Bill had told you about all members of his family on the plane journey, but telling apart who was who was another story though.
They both hugged their brother - who was almost as tall as them -, having not seen each other in a while and, when Bill introduced you, they looked shocked.
''Girlfriend?'' Fred repeated, sounding surprised. He glanced at you mischievously. ''Have you slipped him a love potion?''
It was all jokes, but you didn't know their humor so you took him seriously.
''Excuse me?'' You were offended that they could think you did something like that. Slipping someone a love potion was vile and immoral. Plus, love potions only created infatuation, not love.
Beside you, Bill rolled his eyes and laughed lightly, which told you they were only joking. ''Is it that difficult to believe that I got a girlfriend? Last time I heard, you all agreed I was the coolest brother of the lot.''
''The coolest, perhaps, but not the most skilled in the flirting departement,'' Fred teased. ''I think I deserve that title.''
''It's just, our brother never brought a girl home before,'' George explained to you, feeling sorry for the misunderstanding. ''How did mom take it? Her oldest son taking a girl home, she must've been emotional.''
''She was thrilled-''
Thrilled wasn't the word you would've employed.
''He's lying. She hit him with a spoon,'' you corrected.
Bill nudged you. ''Y/N! You're supposed to be on my side.''
You shrugged.
''A spoon?'' Fred and George chorused. ''I thought it was only us who got the spoon.''
.
Next was Ginny and Ron, which you met at the dinner table.
Although she was the youngest, Ginny was the closest to Bill. There was a special bond between the two that made you smile fondly.
Farther into the kitchen, another ginger haired boy stood on his mother's heels, trying to steal something to eat. Upon hearing Bill's voice, he turned and joined his sister, but didn't fail to give you a confused look, having never seen you before. If he had, he would've remembered.
''Who are you?'' He took a bite of the bread he stole and Ginny elbowed him for being rude.
In response to Ron's question, Bill slid an arm behind you, grin on his lips and raised his eyebrows, waiting for his siblings to catch on. Since knowing him, you had learned that the eldest Weasley didn't like to make a big deal out of any news - counting having a girlfriend.
It didn't take long for a wide smile to spread on Ginny's face. ''Oh my Godrick! I was not expecting this when you said you were coming home. I'm so happy for you,'' she told Bill and then turned to you and introduced herself - although you already knew her name - and kindly asked for yours. ''Finally, I will no longer be the only girl among those boys. Why have you kept her a secret?''
''I did not-''
Ginny gave her brother a look. ''You didn't tell us. It's the same thing.''
''Maybe he didn't want you to steal her from him,'' Ron joked, making fun of his sister's excitement.
Ginny glared at him, about to say something back, but before she could, Molly called out that dinner was ready. A loud crack echoed and Fred and George aparated in the kitchen, sneaking on Molly and making her yelp.
''Just because you're allowed to do that doesn't mean you-''
''Do you need help, Mrs. Weasley?'' you offered.
Although Bill had promised his mother didn't hate you, being helpful would surely get you on her good side.
Molly smiled at you, thankful for the help. ''That would be very appreciated, dear. You take the soup and bread to the table. Don't forget to place a cloth underneath the stockpot or else it'll burn the wood of the table.''
You nodded and got to business.
While you were helping Molly, two men arrived in the kitchen. One of them had dark curly hair and the other had a walking stick. They introduced themself as Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. You had heard of the former in the newspaper, but didn't dare ask questions. You simply smiled at him politely.
''Where are the others?'' you asked Bill when you sat down beside him, looking at the kitchen's entrance thinking two more Weasleys would come in. ''I thought you had five brothers.''
''Charlie is in Romania working with dragons and Percy,'' Ginny paused, glancing at their mom in the kitchen, taking something out of the oven. ''He doesn't live with us anymore.''
Ginny didn't need to say more for you to sense that Percy was a sensitive subject for the family. Especially to Molly. You felt like there was more to it than him moving out, but didn't dare ask as it wasn't your businesses.
Thankfully, the subject was dropped fast enough and Ron and Fred started arguing about who would get the ladle first, only for Ginny to roll her eyes and take it before them. Once she was done, she gave it to you to purposely annoy her brothers, which got a complaint from Ron.
''It was my turn!''
183 notes
·
View notes